Nicky entered the pub. He bought himself a pint and then began to make his way to their table. He was walking slowly, moving with a carefully orchestrated wide gait, as though he was a cowboy who had spent a long day in the saddle. He was trying to play it cool but there was no way he could hide his big cheesy grin.

‘You alright, mate?’ Martin said. ‘You look like you’ve been riding a bike with no seat.’

Nicky didn’t lose his grin. ‘Riding’s the word. Hard at it, I’ve been. Oh yes.’

He eased into his chair with great care, and then spent some time shifting around until he was comfortable. He looked up at them and said softly, ‘Chafing.’

Johnny snatched up his own pint and took a big gulp to stifle a giggle.

Nicky reached across the table and chinked his own glass gently against Johnny’s.

‘Mate,’ Nicky said. ‘You are the best. The absolute best. You are the world’s hero.’

Martin was looking confused. ‘I don’t…what?’

Nicky chinked Johnny’s glass once more.

‘This guy,’ Nicky said. ‘He only went and got me set up on his Aunt Irma’s Magical Mystery Tour.’

Nicky waited for the penny to drop.

Martin turned slowly to Johnny who had at last managed to pull himself together and no longer needed to hide behind his pint glass.

‘Your Aunt Irma,’ Martin said. ‘Who rents the rooms above the heavy metal club. Who was in the paper after the club served her with a noise abatement order?’

Johnny nodded.

Martin said, ‘The same Aunt Irma who runs the bridge club whose slogan is “Come one, come all”?’

‘Oh yeah, baby,’ Nicky said.

‘Yeah, that Aunt Irma,’ Johnny said. ‘Once a year she rents a row of cottages in the country to allow some of her more discerning clients to take a little tour, cottage to cottage. She calls it the Magical Mystery Tour. There was a spare space, so…’

Martin stared.

Nicky grinned some more. He drank some drink, and then winked smugly at Martin.

Martin was looking faintly stunned. ‘I had a date on Friday. Peck on the cheek goodnight, and nothing else since.’

Johnny said, ‘Sorry, mate.’

Nicky said, ‘No cheeks, and definitely no pecking. Though their mouths were involved, know what I’m saying?’

Martin’s shoulders were slumped. He would not look at Johnny, and definitely not at Nicky, whose face was nothing but gloating leer.

Nicky said, ‘Five cottages, five bored housewives.’ He looked at Johnny. ‘Ask your aunt for me, is that some kind of record?’ Nicky drained his pint, then eased slowly out of his chair. He pointed with his glass at Johnny. ‘I had another idea, branding wise. She could call it the M & M tour, because all the colours of the ‘bow, man.’ He sighed. ‘Cottage number three. She was a tall glass of hot nymph coffee.’

Nicky took himself carefully away to the bar.

Martin muttered, ‘That’s Skittles. Twat.’

Martin turned to face Johnny. ‘Speaking of twats…’

‘Mate,’ Johnny said. ‘You wouldn’t have liked it.’

‘Bored housewives handing out blowjobs? Don’t you know me at all?’

‘Mate,’ Johnny said. ‘I seriously doubt they were housewives. But Nicky was right about the M & M thing. You know how M & M’s sometimes are chocolate, but sometimes they have peanuts in them?’