'For goodness sake,' I said upon arrival.
Harry had rented out the whole village hall for his twenty-fifth birthday. ‘A quarter of a century on this Earth,’ he said. ‘Who would want to miss that?’
This was going to be the best birthday party ever.
He told me other guests were coming in droves. That the beer and cake orders were in triple figures. Harry even decided to choose a fancy dress theme. Pirates. A timeless classic.
This was going to be the best birthday party ever.
The invitations were cartoony, and covered in palm trees and rum bottles. We had to RSVP. Harry told me this was due to the sheer number of guests.
This was going to be the best birthday party ever.
But twenty five is a busy age. The first kids born. Weddings every month. A pirate party can slip to the bottom of the to do list. Someone had a christening to attend. Another need to go to a funeral up north. The apologies dribbled in.
I felt so bad for Harry. The presentation loomed on Monday, and my slides needed better pictures. But I thought I had better pop along for an hour or so. A plastic hook was easy enough to source.
From outside the windows in the village hall were dark, but the door opened with a crisp squeal. The carpet was short and fireproof, any tables the fold out kind. Harry had made sure they earned their keep in terms of the catering. Jellies, sandwiches, cakes and crisps on one, triangles of beer on the other. No rum.
Harry sat at the back, a hunched figure in the gloom. His costume was in the ballpark of piracy, but with more gold lace, and a large Napoleonic hat. Even without full illumination, the anger on his face was clear. He squeezed his fists together, and looked down.
'This is the greatest party ever,' he said. 'And they couldn't even be bothered to come along. At least the others have. At least they've done fancy dress. '
I assumed he meant me. I prepared for a grim hour and a half before leaving with a wave, and a poor excuse. Then all thought was lost.
The shadows in the corner were like something caused by a decoration, but with no obvious source. The bottom halves were formless, like smoke from a candle. But once you looked further, you noticed the torsos, the scarred arms with blotchy tattoos. A row of heads with rotting teeth and eyepatches. Hats similar to Harry’s, but tattered and stained from combat. Images from childhood, but shown through the mirror of the truth, like a grizzly bear in a ragged red t-shirt.
The smell of the sea mixed with the urgent tang of gunpowder. A hand contained something that must be called a cutlass. Another clutched a flintlock pistol.
They looked just as angry as Harry.
Line: His costume was in the ballpark of piracy, but with more gold lace, and a large Napoleonic hat.