It was the smell of cigarette smoke. I think that's what woke me. That or the loud squawking of the nesting seagulls on the roof, piercing my ears. My eyelids struggled to open, glued together by sleep and last night's matted gloss I hadn’t bothered to remove. Finally peeling apart, the blurry, out-of-focus world began to form: mismatched furniture, potted plants, and an occupied futon. Still knackered, a lazy hand reached for my sunglasses, knocking the pill bottle to the floor. Yellow capsules spilled everywhere.
“Shit.” My mouth felt dry, and that sickly metallic tang catches at the back of my throat.
Finding my sunglasses upturned between the lamp and a copy of H.P. Lovecraft's The Shadow Over Innsmouth, I slipped them on. I yawned, stretching wide. My whole body ached—neck cricked, back hunched, fingers locked, toes tingling—not the pleasant kind, but the dull one.
"Shit," I repeated, cracking my knuckles. Instinctively, I lit a cigarette and began to smoke, huffing in the nicotine. "I need coffee."
The still-smoking remnants of last night's cigarette smouldered in the ashtray as I stubbed out the fresh one. Blackened ends and curled-up filters lined the already hefty pile of ash. I dabbed carefully, not wanting to upset or overspill the contents—the last thing I needed this week was to burn the carpet. That had happened in my last place thanks to one muppet who shall not be named, to save their dignity, but who was right now on my futon.
Throwing off the blanket, I stood up, careful not to step on my meds as I crossed the room to the snoring bundle that was Deano Delano, our drummer.
“Oi. Deano? Wakey wakey. Oi. Mate, wake up.” I shook and rocked him, only to be met with a solitary middle finger.
“F’r fuck’s sake, John. Lemme sleep.”
“You know what day it is, divvent you?”
“The day ya let me sleep in?”
“That’s every day, you lazy wanker. Nah, it’s Pride, mate. Howay up and give us a kiss.”
“You can get one when I’m up, not before.”
“Fine. I’ll just kiss Veronica then.”
“Gan do that then.”
Veronica Turner was draped over the arm of the sofa, still in her black fishnets and spiked denim jacket. Her dog leash and chains trailed across the floor like kinky party streamers.
“Mornin’, beautiful. Fancy a kiss to start Pride?”
“Divvent think I didn’t hear you just now with Deano. You’re such a slut.”
“Love ya too.”
“Fine. I warn you now, something may have died in my mouth.”
“I’ll take that chance.”
I leaned in and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around my head, fingers running through my hair. Her breath tasted of tomato, Worcestershire sauce, and egg.
The moment was spoiled by the sound of retching from the ensuite. I looked over to see the door standing open.
Eric "Ric" Werner had his head in the toilet bowl and, judging by the sound of it, was puking up a lung.
“Need me to hold your hair?”
“Fuck you.”
“Is that a…?”
“Get over here and hold my hair if you’re offering.”
I obeyed, giving Veronica a wink as I went. She rolled over to make herself more comfortable and smiled at Georgiana Snow's still-sleeping form. Georgiana's chest rose and fell peacefully.
We sat on the bathroom floor for the next twenty minutes. Ric was sick twice. I kept his hair away from his mouth and rubbed his naked back. His clothes, save for his black Hugo Boss briefs, lay in a pile inside the shower.
“God, that’s the last time I drink.”
“You said that last week.”
“Well, this is the last time.”
“’ K.”
“You divvent believe me?”
“Ain’t my place to say nor judge. I’m not the big man upstairs.”
“Hah. None of us are gannin upstairs.”
“Then might as well make the most of it before we gan down. Speaking of gan down—Happy Pride.”
“Happy Pride, John. Happy Pride.”
“Wanna give me a Pride kiss? Deano’s holding out on me.”
“I said I’d kiss ya later, ya clingy bastard,” Deano’s groggy voice called from the next room. From where we were, I could see he hadn’t moved; his voice was muffled slightly by the pillow.
“Have you seen Gazza?” I asked, gently tousling Ric’s damp hair.
“Out in the garden. I think he shot up. That’s what it looked like. Then again, I was too busy running in here to notice.”
“I owe him a Happy Pride, too.”
“What’s gotten into you this morning? You’re normally such a grumpy bastard. Now you’re… peppy.”
“No, I’m not.”
“No? Just yesterday, you yelled at the seagulls, and I quote, ‘Quiet down, you flying rats, or I will turn you into hat stands.’”
“Did I really say that?”
“Yes.”
“Hah.” Ric smiled weakly.
“I like this softer side of you. You’re cute when you’re not a miserable sod.”
I got up, helping the shaky Ric to his feet. He leaned on me as we made our way slowly back to the living room. Deano was still face down on the futon, snoring softly. Veronica had taken over the couch completely, sprawled out and already scrolling through her phone. The light from the screen cast an eerie glow on her face. She looked exhausted, makeup smudged.
“Coffee, anyone?” I asked, heading toward the kitchenette.
“God, yes,” Veronica groaned, not looking up from her phone.
“Make it strong,” Ric added, collapsing onto my bed.
I started the coffee machine. Hungover from a night at the best Newcastle bars and clubs—The End of the World, The Oblivion Bar, and The Pain Factory—the whirring and grinding sounded like a jackhammer boring through concrete. The smell of fresh coffee filled the small apartment. While waiting, I cleaned up the spilled pills, carefully picking up each capsule and returning them to the bottle. I swallowed the last one dry, shuddering as it slid down my throat.
The coffee finished brewing. I poured seven mugs, adding a generous amount of sugar to six of them. I handed the first mug to Veronica. The second went to Ric, who immediately sipped. His face relaxed somewhat.
"Hmm, so needed."
I took my own mug and sat on the edge of the futon, nudging Deano with my foot. “Coffee’s ready.”
He grumbled incoherently but finally sat up, rubbing his eyes. He took the mug I offered, and we all sat there, sipping.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” Veronica asked, breaking the silence.
“The parade starts at noon,” I said. “We’ve got a couple of hours to get ready.”
“Think I’m gannin' to need all of it,” Ric muttered, looking down at himself. “Can I borrow some pants, mate? I didn’t pack any.”
“Bottom right drawer.” I looked over at Veronica. “You still got your outfit ready?”
“Yeah, it’s in the wardrobe. Just need to not feel like death warmed over,” she replied.
"What are you talking about? Death is beautiful," Georgiana mused, examining her neck in the mirror. It was covered in love bites and bruises from where Veronica and I had been playing last night. "And also far more gentle than you both… So I hear."
“Deano, you gannin' to join us today or sleep through it?” Veronica teased.
“I’ll be there, divvent worry,” he said, stretching and yawning. “Just need to wake up proper.”
"Eric, darling, have you seen my phone?" Ric's wife, Renee, emerged from the spare room where the two of them had been sleeping.
"You put it to charge by the TV."
"So I did. Thanks. Morning all."
“Mornin’.”
We finished our coffee and began the slow process of getting ready. Veronica and Georgiana disappeared into the bathroom to freshen up, while Ric, with Renee’s help, dug out his outfit from under the bed. I picked up my Bisexual Pride flag, which had been draped over a kitchen chair, and carefully folded it into a bandana.
As the morning wound on, the room became increasingly festive.
I put on my glam rock playlist and sang along into an empty kitchen roll tube. We played all the classics—Queen, Adam Lambert, David Bowie, T. Rex, Mott the Hoople.
Deano worked at the sewin’ machine, adding finishin’ touches to his outfit. Veronica sat on the floor making placards. She had done four so far: “Fuck the Government,” “Pride is Forever, Not Just a Month,” “Trans Rights are Human Rights,” and “I put the HOMO in Homo Sapien.” Her hands were slick with glue and glitter. Renee applied Ric's eyeliner, holding his head still as he nodded along to the track.
Then, like the bad penny he was, Gary "Gazza" Falkner stumbled in, stoned out of his mind, wearing the widest grin.
“What’s all this then? Someone’s puked rainbows and glitter.”
“Happy Pride, mate.”
“Oh yeah. Happy Pride. I fuckin’ love you, mate.”
“Oi, Falkner, help me with these placards. We need seven." Veronica called him over. Some of the glitter had splashed onto her face.
“Comin’, love. Let me give ol' Johnnie boy a kiss first.”
He pecked me on the cheek before joinin’ Veronica on the floor.
"Now what do you want me to make?"
"Here for All the Witches?" Renee suggested, calling over her shoulder, before returning to Ric. "There, you’re done. Never again. You fidget too much."
"Sorry, love." Ric kissed her on the lips.
"I can get behind the Witches one."
"Then get making."
"I'll give you both a hand."
"Thanks, Renee, babes."
By the time we were ready to leave, the apartment looked like a vortex had passed through it. Clothes, card, paper, and glitter were strewn everywhere, and the air was thick with the scent of various perfumes and colognes. We did our final checks.
“Yep, seven queers. Everyone’s here,” Ric said, smirking, his arm around Renee's shoulder.
“Right, you horrible lot. Let’s get this party started.”
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