The Coming of Derek (a quirky comedy)

by A. J. Carpenter

Nope, Derek didn’t have that either.

  ‘Forty-two.’

  ‘This is useless,’ Derek thought, as he made a pitiful attempt at ripping up the ticket and paused before discarding it in on the floor. Despite the bucket load of alcohol in his system, Derek was still clever enough to realize that he and he alone would have to clean it up and that it probably wasn’t worthwhile throwing it away so recklessly. So instead he chose to stumble to the bin. When he arrived, head before legs, he hung onto the bin like a zimmer frame.

  The day’s events ran over and over in his mind but the moment that he had tried to kiss Felicity punched consistently. Why did he have to do it? What was he thinking? He had waited thirty-two years to get his tongue away, so why did he have to go and ruin it all by kissing the only girl who had ever given him the time of day?

  Derek was still standing by the bin. His trousers were now hitched up around his waist, his wedgy growing high and sharp, whilst his ankles relished in their exposure to the elements. As he continued to look back on his day, a huge convulsion of emotions rushed over him. Hunching over the bin and arching his back, he realized that it wasn’t emotions that had been coming up, it was sick.

  Like the Niagara Falls, a fine array of wine, cornflakes, battered sausage and egg bashed mightily down to the bottom of the black bag with a powerful chunder. And that which was not lucky enough to make it into the bag sat magnificently on his chin.

  Using the bin to lower himself down, Derek managed to get himself onto the floor before curling up into the foetal position, resting his head tenuously on a jam jar. He slept all through the night, unaware of his regular hurls and the mountains of sick that were forming around him. As he slept, Derek wondered whether he was actually seeing sheep or whether it was just the beer goggles.

  The night passed and it was Sunday morning as the sun began to glare through the kitchen window. Derek still lay like the corpse at a murder scene. But the white line around him wasn’t chalk, it was vomit. Its consistency had changed over night and was now more of a mashed potato than a banana milkshake.

  The sound of a car accelerating outside made him flinch. He stared painfully up at the artex ceiling. Each artificial whirl and whip of plaster spun jauntily around like a psychedelic hallucination. Unfortunately for Derek, this was not a hallucination, his ceiling really was that bad.

  A brave surge of determination rushed over him as he sat up suddenly, clutching his knees in a bizarre quest for strength. Reaching for some magazines strewn carelessly on the floor, he made a weak but noble attempt at mopping up the sick. His bloodshot eyes focused lazily on the naked women now casually splayed around the bin, soaking up lasts nights vomit.

  ‘Barp,’ the doorbell went. ‘Barp, barp.’

  ‘Ow!’ Derek whined, not knowing who it could be.

  Slowly getting to his feet, he realized that what had been an awful outfit yesterday had now been accessorized with lumps of yesterday’s regurgitated food and drink.

  ‘Shit!’ he muttered, as he dove into the bathroom and began ripping off his clothes like a nympho after a three-month detox. He chucked water at himself any which way, before attacking his face and diving for his dressing gown.

  ‘Barp,’ the buzzer went again.

  Derek lunged at the receiver and picked it up.

  ‘Hello?’ he said, realizing only then that his voice had almost gone. ‘Hello?’ Who is it?’

  ‘Oh…hi, Derek, sorry to bother you, it’s Donna from downstairs, Donna Bean.’

  ‘Uh…uh…hi, Donna,’ Derek blubbered, excited yet panicked.

  Then he paused and so did Donna

  ‘Can I come up?’ she eventually asked.

  Yes…yes…uh…you can come up if you like. I’m not dressed but come up…if you like.’

  Worrying that he sounded over keen, he pressed the buzzer and replaced the receiver, quickly grabbing the sick mopping magazine pages from the floor and stuffing them deep into the bin, before using a tea towel to wipe over the rest.

  Ascending the stairs, Donna began imagining all the forms of undress that Derek could be in and longed to wrap her oversized, over-muscled thighs around him in an impulsive rumble. Reaching the door, she pulled her hair from its ponytail and began tousling it, so that when Derek opened the door he was confronted with a human version of a mop.

  ‘Hello,’ he greeted, still looking at her with an air of uncertainty but ecstatic to see her nevertheless.

  Emerging from under her hair, Donna began to concentrate less on her fantasy and more on Derek.

  ‘Shit, did I wake you up? I did, didn’t I? What are you doing asleep at this time? None of my business but…shit, Derek, I’m sorry, just go back to bed.’

  ‘No! You didn’t wake me. Lazy day,’ Derek lied unconvincingly. ‘Um…um…everything okay?’

  ‘Yes, I just wanted to ask you something about opening hours, that’s all. It’s not important. I’ll come back, sorry. Sorry.’

  Donna was lying too. She had no intention of discussing her opening hours. But it was her fortieth birthday that day and she hated the thought of spending it alone.

  ‘Uh, can I get you a drink?’ Derek asked, gesturing madly at the sofa until she sat down.

  Once she had, the theme tune for ‘Night Rider’ started. It was her phone. Pulling it from her bag, Derek was startled by the pinkness of it and confused by the plastic rocks that were hanging from it. But he remained quiet.

  ‘Hello…yeah…oh, thank you…..yeah I’ll pop down in a sex…sec,’ she corrected, snapping shut her phone. ‘That was Wesley. He was just wishing me a happy birthday.’

  She was lying, it had been Wesley but he had not remembered her birthday and she doubted very much that he would with the amount of weed that he smoked. She had merely used this as bate. The only risk was that Derek didn’t know how to bite.

  ‘Oh, happy birthday! How old are you?’ he quizzed impulsively. ‘Oh sorry, you’re not supposed to ask that, are you?’

  There was an awkward silence as Derek squirmed on the sofa and Donna begged for him to get a clue.

  ‘Doing anything nice?’ he attempted, hoping this would be a more appropriate question. Although very little is appropriate when you’re sitting in a dressing gown.

  ‘Not really, Derek, no, I’m a bit old for all that now,’ she replied.

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ Derek exclaimed, oblivious to the compliment fish. He was too busy tugging on his dressing gown chord in a desperate attempt to keep it from loosening.

  Donna’s tactics were not working. It was clear that Derek was either not interested, gay, or that she needed to step up the pace a bit. And so, like the trouper that she was, she upped the ante.

  ‘You got the heating on, Derek? It’s right hot in here,’ she schmoozed, unzipping her fleece to reveal a size ten vest top squeezed over her massive boobs.

  ‘Uh…uh…’ Derek stammered unable to look but unable to look away.

  Seeing this, Donna continued by shuffling her bum gradually but unsubtly towards him.

  ‘Uh…’ Derek continued, not sure what to do with himself. ‘Shall I turn the heating off?’ he squeaked, getting up to do so.

  ‘No!’ Donna shouted, grabbing his hand and pulling him forcefully towards her. Derek wished he had been honest about his hangover as his stomach spasmed and vomit flew from his mouth, narrowly missing her face and landing on her cleavage.

  Looking at what he had done mortified, it was impossible to miss that Donna’s nipples were suddenly pert and erect. Stunned, Derek said nothing.

  Donna, having awaited a response, got up and started to leave, making no attempt to clear up the lumpy lake now formed on the top of her tits. Not one to cry, a tear began to form in her eye. As she went, she left the door open in the hope that he would follow.

  He didn’t.

  Derek didn’t move from that position for the next fifteen minutes and, when he did, it was only to wipe away a drop of sick dripping from his chin.

  ‘Ha
ppy birthday, Donna!’ she thought, as she walked stunned down the steps from Derek’s flat. The lake of sick was now seeping down into her cleavage and nestling itself intrusively into her bra. Derek had not followed her. He had said nothing.

  Unable to look down at the mess, in case of spreading it onto her chin, Donna walked like a robot and opened the main door slowly and carefully like a seasoned burglar. Once out in the street she became confused as to what to do next, after all she could hardly walk through ‘Batter my Fish’ passed all the customers with a swamp of sick on her chest. But the alternative was to walk the seven minutes back to her flat. This seemed like the hardest option but she decided to go with it, starting the slow and focused shuffle back home, passed the train station, through the car park, around the tower block where all the murders happened and down into her mouldy but perfectly formed one bedroom flat.

  Donna had bought the flat ten years ago when she was still in the army. Once the industry had gone from the town, there were vast open spaces left empty and reinvestment and regeneration looked encouraging. Donna’s block of flats had been one of the first to have been built, with the aim of encouraging commuters and bringing a new lease of life to the town. But very little had happened since, with the council failing to put money into the local amenities. Over the years, what had looked like an exciting, modern, clean block of flats now looked dated and had been engulfed by mould, brought about by the land’s previous life as a swamp ground.

  Waddling solemnly, Donna couldn’t help but wonder what she had done wrong. Did he like her? Was he really that gay that even just the thought of being with a woman made him sick? Or was it just her? She knew that she wasn’t the sort of woman that men fantasized about; they liked bones and boobs and long blonde shiny hair. Donna had the boobs, she knew that. But the rest of her body made her look more like a wrestler than a delicate flower ripe for the fucking. Veering around the corner, a loan tear escaped and slid down her cheek.

  A black man of about thirty was walking towards her. He was chiseled, groomed and wore an expensive looking leather tan jacket. Normally, on seeing such a treat, Donna would have shaken her arse a little more than usual and given him a shy smile to let him know that she had gone weak at the knees. Tonight though, she had no choice but to keep on walking. She hoped that he would have a fetish for sick. It was possible, anything was possible. But as the man walked confidently passed, it became apparent that he had no such fetish because a look of disgust and a burst of revolted laughter ensued.

  ‘Fucking wanker!’ Donna barked, turning around to look at him.

  She wished she hadn’t though, as her face scraped her chest and she could feel a sticky gloop now pressed onto her chin. Nearing her home, she began to speed up, now less afraid of the mess and more afraid of meeting someone. As she turned the key in the lock and opened the door, she felt a sense of utter relief and burst into tears.

  She had not cried once in all the years that she had spent in the army and yet here she was now, a grown woman, crying over some spilt sick. It wasn’t just that though and Donna knew it. She was forty years old and still alone. Whilst ripping off her clothes, she looked at herself in the mirror. It made her feel sick and it had clearly done the same to Derek.

  Derek felt awful. He rarely got close enough to anyone to hurt them and if he did, he was usually the one who got hurt. Today, however, he had managed to alienate Donna, as well as missing out on what looked set to be his fantasy come true.

  Derek could clearly remember the first time that he had met Donna. The couple who had owned the chip shop before her, Haurice and Shirley, had reached their seventies and had flown off to Benidorm to retire. Haurice had been unfathomably fat, with chest hair so thick that he had spent his entire life hiding from Cruella de Ville. Shirley, on the other hand, had been a skinny pile of bones, wrinkled skin and hot pink lipstick that clashed violently with her green mascara. Derek had quietly worried about their new life in Spain, as they were both horrifically tanned already and anymore sunshine would have made them crispier than their chips. But despite such concerns, they had left, never to return again.

  Anyway, it happened to slip his mind entirely that there would be a new owner. Had he remembered, then he might have made himself look a bit more presentable but by the time he had got through the door, it was too late.

  ‘Hello!’’ Donna had beamed over the counter. ‘What can I get for you?’

  ‘Fish and er…er…er…er…chips, please,’ Derek had finally got out.

  He hadn’t wanted to look at her but it had been impossible not to. She had been spellbinding.

  ‘Fish supper coming up. I’m Donna by the way. You’re my first customer,’ she had said, as she stuck out her hand.

  True to himself, Derek had shuffled on the spot awkwardly, before gently shaking her hand and saying, ‘Nice to meet you, I’m…er. I’m…er…Derek.’

  Now he could have been wrong, but Derek was convinced that he and Donna had then had a moment, a meeting of the minds, a connection. And now, a few years on, it was safe to say that any burning spark or flame that may have been there in the past, had now been well and truly put out by the vomit. But on his side, he was besotted and he had been ever since he had first laid eyes on her.

  Donna was not your usual sex symbol. First of all, she was older than him by about a decade. But to Derek this was a benefit. He knew himself that the only way that he was ever going to make it into bed with a woman was if she dominated him. Donna was more than capable of doing this, what with her army training and her strong physique. Derek regularly imagined being trapped within her strong sturdy thighs as she seasoned his stick.

  Second of all, was her all-consuming bust. Derek had always gone for the soft and not-firm pillows and of all the ways to die, he believed that being held close and tight against her gargantuan gorillas until the point of suffocation would be the finest.

  The final thing that attracted him to her was her eyes. There was something in Donna’s eyes that Derek recognized; a loneliness. She needed something just like he did. But Derek had no idea what that was. What he did know, however, was that it wasn’t him. As he got up to clean the mess in the kitchen, Derek came to the realization that it probably wasn’t sick either.

  His kitchen was that rustic style pine that was so very nearly fashionable in the Seventies, with spindles down the corners that looked like they would be better suited to a staircase from the past than a kitchen. The tiles were cream, although they had probably had a previous life as white tiles and were frankly quite pissed off about all the ethnic confusion they were causing.

  Ignoring the tiles entirely, Derek leant forward to pick up the kitchen roll and, as he did, an intrepid explorer poked his nose out from under his red, green and navy striped dressing gown. The cool breeze caught him by surprise. Grabbing his gown, with thoughts of concealing it, he instead ripped open the chord, placed one hand on the counter, the other on Sir Francis Drake himself and began to set sail for anywhere. He pictured what it would have been like if he hadn’t hurled on Donna’s chest, if they had kissed passionately and if she’d ripped off her clothes and…

  Derek sprayed the bottom side of the cutlery drawer with a salt ridden splash, before reaching immediately for the kitchen roll and starting to clean. The tiles waited patiently for their turn but it never happened.

  Whilst Derek was wiping away his cream from the drawer, Donna was down town wiping away some cream of her own.

  Donna groaned with pleasure as the sweet filling oozed from the soft pastry and into her mouth. The calories dripped addictively down her throat whilst she stared at the TV with tired eyes.

  Having had a wash, a change and a cry, she had walked up to the supermarket and treated herself to the ‘Dirty Dancing’ DVD and the remainder of the bakery section. Luckily she had arrived just in time for the evening markdown and doughnuts tasted even better at a penny a bite. To the checkout lady it must have looked as if Donna had seven kids and the in-laws
staying. But Donna had just wondered if she should have got some Pringles too.

  Now curled up foetally on her sofa, with Patrick Swayze gyrating half naked on the screen, Donna was consuming her main meal. She had devoured two cheese sticks for a starter, she was now on her third chocolate éclair of four and doughnuts and cookies were still to come.

  As she began on her fourth chocolate-covered cream stick, Donna glanced down and saw her belly lolloping closely over her thighs. She felt like a lard fountain stopped mid flow. She had gained a lot of weight since leaving the army and although she hadn’t lost all the muscle, she had acquired a good couple of stone of flab.

  With a sudden burst of determination, Donna took a gob full of éclair and practically threw the rest of it onto the table. Staring at the desolate dessert half consumed and left for dead on the coffee table, she wondered whether to give in to a future of sugar and fat or whether she could change and get hot, so that men would stop vomiting at the sight of her. Staying strong, she reached passed the éclair to her cigarettes and, as she did, sweat began to glisten on Patrick’s rippling muscles and suddenly nothing looked nearly so bad anymore.

  6

  ARE YOU TAKING THE PISS?

  It was Monday morning. Derek’s hangover had now subsided, Donna’s binge was reaping havoc on her bowels and Felicity was at work.

  After Derek had run off on Saturday afternoon, Felicity had stuck around. She could just about remember Derek leaving, although she could recollect very little else. There was one thing that she could remember clear as day though and that was seeing Sean. He had been wearing a white shirt with rolled up sleeves, jeans and a tan leather jacket. She could picture it now. But she had no idea what they had said to each other, if they had said anything at all and whether or not she had embarrassed herself beyond return. The snapshot of Sean and his immense beauty was tattooed in her mind but other than that she had nothing.