The Man in the Moon.

The Man in the Moon.
by Angharad

Copyright© 2014 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
  
Harvest_moon.jpg

(Photo courtesy of Wikipedia).

“Have you ever noticed its face?” said Martin staring up at the full moon. “It looks like it’s smiling or laughing.”

“Combination of craters, lava flows and the brain’s insistence on seeing patterns where they don’t exist,” said Alan, dismissively.

“Yeah, I know all that, but it’s still like a face,” Martin continued his gaze.

“Keep staring at it and you’ll go blind or mad. Lunacy comes from Luna—the goddess of the moon. Controls women’s periods and presumably PMS, so lunacy might be about right.”

“You’re just miffed because Georgie threw you out.”

“I didn’t do anything to deserve it, honest to god, I didn’t.”

“You always say that.”

“Well it’s true this time.” Alan protested his innocence but Martin was enjoying his teasing of the boy who was dating his sister.

“She just went ballistic when I told her I had to work on Saturday.”

“Why, what did she want you to do?”

“Take her shopping. I mean, she can go flipping shopping anytime, she doesn’t need me there does she, except to carry stuff.”

“That’s what I was going to say, beasts of burden with wallets; that’s us.”

“Absolutely. She just went ape-shit, gorra be the time of the month, hasn’t it?”

“How would I know, I’m a bloke.”

“Yeah, but she’s your sister, you should know when she’s on the rag.”

“Why? Why would she tell me?”

“Well okay, but you’d know from her short temper, wouldn’t you?”

“Not really, Abi has always been on a short fuse.”

“But it’s hardly my fault is it if John caught flu is it? Though to listen to him it’s full blown ebola.”

“If it is, I hope he pays me back the tenner he owes me before he pops his clogs.”

“It’s not even flu, just a heavy cold.”

“Man-flu,” as Abi calls it.

“Yeah, she doesn’t seem to get sick too often, does she? All that fresh air I suppose.”
“She loves her job.”

“What protecting water rats or whatever?”

“It’s water voles, you numpty, and her job with the Environment Agency means the rivers are clean enough for salmon and trout to use them again.”

“Yeah, like when did you last see a salmon swimming up here?”

“They do apparently, or according to Abigail they do.”

“Surprised she doesn’t get eyestrain looking through that microscope.”

“Alan, she spends more time collecting samples than analysing them. She moaned last week because she had to buy some new jeans ’cause the other ones had snagged on a style while she was walking to the river.”

“She’s got more clothes than Marks and bloody Spencer, wouldna thought she needed to buy more,” Alan shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “’S getting a bit cold.”

“That isn’t why she was miffed with you.”

“What buying clothes?”

“Yeah.”

“So why was it then?”

“What day is it in a fortnight?”

“From today?”

“Yeah,” Martin shook his head.

“Easy, Friday, same as today.”

“No, you dipstick, what day is it?”

“Friday, I just told you.”

“You pillock, how long to your birthday?”

“Two weeks, why?”

“So what day is it in a fortnight?”

“Friday, I told you.”

“What day is your birthday?”

“Um, let’s see it was a Thursday last year, we got rat arsed if you remember?”

“My liver remembered, did it permanent damage with that punch you made. So what day is your birthday this year?”

“Friday—must be, yeah, Friday, why, you buying me a present?”

“No, but someone else was going to.”

“What, Abi, you mean?”

“How the hell did you get a degree?” Martin rolled his eyes.

“Easy, look I’m better with figures than women, all right.”

“Yeah, so I noticed.”

“Yeah, well Caroline had issues.”

“What of taste?”

“Ha bloody ha, no, her mother didn’t like me.”

“Obviously runs in the family.”

“Very funny.”

“Can’t think what Abi sees in you.”

“My handsome face and manly body?”

Martin snorted, “You deluded puppy.”

“Abi seems to like them.”

“Just remember she gets excited watching bloody otters, so exotic species like a talking chimp probably excites her curiosity as a biologist.”

“Talking chimp—you cheeky sod. I’m not that hairy—an’ Abi seems to like it.”

“What the hair on your palms and soles?”

“Very funny.”

“Not a werewolf are you?”

“Piss off, Mart.”

Martin sniggered, “Well full moon and all that?”

“I’m fine, it’s your bloody sister who’s loony, blowing up like that. Bloody PMT or whatever they call it.”

Martin smirked, but then he knew something Alan didn’t. Until he was six years old he didn’t have a sister, he had a younger brother called Adrian. So it was unlikely to be PMS that was annoying Abigail, just the numpty he was talking to as they strolled down the pub. She obviously hadn’t told him yet about her little anomaly—no female bits—but then he was such a moron, she probably wasn’t thinking of a long term relationship; but that was her business and with her looks and figure, she wouldn’t be lonely for long.



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This story is 897 words long.