A Friend In Need by Rosemary Dun

Her friend nudged her in the ribs: 'Psst. Don’t look now – but I really fancy that nun over there.'
          'Where?'
          'There. Next to the brown paper package.'
          Mary craned her neck – trying to look without looking - and sure enough, there was the brown paper package complete with string. He winked at her. She blushed and sat back, but not before she clocking the nun in question.
          'Climb every mountain,' sang the Contessa - badly. Mary winced as the combined Sing-a-long-a-Sound-of-Music audience tried, but failed to reach the top note.
          'Christ Almighty,' whispered the Contessa as she smoothed her emerald encrusted dress.
          'Ssh,' scolded Mary, wishing she’d come in lederhosen or something sexy. Instead, Kate the Contessa had insisted she don full Julie Andrews attire. And what could she do? Kate was paying for it.
          'My treat,' she’d said last month after talking Mary into accompanying her to the Singalong at Brighton’s Theatre Royal.
          'How come you get to be the Contessa?'
          'Dahlink, to sink I could be anybody else.'
          And it was true. There was an impervious air about tall, dark, Kate which made her formidable at meetings, yet had young men slavering over her whenever she went on the prowl in Brighton’s beachside clubs and bars.
          They'd met at work, in London, fifteen or so years before. Early on, they’d discovered a shared trait.
          'Blimey, my knees are burning. I must be pisshed. I get hot knees when I’m pisshed.
          'No! Me too!'
          And the bond was formed. An appropriate one too, as they'd sealed their friendship around drinking, parties, meals out. It was Mary who had first moved to Brighton - her friend following a couple of years later.

During the show’s interval, Kate wasted no time in making further contact with the man with the habit. The theatre bar thronged with an assortment of Nazis, Austrian counts and contessas, nuns, Von Trapps, raindrops on roses – you get the picture.
          'So, are you a flibberty jibbet?'
          'A willow the wisp?'
          'A clown? Honk honk!'
          Demanded three snowflakes, as they fluttered about Mary.
          'Push off,' snarled a kitten, all curves in black PVC catsuit. 'Hi babe,' she purred, as the three snowflakes flounced off. 'Mm. Haven’t I seen you in Pussy Galore?'
          The kitty was definitely coming on to Mary, so she sidled over to stand by Kate, in the hope that there wouldn't be any messy need for a brush off.
          'Oh hi,' said Kate, not looking best pleased. The nun had his headdress wimple thing off and now Mary could see he was the waiter from last night’s pizzeria. Kate had her arm draped over his shoulder. She smiled pointedly at Mary, who didn’t need Mystic Meg to tell her that she’d be getting a taxi home on her own tonight - again.
          Three bells sounded last call for the start of the second half. She turned to Kate: 'You coming?'
          'Yeah, yeah. In a minute.'
          Mary gave her a look.
          'I’ll be there, I promise. I haven't forgotten.'
          Because the last time Kate had done this Mary told her how pissed off it made her - being stranded the moment some likely bloke came along. 'Your mates should mean more to you than that,' she’d told Kate.
          Ah, what’s the use, she now thought, as she returned, alone, to her theatre seat. Half an hour later, Julie Andrews was skipping through alpine meadows with the Von Trapp children, all clad in clothes made from curtains. As they began their Do Ray Mi song, Mary was all too aware of the empty seat next to her, and of Kate’s broken promise.
          'Meow,' tantalized the kitten who was sat behind, from where she proceeded to try and stroke Mary’s wavy hair with her long fake fur tail.
          'Gerroff!'
          Mary'd had enough. She got up and walked out. Bloody Kate. Outside in the night air she set off for the taxi rank. And, with no particular thought or purpose in mind, happened to glance down the alleyway next to the theatre and could see, just out of range of the street light, a billowing and flapping of voluminous black nun skirt and sparkly green ball gown. The nun was clearly breaking his vow of celibacy up against the wall with a dishevelled Contessa. They didn’t spot Mary.
          'Don’t mind me,' she muttered loud enough for them to hear. They didn’t. Overhead, a pigeon who’d been trying to get some kip, huffed out its feathers and gazed down at her. She almost said, 'sorry,' to the pigeon, but instead collided with a roller blader.
          'Ooof!'
          The man was on his feet first. Looks too ancient to be roller blading, thought Mary, who had bumped her head.
          'Here, let me help you up,' said the elderly man giving her the benefit of his warm and sparkly smile. It was particularly sparkly as he was wearing a pink tutu complete with tiara and wand.
          'Thanks.' She dusted down her own full Julie Andrews/Maria type skirt, then peered at him. 'Are you supposed to be a snowflake?'
          He didn’t answer, but instead sprinkled her with fairy dust. Which is definitely surreal, thought Mary. She wondered if she was having an Ally McBeal moment and whether or not that meant she could expect Al Green or Gladys Knight and The Pips to suddenly appear and burst into song. She stood still and listened. Don’t be silly. This is a Sound of Music Night, not Soul Train.
          She rubbed her head, and suspected that tomorrow this sore patch would transform into a sizeable lump.
          Her fairy godfather, or whoever he was, said: 'You know, we only have relationships with people who can teach us a lesson.' He waved some more fairy dust. 'One can’t help observing that a true friend wouldn’t have deserted you like that.'
          'Oh, that’s just Kate. I’m used to her going off with some bloke,' she said, clearly not. 'Anyway, a friend in need is a pain in the neck, is what Kate says.'
          'Not quite what I meant …'
          'Just a minute.' She peered harder at the man. 'How did you know all this anyway? You some kind of stalker?'
          He tapped his nose - 'Raindrops on roses and bright woollen mittens …' - he sang; and was off. What’s more, she thought, he appears to have vanished into thin air. I do hope I haven't got concussion.
          Two flights up on its stone window ledge, the pigeon moved its wings in a gesture which very closely resembled a shrug; then turned its back.

Next morning, Mary was sat outdoors, at the The Meeting Place café on the seaside prom, enjoying a large mug of tea, a rock cake, and a toasted bacon sandwich. Even though she didn’t have the hangover she’d planned to have – due to her abandonment by Kate – she was blowed if she wasn’t going to have her hangover cure anyway.
          She breathed deep of the salt air. Brighton, she loved it. She loved to sit here and watch the unmarried mums with their love bites pushing buggies with screaming kids in Osh Gosh dungarees, or the new Regency fops as they paraded by in their chi chi finery. The new beacherati. Never mind London by the Sea, she thought, its getting more and more like Sex And The City by the Sea. Yep, she loved it. And she loved the fact that, especially on sunny days like these, it wasn’t in the slightest bit unusual to see a pensioner glide past on one of those silver micro scooters.
          In fact, here’s one now. Still dressed as a fairy – only this time he’s wearing tracksuit bottoms and a cardigan, too.
          'Did you find your friend?' he called out, as he glided past.
          'No, I …' but he was off. Again.
          Mary was beginning to find his interruptions annoying. She knew that Brighton was a small town where anything can happen, but really … And anyhow, fairy godfathers are unsettling enough at night. But by day?
          'Hi honey!' helloed Kate approaching past the stone angel statue which guards that spot where Brighton ends and Hove begins. 'Thought I’d find you at the café.'
          'Hi yourself.'
          'What did that old geezer say? Who is he? Your sugar daddy?'
          More like the sugar plum fairy.'
          'What?'
          'Oh nothing. Thought I was having a mystical moment there – but apparently not.'
          'That’s Brighton for you,' said Kate, who kissed her on the cheek then sat down as if Mary’s hurt from the previous night had never happened.
          'Don’t you want to know how I got on, then?'
          She wasn’t sure she did. She was still cheesed off with Kate – but there again …
          'OK. Go on. How’d it go with pizza man?'
          'You mean the wimple with the pimples?' said Kate, stretching her long legs in front of her and crossing them at the ankles.
          'He was a bit young - even for you,' said Mary, finishing the last of her bacon buttie.
          'Oooo. I’ll ignore that. Anyhow, I’ll say this for him, he certainly kept to Perfect Pizza’s promise of delivery within half an hour.'
          Mary chortled. 'You old slapper!' she couldn’t deny that Kate was a laugh.
          A pigeon, about to alight on their table, changed its mind and crashlanded near her foot, from where it proceeded to pretend that that was what it had meant to do all along.
          'Dahlink, an old slapper is just about what he called me. The nerve.'
          'No.'
          'Yes,' she reached forward to pinch a bit of Mary's rock cake which she'd been saving to have with another cup of tea. "And after I’d given him the benefit of my contessa-charms,' added Kate. 'And so. He had to go.'
          The pigeon edged nearer.
          'And, talking about going … Where did you disappear to last night? Look babe, I’m really sorry – but I did come back. I didn’t leave you for so very long – and then you were gone. Oh god, you’ll never guess what happened after I’d had my portion of pepperoni …'
          'Puh-lease!' said Mary, having some rock cake herself.
          '… I ended up having to floor this rather persistent little kitty kat. Fur flying – the whole lot.' Mary and the pigeon gave her a look. 'Talk about not taking no for an answer!'
          Kate moved her legs, causing the pigeon, who was about to spear a crumb with its tattered beak, to creakily unfurl its scruffy feathers and fly off. Mary rubbed the bump on her head from last night. She could have sworn that pigeon had just winked at her.
          'By the way,' added Kate. 'Remind me never to set foot in Pussy Galore again… What?'
          Mary was now wholeheartedly grinning at the spectacle she’d missed. Kate and kitty kat, fighting.
          'What are you like?' she said.
          Kate leant over and gave her friend a hug. 'Forgive me.' Then added: 'Go on. You know you want to. Please. I have improved – this time I didn't really leave you - eh?'
          Mary sat back in her plastic chair. OK, Kate can be a pain, but well … they had known each other for ages. And perhaps, in the end, that’s what friendship is? Being used to someone for a very long time.
          'Come on,' she said, suddenly on her feet. 'Race you to the sea! Last one there buys dinner!'
          And as they ran, the wind rushing past her ears sounded very much to Mary like The Sound of Music.