LOW DOWN ON THE HIGH ROAD

"Talk sense!" Said Alan:"You people are driving me
crazy! How the hell are we going to get him to South
Africa? Do you lot not even think for a second that
Airports and the like are the first place the police
will look for you?"
I patted his back:"Calm down sweetie, we are just
talking things through, nothings set in stone." I said
soothingly, it didn't work as he gave me a look from
hell.
Catherine spoke up, in the quavering tones of somebody
in the throes of a hangover.
"If Patrick wants to go to South Africa then that is where
he shall go! Obviously not tonight, we have connections,
maybe something could be arranged........" She looked at
me glassily:"Young woman can you please get this man
to pull over as I am going to be sick..."
"Shit!" I yelped and before I could relay anything to
Alan, she was promptly sick on the back of his head.
"What the fuck!" He bellowed:"Oh no!"
Patrick slept on, Catherine moaned and held her stomach,
I laughed insanely and Alan swore.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!"
Then my mobile sounded to the fab sound of Goldfrapp-
Ooh La La.
It was Mal.
"Ye dead?" He said.
"Um no, just a bit preoccupied."
"Well why have'n Aye heard from you for forty four years
or there abouts?" He sounded most put out.
"Listen Mal I am in a heap of smelly shit getting smellier
by the second." I glanced at Catherine:"I'll tell you what
happened."
As I told him he kept saying:"You don't say!"
Or
"No!"
Again and again.
Quite tiresome.
"Yes Mal I am saying and implicitly-yes!"
"Well you are up the swannie! Listen hinnie, maybe
I might be able to help. Aye have a holiday lodge in Inverness,
small place, quite quaint, near Loch Ness-it's yours."
"Mal if you were not fucking gay I would fuck you!"
The man was a marvel a bloody marvel.
"Charming." Said Catherine.
Alan rolled his eyes, Patrick stirred and chucked.
"Better then that Aye shall meet ye somewhere........."
We began to arrange details.
"Oh and Mal, bring me some clothes I'm filthy!"
"Will do."
"And phone Raine."
"On to it."
"And." I was rudely interrupted.
"Becka get off the fecking phone, I'm trying to pack!"
Becka (Fugitive) M