A Summer Fling

by Milly Johnson

  ‘Are you going straight home when you leave here? To Canada?’

  ‘Well, we have a few days in London, then we head off for home,’ said Al Holly. ‘Got a month relaxing by a lake fishing in the sun, then we set off for America on tour. You ever been?’

  ‘Me? Naw,’ said Dawn. ‘My foreign experience is limited to one Greek island and France as a schoolgirl. I don’t know why I bother even having a passport.’ She had renewed it for her honeymoon. Why?

  Al took a long drink of beer and Dawn watched his throat. He had a strong neck that smoothed down to big shoulders. She wondered what he would look like without his shirt. His leg brushed accidentally against hers under the table as he shifted position. Jesus Christ, she was going to leap on him in a minute and rip his clothes off.

  ‘Is this your first trip to England?’ she asked instead.

  He shook his head. ‘No, I’ve been before. Not to Yorkshire though. It’s been fun. Got some nice, happy memories to take back with me.’

  He didn’t say what those memories were. As if he too was aware of the intensity between them, he dragged his eyes away from her and up to the sky where an aeroplane was ploughing across the heavens leaving a puffy trail behind it.

  Dawn studied Al’s profile unwatched and suddenly wanted to drag her hands through his hair. He was gorgeous, he was beautiful. Too beautiful to bear this.

  ‘Al, I have to go,’ said Dawn, suddenly panicked by the surge of her feelings.

  He didn’t protest. He didn’t point out that she had hardly touched her drink.

  ‘I understand,’ he said, staring thoughtfully at his beer.

  How can you? thought Dawn. How can you understand that when I look at you my whole life seems to fall apart in the background?

  She stood up and looped her bag over her shoulder. Al Holly scratched his head and sighed.

  ‘Hear me out, Dawny. I am not in the habit of making a play for other men’s girls, I just felt I had to say that. I like you a lot. I think we have that kindred spirit thing going on and I really look forward to seeing you for this little time on Fridays. But I’m not trying to complicate things for you and if I have, I’m really sorry. I hope you’ll be here next Friday and not stay away.’

  ‘Next Friday, erm . . .’ She would have had time to compose herself by then. She should say ‘no’. She should tell the others she couldn’t go to the pub again after work for a few weeks, then she wouldn’t be drawn close to this man like a moth to a flame. It could only end with third-degree burns to her wings. No, tell him no, end it now.

  ‘Yes, I’ll be here,’ she said.

  *

  As Anna rounded the corner to her house, she could see that there was another parcel peeping out from behind her wheely bin. She couldn’t wait until she got inside to open it. She ripped the paper off to find a heart-shaped box of Ferrero Rocher. She looked around to see if she could see Tony peeping out from a hiding place where he was stationed to watch her reaction. Surely he was going to make a move soon? First a photo-plate, then a rose and now this: a third week of presents with no follow-up. Anna caught a fleeting glimpse of Butterfly slipping through the widow’s fence as if he too was teasing her with a hint of his presence but not a chance of full-show.

  Yet.

  Tony Parker, what the hell are you up to?

  Chapter 63

  By the time Dawn got home, Calum was already there with a Chinese meal keeping warm in the oven.

  ‘Makes a change, I know what you’re going to say!’ he laughed. ‘Thought I’d give you a nice surprise.’

  ‘Lovely,’ she said, pasting on a smile, but in truth she felt nothing. And when he hinted at an early night and raised his eyebrows suggestively, she lied and said she had just started a period, which would keep him at a safe distance, she knew.

  She was up the next morning, not bright but early after a restless night’s sleep. Her head was like a washing machine full of different coloured items. She was a mess of contradictions and duty was a struggle. Why did I go off early last night? Why did she cut short the precious time she had with Al Holly in the beer garden? It wasn’t as if she had loads of it with him left to waste. And all night her imagination had seemed hell-bent on finishing off the evening for her, had she stayed. What if she had leaped on him and kissed him? Calum would have been in waiting for her with a Chinese meal and she would have been snogging another man. She felt as guilty as if she had actually done it. She took a couple of Nurofen with her morning toast because a stress headache was just threatening at her temple.

  She was at Muriel’s for 10 a.m. and for once Demi was up and dressed. It appeared she had a brand-new boyfriend – Liam – on the scene and he had obviously injected a bit of life into her. As well as other bodily fluids.

  Denise didn’t seem impressed with him.

  ‘He’s another dicksplash,’ she confided in Dawn. ‘She’ll be dumped this time next week, you mark my words. Plus I’m sure he has a girlfriend already so she’s heading for a thump. Anyway, what are we doing for your hen night? Where do you fancy? Blackpool? Too far maybe . . . hmm, let me think.’

  ‘Oh, I wasn’t going to bother,’ said Dawn. It wasn’t as if she had hordes of mates to invite. And she couldn’t exactly see Christie and Grace dancing on tables in a gay bar in Blackie.

  She watched Denise’s face suddenly form into something quite unpleasant.

  ‘God, you can be a miserable beggar, Dawn!’ she said. ‘Well, you’re having one whether you like it or not. We want one if we’re going through all this bridesmaid crap for you.’ And she huffed impatiently and turned and muttered something about going to the loo before they went across the road to Bette’s house. Her reaction shocked Dawn. She had thought Denise was more on her side than that. Her wedding, which she had thought would bring her completely into the bosom of the family, was doing the opposite – turning it all into a Bride versus Us competition.

  Across the road, big Bette sipped delicately from a china cup and beamed as the bridesmaids modelled her creations.

  The dresses were bright orange and Demi’s neckline was so low she could have been wearing it and still appeared on the centre pages of Playboy. She adjusted her boobs so they stuck out of the top in big squashy semi-circles.

  ‘I got Bette to lower my neckline a bit as well,’ Denise said, adjusting her much smaller bosom inside her dress. ‘Might as well give the vicar a flash and cheer up his day. Hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘No, ’course not,’ said Dawn, hating herself because what she wanted to say was, ‘Yes, I bloody well do mind. And if that is peach, then I’m Cheryl Cole!’ Plus the fabric smelled of cigarette smoke. How could it not, being stored in the fug of this house?

  ‘Chuffing hell, I feel like a space hopper,’ said Demi, voicing some of what was in Dawn’s head. ‘Thought it was supposed to be peach!’

  ‘Well, they didn’t have that exact shade of peach in the warehouse so I went for the next best thing. Plus this was a lot cheaper. You don’t want to be spending a fortune for one day, do you?’ Bette explained, dunking a digestive into her cup. ‘I ran it past Mu first.’

  ‘There’s not that much difference,’ said Mu, confirming with a nod what Bette had said.

  ‘You two haven’t been to Specsavers recently, have you?’ smirked Demi.

  Why didn’t you run it past ME – I’m the bride! screamed Dawn inside. But she wouldn’t have dared risk the wrath of the Crooke women by saying as much.

  ‘Itches like fuck,’ said Demi.

  It looked as if it did too. The material was cheap and tacky and didn’t lie in soft folds but stuck out stiffly and made even the slim Denise appear thick-waisted.

  ‘Oh, you pair of moaners! You can change straight after the wedding, you don’t have to wear it all day. Eeh, it’s a bonny colour though, isn’t it, Dawn? Nice and bright for summer,’ Muriel enthused.

  Dawn took a deep breath and sucked back the comment that Pumpkin Orange was much more suitable for Hallowe�
��en. And she didn’t want the bridesmaids changing straight after the wedding. She would have liked them to wear the dresses all day so they were in them for any evening photos. Rage was bubbling in her and she was scared to unleash it fully, so it seeped out through pinholes.

  ‘I’d bought all the peach ribbon to match for the favours and the invitations!’

  ‘No one notices stuff like that!’ said Muriel, waving it off as another one of Dawn’s pernicketies.

  ‘I do,’ said Dawn, getting about as shirty as she could.

  ‘Ooh, you want to save your “I do’s” for the big day,’ laughed Bette, sending her five chins into vibration.

  ‘Oy, Mam, talking of “do’s”, she don’t want a hen do,’ mocked Demi, thumbing at Dawn.

  So her future sister-in-laws had been gossiping about her. Again. That made Dawn feel extra fine and dandy.

  ‘It’s just that I don’t have anyone to invite,’ Dawn tried to explain.

  ‘You’ve got us and Bette,’ said Muriel. ‘And I daresay Demi and Denise have some mates that’ll want to come and beef up the crowd.’

  ‘Calum’s having his stag do on the Saturday before the wedding,’ said Demi.

  ‘Is he?’ It was the first Dawn had heard of it.

  ‘Oh, didn’t he tell you?’ gloated Demi. ‘Mind you, if you’re as miserable with him as you were about not wanting a hen night, there’s no wonder.’

  Ouch! Dawn felt suddenly outlawed by them all. Blood in this family was about twelve million times thicker than water. She was wishing more with every passing hour that she’d never started this whole wedding process. She had liked the family much more before their relationship got smothered by cakes and karaokes.

  ‘Well, it would be nice to have a hen do, I suppose,’ said Dawn, caving in because she didn’t want to cause more bitching behind her back. What would be the point in marrying Calum if his family hated her? However much she didn’t want to admit it to herself, belonging to a loving family again had influenced her decision to be Calum’s wife. Of course it had.

  ‘Good, you can leave all the arrangements to us then,’ said Denise, her face returning to her usual cheeky, cheerful look. ‘I promise you, we’ll have a night to remember.’

  Dawn suspected it would be more a night to forget.

  Chapter 64

  In the kitchen of West House, Grace was making dinner for her temporary landlord and landlady. She was happy in a kitchen, especially one of that size which had comforting, family vibes. She felt she wanted to thank these two lovely, kind people who were caring for her and sharing their home most selflessly with her, so she pulled out all the culinary stops.

  ‘Can I help?’ asked Niki, putting his head around the door. ‘I’m the best potato peeler this side of Leeds.’

  ‘I’m not doing potatoes, so go away and let me cook for you,’ said Grace with a smile. Not cooking potatoes! That was rebellious in itself. For years she had boiled potatoes every Saturday night to accompany Gordon’s pork chops. Even when they were on holiday self-catering. That single thought of Gordon brought a grim cloud with it, drying up her smile. An over-soft part of her would worry about him coping on his own if she let it. Sarah had watered that particular seed with her ‘Who’s going to look after Dad when he comes home?’ questions. Gordon was, she had reminded her daughter, only fifty-nine, not eighty-nine. He would just have to learn how to stuff his washing in the machine and iron it afterwards. But still, being indifferent and self-protective didn’t come naturally to her.

  ‘Let me pour you a glass of wine,’ said Niki. He and Christie were sitting out on the patio in the back garden, enjoying the balmy late afternoon.

  ‘Well, if you insist.’

  ‘I do,’ Niki said. ‘A lovely chilled pink Pinotage Rosé for madam.’ He handed her a glass with a long, fragile stem.

  ‘Thank you, Niki.’

  He stared at her long after he had handed over the wine, which disconcerted her. Then he suddenly realized that he was embarrassing her and apologized.

  ‘Sorry, Grace, forgive me. I was just thinking about what you’ve been through. No one could ever tell from looking at you. You’re so remarkably . . . together. I don’t know how you do it.’

  ‘Inside I’m not, Niki, trust me,’ said Grace, grating some gruyère cheese into her white wine sauce. ‘I can’t stop thinking about that weekend and a whole host of “what ifs”. What if no one had come for me? What if I’d never been chosen to work with your sister and I didn’t have her to sound the alarm when she did? When I don’t take a tablet, the “what ifs” keep me awake at night and when I do fall asleep, I sometimes dream that I’m back living with Gordon and I wake up in a panic.’

  She dropped the grater and Niki came to pick it up at the same time as she bent to it. Their heads bumped and Niki reached out to Grace, rubbing her head soothingly.

  ‘Oh God, Grace, I am SO sorry. Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Grace, laughing despite a second or two of sickening pain. ‘You have a very hard head, you know.’

  ‘Russian genes,’ said Niki. ‘Our ancestors grew thick skulls when they were slaves, pre-emancipation.’

  His soothing fingers left her scalp but he didn’t move away.

  ‘Grace . . .’ he began in that beautiful, deep, fruity voice. ‘Grace, I think you’re wonderful. That’s all I wanted to say.’

  There was a sudden intensity between them that Niki sensed Grace was not ready for, so he stepped back from her and lightened up. ‘And I’m sorry I nearly smashed in your cranium.’

  ‘I’ll live,’ said Grace, feeling hot and shaken and confused but hiding it. ‘I just hope I remember the recipe through the concussion.’

  ‘If you don’t, there’s the Oriental Dragon less than five minutes away. Best spring rolls in this hemisphere. Anyway, – Na zdorov’ya, as we Russians say!’ He raised his glass to Grace. ‘To your health. Especially to the skull part of your health. I pray to my gods for its quick recovery.’

  ‘Cheers, Niki,’ said Grace, raising her glass in his direction. In his kind, smiling, handsome direction.

  Vladimir was waiting outside Darq House, a tall, unsmiling figure with strange, beautiful eyes scanning the drive for her. Anna gulped as he opened the car door and presented his hand to help her out. It was the heart-touching hand.

  ‘Our last shoot, Anna,’ he said. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘As I’ll ever be,’ she said, thinking how cool his skin was, despite the lovely warm air of the evening.

  ‘Hiya, babe,’ called Bruce. Mark blew her a kiss, Chas waved, Flip had a coffee waiting for her, Leonid nodded courteously at her to acknowledge her presence, Jane gave her a big hug and Maria pushed her down onto a chair and started cleansing her face. Anna felt her eyes watering and coughed the tears back before Maria slapped her legs.

  She was made up to the ‘natural look’ for the first part of the evening. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mark setting up the laptop.

  ‘No, not again!’ groaned Anna.

  ‘Oh shush,’ laughed Jane. ‘You’ll love this one.’

  They had projected two images of her this time on the side of that Leeds building. The left one, the same as last time where she was wearing her rubbish underwear, and on the right, the picture that Leonid had taken of her last week in ‘The Darqone’ bodyshaper. No one was more surprised than Anna to admit that she didn’t look half bad. There was certainly a big difference between the two pictures. She looked thinner and younger on the right one, as if she’d been Photoshopped.

  Are these before and after surgery pictures? said one passer-by.

  Is it the same woman?

  This woman has a nice figure but the one on the right has an amazing figure.

  Absolutely gorgeous. The one on the right is the younger sister, isn’t she?

  I’d say she was about thirty-six, thirty-seven tops.

  ‘What do you think of those reactions, Anna?’ asked Jane.

  �
�I’m amazed but I’m thrilled to bits,’ smiled Anna, in shock. ‘I felt so much better about myself when the second pictures were taken and it must show. Vladimir’s underwear really does make me feel confident and womanly. I wouldn’t have believed it.’

  ‘Cut!’ called Mark. ‘Bloody fantastic. This will be magic. Anna, we’re going to be turning this one around fast as a special to pilot the new series, so be in front of the TV on Thursday the nineteenth.’

  ‘Which month?’

  ‘This month.’

  ‘So soon!’ croaked Anna.

  ‘Full make-up time and your grand finale photoshoot time!’ smiled Jane, pointing Anna to Maria’s chair and gently shoving her forward.

  As Maria brushed and dabbed, Anna listened to Leonid and Vladimir conversing in very fast Romanian. It sounded like a record being played backwards containing subliminal messages about the Anti-Christ. God, she would miss these manic evenings. She’d even miss the untalkative Maria who was now lifting up her hair and twirling it around, dropping it and rearranging it. Anna loved having her hair played with. She found herself drifting off, her eyes closing, and then she felt a sharp jab in her shoulder.

  ‘Don’t go to sleep,’ barked Vladimir, making her jump to attention.

  ‘I wasn’t!’ she protested.

  For once, there was a screen to allow Anna to strip off completely and put on the highest price point lingerie set which Vladimir had made. Professional models might not have minded about photographers and make-up artists seeing their bum, but Anna certainly did. She went behind and slipped off her clothes and into the velvety pants he had made which caressed her bottom cheeks and promised not to crawl up. They actually pushed her stomach in flat while allowing her to breathe and bend. Never mind ‘higher price point’, these things were priceless. Then she called for him to assist her with the corset, a beautiful red one that made her feel very queenly. ‘The Darqone’ was an amazing creation and would transform the figures of thousands of women, but his premier collection was so worth saving up for. His fingers worked slowly and carefully on the hooks and she felt his cool breath blow against her neck and she shivered. There were strangely no mirrors around that evening so the only reflection she was holding was one in her mind. She hoped when she did see the mirror that it wouldn’t shatter the illusion she was holding of herself: small-waisted, busty, long-legged, lips a sex-slash of scarlet.