The Drop

have your batteries gone?’
    ‘Cheeky,’ she said. ‘It’s a crisis.’
    ‘Broken a nail have we?’
    ‘No. I’ve got a flat tyre and I need a hunky man to rescue me. I’m a damsel in distress.’
    ‘You’re in luck, I’m doing a special offer on damsels this week. It’s two for the price of one. I’ll throw in a dragon slaying too if you ask me nicely.’
    ‘Sounds like good value, trouble is… ’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘I’m down at the Metro Centre,’ she said, like she was wincing at the level of the favour she was asking, ‘you’re not by any chance passing through Gateshead on your white charger right now are you?’
    ‘No,’ I said.
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘But I could be.’
    ‘I knew there was a reason why I love you.’
    ‘You mean apart from my good looks, charm and raw sexuality?’
    There was a slight pause for effect, ‘has someone been telling you you’re good looking?’
    ‘Do you want this tyre changing or not?’
    ‘Yes please!’ she trilled, ‘love ya.’
    She told me where she was parked and I set off to the Metro Centre, a place I would normally have avoided like the plague. With its acres of shopping hell, all under one big roof, I’d normally rather have a tooth pulled than go there voluntarily.
    When I pulled up beside her she climbed out of her car. She looked very good in her skinny jeans.
    ‘Those the jeans you’ve been banging on about?’
    ‘Seven Jeans,’ she sang and she swayed her bum round and out at me, slapping her rump like they do in the R&B videos, ‘you like?’
    ‘They’re okay.’
    ‘Just bought ‘em. Perfect fit, wore them out of the shop.’
    I found that strangely sexy and I didn’t even know why. I think maybe it was because Laura would never have done something that spontaneous. I looked away from her and surveyed the problem, ‘yep,’ I announced solemnly, ‘your diagnosis is correct, that tyre is definitely flat.’
    ‘Thank you doctor, now are you going to change it for me?’
    ‘Nope.’
    ‘What? I thought this was damsel day. Am I not a damsel then?’
    ‘Yep, you’re a damsel right enough but, if I change that tyre for you, you are going to be late for the match.’
    ‘I’m already late for the match. I’ve had to phone ahead so they’ll save me some dinner in the box.’
    ‘I also phoned ahead. One of my guys is on his way down here. He will take your keys, change your tyre and drive your car home for you. As soon as he gets here, I’ll drive you to the match just in time for your prawn sandwiches. Your dad or Finney can run you back afterwards.’
    She beamed at me, ‘you think of everything,’ then she sighed, ‘why are all the good men taken?’
    ‘Because there aren’t that many of us and you’ve got to be quick to land one.’
    We were inching towards the ground. The traffic had slowed to a virtual standstill from the sheer number of fans striding purposefully towards St James’ Park.
    ‘Can’t believe you’re not coming to the match,’ she sighed.
    ‘I know, neither can I, if I’m honest, but Laura’s a bit upset about her mum, so I said I’d give it a miss.’ I knew I’d have to sit there with her again in virtual silence while she sniffed and moped about her ma, like she’d done every day since the old lady’d croaked. I’d hoped she might ease up a bit after the funeral, but it actually seemed to get worse then because she didn’t have any arrangements to distract her. Let’s be brutally honest, her mum was old and ill and she’d had a bloody good innings. I’ve seen a damn sight more tragic and sudden deaths than her’s I can tell you. Besides, life is for the living.
    ‘We’ll probably be shite tonight,’ consoled Sarah, ‘the back four wanted shooting last time and the food in the box isn’t great these days. It was sausage and mash last time,’ she sounded amazed. ‘I mean they put “balsamic-glazed, onion gravy” on the menu, but it was still bangers and mash.’
    ‘Slumming it eh? Count yourself lucky,’ I told her, ‘when I was a kid, I used to be happy calling into the Metro Café for a plate of chips on my way up to the ground. I could only dream of sausage and mash. No executive boxes back then and, if there had been, I couldn’t have got in them. I was a Gallowgate-ender, standing in the rain. There wasn’t even a bloody roof ’
    ‘Must have been worth it to see Jackie Milburn though?’ She told me.
    ‘Oi, watch it you. You’re not too old to go across my