Patchouli
Copyright© 2026 by Adam Crowe
Chapter 1
Garry ended his call to his youngest daughter Michaela.
“What’s up, Paul? You look properly lost in thought there...”
Paul nodded. “I am a bit, mate...”
“You still stressing about buying the gym?” asked Garry.
Paul shook his head. “Nah, I’ve decided to buy it, mate.”
Garry smiled. “Oh, so this isn’t another three-beer problem?”
Paul passed Garry a cigarette.
The kitchen door opened. Linn, Garry’s wife, shuffled across the wooden floor in her old slippers to the kettle with her hair in curlers.
She looked between them. “On the piss again, I see!”
She swatted at the air. “It stinks of those poxy cigarettes in here!”
Garry turned. “Heard you cackling in the lounge again...”
“Yeah, I’m talking Helen through how to open a Facebook account ... she’s crap at stuff like that.”
Linn took a second glance at Garry. “You using that Just For Men again?”
Garry’s eyes dropped to study the flecked pattern of the breakfast bar counter.
She looked at Paul. “I got me tea, I’ll leave you boys to set the world straight, again!”
Paul smiled. “Your hair looks good, mate.”
Garry opened another beer. “Carry on, mate, she won’t be back.”
Paul drew on his cigarette. “It’s what we chatted about—last Wednesday?”
Garry shrugged. “You’ll need to remind me, mate...”
Paul slipped off his training shoes. “You know ... the messing-about we admitted to doing in our teens—with lads...”
Garry blushed. “Yeah...”
Paul exhaled his smoke at the ceiling. “The night Nina kicked me out, we sat here—you were wearing that short grey robe?”
Garry nodded and reached for a second ashtray.
Paul continued. “I was wearing my blue flipflops. You glanced down at me and said, ‘tidy feet, mate’—I looked at you and said, ‘tidy legs!’”
Linn burst back through the kitchen. “Forgot to sugar it!”
She glanced briefly at seven empty cans, then left.