Julia Williams - Strictly Love

The Hookers' real name was The Boxer's Arms, but because of the propensity of rugby players who went in there, it was commonly known as the Hookers. Although urban myth had it that it was once a knocking shop – a myth that Barry, the urbane landlord, did very little to dispel.

‘Just let me wash my patients’ spit off my face and get changed,’ said Mark, ‘and then I'm all yours.’

Ten minutes later they were propping up the bar and putting the world to rights.

‘The usual, gentlemen?’ Barry already had their pints lined up for them. ‘You're a bit late tonight, if I may say so.’

Bloody hell, Mark thought in dismay, I'm becoming such a regular the barman knows what time I usually come in. How the hell did that happen?

‘If we're not careful, we're going to end up becoming permanent fixtures,’ Mark said glumly, looking round to see the usual regulars transfixed to their usual spots. Is that how people already saw them?

‘So?’ said Rob. ‘I like it here. It's my kind of pub.’

‘You know what's going to happen to us,’ Mark said moodily, staring into his pint.

‘No, what?’ Rob was scanning the bar for possible talent. Rather a waste of effort considering most of the regulars were middle-aged men, but, ever the optimist, Rob never liked to miss out on any opportunity that came his way. Mark envied that optimism and the confidence that went along with it.

‘We're still going to be sitting here in ten years’ time,’ said Mark. He paused to listen to a song on the jukebox. ‘It's like this song – the laughs in the late-night lock-in will fade away and we'll have nothing left but sad, pathetic memories.’

‘And your point is?’ said Rob.

‘Well, look at us. We‘ve already been drinking in here for years. We stay here any longer, we'll end up fossilised.’

‘You know your trouble?’ asked Rob.

‘Nope, but I have a feeling you're going to tell me,’ replied Mark.

‘You need to get out more. It's time you faced up to the truth. You're wasting your time with Sam. She's gone for good. Time you moved on, mate.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Mark responded with a wry smile. ‘And this is really the place to do that.’

‘It has been known to happen,’ said Rob, tapping his nose and looking smug.

‘When was that then?’ teased Barry, earwigging their conversation as he wiped down the bar. ‘The dark ages?’

‘You remember those two art students who used to come in here a while back?’ Rob said.

‘What, the short tarty one and the goth?’ Barry looked impressed.

‘Yup,’ said Rob. ‘Didn't you wonder why they stopped coming in?’

‘I thought they'd just finished their course,’ said Barry.

‘Nope,’ said Rob, ‘they just couldn't cope with the rejection. Once you've had a taste of the Robster, everything else pales by comparison.’

‘That's right, Rob,’ said Mark, ‘and it's got nothing to do with the fact they found out what a bastard you are and never want to see you again.’

‘You're just jealous,’ laughed Rob.

‘I keep telling you,’ said Mark, ‘I'm happy to be single.’

‘Now that's where you are so wrong,’ said Rob. ‘It's not normal for someone to be celibate as long as you have been. You need to listen up and hone your seduction skills.’

‘And how should I do that?’ said Mark with amusement as he glanced round the pub. ‘Now you've chased the art students away, I don't exactly see them queuing up.’

‘Not here,’ said Rob. ‘You really must pay attention to your Uncle Rob and learn from a master. Dancing classes is where it's all at. There are tons of single women there. Come ballroom dancing with me and I guarantee you'll get laid.’

‘I do want to actually like a woman when I go to bed with her,’ said Mark. ‘Besides, I don't want anyone but Sam.’

‘Yes, you do,’ said Rob. ‘You just don't know it yet. Come on. Live dangerously for once.’

Mark sipped his pint and looked round the Hookers. Warning signs littered the pub. Paranoid Pete (catchphrase: ‘They're watching us, you know’) was swaying ominously over a pint. He appeared to be talking to a wall. In another corner he spotted Jim ‘n’ John, who were so well-known in the Hookers, people had forgotten which was which now. Their beer bellies (twice the size they'd been when Mark first met them) were the fruits of the time they'd both been drinking there. Oh God. This was his and Rob's fate if they weren't careful.

‘Oh go on then,’ said Mark. ‘I suppose it will make a change from a night in the pub.’

‘That's the attitude,’ said Rob, ‘and you're wrong about the song, you know.’

‘I am?’

‘Yup. I've got a much better theme tune for us.’

‘Which is?’

‘“The Boys are Back in Town”,’ said Rob, raising his pint.

Katie paused from cleaning the bath, keeping a weather ear out for Molly, who could still just about be relied on to nap in the morning, allowing Katie to get on with some household chores. She looked around at the chaos of the bathroom (one day her sons would eventually learn not to miss) and sighed.

Katie had neglected the bathroom of late, and it showed. Another by-product of living with a mother with her head in the clouds had been a childhood spent in chaos. Katie, a type-A personality if ever there was one, hated the messy disorder of the place she had called home, and had spent the best part of her adult life ensuring she didn't replicate it.

Katie had just about managed to keep ahead of the game with two children, but the arrival of Molly had made it that much harder. Sometimes she was up at six in order to get the vacuuming done, and she frequently went to bed at 1 a.m. having got stuck into mopping the kitchen floor. The sheer exhaustion of keeping up with it all was taking its toll, mainly in the bedroom, where she frequently crawled in so dog-tired that even if Charlie had shown any interest, she would have been completely unable to rise to the challenge. No wonder he'd lost interest. Perhaps all that they needed was for Katie to initiate things a bit more. Trying to cook a candlelit meal the other night hadn't worked, it was true, but that was because it had been a spur-of-the-moment thing. She should have planned it properly. She'd try to do it again, on a Saturday night, when the kids were in bed and Charlie didn't have to worry so much about work.

Feeling a bit better, Katie got up from her kneeling position and went to pick up the bleach so she could start cleaning the loo. Damn. She'd run out. She ran downstairs to the loo there, but that was empty too. When Molly got up, she'd have to go and get some more.

Molly conveniently chose that moment to wake up so Katie wrapped her up warmly, popped her in the buggy and walked down the road towards the High Street. She and Charlie hadn't quite afforded a house on the Hill, the posh part of town (much to Marilyn Caldwell's sniffy disgust). But Katie liked their house, it was homely and comfortable, and close to town, and even on cold February days like today she liked to walk.

The advantage of living in a small town like this was that you were never far from anywhere. The disadvantage was that sometimes it was like living under a microscope and everyone knew your business. Invariably, if Katie met someone she knew on the High Street she would be regaled with the sordid details of some petty scandal, or told where she and Charlie had just been on holiday. Once, an acquaintance had even come and congratulated her on a nonexistent pregnancy. It could be very stifling. There were days when she just longed to get on a train and go somewhere, anywhere. Just to get away from where she was.

It wasn't just the feeling of being trapped in domesticity that was bothering her either. Although Charlie had apologised for the comments he'd made about her weight, his words still rankled. Especially as she knew he was right. From a size ten in her pre-children days, Katie had ballooned up to sixteen at one point, and was just heading back towards a fourteen when she had fallen pregnant with Molly. Now, just over a year later, she was hovering around the sixteen mark, and her exhaustion meant the idea of ever getting any exercise in was a complete joke. Her smallish frame didn't help. If she had been tall and buxom, she could have carried the excess weight, but now she felt like a little round barrel. Her fair hair flopped languidly around her shoulders. For practical reasons it would be better to tie it up, but then she risked exposing her double chin. Charlie was right. She had let herself go.