Rob looked up and saw Tom strutting towards him like an angry rhino.
“I've been looking for you.”
“Hi Tom, how you doing?”
“Don't you how you doing me, you slag.” Tom threw a right hook, Rob felt the full force of the punch miss his nose by millimetres. He took a step backwards.
“I know what you fucking did at the party,” Tom barked. “I thought we were friends.”
“Me?” said Rob.
“Don't you play the innocent, Carly told me. What the fuck is wrong with you? If it's not bad enough kissing your mate’s wife, doing it in front of her seven-year-old daughter. You sick fuck.”
He threw another punch, but again Rob was able to dodge out of the way.
“You got the wrong guy mate,” Rob said, still hoping he could talk his way out of this.
“Really? Really?” A vein on the side of Tom’s head throbbed.
“Yeah, you know I’d never do that to you.”
“Don’t lie to me mate, I know it was you. You were the only one wearing a Santa costume.” This time the punch connected with Rob’s temple and he went down like a Santa down a chimney.