Head to head.

For the first time, I had Linda to myself, as Hayley kissed the face off Ste, leaning and writhing all over the bar like some cheap straight-to-video "erotic thriller". The staff and customers didn't bat an eyelid, they were seasoned to such behaviour.

Indeed, many people in the place seemed to have coupled up, as the banging music, cheap alcohol and general feel-good atmosphere got under skins and lowered inhibitions. It didn't matter that the music was mostly middle-of-the-road bile - The volume and familiarity was too overpowering to resist.

I found myself dancing - well - shuffling-lamely-foot-to-foot - would be a more accurate description.

It must have been the booze.

Linda was up close to me, hands lightly resting on my waist.

The brief snarl with Ste was soon forgotten to me. It was more my own selfish frustration with his relatively late appearance to absorb Hayley's irritation of me that had bubbled over, rather than what he had said. Perhaps I had overreacted somewhat. It wasn't in my nature to be aggressive.

I just got quickly tired of smart-arse people who in actuality, had nowhere near the level of intelligence, passion and character I possessed.

Not a boast, mind.

A statement of will and self-belief.

It must have been the booze.

I switched my attention back to Linda, rocking gently against me with an enigmatic, Mona-Lisa smile on her face. I'd waited so long to express myself, I'd run so many different approaches and questions through my head in the past. But now, despite the lager running through my veins, I was struggling.

"Funny how things turn out...innit?" was about all I could offer.

"Certainly is.... Remind me, how exactly did we split up in the first place?" she replied, the slightest hint of sarcasm in her voice.

I winced when I thought about it. It was really originally down to me and my own stupidity.

I felt I should keep it stark, honest. There way no other way.

"Yeah...that's it. That particular weekend, I was skint, remember? And the the Matthew Street Festival was on...And I couldn't afford to go out. And I remember calling you to tell you that and you were so disappointed.....But at the last minute Peter lent me £20 and I went out with a few of the lads...But I didn't call you to arrange to meet up...So quite rightly you were fuming with me when you found out....And things just sorta broke down between us..."

She raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Something vital was missing.

"Listen, I'm so sorry Linda. I was acting like a dickhead, I admit, totally. I should have treated you so much better than that, it was out of order of me to do that to you - to lie, I mean. But that was nearly 5 years ago and I'm different now.....I've matured.."

Her frown dropped and she smiled once again. Perhaps I had convinced her.

"Was that so hard to say?" she simply said.

"Well yeah.....and no. It was easy for me to admit I was wrong...but waiting so long to say it to you face-to-face was hard work, you know?"

"I know.... It's always tough, breaking up...Never easy is it? But I can see that people can change.."

The simplicity of what she said rang true, that was for sure. It made me want her back even more.

I'd missed being on the level with someone. The train-wreck relationships of the past still haunted me. Another shot at the title with Linda would be worth working hard for.

It seemed that if there was ever the right time to say it, it should have been there and then, in a good mood.

"Not planning on going anywhere else tonight...are you?"

She took her face away from my chest and glanced up at me, her eyes sharpening.

"Wasn't planning on it...why?"

I squeezed her waist and pulled her back close to me.

"It's just...If you fancy we could go to mine...my flat likes..."

A real eye-opener (only when you're bevvied).

The Rubber Soul.

Not on my "favorite bar list" in Liverpool city centre.

It always struck me as somehow cheap and trashy, no grimy charm to the place.

Not like Flanagan's or The Grapes, where the Beatles used to have a pint before and after gigs.

Or even Lennon's Bar, with it's dank, damp, moody staircase and overpowering smell of stale ale. Even though it was more commercial than a street hawker, Lennon's had a "dirty-old-town" feel to it that was impossible to knock when you were crammed in there singing oldies surrounded by your mates and tidy female out-of-towners.

Rubber Soul just seemed like a piss-heads bar to me. No real hook to draw me in. Maybe I was deaf/blind, but no-one seemed to sing it's praises like they did of the other venues on Matthew Street.

It was surprisingly upbeat walking into there after the girls, though. The two Incredible Hulk look-a-likes even smiled - to a degree - and muttered an "Allitte lad?" as I passed them.

This was different.

The dreaded tourist trade didn't matter once I rolled through the front door of that place.

There were no tacky t-shirts, postcards or posters on sale. It seemed to be totally populated by locals, no foreigners were evident, even amongst the hundreds of people who had piled in straight from the races..

Which was a double-edged sword.

On the one hand, there were lads just like myself, out on a jolly, no cares in the world, fuck-it-lets-get-wasted-and-dance-to-the-music that when we wake up, we'll rub our heads and call our mates and laugh about it.

On the other, there were the middle-aged fellows in cheap St. John's Market imitation leather jackets who'd had an early argument with their other halves, larily scanning the faces around the packed bar, an invisible de-militarized zone around them. Should any drunken reveller be unfortunate enough to stray into that body-space, they would have a serious straightener on their hands, despite the gorillas guarding the doors.

Thankfully, people seemed to pick up on that very possible threat with that strange shared sense of: "pretend that a snarling bruiser isn't actually in the room, whether he's looking at you or not".

A respectable distance was observed by all, no matter how much booze they had ingested.

I wriggled through the crowds to the bar to spot Linda, who was standing expectantly, waving me over. Alongside her was Hayley, who was drunkenly draped over a young guy in a grey suit, his back turned to me.

"Wharra yer 'avin?" slurred Hayley, turning to face me with a conspiratorial smile.

"You sure? I mean...I got dollar, like..."

"Nah, its allittte....STE'S payyinn.." She squealed with dirty laughter as her grabbed her ass and planted rough kisses on her neck.

I had to tap her male escort on the shoulder to acknowledge him properley. He turned to me slowly, a drug-induced smile painted onto his Cheshire-Cat features.

"Wasssappenin lad? Aahmm....STE. Whatsyername...Whatyeravvinn?"

Even though I could feel the effects of the booze kicking in, I had to remain reserved. Not in the defensive sense mind, just to be cordial.

"Yeah...pleased to meetcha.. Fred...." I offered my right hand out, which he shook with a lazy, limp manner.

"Bread?" he blurted, giggling to Hayley, who fawningly looked upon him like he was the golden Buddha, such was her attraction to him.

There was a sudden tap on the top of my head.

"Shit attracts shit. Remember that".

"Maintain your stance, my boy".

Thanks, Little-demon-on-the-shoulder. I should really pay attention to you more.

"Nah....FRED."

He jolted back somewhat, perhaps shocked I was so blunt with him. I could see he was no fighter. Not that I classed myself as one.

But for a moment, an unspoken understanding flashed between us.

He knew not to fuck with me verbally. And I'd had too many stupid school playground fights to do so.

I felt no fear.

I could see why the likes of Hayley had latched onto him. He was tall, well-dressed and docile. She would definitely call the shots between them.

Me - despite Linda now pulling my arm, trying to draw me away - I instinctively knew I could take this whopper down. Not even through fists or feet.

Words and observational skills would be enough.....

Hittin' town.

We made our way out from the Hogshead, crossing over to the top end of Matthew Street, passing a long chain of black taxis that were disgorging dozens of drunken revellers, all in their suits and dresses. They must have made their way from the race-course as well, and would soon join the many more thousands of people who were circulating like an angry-migrant ant-colony around the city centre.

I somehow automatically,

sub-consciously,

obliviously,

blatantly,

overtly,

craftily,

lustily

- pulled Linda closer to me.

She reacted with a pleasingly relaxed, lazy physical looseness and a slow, inviting giggle.

Sometimes I wanna wrap my coat around you
Sometimes I wanna keep you warm
Sometimes I wanna wrap my coat around you
Sometimes I wanna burn a candle for you.

We reached the entrance to Matthew Street, which was crammed with a dizzying amount of faces and the audible hum of human anticipation that I hadn't witnessed first-hand for a long time...Well, perhaps the closest example was at the build up to the match, but that was totally different in a way....but you get the picture.

Hen parties in "naughty nurse" outfits, stag nights in super-hero costumes, toothless tramps begging for spare 20P's, street buskers being bullied into playing Oasis and Paul Weller songs by gangs of suited and booted young lads, angry-looking bouncers who looked twitchy, ready to swipe a vicious gold-decked fist out at anyone who gave them a snide-sideways glance - all vied to squeeze through this bottleneck.

It was madness.

But it was also in a weird way exciting, which surprised my jaded mind.

“Watching television is like taking black spray paint to your third eye.” You should learn to lighten up and smile more.....

I hadn't had a good night out for ages...I was smiling, both internally and on the outside, wearing the kind of grin you only get when you get a flash-back to a ridiculously funny moment amongst mates you witnessed in the past, you can't really verbalise or act it out to someone who wasn't there...Yet you still can't suppress when you're on the street and recall it, laughing uncontrollably......

Does that make me crazy?

No, it makes you ALIVE.

You only got 75 years on this ball of rock, maximum.

SAVOUR IT.

"This is shaping up to be a fantastic result, given the personal injuries and trauma the boy's been through. We always knew his form would improve, he just needed a lucky break. We have the utmost confidence in him, and never doubted his ability"......

I can almost hear the imaginary manager's words, I thought as I looked to my side and saw Linda smirking back at me, feeling her presence against my side. I squeezed her waist and she responded likewise.

Ev'rybody had a hard year.
Ev'rybody had a good time.
Ev'rybody had a wet dream.
Ev'rybody saw the sunshine.
Oh yeah, Oh yeah. Oh Yeah.

A bunch of Japanese and American tourists frantically snapped away with their cameras at the John Lennon statue outside the Cavern pub, seemingly immune to the crowds pushing and shoving them out of the way, so strong was their interest.

Kind of freaked you out to see foreign people display such obsessive observation and pious reverence towards something you walked blindly past most working or weekend days.

Still, I supposed I'd be the same if I visited somewhere on other shores that held my absolute attention.

I found myself with a huge, heavy-lensed professional-looking camera being unexpectedly thrust into my hand, a tanned middle-aged fellow with a wild Hawaiian beach shirt and baseball cap on patting me heartily on the shoulder.

"Say, buddy, how're ya? We're from Iowa, USA... Could ya be a sport and get a snap of me and mah wife by that there statue of Mister Len-non? The "GO" but-ton is right there on the top of that sucker..."

"Yeah...Ok, no problems mate" I mumbled, gesturing him over to his wife, who already stood back tightly embracing the statue, as if it were Christ himself on the cross.

I fumbled with the camera for a moment, positioning them both in the viewfinder and trying to avoid the scores of people marching past until it clicked in a satisfactorily old-fashioned manner.

"Sound. Here ye arr, mate.." I smiled as i handed his camera back. For the first noticeable time I audibly registered how drawn-out and strange my voice sounded to myself. Perhaps I should hit the brakes on the booze at the next ale-house.

"So...you are from America?" shouted Linda to camera-man.

"Yeah...We're here on vaca-shion...We gotsa say, a wonderful city you have, here....

Nicest people" he shouted back with a fatherly smile and thumbs-up, over the screams of police sirens, tormented buskers and the mashed-up mix of pleasingly familiar rock n' roll chords drifting all around us.

I was all ready to engage him and his wife in conversation when, almost predictably:

"LINDAAAA! STEVEN'S IN DE RUBBER SOUULL".

With a freakish sense of speed and reflex, Linda slinked away from my side, turning her head smoothly away from the Yank couple and nodded at Hayley without a blink.

"Okay, Hayl, we'll head there now".

I was about to apologise to the American couple, but the demon on my shoulder cracked me across the top of the head and twisted it to my right, where both Linda and Hayley were already moving towards the Rubber Soul bar.

The angel on my other shoulder whispered in my left ear.

"Was... Great meeting you...Hope you like our city... Take care...."

And with that I was off.....

10 Minute time-out

I was left alone on the couch in the Hogshead for perhaps 10 minutes or so, subjected to penetrating stares and whispered disapproval from the other patrons at the bar due to Hayley's foul-mouthed outburst. I was tempted to stand up and announce that she WASN'T WITH ME, but thought better of it. I was praying her boyfriend would soon show up, giving me the chance to corner Linda and have a proper talk with her.

We'd be soon out of there, I reassured myself.

I thought back to when I had first met her, almost five years before. It was still vividly clear.

I'd been living in the spare room of my mate Peter's house in the Bootle area of the city, after returning from staying with my parents for a spell in the Isle of Man.

At that time I was like The Littlest Hobo - lugging all my clothes and possessions around in a torn and battered suitcase, desperately looking for permanent steady work and a place of my own to live. Peter was brilliant, he really helped me out. I at least had a roof over my head. It was just the serious lack of dollars and boredom that were the most depressing things to contend with.

One Saturday I decided to go out for a few drinks with some old mates of mine I hadn't seen for a good few months - Edgy, Zippy, Cully, Kennywise and Anthony. We wound up in a nightclub in Bootle, the name of which I had forgotten.

It wasn't the flashiest place to be, cheap and nasty decor, a breathing cliche of a DJ playing ABBA, Whigfield, Bucks Fizz. A dance floor populated with mostly middle-aged women and men, dressed and acting like they were 18 again.

We argued amongst ourselves about who's idea it had been to go there. The finger eventually pointed to Kennywise, but he was too gassed at that stage of the night to care, let alone defend himself from some serious verbal abuse. I elected to go the bar, and pushed my way to the front.

I was about to be served when someone tapped me on the back and a female voice behind me shouted above the music.

"Are you gettin' served there?" it came, slightly slurry and with a wobble in the throat.

I turned to see a girl who stood somewhat unsteadily in her floral dress, a half-smile on her face, head cocked to one side. It wasn't aggressive, it was playful.

That was what got me.

She ended up not only jumping ahead of me to the bar, but with me buying her a drink.

My mates became distant, forgotten. Everything I did from that point on was consciously directed and focused upon her.

We clicked, it was obvious.

It helped that she was very attractive to me - long flowing straight dark hair, hour-glass body of a woman, an impish smile that played below her piercing blue, come-and-get-me eyes.

We talked, trying (unsuccessfully) to be heard over the abysmal sounds that threatened to drown us out.

But words didn't really need to be said, face and body language was the key. And it was all positive, green-lights all the way.

You got this, maestro.....

I was introduced hastily to the friends she was out with - I didn't really soak up who they were or what they looked like, I was transfixed.... We sat together at a table at the side of the dance floor. Likes and dislikes were shouted to each other, phone numbers exchanged. I took it upon myself to go to the bar again, assuring her I would be back sharpish.

The spontaneous nature of how we met and gelled so quickly was a buzz, too right.

My natural shyness and hang-ups dissolved rapidly in her company. It felt fantastic not having to take the initiative in talking to a girl, let alone have her all over me. So I rolled with it.

We eventually ended up back at Peters, both pretty much drunk. It lowered the inhibitions, to the point that we were almost full-on in the kitchen. Intimacy became physical in no time at all....

But it wasn't a cheap sleazy jump. Far from it, it was shared, two-way traffic. At least that's the impression I got. She was forward, experienced. It was refreshing to meet someone with such self-confidence.

I started seeing her properly straight after, walking her the short distance to her mother's house the morning after, still giddy from the booze and testosterone surging through me.

I was about to replay in my head just why we had first split when her voice whispered in my ear, shocking me back to the present.

"So mister....we're movin' on, maybe down Matthew Street....Fancy joining us?"

She stood over me at the side of the couch, Hayley next to her still dramatically dabbing her face with tissue paper.

"Erm...Yeah, Yeah sure...let's go...." I stammered, reaching for my jacket...

Sweet female venom.

It became clear to me, sitting with her for a short while on that shared couch in the Hogshead pub.....

That I still found her incredibly attractive.

I had honestly forgotten how alluring she really was.

Sweet Jesus above...

She was sexy......

But there was also that nagging, annoying personal conflict that raged in my mind.

The one I couldn't suppress.

The one that made me KNOW... deep down... that I was human.

Vulnerable.

Intelligent.

Honest.

All the aspects of the male mind that lead to your downfall.

This required deep thinking.

Common-sense - the good angel on my right shoulder - dictated that I should just bail out of there and make excuses, be a good soldier and move on.

She's an ex.

You fucked-up in the past and never got back on the proverbial horse.

There's a solid reason why she's an ex-girlfriend.

You made that decision.

Listen to yourself.....

But I felt an irresistible impulse to stay and get into her head.

Hell-for-leather - The evil demon on my left shoulder - whispered that I should follow my instincts, forget the past.

Get into her man.

The internal argument flew through my mind like an unexpected natural disaster.

Where do the broken chess pieces of your life decisions lie on the board?

No contest.

The black playing pieces held sway.

Just TALK TO HER, MAN.

It felt like the more that we spoke, the stronger the connection between us became.

She kept brushing her hands against me lightly, flicking her hair, shooting me sideways glances.

My lips felt dry, my pulse racing. I knew she wanted me, the signals were all too obvious.

The only problems were the constant interruptions from Hayley the blonde, who was really starting to annoy the fuck out of me. Her trashy nature, simplistic ignorance and screeching "D'yer wannnaaaaa slap?" persona had become painfully grating - very quickly.

How she and Linda were friends was a mystery to me.

Linda was what - 27?

Whereas Hayley looked maybe 18, 19 tops. Hayley was hyperactive, non-stop chatter, coarse and aggressive. Linda was subtle, quiet, a listener. It eventually clicked - they must have worked together....at least that was the general vibe I felt I picked up on.

But still, I just wanted her to disappear.

There were still so many unanswered questions I had to put to Linda that had been burning in my head for almost 5 years, that demanded straight-up answers whilst she was still relatively sober.

But I couldn't get a word in sideways. I just sat there silent, yet attentive, nodding and smiling agreeably like a sad journalist at a loose, easy news story.

Deep down, I wanted a major terrorist act.

There was a brief, merciful few moments of respite from Hayley's incessant whinging about why her boyfriend hadn't called and that she was going to murder him, when she eventually got up from her seat and strutted away from us, presumably to the ladies room.

"So...where you two off to next then?" I asked, nervously running my fingers up and down the cool layer of condensation on the neck of my bottle of Miller.

Linda gave me a sly smile and a sultry look from the sides of her eyes.

"Don't know....Kinda up to Hayley, she wants to meet up with her fella like...it'll be town though. You stayin' out yourself?"

This was too good an opportunity to let pass, and my spirits soared when she mentioned that Hayley might soon be occupied with someone else more docile to chat her mindless crap to.

And I always had the back-up option of calling Edgy or Leigh should things not develop positively, from a purely selfish perspective....

"Yeah, yeah I'm stayin' out tonight, definitely....Say, I may meet a few mates later on, was planning on catching up with them anyway. Would you like to join me?"

She went quietly coy, seemed to consider it carefully.

"OK...OK, yes. I'd like that..."

"Hey.....I was hoping you'd say that......."

I instinctively placed my right hand over her left, entwining my fingers with hers. She responded by squeezing them tightly. I consciously shifted closer to her on the gaudy orange leather couch, leaning my head close as I whispered in her ear.

'We've been here before, haven't we....? I know I made bad mistakes in the past, but it's a buzz to see you again Linda, really it is.."

She turned to face me, tantalisingly close enough to smell her perfume and see the gleam of her lipstick.

"It's a buzz to see you, too..."

I was on the verge of meeting those lips with my own when Hayley returned, screeching; "HE'S NOT ANSWERIN' ME FUCKIN TEXT'S, THE DICKHEAD!!"

She flung her phone at the table in the front-top of the couch, the casing almost shattering with the force of the impact. Several customers and staff at the bar turned in unison, a low murmur running through them. Linda broke away from me and jumped to her side, putting her arm around her and whispering something into her ear as Hayley started to cry.

Her boyfriend can't turn up quick enough. Need some other cretin to keep this crank occupied.

They then both vanished towards the toilets, leaving me on my own, sheepishly shrugging and mutely throwing my hands apologetically up to the audience she had garnered.........

Dirty Laundry.

When I reached the Hogshead pub, it was surprisingly quiet. Just a few customers milling about, most of them in suits and dresses, Aintree 2008 tags hanging from their clothing like a badge of honour. I had removed mine on the way from the train station, it was annoying me, swinging from my top button for some reason.

Sky Sports News was playing on all the plasma screens dotted about, and there was no discernible kind of music in the venue to be heard, which I found depressingly symptomatic of these franchise bars.

Most saw-dust boozers in the city had a beat-up old jukebox stuck unevenly in a corner somewhere.

That's not to say that the selection of tracks on offer were any good, like.

Usually they just featured populist shite like The Greatest Christmas Album in the World - Ever, Now! 65, Westlife's Greatest Hits, Top Gear - The Album.

But there were diamonds in the rough. The Jacaranda Bar on Slater Street was my personal favorite.

Ahhh. The Jac.

The original home of what Mick Jagger once allegedly referred to as the "Four-headed-monster". The Fabs. The "Four lads who shook the world".

A diverse, chilled-out place to meet your mates in.

No knob-heads with bad attitudes ripped on cocaine, no uptight women with chips on their shoulders the size of the Rock of Gibraltar. Which was mystifying really, when you considered that bars like Dom Juan's just across the street was full of them. It was like a clash of two schools of thought - People who were thinkers, with social skills, genuine smiles, alert, intelligent, cultured, possessive of positive attitudes.....and those who were not.

Just a friendly venue to sit in and chat to the stranger next to you about society, music and popular culture. None of that senseless fighting over how some flake had spilt your pint - a simple "Sorry mate" and you were sorted. 99% of the time you would end up sharing a few scoops with them. It was just that kind of venue.

Plus, the jukebox they had in there was the business - full albums, only a few greatest hits compilations. The Queen Is Dead, Never Mind the Bollocks, Wish You Were Here, Are You Experienced? Kasabian, Abbey Road, Sticky Fingers, The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And the Spiders From Mars..... It was a selection of familiar music that crossed decades and genres that any punter truly into their tunes appreciated to the max.

But here I was in the present, sipping on a watery, loose bevvy, the latest test cricket scores droning from the TV set above my head. Nothing to keep me in this gaffe.

A light yet insistently repetitive tap on my left shoulder.

No-one here knew me - did they?

I spun around to face this intrusion.

A bright-eyed statuesque looking blondie, smile fixed on her face, posture firm and fixed, addressed me:

"Is your first name FRED...?????"

Was it?

Of course it was. But why are you...YOU...of all people ............asking me questions such as this?

In this bar, at this time...?

"Yeah, it is.....How'd you know that??" I mumbled apprehensively.

"It's just that me mate says she used to go out with you, oh, aaaaages ago..." She said coyly, smile widening.

I couldn't think of who it would be. Several names and faces flashed through my mind. But I didn't want to hazard a guess.

"Yeah?... really?..... small world isn't it?" I said, completely scoobied.

She turned away, giggling to herself, striding away to an unseen corner of the bar, leaving me standing there mute and shocked, like a flicker of lightening had struck my forehead.

I stood there silently for a few moments, trying to examine what had just been said.

It didn't make sense. It was all backwards.

She had seemingly vanished, and I was strangely inwardly suspicious, too wary to follow her. I turned back to the bar, sipping on the last of my pint.

I listened to the TV and the muted conversations around me twitchily, wanting to exit that place in the coolest possible, I'm-expected-elsewhere fashion.

Another tap on my shoulder, making me almost spit the last remnants of my pint from my wobbling lips. I spun 180 degrees on the spot, looking pertubed, quizzical.

A quick glance, then........Cover -uuuuuupppp.....

"Hello there Mister....saw you just walk in this place....Been a while hasn't it?" said Linda, her confident manner and forward nature unsettling me just for a moment. I stood there mutely, feeling awkward and nervous. I could only look at her up and down, with a fascinated sense of disbelief.

She looked so different, it was strange. Her skin was pleasingly tanned, her sleepy blue eyes gleamed and shone supernaturally. She had a floral yellow dress on that made her glow. And she had subtle slashes of blonde in her shoulder-length dark hair, not too extreme but pleasing. Her smile didn't waver, it seemed real to me, not forced.

Yeah, she looked fantastic.

"Hey....Yeah, it's...been a while...... How are you these days then?" I said, laughing to myself in my shyness.

"I'm good...just got back from the races, had a ball.....You looking well............ very smart in that suit, I gotta say....." she breathily replied as she flicked her hair away from her face, delicately stroking it behind her ears with deft fingertips. She tilted her head to one side slightly, and bit her bottom lip. It was a slick and beautifully orchestrated piece of body language, inviting yet guarded at the same time. She knew she had me.

"You on your own?"

Deceptively hard to answer that. Did she mean literally on my own or in the male-female aspect? Play it safe.

You've got this down.

"Yeah.....well at the moment, I'm Han Solo like....was thinking up catching a few mates in town later, we've been to the races as well...." I rummaged in my suit jacket and clumsily flashed her my Aintree tag.

"Oh....it's a wonder we never bumped into each other earlier today then....." she said, her fingers stroking her own tag slowly.

"Listen, Linda....About the past..." I was about to say, but she thankfully stopped me by softly reaching up and placing her right index and forefingers over my lips.

"Shhhh. That can wait. I'd very much like you to sit with us for a bit......It would be nice to talk properly, wouldn't it, Mister?

I imagine at that moment my face lit up like traffic lights.

"Yeah....I'd like that, Linda....."