The De-Boyfriending of Mr Bianco

Rating: PGish

Disclaimer: All characters, places etc are owned by Dylan Moran, Channel4, Assembly and anyone else that contributed towards the show.

Best enjoyed with Insert-Major-Supermarket-Chain-Here's own brand red wine, only £2.19!!

Manny had decided to brighten up the shop with some plant life – with his careful tenderness and regularly having a gossip with it he was sure that it would flourish under his supervision. It was currently only a tiddler but everyone had to have started somehow and as his relationship regretfully had not lasted with Rowena (she had found that she was not just going out with Manny but also with the shop and Bernard).

It was typical that it would be the girl to break up with him, rather than the other way about – he always adored his girlfriends, treated them nice, gave them a broth if they had a cold – looked after them right just like moo-pa did with moo-ma.

(Rowena decided, rather intelligently, that Manny's employer was beyond the extreme of high maintenance and that Manny was the one designated into maintaining the Irishman. Everything else came second best – including the girlfriend. Rowena had told Manny that even though he was the sweetest, gentlest man she had ever dated, it was like she was dating one half of a married couple…)

The events that took place two weeks ago occurred as follows.

"Hi…"

"Er, hi, hi."

"Hi. …Hi."

"Yes."

"Hi."

"Well, I have decided to break up with the two of you-", Rowena softly spoke.

Manny shook his head in bewilderment, "What- Why are you saying…"

Looking away, Rowena put it as frank and clear a statement as she found appropriate. "I will have that plastic cup back, please."

"Oh. Yes, yes. Okay then. Cheerio."

"Cheerio."

The bell declared her departure.

Poor Manny likes to forget the rest of the day; listening into Fran's and Bernard's conversation about him as if he was their pet fish or something. He wasn't like the Thing! He had feelings, unlike Bernard, the evil, soul-sucking, Irish person that he was. Bernard really didn't know why he put up with him sometimes.

For once instead of watching in plain view of the events that had just occurred as they would normally do Bernard and Fran were hiding behind the curtain that divided the kitchen from the shop.

"Who saw that happening? I thought that one day we would have multiple little Mannys and Rowenas running about the place!" Whispered Fran.

Bernard started to shout. "I will not have anyone running in the shop – the sign clearly states no running!"

Fran tried to hush Bernard but it was no use and their hiding place was discovered. "How dare you watch that happen? You never respect my privacy; you assume things the lot of ya. The only reason why you do not wear my clothes because you cannot be bothered wash your clothes is because I do not have a single black item of clothing in my wardrobe. Why you cannot wear a just a little colour I do not know and that one-off brown shirt that looks black just by the shear amount of grease and hair that has been on your back for so long the hairs on your back are starting to w-e-a-v-e themselves into the cotton – that at home they all are, every single one of them…" Manny began to slowly climb the stairs. "Because, you see, the clothes that one wears are a reflection of ones personality, their moods and their desires from life, Bernard, you want to greave or be dead and Fran you want to be a male peacock. And so…" His voice faded as he carefully, softly, closed his bedroom door.

"He's taken that a little bit to heart," Bernard stated factually as he placed himself on the chair and during so pouring himself out the customary glass of red wine.

Fran pushed across her glass with a pointed stare but the other was oblivious (whether it was intentional or not was not clear to Fran). Expiring an annoyed little huff, Fran resigned herself to pouring her own glass after she made herself comfortable on the threadbare chair.

"He is allowed to get upset, Bernard," the door interrupted Fran as a customer dared to enter the building and began to browse through the crime section. "He hasn't had a girlfriend since he started working for you – even meeting up with friends – um… other friends-," she corrected herself at the sudden death ray being aimed in between her eyes, "-have been cut short, limited; become infrequent! You have to let him go, Bernard. Stop acting if he was your son about to fly out of the nest or that he was your boyfriend or something. You are just jealous that Manny had a girlfriend and you do not!"

"But, I don't want him to fly out of the nest, the dumb twit. Who will look after my finances, my shop and sort out my egg'n'soldiers in the morning?"

Fran rolled her eyes and attempted to use over exaggerated motions to explain. "It – doesn't – matter – what – you – think!" She stated slowly. "For just once in your life consider someone else's feelings; just for a change?"

Bernard considered. "No." Starting off a fresh cigarette, he didn't feel like his answer needed back-up evidence.

Fran stood up and finished the glass of wine in her hand. "Well, if you are not going to be reasonable I shall head off – have much to get on with and you – just say sorry to him? Please, Bernard, remember the last time." And so having said her piece, Fran departed.

Bernard sighed. Well, at least he would have a more justifiable reason why he was going to get drunk tonight – a clean conscious always meant a such a happy drunk state of being. Makes a change to the normally anti-social and general zombie-ness nature of the of those who roamed the streets (reader, please note that Bernard is well on his way to becoming extraordinarily drunk this evening).

Next Day

Knock ... Knock.

"Sorry." (please note; muttered)

Pause.

"Apology being considered. Get back to me after the weekend – hopefully I shall not be conscious until Monday – by the latest. Oh, and just where abouts are my Maltesers, Bernard?"

Bernard handed over a family-sized pack and attempted to perform a big-eyed "love me!" gaze that he knew could work wonders on Manny as the door closed on him (but not closed before the box could disappear into the sanctuary that was Manny's own bedroom).

You see, no one could make a miracle hangover cure than Mister Manuel Bianco and all the stops needed to be pulled. The affects of the night before was just too much to bear and he must have brought the Maltesers whilst drunk because he had been cluching them like a child holds onto his cloth when he had woke up upon the couch in the shop. Bernard knew Manny had a soft spot for Maltesers but it didn't mean that whilst drunk he had brought them because he had felt guilty. Never, ever, ever, would that be the case.

Never.

The End

A/N2: You know, I know, there isn't a bell for the shop door. I wrote it and it sounded nice enough that I kept it. An author (cough, well, writer – I'm not published - woops, cross published out... make that"discovered yet") is allowed to express his/her creativity and spontaneity once in a while! ;-)

A/N3: I've taken this off and back on ff . net to correct some changes that I really really hated looking at. It is very annoying that it is not possible to edit single-chapter stories that are already published...