THE FERGUSON AFFAIR
~ 1 ~
Alex Ferguson sipped his drink and a large globule of mucus dropped into his mug.
“Aaaaargh! Shit!” he exclaimed as his naked torso was splattered with coffee. He ran starkers through the house, drops of liquid flying out behind him until he reached the bathroom, where he grabbed a large towel from the airing cupboard and wrapped it around him, trying to ease the pain. Although it was only his chest that had been scalded, the pain was coursing through his body like a bolt of lightning. He drew his curtains, only too aware of the eyes watching him from across the road, and tiptoed to his bedroom. He sat on the bed and turned over to the female figure on his right. “My wife will be home soon,” he whispered, “Maybe you should be going.”
“Not until I get my money,” she replied. Alex hesitated.
“Thirty, did ye say?”
“Forty now.”
“Wha’? Ye hardly did anything,” he said, easily conceding, as he got out his wallet. “Wha’ did you say your name was?”
“Ainsley. Ainsley Jarvis.”
“Nice name – I’m sure I’ve heard it before. You’re sure you didn’t play for Aberdeen?” he enquired, for the second time that night. She nodded, wondering whether he realized she was female. She stepped onto the fleecy carpet that adorned Alex’s floor and put on her clothes. Alex gazed at her feminine, curvaceous body and wondered about how Manchester United were going to get out of their current spot of bother.
[circa 1998]
Any relation to any actual person, living or dead, is purely incidental
