Chapter 3 – Interlude

Al looked very closely at his dinner mate. "What did you say?"

Morwenna shook her head. "Nothing." Morwenna, she thought to herself, better watch out! It's way too early to think that way.

Al cocked his head. "But I coulda' sworn you said something about me."

She twisted her table linen nervously. "No… I… didn't."

By bad luck the noisy foursome was seated very near to Al and Morwenna's table and their boisterous conversation only got louder.

Al sighed softly. "Some people."

Casting a look at the two noisy couples, Morwenna agreed. "They're feeling no pain."

At the noisy table, one couple was late middle-aged; the man rather stuffy looking in suit and tie, and his companion was dressed in a dress that was way out of fashion. The other couple was younger by perhaps twenty years, and they were the ones making most of noise. Their words were directed at each another, and as they spoke it was very clear to everyone in the restaurant that the woman was quite upset with the man seated opposite.

The waitress took their order for starters, then returned quickly with the items. She looked over at Morwenna and caught her eye with an 'I'm sorry for these noisy louts' look.

Morwenna smiled back at her and the waitress nodded in understanding. Morwenna sighed, for what she was hearing and seeing was not that different from any bickering couple. However, while engaged in that behavior where not deadly serious, merely picking on each other, there was an edge of bitterness over there which grated on her nerves. She wanted to tell them to 'shut it', not unlike some of the Doc's patients; who were either hard of hearing and spoke too loudly to compensate, or where just loud-mouthed from the get go.

Al cleared his throat meaningfully, hoping the other table would lower their voices, but that had no effect on either their volume or what they were saying. He couldn't catch all they were arguing about but what he could hear made him grit his teeth. Some people ought to keep their dirty laundry in private and not air it in public. He sighed to himself for it reminded him of the hectoring which his dad could go on and on about over his difficulties – both personal and financial. He looked over at Morwenna and saw her wince.

"You wanna' leave?" he asked her

"Not had afters yet. We can stay."

"Okay."

Soon enough what was bad natured gabbing became very active sniping as the loud couple tried to take verbal bites out of one another. At some critical moment they broke out the hammer and tongs.

"Oh really?" the woman said sarcastically and very loudly. "And it's just by chance that I found all those texts that you sent to her and from her to you?"

The man waved his drink glass at her, slopping most of it on the table. "I'll do what I want. And what was you doing snooping in my mobile?" he slurred. "That's none of your bloody business."

That made her even madder. "My BUSINESS?" she shouted at him and everyone in the room froze. "Well, Gerald it is BOTH my personal and my professional business! I own the company – and YOU do NOT! You work for me! God knows why I keep you on. Bloody waste."

The man smirked at her and made smoochy noises with his lips. "Oh you love me is all. You just can't get enough of me Moira."

Al almost walked over to the fighting couple to ask them to lower their voices, but Morwenna tapped her foot against his and shook her head in warning. "Right," Al muttered. "None of our business."

"Yep," she answered and tried to think of something pleasant to say to him.

The older man tried to placate the younger woman, while the older woman shrunk visibly down in her chair. "Now Moira, just…"

"What Dad? Take it easy? Forgive him for what he's done and is still doing behind my back?" Moira responded. She looked daggers at the one called Gerald. "Why in God's name did I ever marry you, you tosser? I said God? I'm wrong - must have been the Devil himself."

"Moira, don't," the older woman cautioned.

"Mum, you can shut it as well," Moira told her mother.

The object of her ire smirked at her. "Yeah that's it. Blame everybody but yourself. Even the Almighty."

Moira's face went bright red. "You… sanctimonious piece of…"

Al murmured to Morwenna, "That's not a very good start to a nice dinner, is it?"

The man at the other table laughed derisively just then. "If you'd spent a little more time at home instead of flying off to Cannes, or Paris, and Milan?" he laughed. "Maybe I'd have spent more time looking at you instead of…"

"And NOW he admits it!" Moira yelled back. "I knew it!"

Gerald said, "Don't be a stupid cow." Then he scooped up a handle of starters and stuffed them into his mouth.

That's when Moira stood up and threw her glassware right in his face.

Al winced as he heard the clink of glass against teeth, and he watched a tooth go flying in a spray of blood and spittle, along with fragments of broken glass. "Oh no." Glassing in a fisherman's pub was one thing, but in a fancy place like this one? He cringed and ran his tongue over his own teeth.

Morwenna covered her face for a second. "God I hate fights."

The injured man vaulted himself upright as if to fight back, but he began to cough and gag, finally falling silent as he clutched his throat with both hands.

Al stared in alarm at Morwenna and she returned the shocked look. Morwenna raised her eyebrows. "Air."

"Right," Al said as he got to his feet.

"I'm with you," Morwenna said, as she jumped up and followed Al to the other table.

The stricken man stared at them through bulging eyes, his face and chest straining. Both his hands were clamped to his throat.

"Can you breathe?" Morwenna asked him. "Get any air at all?"

The man waved his head from side to side, then turned as if to run away, but Al grabbed his arm. "Mate, you're choking?"

"Oh don't be such a baby!" Moira answered. "He's always making a scene," she spat. "He's fine! Just playing the victim; just like always."

Morwenna looked at the man with blood oozing down his chin. She got a glimpse of the hole from where his front tooth just behind his sliced lip. "No air at all?"

The man shook his head a tiny bit, and his eyes rolled in panic as he started to slump, but Al held him up.

"Right. Okay." Morwenna groaned. "Al, you're gonna have to perform the Heimlich."

Al put his arms more fully around Gerald, which was no mean feat for he was very large in girth.

"Make a fist with your right hand, thumb against his chest," Morwenna directed. Then she took his hand to guide it. "Put it right here; below the breastbone. Then put your left on hand on top of your right, and squeeze him in three quick thrusts. Up and in."

Al felt his hand get moved, until he felt his thumb slide in just below the man's breastbone, nestled between the ribs. "Got it."

Morwenna watched while Al strained three times to squeeze the man in the lifesaving hug. "Nothing?"

Gerald shook his head weakly.

"Not gonna work," Al muttered. "Call 9-9-9!"

"Harder, Al! Give it all you got!" Morwenna told him. I the background she was vaguely aware of Moira whining and screeching. Enough out of you, she thought. You caused this! "Come on Al, let 'er rip!" she shouted.

In desperation Al took a deep breath, gathered his strength and squeezed for all he was worth. On the third and final squeeze he bodily lifted the fellow off his feet. Come on mate! Breathe! Al felt his back creak as he lifted the man's 14 or 15 stone clear off the floor.

In a mighty spray of air, the half-chewed remains of a celery stick flew out of Gerald's mouth, along with gobs of bloody mucous. They heard a quick gasp of air, then Gerald coughed and began to take in huge gasps of air.

"There," Morwenna smiled at the man who was now breathing and blubbering. "Now you're fine. Next time? Chew your food properly." She patted his arm then looked around the room. "Anybody next? No? No one? Fine." She snagged his discarded table linen and handed it to him. "You need stitches for that lip."

Moira ran around the table and hugged Gerald. "Oh gawd! I'm sorry. So sorry!"

The man fell back into his seat, wiping at the mess of his mouth. "Moira! Oh lord… I didn't mean it! She was just a bit of fluff is all!"

Al massaged his aching back, then bent down to get something off the floor. "Here," he said to the man. "Here's your tooth. You might want to save that for a dentist."

The man stared at the white thing in Al's hand. "Good Heavens, Moira I paid hundreds of £'s for that crown!"

Al and Morwenna went back to their table. They sat down and Morwenna looked at Al. "Dinner and a show?"

"Yeah," Al replied. "Just like Joe's barbecue."

She smiled. "You do know how to show a girl a good time."

They watched while the foursome, now chastened by the near disaster, get up to leave. The older man approached them. "Thank you for that," he said, and stuck out his hand to Al. "Both of you."

Al took it, and was surprised to feel a crisp piece of paper slide into his hand. He glanced down and saw it was a banknote. "No, no, I can't take it… just doing…"

"Son," the man said, "Take the money. Enjoy your dinner."

The older woman watched as the young couple left the dining room. Moira was supporting the stumbling Gerald with obvious tenderness. "Those two," she told them. "Always going off like that – other than the choking – which was an accident. Now they'll be all lovey-dovey for a month or so."

The man grimaced. "What we did to make our Moira so prickly is beyond me." The man took his wife's arm, then they left the gob smacked couple to goggle at their backs.

Al shook his head and then looked at his hands. "I'd better go wash up." That's when he opened his fist and found he was looking at a fifty Pound note. He held it up for Morwenna to see.

Morwenna laughed nervously. "Well… cheers." She shook her head. "Perhaps I'd better use the loo as well."

Author's notes:

Glassing: To attack someone with a mug or glass, striking them in the face. Typically happening in a pub under the influence of too much alcohol and heated tempers.

Stone: English unit of weight equal to 14 pounds (6.352 kilograms).

Tosser: Do I really need to explain this word?

Heimlich: The Heimlich Maneuver; a life-saving chest squeeze to force food, or other objects, which are blocking the windpipe using the expulsion of air from the victim's lungs.