TWENTY-TWO
Kipper was at the hospital and sat beside Nobby, both men leaning forward in their plastic chairs, heads bowed between their legs and hands over their heads. In this posture they conversed, reminding Nobby of the tête-à-tête in the Ship Anson pub, ‘It’s Alice, always been bleedin’ impechous,’ Kipper said.
Nobby replied to the waiting area, shiny, vinyl floor, ‘I thought she’d calmed down with the baby, but she was just bubbling below the surface.’
They looked up, Alice’s Mum was back from talking with the nurses, ‘They still don’t know nuffing, you fink they would pop their heads in or somfink?’
‘Sit down, love,’ Kipper patted the seat beside him, ‘they’ll tell us when they know, don’t fret, eh,’ trying to reassure his sister.
‘Oh Alfie, my girl, and she was getting married
