The Boleyn Effect (The Boorman Ending)

by Deborah. C. Foulkes

  The Boleyn Effect

  by Deborah.C. Foulkes

  Copyright 2012 Deborah.C. Foulkes

  Discover other titles by Deborah. C. Foulkes at

  Deborahcfoulkes.wordpress.com

  Smashwords Edition

  This book may not be reproduced, copied without consent from the author.

  CHAPTER ONE

  'I'll take that bet!'

  Me and Clair watch as George pulls off his clothes and prepares to prove us wrong. A little game of Truth or Dare, but involving cash. So more like Truth or Bet and the more alcohol involved the more risqué it's becoming. Me and Clair shared a kiss. Clair's divulged that she'd once had been involved in a threesome when she younger. This of course peaks George's interest, but he's been given the Don't even try it look from us both.

  I refuse to choose truth. A dare is much less painful. George knows an awful lot about me and some of it not good and more importantly some that even Clair doesn't know. So for the sake of my own decency I'm choosing Dares only.

  Now butt naked, George is out of the door and making his way down the corridor to the fire escape and roof. Some of the guys from his floor that linger offer wolf whistles and 'go on mate' encouragement and George laps it up giving a quick twirl of what he has to offer.

  Closing the door, we scramble to the window where we lean out and listen. There's a moment silence as we wait. I can't believe we are actually holding our breath. The wind catches the sound of his voice as he sings out God Save the Queen. Leaning out further, we can just about see him on the edge of the roof in the way god intended.

  'I can't believe he actually did it,' Clair laughs.

  'Really? Have you just met George?' I ask.

  We look at each other and chuckle as he finishes the last line. We both know we are going to have to top it. He's going to expect us to top it.

  George pulls on his jeans after collecting his winnings with a smug look on his face. It's always too easy when it comes to challenging him. He's fearless and doesn't give a damn and sometimes I envy him for it and other times I just hate him.

  'I told you I would do it. Now it's your turn.'

  'None of us are going to sleep with you or get naked,' Clair says with a smirk on her face.

  George laughs out loud as he pours himself a glass of Jack Daniels.

  'Hey, you got to see mine. Now return the favour.'

  'Oh come on George it's not like it's the first time, anyway we all know who you really want naked,' Clair giggles looking my way.

  I respond by throwing a cushion at her. Trust her to bring that up yet again. How long have we been friends? Enough to know that certain lines should not be crossed, joking or otherwise. What George really wants from our friendship should never be spoken or even joked about. Plus, she knows it pisses me off.

  'So have you decided on a dissertation topic yet?' I ask.

  'Ahh changing the subject?' George laughs. 'I'll probably do something on Anne Boleyn.'

  Our groans interrupt him. The Tudors and the second wife of Henry VIII has been an obsession of George's ever since we've known him. Of course he's going to dedicate a year of his life writing about the other woman in his life.

  Henry VIII was a tyrannical bastard according to George, who hurt and manipulated all those that loved him. He needed to be adored above all else and when wasn't the consequences were severe. Admittedly, I have very little knowledge of the Tudors apart from the TV series with a rather gorgeous Jonathan Rhys Myers, but have to agree with George. He did sound like a pretentious arse hole.

  However, if I was a woman of the Tudor court and faced with a man of power and riches would I be just as quick to lift my skirt and lie on my back? I'm not ashamed to say that probably, yeah. He was King.

  'We'd have been more surprised if you'd done it on Princess Di,' Clair says.

  'Another wronged royal,' George laughs taking another gulp of JD.

  Our groans interrupt him as do more flying cushions aimed at his head, which ducks so they miss. We've all been friends for years and we have all heard the same story over and over again about the bewitching dark haired queen. How wronged she was by historians and how she was punished for being ambitious. George's obsession has been his reason for studying History at university, and why, to his father's disappointment, continues to do his Masters in the Tudors instead of the family business.

  'Look, I bet none of you could do what she did. Anne Boleyn was an amazing woman,' he continues.

  'None of us are disputing that, but neither of us is that desperate to try,' Clair comments.

  I am starting to see something in his face that not only makes me slightly nervous, but excites me also. He's having a light-bulb moment as he eyes us like prime prey. It's time for one of us to be challenged.

  'That's it. That can be your dare. I bet any of you that you can't do what she did.'

  Me and Clair look at each other trying not to laugh. This is one of the stupidest things he's ever asked of us.

  'I think the heir to the throne is married and a little old for even our tastes,' Clair chuckles.

  'I'm not talking kings,' George sighs, 'but someone of high station. Like—I don't know— say the Dean of my university?'

  Unable to control ourselves any longer, we crease up in laughter, both of us trying to stop, but failing miserably. Frustration fills George's face at our obvious childishness. He hates this side of us. Two girls ganging up against him and not taking him seriously.

  'I am being serious,' he says, 'unless you girls don't think you are up to it.'

  'Oh we're up to it,' Clair laughs. 'But why would we?'

  'Because it's a challenge and I think you beautiful ladies are capable of it. If you both can do it together it will be like Anne and Mary Boleyn all over again.'

  'Always the charmer,' I murmur.

  Now we've stopped laughing. I'm starting to see something behind George's eyes that I recognise. He's being totally serious and the challenge is not for Clair it is aimed at me. He really doesn't want us to compete with each other. He just wants me. I'm the dark-haired and eyed Boleyn in his eyes. It's something he's always commented on. This challenge is for me only and when he catches my eye, we both understand one another.

  'What is the challenge?' I ask.

  'You must get Harry Cobain, a married man, to fall madly in-love with you.'

  'Harry Cobain?' Clair asks.

  'The Dean,' George sighs with exasperation giving me a look.

  'And how are we supposed to get close to him? You're the only student here,' Clair asks.

  Although we had been friends for some years, for me and George it's much longer and the connection we have is stronger. Clair still thinks its drunken talk, but I know better. George likes to play games. We've done it countless times. A bet here and there. A challenge to see who was stronger, braver etc. Our friendship is competitive and always about one-upmanship. All harmless fun and he knew I hated losing.

  'My father is an investor at the Uni. Leave all those details to me,' George says, his eyes still on mine.

  'And why would we try and sleep with another woman's man?' I ask.

  George straightens up so he's now cross legged on the floor instead of lounging.

  'What if I told you that the wife needs a reason to leave that husband? Plus I never said anything about sex.'

  I glance towards Clair who’s wearing a puzzled frown.

  'Then surely said wife would just leave,' Clair answers.

  'Not if said wife was financially trapped to said husband,' George says almost mimicking Clair.

  'Then it's none of our business so count me out,' Clair announces.


  George sighs and turns his attention towards me causing me to shift uncomfortably under both their stares.

  'Come on Leigh, I need to do something really amazing for my dissertation and this could be it. It's a challenge and you have got to admit a bloody good one.'

  'What about this Harry Cobain's wife?'

  George smiles, because he already knows he's halfway to convincing me.

  'I can't explain it all right now, but I do know she wants out and you could be the key to getting that to happen.'

  'And what do I get out of it?' I ask.

  'Leigh!'

  Clair gives me a shocked look and all I can do is shrug as a large smile emerges on George's face. He knows damn well I'd take the bait.

  'What do I get?' I repeat.

  'That studio you've been saving up to buy. I will give you the deposit but only if I get enough material for my dissertation.'

  'What if it doesn't work? What happens then?'

  'Then you pay the forfeit.'

  I swallow nervously. This doesn't feel good. George's forfeits are notoriously harsh and I have a feeling it's going to be a steep one.

  'I'm not sure,' I say and I hear Clair take a sigh of relief.

  George is now in front of me, his hands in mine. The smell of Jack Daniel's strong on his breath and I'm beginning to regret the amount I've downed.

  'Ok, let's put this another way. If you succeed and I get my dissertation out of it then to sweeten the pot I'll officially wipe our slate clean.'

  My heart is pounding hard and I can barely breathe. Surely it can't be that simple. I've notched up a lot of chalk marks on that slate and it's one of the reasons, that I've often wondered why we are still close after all these years.

  'Totally clean?' I question.

  He gives me a nod.

  'And the forfeit?' I ask.

  Now George moves from his knees and edges closer to where I sit on his floor. His mouth touches my ear as he whispers and I move quickly away. I have no idea why I'm shocked at his request. It had been only a matter of time before he held it over me. A pact that we'd made once when we were drunk, except now he wants it to be cemented.

  Another drunken challenge where we said that if we were not married by the time we were in our thirties we would marry each other, and George has already reached his third decade, and I'm slowly catching up. If I fail, then we would set a date. He wants me to marry him and become his.

  'You guys are mental and I am having nothing to do with this,' Clair mutters.

  She's always the sensible one out of the three. Even when drunk, she always keeps an even head. She loves our games, but where George and me go much further in our game playing she is first to say enough. The best position to be in when it comes to us. The one to keep us on the straight and narrow.

  'What do I have to do?'

  'The rules are you do everything I tell you to. You seduce Harry Cobain using the same tricks as Anne Boleyn.'

  'You said no sex?' I ask.

  'Anne Boleyn managed to keep her virginity from Henry for three years. I want him to fall in love without using sex.'

  Deep down I know that this is wrong and there is no way it’s going end well. Seriously! Stealing another woman's man is never a good idea, game or otherwise. I mean kissing random guys is harmless fun. They are never married. That has always been the clause. If we saw rings then it would be off. This is so much more and very different. But in that moment George has given me an ultimatum and there's no way on this godforsaken planet that I'm going to become Mrs. George Gaskill. But so much more than that is the slate. I desperately want that wiping clean. That there is my incentive. I will owe George Gaskill nothing. Our friendship will at last be an equal one.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Harry Cobain is a serial womanizer. That much I’ve heard about my potential target. I have hung around the Uni with George enough to know that. But George pretty much filled me in after I agreed to the bet. My drink addled brain managed to soak up the fact that the Dean has bedded many of the female students and even some of the staff members. Being only in his mid-forties, he apparently has appeal.

  I've never had the pleasure of meeting him, so have no idea if the rumours are true. But I suppose I'll find out soon enough. Personally, a man who abuses his sexual prowess neither impresses nor turns me on. I don't mind some swagger and confidence, but arrogance is a no. I’m going to need to put any acting skills I have and push them to the max for this one, I can tell. At least I won't have to sleep with him. Just use the good old fashioned charm offensive.

  My head pounds as I finally pull myself from my duvet. Now awake, I’m wondering if this is such a good idea. This isn't stripping naked or snogging some random stranger in a bar and the last time we did something near on this stupid we seriously nearly paid the price. This is full on life changing stuff and I'm on my own in this one. My phone buzzing with a message makes my post drink nausea hangover worse.

  Are you still up for project Boleyn?

  My idle laptop beeps, telling me I have a message. Groaning, I already know who it's from. He never gives up and I am going to need breakfast first or at least some really strong coffee. Once I got both, I sit down and run my finger over the mouse pad. There's an email waiting with a link attached. Clicking on it, I begin to read about the second wife of Henry VIII.

  Anne Boleyn was twenty six, just a year younger than me, when she caught the attention of the king. She was not his usual type. Too slim with a small chest. Apparently the Tudor court loved their curvaceous women.

  Yet this woman made Henry crazy with lust and eventually fell in love. The power she held over the king was immense and because of her, two of Henry's closest advisors were killed. She turned the country on its head. Not bad for a slip of a woman who was considered plain and all she did was promise the king her virginity and a son.

  'Men,' I mutter. 'It's all about their cocks and what they can do with it.'

  I have no idea how George is expecting me to keep this Harry's interest. After all a son is no longer enough in this day and age and my virginity is long gone. Taken by an over eager fifteen year old and given away a little too easily by an equally over eager teenager.

  A relationship that had all the promise of romantic teenage sweethearts. Yeah, Romeo and Juliet had a lot to answer for. Romeo didn't screw around with Juliet's best friend, but then I suppose he died long before he got the chance.

  Leaving the screen to go idle once more, I prepare for my day ahead. I know there will be dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep, but nothing a little make-up won't hide. I've always been pale skinned and with my brunette hair, I look almost porcelain. So any lack of sleep or overindulgence shows instantly. There have been occasions where people have commented that I’m a classic beauty, but George often uses the word bewitching, which I'm never sure is a compliment or not.

  On my bed is a pair of comfy battered denim shorts and a vest top. My job involves me to be able to move freely and be comfortable. It also requires me to take extra smarter clothes for those times when I am called to sell my services.

  I’m a freelance photographer with a small rented space, which I live above on Gillygate in York. Just a few doors down from a vibrant but tacky bar called The Pink Pony. A bar that George, Clair and I regulate often at the start of any night out. In fact it’s the first thing you see down there. A bright pink bar. Oh and maybe the subtle blue Adult Shop.

  I've lived here for near on six years, after moving away from my hometown in Northamptonshire. I basically followed George to North Yorkshire after we left the sunny climes of Kos. My days are mostly filled with screaming children whose parents want me to work magic so they look like angels. To objects that some company want to advertise and sell, although, to tell the truth those objects are easier to work with.

  To my friends, I'm Leigh, but to my family it's Leigh-Anne Boorman. Unlike George, I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth. In fact, my parents are as working clas
s as they come. I had to work damn hard to get where I am today, but admittedly knowing George has made things smoother.

  After leaving my art A-levels to go travelling, I soon found myself in so much debt that I was drowning. But there were other things that were helping in the drowning process. Much darker forces that I had succumbed to in order to fit in with the right sort of crowd. George was sleeping with my roommate, but it was he and I that clicked instantly. George pulled me through and even found me this place to start up. All loans, which I pay back, but I owe George so much more than cold hard cash. I owe him my life and that's the biggest chalk mark on the slate.

  He's like my big brother and very protective. So protective that Clair has often told me that he's the real reason I have never been able to settle down with men. I love him to bits, but the balance of friendship is not equal, which is one of the reasons that this stupid challenge seems appealing. I don't like being in debt to him and sometimes I do think he uses that power against me. But those occasions are very rare and usually involve him trying to get inside my pants. However the cold light of day always makes things much clearer. Now I'm not sure it's worth it or even possible. Can a man really fall in love with a woman by just flirting? Even a married man who is no doubt bored. He's gonna want sex, because that's probably what's missing from his marriage.

  Unlocking my door, Clair waits for me. She is my business life saver. She makes sure my files are filed and my diary is full and organised, because I am totally useless when it comes to organisation. My office always looks chaotic.

  Clair completes our trio. With a short cropped blonde hair and model like figure and dresses like one. The mystery to me is why she and George never made a play for each other. But I wonder if I am the reason it's not happened. But then I would never expect that Clair would put up with his bullshit as much as I do. Too much of a level head.

  'How's the head?' I ask, as I bring the studio to life.

  Clair goes straight to the coffee machine and punches in a command for two strong black coffees, which really gives me my answer.