Southampton, 1985

Arthur unlocked his front door and stepped in from the damp and grey weather. It was 10:30 and he’d already been to uni, suffering through one of Wilkins’ lectures. Jesus wept but the man could go on! Worse still the man only ever had morning lectures; 8:30 in the morning! Seriously, what was the world coming to? Arthur had only gone to uni to avoid working for a few more years. And to shut up his bell-end father of course.

Well, he was home now and just in time for his mid-morning cereal. He’d saved the last of the coco pops from the variety pack for a special treat. After that, he’d have a nice cup of tea and, if he was still hungry, some toast. Then maybe, just maybe he’d feel up to working on his dissertation.

. . .

He was right. Debbie, 21 from Sheffield, had sorted him out and now he felt ready to start doing some work. As he passed through the lounge with his tea and toast he noticed the paper and made a mental note to check for deposits into next week’s spankbank.

Climbing to the attic bedroom of his shared house, Arthur closed the door with his bottom and settled to his desk. A stack of books was waiting to be read as part of his dissertation, ‘Fantasy novels of the 20th century: A retreat from modern life?’ but lying next to them was Arthur’s notebook. He tried, he really did, to pick up a textbook, but, he reasoned, there were still two days left due until the deadline, so it couldn’t hurt to spend a little time making some notes.

Arthur’s father had given him an ultimatum, go to university and get a degree first or take his place in the family firm as soon as he finished 6th Form. He’d been a tosser like that ever since Arthur’s mum had died. Always berating him for reading too much and not having any friends. Arthur didn’t see the problem. Most of the kids at school were pillocks. They never left him be, calling him minger, throwing food at him or laughing at his briefcase. Why, on earth, would he want to spend any more time with them?

He supposed his dad had been alright once, in fact he’d bought Arthur his copy of the Lord of the Rings. But, after mum had died, dad had thrown himself into work. By the time he was 11 Arthur could use the hob and would make his own dinner. His father seemed to live off of crackers, cheese and scotch and not a night had gone by where he didn’t fall asleep in front of the TV. Arthur simply learned to avoid him and so avoid his temper. For Arthur, going to uni was a relief... for both of them. His dad sent Arthur a cheque once a month in an envelope addressed by his secretary, Mrs Goggins.

As a child, Arthur had loved going into his father’s office. Mrs Goggins, who Arthur was always sure had been the inspiration for the elderly postmistress, always had a bowl of boiled sweets on her desk. When Arthur first came to uni, Mrs Goggins would slip a couple of sweets into the envelope, but when his father had commented to her at the staff Christmas party that Arthur was getting “a little tubby” she’d stopped.

Well, his dad could go fuck himself if he thought Arthur was going anywhere near those bloody offices. He’d get a job as far away as possible, like Portsmouth or Reading, that’d piss off the old man.

He still had the same copy of the Lord of the Rings, the spine cracked and creased, he’d read it so many times. That was where he’d first fallen in love with fantasy and where he’d drawn his first ideas for his own world. Or, at least he thought he did.

He’d woken up one night during 6th Form covered in sweat, which was a unique experience for someone who considered wanking exercise, bursting with ideas. He’d grabbed the first thing to hand and started writing. Since then he’d filled half a dozen exercise books with notes, details, pictures and maps. His imagination never seemed to leave him alone.

Opening his notebook to where he’d left off yesterday night, he read through his last few notes. He’d had an idea for a city within his world. It was called Ffestyn and it was a city of men, halflings and orcs. The men ruled, keeping the orcs as slaves and using the halflings as traders and artisans. He’d had the most vivid of dreams the night before and wanted to add in some details for a character he’d invented, a villain perhaps, called Xavier Clemons. As he wrote, time seemed to pass by like his childhood had, in a confusing blur of actions and reactions.

His stomach grumbled and, looking at his clock, he realised it was early evening. He decided to stick a pizza in the oven and then watch some tele. While he waited for the pizza to cook, he let his mind wander to thoughts of Adrenon, a world of his creation. He could see the ancient walls of Ffestyn, hear the seagulls drifting on the warm breeze off of the Sweetsea and feel its waves lapping at his feet. Reaching down he cupped some water and drank it down, sure enough is tasted of sugar. Looking along the beach he could see a beautiful maiden, cooling her feet in the surf while collecting sea shells.

Looking up she notices him. Her face takes on a look of confusion, “From where do you hail, to be wearing such strange garments?”

Looking down, Arthur noted that the same Transformers t-shirt was stretched over his belly. Nice one imagination! He thought. Even in my dreams I’m a fat bastard!

Looking up into her eyes “Hailing lady, my name is…” Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep! Shaken out of his daydreaming Arthur coughed through black smoke and he grabbed a tea towel and opened the oven. His pizza was now a black charcoal mess.

“What the fuck Forsythe?! Can’t you even make pizza without burning the fucking house down?!” Jack, one of Arthur’s housemates had come bustling into the kitchen.

Arthur cringed. “Sorry Jack, I’ll clear it up.”

“You’d fucking better! I’m sick of this shit!” he raged.

“Calm down Jack, it was an accident, wasn’t it Arthur?” his saviour had arrived, as she always did. Arthur had met Liz own his first day and at the end of the first year they’d moved into a house with Jack and Dave. She was, in Arthur’s mind, perfect. Like him, she studied Literature. She’d read all of Tolkien’s books and loads of other greats. And, she was so pretty.

“Everyday it’s something else.” Jack continued. Jack was, in Arthur’s humble opinion, a wanker. He studied Geography and was in the running club, so clearly, he was a Neanderthal.

“If his dad didn’t pay double rent we’d never have let him move in with us.” Arthur recognised that Jack was working himself up into a fall on meltdown. He seemed to enjoy getting worked up, especially with Arthur.

“That’s enough Jack. He made a mistake and he’s cleaning it up, there’s no need to be a dick about it. Miami Vice is about to start, so why don’t you go watch that and I’ll put the kettle on while Arthur clears up?” Liz was always doing stuff like this for Arthur, although he had no idea why, every day something Arthur did seem to piss Jack off and yet every day Liz came to his rescue.

“What was it this time Arthur? Day dreaming about Adrenon? Or picturing the page 3 model?” said Liz, grinning as she filled the kettle from the sink.

“Adrenon again. It’s so real Liz, I feel like I’m there.” Arthur responded, almost pleading with her to believe him.

“I assume you still haven’t finished your dissertation?” She gave him her older sister-tone.

“No but I’ve got everything I need, just gotta settle down to it. I make some beans on toast and then I’ll go and get out of everyone’s hair. I’ll finish it tonight, I promise.” It was so important to him that she didn’t think he was a complete fuck up.

“Look, between you and me, I think Miami Vice is for knobheads. So why don’t I come upstairs and help you finish?” Arthur nearly turned her down but then she gave him that smile and he said,

“That’d be great, thanks.”