TROUBLE BREWING (A short story) Part 1

‘Did you know that nearly fifty per cent of the population of Hastings is on some form of benefit?’ Asked the man sat across from me at the table in Brighton.
‘No, really?’ I replied although I obviously believed him.
‘Good God!’ Liz exclaimed behind me as the man sagely nodded. In the silence that followed, I gleaned strange satisfaction from the statistic—nearly fifty per cent of the population was approximately half—I was far from alone. However, I was quite far from Hastings.
‘It’s quite a long way to Hastings, isn’t it?’ I asked to break the silence.
‘Ooh, it’s not that far,’ the man, called Bill, said.
‘It’s about eighty miles along the coast.’ Liz chimed.
‘Well that’s what I mean,’ I said. ‘Eighty miles is a long way from here.’
‘I don’t know,’ Bill shook his head. ‘It’s less than a hundred miles.’
Baffled, I said, ‘It’s still more than fifty!’
‘Mmm or thirty,’ offered Liz. This baffled Bill, who ignored us both and, with a shrug, picked up the paper, ‘The Granite Observer’. Its headline read ‘SHIP SINKS AT SEA: MUCH DEATH BY DROWNING!’ It was quite an obvious tabloid really, noted for its stylistic simplicity.
‘Oh, yes, please…’ I was grateful when Liz offered a cup of tea, Assam, a minute later. The day had dragged until Bill had arrived; then it had stood still. An agony of boredom seized my heart at the table right then as Bill read the paper. I could just see his eyebrows above the sheet. They formed a comic quizzical expression as the eyes below inevitably travelled from left to right so the brain behind could receive the printed messages.
‘Good read, Bill?’ I forced myself to say, my legs becoming concrete.
‘Mmm.’ Was the irritated response from studious Bill, behind the paper. You prick, I thought, resenting his hidden face and fantasised about setting fire to his damn paper screen. My tea was cold!
‘Any chance of another cup, please Liz?’ I was rude enough to ask.