Atherly Gilgeous

Atherly Gilgeous burped loudly and lay back on the roof tiles. The cigarette was making him feel quite sick, and he was worried about burning his fingers. Not to mention the taste and smell, which were ruining what he believed was probably a very good glass of brandy.

The brandy was easier. Especially if he chewed fruit pastilles at the same time. It tasted much nicer than the whiskey, which reminded Atherly of some particularly traumatic cough medicine he’d once had.

His father got the whiskey in un-marked bottles, with just a thick paper label and a batch number on them. Atherly didn’t know where they came from but he trusted that some very important people in the world of whiskey were really ever so fond of cough medicine.

The brandy, on the other hand, had a name and everything, albeit a name in French which Atherly couldn’t read and, even if he could, he would have pretended not to. Atherly Gilgeous hated French, and not just because of his French teacher. She obviously thought far too highly of herself and that was enough by itself, but the way the other boys fawned over her made Atherly sick. He’d never stoop so low. I mean, if he ever were to make a move it would be something fucking romantic actually, not just chocolates and roses, or those stupid Le Creuset stockings.

Not that it mattered one bit what she thought. The point was, Atherly Gilgeous was having fun. And he was going to damn well carry on having fun if it killed him. Conceivably it could kill him, getting drunk on the roof. What would they say then? What would they say if they found him dead? Well, Mah-Mah would probably completely blow up her top and Pah-Pah would, presumably, finally just stop speaking altogether.

He stubbed the cigarette out a little too early, and a little too inexpertly, causing it to fall in, let’s face it, a fucking poetic way, right onto the front steps.

Well, he wasn’t going to just leap off the roof. That would make things far too easy for them. They’d had him in the first place anyway, hadn’t they? Well, they’d have to take responsibility for him now, wouldn’t they? He’d show them that he could handle being by himself, so that they’d finally take some responsibility. He was running the whole house by himself right now, wasn’t he? Of course he could manage a little place in Camden.

And he’d make sure it was a fair house too. People could come and go as they pleased, have some food and things, just as long as everyone was relaxed and chilled and no-one was just normal.

Really, that was the problem with Atherly’s parents. They were just so normal. Why couldn’t they just let him express himself a bit. I mean, just look at this garden. It looks like a stately home. Just what some commoner (yes, commoner - Mah-Mah be damned!) would have if they won the lottery. They could make a proper difference in the world, not just spend all their money on this stupid brandy.

Now that he thought about it, Atherly could feel that it was having some sort of an effect. But he was definitely still sober. He could’ve had a talk with the headmaster right there and then, and no-one would ever guess he was drunk. So he must not be drunk enough at all.

He put two fruit pastilles in his mouth, a red and a black, and took another slug of the brandy. He tried swilling it ‘round his mouth a bit, but it burned and he spluttered, getting some of it on his shirt and tie. Well, it wasn’t such a bad thing if his tie smelled of alcohol. Maybe he wouldn’t mind it if everyone at school knew he’d been drinking.

He was naturally well in advance of his years anyway. He knew he made some of the other students nervous, just by being, well, just by being the way he was. It wasn’t everyone who’d read as many books as he had at his age. There were plenty of proper adults, with their own houses in Camden, who’d probably not read as much as him.

So, if they knew that he enjoyed a drink every now and then, what was the harm? Although “enjoyed” was probably putting too fine a point on it. But still.

Yeah, why couldn’t they just do something? I mean, God! They’d probably just waste away in their oak-lined bloody hotel of a house if he wasn’t there to shake them up once in a while. They were just so stuck in their ways! Some proper, radical thinking would really do some good.

Like when he’d had that idea about letting the homeless chappies sleep in the stables. I mean, it wasn’t his fault, was it? Pretty unusual thing to happen anyway. I mean, normal people just don’t do that sort of thing, do they? You’d think they’d be grateful, living out in the country for free. You’d have thought he might get a ‘thank you’ or something.

Anyway, he needed to think bigger if he was going to properly change the world. He needed to think about his image too. A beret or something. Maybe some sort of beard? He stroked the downy stubble on his chin pensively and frowned. Wouldn’t take all that long to grow a beard, would it? The trick was to be iconic. Not "handsome", like all those stupid boys, but iconic. Yes, he could certainly grow a beard.

He took another large mouthful of brandy, and winced. Why did they have to waste all that money? He didn’t need their money. He’d do it by himself. Really, when you thought about it, it was the money that was the problem.

Another swig. He’d almost got through half the bottle now. About half of what he was aiming for. Pretty good going really. So, it was the money that was the problem, was it? Then maybe, just maybe, if he just took all their money away from them…

Well, obviously, if there was no money then there’d be no problem, would there? Money’s ruined this whole stupid planet, hasn’t it? They say you can’t take it with you but when was the last time you saw some old person giving all their money away? His Grand-daddy was old, but he never gave him anything, did he?

You can take your true feelings with you though, can’t you? I mean, God, or Buddha or whatever, would probably let you. Everyone’d be free. The more money you have, the less you have true friends; the ones who really matter. And then the terrorists wouldn’t have any money too!

Bloody brilliant! Atherly Gilgeous could certainly drink to that! Abolish money and change the world.

He was extremely drunk. His head fell back heavily, and he fell unconscious in the happy knowledge that, tomorrow, the world would be a better place.

And, the next day, Atherly Gilgeous went on to abolish human suffering and make everyone truly happy, even Mah-Mah.