The Ascendant

Chapter Fifty-Seven

The pizzas arrived a few minutes after Dawn. I had lost track of the film, a fifties comedy drama by the looks of it, but it was ending anyway as Joe and Luis distributed the boxes to the appropriate customers. Mine looked like ham and mushroom but all I could taste was the sweetcorn, unusually overpowering and seemingly loaded with sugary spices of inordinate proportions.

‘Mmmmmmm’, I repeated with every mouthful, strings of cheese looping like suspension bridge cables from my mouth to the slice.

‘Someone give him a slap,’ said Dawn, and Greek duly obliged, karate-chopping my leg just below the knee, causing a reflex kick which knocked Iain’s pepperoni and spicy beef slice from his hand just as he was backtracking from the box to his armchair. The slice flew up into the air and across the room, clumsily turning and twisting before landing on the face of darling Audrey Hepburn, sliding down her portrait before losing its stick and flopping sadly onto the mantelpiece. We stared at the mess, wondering if the cause was fate or fluke.

‘Sorry about that Iain,’ I said.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ replied Iain, helping himself to another slice of his pepperoni and spicy beef and slapping a slice of my own ham and mushroom on top. ‘Quits,’ he said, settling back into his armchair and weighing-up which slice to eat first.

‘I’ll clean it up later,’ I announced through the surreal atmosphere of the feast. ‘How’s yours Joe?’

‘Good,’ he replied, sucking some tomato and herbal gunk off his thumb.

‘Magnifico,’ added Luis.

‘It’s really good,’ said Iain. ‘I just wish I hadn’t had that tin of fruit salad. I’m running with a full fucking load, mon. I may have to take a pit stop.’ He rubbed his hands together to rid himself of unwanted crumbs and grease and commenced with what appeared to be breathing and sweating exercises, all carried out from a ridiculously poor posture.

A few minutes later, to the relief of everyone present, Iain fell into a deep sleep, and as one of his trouser buttons pinged out while his bloated gut came to rest, I couldn’t help but think back to our talk of sensible drug use as a dietary supplement. 'Just say no', I thought to myself, putting the pizza box onto the floor and similarly nodding-off, as the cover of Big Ones Magazine drifted in and out of focus.