Party Girl at Heart

by Karen Elaine Campbell

  Jonno watched her as she followed the flight path of the aircraft. “He’s just playing Crystal, he won’t be flying like that when he’s lining up the jump, don’t worry. It will be so smooth and so simple that you’ll wonder what you have been worrying about all these weeks,” he teased, as he uncrossed his fingers behind his back.

  From his vantage point, leaning back against the hangar doors, Phil silently lit a cigarette and watched Crystal rolling on the floor with the flying instructor. She was laughing and having fun, dammit: she was teasing and playing with the guy, the hapless fool. He grimaced, the love of his life was a flirt and a tease, and he was head-over-heels hopelessly in love with her, again. So what did that make him, he wondered. Daft, desperate, or both?

  He watched them for another five minutes or so, before he turned around and headed off, back the way that he had come. He wouldn’t know what to say to her after all this time anyhow, ‘Hi Crystal, and thanks for the trip down memory lane,’ he’d probably get his face slapped for his trouble, just what was the etiquette when you’d shagged your ex-girlfriend and then run out on her less than an hour later, he wondered. He’d been such a fool. He’d intended to take things slowly with her, build up her trust again, woo her a bit, before he made his move, but one look and a single whiff of her perfume had been all it had taken, he was disgusted with himself and with his behaviour, but he couldn’t stay away, even now.

  He sat in the rental car that he’d hired at the airport almost a week ago and considered his options, was that it then, he thought, was he just going to turn around and head off back to America without even speaking to her this time? At least he’d managed to sort out the situation with Lolly, once and for all, he supposed. He was now footloose and fancy-free, and the object of his desire was happily living with one guy and rolling around on the floor over there with another one. He needed his head examined. Odd about Lolly though, he’d been dreading having ‘the’ talk with her, getting down to the details, but she’d actually seemed relieved rather than distraught, when he’d finally told her that it was all over. Their meeting hadn’t lasted much more than five minutes, not even long enough for him to drink all of his beer, in fact. Why did English pubs serve their beer in such huge glasses anyhow? He wasn’t used to drinking his alcohol by the pint.

  He was living back in the Dog and Duck, for the short-term only. The landlord, Reg, was on first name terms with him now since he’d spent so much time there, over the years.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket and he resisted the urge to look at it to see who was calling; most likely Saskia, she’d been ringing every ten minutes ever since he’d left the States. She’d given up threatening to fire him, she knew that she couldn’t anyhow. She’d tried the hysterical pop-star routine and the highly-strung recording artist route, both of which he’d seen far too many times before and now she’d moved on to plan ‘B’ and was playing the ‘poor me – hysterical bride-to-be’ card with even less success. Jeremy was most likely taking the brunt of it, poor sod. He hoped that he’d still be talking to him by the time that he got back. Jez did have one advantage over Phil though, since he was sleeping with Saskia he had a way of getting on her good side, he must be good in the sack, he mused, she spent a lot more time smiling than glowering and issuing orders these days, it wouldn’t last though, a leopard never changed its spots, not completely. He reached for the phone anyway, he wouldn’t call her back just yet, he’d just see what kind of message she’d left, then he’d know what kind of mood she was in.

  He watched Crystal attempting to wriggle out of her flying suit, as he checked the text message, her antics were doing strange things for his libido, he’d better get out of here while he still had the chance, he thought, as he reached for the map on the front passenger seat. He reacted strangely every time he saw her these days, unrequited love was really not all it was cracked up to be. He could now fully understand why poets wrote sonnets about it and song writers penned melancholy ballads about it, he’d been paralysed with doubt and indecision ever since he’d seduced her. Three weeks of hell, that’s what it had been. He was beginning to doubt his own sanity.

  A smart rap on the driver’s window jolted him out of his reverie. “You okay in there, young fellow m’lad?” asked a wizened little old man, with a shock of white hair.

  When Phil failed to respond, he rapped again at the window with the end of his walking stick. “What are ye doin’ in there then?” He wanted to know.

  Phil wound down the window, cautiously.

  “I be seein’ you, over there, yonder,” the diminutive little bloke began. “Lookin’ at y’on instructor and the young lassie,” he added, “you one of them pervert types?” he asked.

  Phil found his voice, “N… n… no.”

  The man stared hard.

  “Ex-boyfriend, lover,” Phil began.

  “Ah, a stalker then, that’s what ye be. Well, we don’t want none of that around here, y’hear?” the old codger began and started shaking his stick, threateningly.

  Phil coughed. “Um, no, I don’t think you understand,” he tried to explain, “I haven’t spoken to her yet, I don’t know if she wants to see me or not.”

  The man stopped shaking his stick and stuck his head forwards, staring intently. “Go on, I’m listening,” he said, sucking at his dentures and slipping the top set of teeth so that they clacked together in a very odd way. “What did you say you name was, again?”

  “I didn’t.” Phil said.

  The man frowned.

  “Phil, I’m Phil,” he replied, before he had chance to think about it.

  The guy tapped his forehead with his walking stick. “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” he replied formally. “Egbert Neville-Bakerton, it’s a bit of a mouthful, as names goes, you can call me Jock tho’, everyone does. Caretaker here, you know. Unofficial of course, retired years ago, unpaid, you know,” he added. “I takes care of things around here, I do.”

  “Um, yes, so I see. Well, I’ll just be off, on my way then. No need to tell Crystal that I was here, if you don’t mind. I’m not sure that I want her to know that I’ve been hanging around the place making an idiot of myself,” Phil added, self-consciously.

  “Lovesick, eh?” the old guy grunted, amiably enough. Something akin to compassion crossed fleetingly over the wrinkled and weary countenance. “Happen I know a bit about that, n’all. Well, on yer way then young’un, let’s not let the girl see you here, mopin’ about the place eh? That never did win any young man a fair lady.” He eyed him shrewdly. “When you work up the courage to speak to her again, don’t grovel, stand up straight and look ’er in the eye, they don’t like a doormat they don’t, certainly not feisty young women like that ‘un, anyhow. She looks a bit of a handful, if yer asks me,” he grinned, clacking the top teeth back into place, as he did so.

  “Oh yes, she’s that all right,” Phil agreed, giving the first real genuine smile of the day.

  “On yer way then, I won’t say anything,” Jock instructed, bashing a gnarly old fist on the roof in a final salute. “See yer, another day perhaps. Away now, away.”

  Phil raised his hand in salute and wound up the window as he pulled the car out of the parking bay, watching the strange old fellow in his rear-view mirror, as he made arthritic and uncomfortable progress back across the narrow roadway and into the scruffy old shack at the back of the building. Funny old stick, he didn’t seem so bad, once you got talking to him. Phil wondered what his story was, he seemed like he’d seen a bit of life, in his own way.

  Jonno had clear sight of old Jock talking to the guy in the hire car out of the corner of his eye, he’d have to ask him later what the fellow wanted. Jonno didn’t miss much that went on around here, they couldn’t afford fancy security equipment and expensive 24 hour surveillance, they just had Jock; they paid him in free cups of tea and the odd fry-up and he repaid their kindness in droves. He was a bit of a lonely old guy, and it gave him a purpose and sense of belonging. He’d been an �
��ace’ fighter pilot in his day, before he’d been brought down over Normandy. He walked with a barely-discernible limp these days, but it wasn’t the visible scars that bit deepest, after a couple of glasses of whisky, late at night, he’d tell you more about war than you ever really wanted to know. Not the glamorous headline-grabbing hero stuff, just a group of nineteen or twenty year old boys, young enough to be vulnerable when they found themselves back behind enemy lines, stranded and frightened for their lives.

  He went back to watching Crystal, trying to lever herself out of her ‘charity’ protective clothing. Those overalls may have been chosen for visibility and marketing purposes, but they were far from suitable. There were far too many straps, buckles and belts on that kit, one of the class was bound to get something trapped around the rigging, he thought, most likely Crystal herself. She may have managed to wriggle her way into the slinky outfit, but getting out again was not so simple. He made a mental note to speak to the liaison officer about the clothes, the high visibility suit had been designed for maximum publicity by a celebrity designer, as part of a high profile campaign, but he wasn’t prepared to compromise on safety, not for the sake of fashion.

  Crystal gave one last, long, valiant tug on the buckle securing her suit and was rewarded by the whole lot unravelling in one swift smooth movement, ripping through the thin fabric of the top she was wearing underneath as well. She felt the whole thing give way, as it split straight down the middle tearing into two separate parts. She released the fastener and dived for the remains of the flimsy fabric as the front peeled apart to reveal her underwear, a lurid pink tumble of satin and lace, the whole glorious ‘push-up’ spectacular.

  “Yeow,” she howled in vexation. Why, oh why, hadn’t she chosen the sensible utilitarian black sports bra and respectable pants that she used for aerobics when she’d dressed this morning, she wondered, as she tried and failed to cover her frontage.

  Jonno coughed delicately and reluctantly averted his eyes, without a word he began unbuttoning his own suit. He had more than one layer under his own kit, and it was far more suitable for a parachuting lesson than the things Crystal had chosen to wear. Without a single comment, he shrugged out of the thin black cotton top which he wore over a plain white tee shirt, and handed it over to Crystal. “Here, use this,” he offered, succumbing to the view that Crystal was at pains to disguise.

  She didn’t have much choice, did she? She took the top gratefully.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, there wasn’t much else that she could do. It was still warm, and it smelled of Jonno, it seemed a bit personal, sliding into his clothes, but she guessed that he might have made the same gesture to anyone in the same predicament. “Um, it’s very kind of you,” she murmured as she pulled the soft warm fabric on over the top of her other ruined clothes. The soft stretchy cotton hugged her curves, moulding itself to her body, a trickle of sensation ran down her spine and Crystal resolutely ignored the images that her brain supplied. She’d glimpsed a washboard tight six-pack and an arrow of dark hair running from his navel to the top of his underwear as he’d shrugged out of his clothes.

  Jonno slid back into his own flying suit with an economy of movement which showed that he was far more comfortable with the situation than Crystal was herself. His clothes struck cold against his skin now, without the snug base layer. “No problem, I’d already noticed that the designer gear that the charity provided was pretty unsuitable, no harm done. I’ll just see if I can get them to re-design the kit a bit before the big day, eh? They should have used heavier fabric, maybe something thicker and warmer, I would have thought,” he commented.

  Crystal nodded, too embarrassed to say anything else. She wriggled around inside the borrowed top, acutely sensitive to the fact that she was wearing his clothes. She bit her lip, at a loss for words for once.

  Jonno noticed her discomfort. He clapped his hands in a rallying gesture, and decided to let her off the hook: “Righto, that’s it now until next week then, unless you fancy a pint down at the pub with the rest of the guys? Everyone is invited?”

  Crystal gulped. “No, no, it’s alright. I have a fairly long drive, so I’d best be off now.” She indicated the top: “I’ll drop this off next time I’m here if that’s okay? Thanks Jonno.”

  He smiled kindly. “No probs, just don’t tell the others eh? Otherwise I might be down to my underpants by the time I make it out of here tonight!”

  Crystal flushed, she had no trouble imagining him in his underwear, unfortunately, and it wasn’t an image that she wanted to dwell on for too long.

  “Cheers, see you,” she answered instead, and turned to go.

  “Oh, and Crystal, wear something a bit more substantial next time eh? I’m not sure that my hormones can take it,” Jonno murmured as an aside, as she made to depart.

  Your hormones? Mine, more like, she thought, as he turned on his heel and ambled off towards the clubhouse, hips swinging rhythmically as he went.

  Jazz was already in the car, heading back down the M4 to Wiltshire when the phone rang.

  “Silver,” he barked, as he picked up on the hands-free connection in the Aston.

  “Jazz, my old mate, how goes it?” Bertie trilled.

  Jazz made a harrumph-ing sound in the base of his throat. After the day he’d had, it had better be good news, he thought.

  “That good eh?” Bertie breezed. “Well then, I’ll cut straight to the chase. I have good news for you, my friend, I’ve finally got my mitts on all of those mug-shots you were looking for. I almost had to sleep with the gargoyle that was protecting them.” He shuddered at the thought. “Old Doctor Papa-what-not employs some real horrors on reception, too. You would’ve thought that he’d employ a long legged blonde, or a brunette, to go with the Harley Street address, wouldn’t you?” he mused. “Anyhow, you owe me big-style, matey, you know that, don’t you?”

  Jazz closed his eyes for a split-second and the Aston swerved dangerously on the wide open carriage-way. This was just the news that he had been waiting for, it should have wrapped the whole thing up beautifully, a week ago it would have been the answer to all of his prayers, but now he wasn’t so sure. Well no, actually, now he knew that it really wouldn’t solve anything much at all. After last night, he knew he was in deeper than he thought.

  When there was no immediate response, Bertie continued, “Wassup, I thought you’d be thrilled? I’m talking big shots here, not the other stuff you wanted, I’ve got the ones at the Clinic, you know, you and Verity, the ‘cat’s cahoneys’.”

  Jazz sighed, his voice was weary. “She’s changed her mind Bertie, she’s not going through with it after all,” he stated without preamble. “I saw her last night. She’s decided to keep the baby, mate. She told me herself. It’s going to be all over the news now, anyhow, it’s just a matter of time.”

  Bertie whistled through his teeth. “Don’t blame yourself, old buddy, there was nothing you could do about it. Just don’t blame yourself, Jazz.” He thought for a moment. “At least this will keep your name out of the frame, for the time being at least. So, have you had the big conversation with Crystal yet? You have told her now, haven’t you?”

  “Let’s meet up, shall we? I’m driving at the moment. I’ll be back in town in a few days or so, we can meet up at the club if you like?” Jazz answered instead.

  Bertie smirked. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got news for you too. I’ve got something very interesting in my bed at the moment. Anyhow, must rush, speak soon, I just thought you’d want to know. Mustn’t keep the lady waiting eh?” he chuckled.

  “I’ll ring you,” Jazz promised, as he hung up.

  He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn’t even bother to contemplate who Bertie was dating now. He was past playing games, himself. Too old for all that these days, he thought. He looked at his watch and put his foot down hard on the accelerator. Crystal had her last lesson before the ‘practise jump’ today and he’d promised to be there, he’d have to step on it if he was
to reach the airfield on time.

  Bernard was in the front room window, adjusting the weight on the end of the sash cord, as Crystal drove past. He glanced at his watch. “I wonder where she’s been ‘till now then?” he commented to Maude as she sat sewing in the dining room.

  “No idea, weren’t she doin’ her practise jump today love?” Maude answered back.

  “Nah, that’s next week,” Bernard replied.

  “Well, she’s been out long enough, that’s for sure. She went out just after seven this mornin’ I reckon, and now look at the time. What d’you reckons him’s been up to then, while madam’s been off gallivantin’ around? He’s not there y’know?”

  “No, I knows. I walked the dogs back that way last night, before we turned in for the night, and he weren’t there then,” Bernard agreed.

  “He were off up to London last night, so Maisie reckons. Some fancy corporate thing and I didn’t hear the car comin’ back through the village last night, either. Could’ve gone round the long way tho’ I s’pose. Don’t know why he’d bother tho’. No I reckon he was out all night, don’t you?”

  “Possibly.” Bernard let go the cord for a moment, and turned to his wife. “Let’s not mention it, for the moment though eh? We don’t want folks getting’ the wrong impression now, do we?”

  Maude frowned, chastised. “Hmm, that’s no way to be carryin’ on now is it, I don’t think. Anyhow, how’s Crystal getting on, with the jumpin’?” Maude asked. “Is me money safe, then, or do you reckon that she’ll do it after all?”