Busted
by Bill Robertson
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: A sozzled teenager has to think fast to avoid falling foul of a suspicious mother.
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I was fifteen and I was very, very drunk.
‘Andrew! Where the hell have you been?’ my mother’s anger was evident in her every syllable. She wanted an explanation and it had better be a good one.
‘Uhh… I… urr…that is I…’ I slurred trying to stall long enough to give my sozzled brain a chance to come up with a good excuse. My legs were unsteady and I could feel myself weaving a little.
‘Have you any idea what time it is?’ she snapped. This was a purely rhetorical inquiry. We both knew how late it was.
‘I was… that is I was, uh I was round at Gary’s,’ I finally blurted. ‘We were watching a film.’
‘Until two o’clock in the morning?’
‘Eh, aye…’
‘And just where were Gary’s parents during this midnight movie matinee?’
‘Um… out for a meal or something. It’s their wedding anniversary.’
This much at least was true. Gary’s parents had foolishly trusted their wayward son to look after their house. The possibility of ‘having a few friends around’ had also been discussed. It was unlikely, however, that they had imagined that this was merely a euphemism for the alcohol sodden teenage debauchery that had actually taken place.
‘Have you been drinking?’ she drew close to scrutinise my breath for a whiff of the demon drink.
‘No,’ I replied instantly. I tried to make sure that I injected just the right mixture of huffy indignation and wide-eyed innocence into my voice. I had been crunching mints and chewing gum all night to camouflage any telltale odours for just this eventuality. I was reasonably confident that I’d pass this test or at least confuse the signals enough to get off with a ‘not proven’ verdict from the parental court.
There was a long drawn out moment of silence as she scrutinised me. It was as if she thought that if she stared at me long and hard enough I might suddenly drop to my knees and confess all of the puerile sins of my adolescence. Finally, she let out a sigh that was one part disgust to two parts exasperation.
‘Get to your bed,’ she said at last. ‘We’ll talk about this again in the morning.’ She turned and headed back up the stairs.
‘Ok, fine. Whatever,’ I muttered. Like most teenagers, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, I sometimes entertained the notion that I was somehow smarter than my parents were. I would have to call Gary when I got up to make sure we had our stories straight. I resisted the temptation to smirk. I knew that I might have won the battle but the war was far from over.
Swearwords: None.
Description: A sozzled teenager has to think fast to avoid falling foul of a suspicious mother.
_____________________________________________________________________
I was fifteen and I was very, very drunk.
‘Andrew! Where the hell have you been?’ my mother’s anger was evident in her every syllable. She wanted an explanation and it had better be a good one.
‘Uhh… I… urr…that is I…’ I slurred trying to stall long enough to give my sozzled brain a chance to come up with a good excuse. My legs were unsteady and I could feel myself weaving a little.
‘Have you any idea what time it is?’ she snapped. This was a purely rhetorical inquiry. We both knew how late it was.
‘I was… that is I was, uh I was round at Gary’s,’ I finally blurted. ‘We were watching a film.’
‘Until two o’clock in the morning?’
‘Eh, aye…’
‘And just where were Gary’s parents during this midnight movie matinee?’
‘Um… out for a meal or something. It’s their wedding anniversary.’
This much at least was true. Gary’s parents had foolishly trusted their wayward son to look after their house. The possibility of ‘having a few friends around’ had also been discussed. It was unlikely, however, that they had imagined that this was merely a euphemism for the alcohol sodden teenage debauchery that had actually taken place.
‘Have you been drinking?’ she drew close to scrutinise my breath for a whiff of the demon drink.
‘No,’ I replied instantly. I tried to make sure that I injected just the right mixture of huffy indignation and wide-eyed innocence into my voice. I had been crunching mints and chewing gum all night to camouflage any telltale odours for just this eventuality. I was reasonably confident that I’d pass this test or at least confuse the signals enough to get off with a ‘not proven’ verdict from the parental court.
There was a long drawn out moment of silence as she scrutinised me. It was as if she thought that if she stared at me long and hard enough I might suddenly drop to my knees and confess all of the puerile sins of my adolescence. Finally, she let out a sigh that was one part disgust to two parts exasperation.
‘Get to your bed,’ she said at last. ‘We’ll talk about this again in the morning.’ She turned and headed back up the stairs.
‘Ok, fine. Whatever,’ I muttered. Like most teenagers, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, I sometimes entertained the notion that I was somehow smarter than my parents were. I would have to call Gary when I got up to make sure we had our stories straight. I resisted the temptation to smirk. I knew that I might have won the battle but the war was far from over.
About the Author
Born in Perth and now living just outside Aberdeen, Bill Robertson has created a large body of work showcasing a tendency towards the darker side of life and stories which leave an indelible impression on the reader long after the final word is read.
An active member of Aberdeen’s Lemon Tree Writer’s Group, Bill’s work has appeared in Journeys, an anthology of work from the group, and most recently in a chapbook, Himself by the Seaside. He has performed some of his stories as part of the Word and New Words festivals and other events around the north-east. He has also self published two e-books: Reindeer Dust, a short Christmas story, and When the Revolution Comes, a collection of linked short stories concerning an uprising in a fictional eastern European country. A number of his stories have featured on the website http://www.shortbreadstories.co.uk, where he has been chosen as the featured Friday story a number of times and has won a number of competitions with his short stories and flash fiction pieces.
If you would like to hear an interview with Bill and listen to him read some of his work, please go to this link to hear Bill’s appearance on Mearns FM's Smith on Sunday show. You can also keep up to date with Bill’s work by visiting http://www.billrobertson55.wordpress.com, where he often shares work in progress as well as finished stories.
An active member of Aberdeen’s Lemon Tree Writer’s Group, Bill’s work has appeared in Journeys, an anthology of work from the group, and most recently in a chapbook, Himself by the Seaside. He has performed some of his stories as part of the Word and New Words festivals and other events around the north-east. He has also self published two e-books: Reindeer Dust, a short Christmas story, and When the Revolution Comes, a collection of linked short stories concerning an uprising in a fictional eastern European country. A number of his stories have featured on the website http://www.shortbreadstories.co.uk, where he has been chosen as the featured Friday story a number of times and has won a number of competitions with his short stories and flash fiction pieces.
If you would like to hear an interview with Bill and listen to him read some of his work, please go to this link to hear Bill’s appearance on Mearns FM's Smith on Sunday show. You can also keep up to date with Bill’s work by visiting http://www.billrobertson55.wordpress.com, where he often shares work in progress as well as finished stories.