THE HUSBAND HUNTERS

by LUCY LAING

  ‘I sent you a text message earlier saying I was fine,’ said Tash, defensively.

  ‘Yes about five minutes ago,’ said Kaz. ‘We had been worrying about you for the last 23 hours. And I sent you another message asking where you were and you never replied.’

  ‘My mobile ran out of battery after I sent that text,’ said Tash, flinging her mobile onto the sofa. ‘But I knew I’d sent that one so you’d know I was all right.’

  We were all fuming with Tash. Only she could have done such a selfish thing and left us all so worried.

  ‘Who were you with anyway?’ said Kaz.

  ‘I didn’t know his name,’ said Tash wickedly. ‘But I wanted to see if it was true about Italians being good lovers.’

  ‘And was it?’ Kaz asked, begrudgingly.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Tash. ‘And I’ve found out why that red bus of Nico’s is free, and it only takes women on board.’ She paused dramatically, on her way to the bathroom. ‘It’s known locally as the Fanny Wagon, because it transports women to the clubs for all the local men.’

  Kaz, Rach, Soph and I looked at each other speechless, and then we started to laugh. We couldn’t believe it. We had been enthusiastically jumping aboard Nico’s bus every night, and merrily going off into town, not knowing we were aboard the Fanny Wagon.

  ‘How gross is that?’ spluttered Kaz. ‘No wonder those girls from Cardiff started laughing on the first night when they told us about that bus.

  ‘Five fannies on their way into town,’ said Rach, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘How everyone must have laughed when they saw us get on that bus each night. And that’s why no lads ever jumped aboard too.’

  As we were waiting for the coach to pick us up outside the apartment block the following morning to go home, we looked across the road and saw Nico’s wagon parked at the side of the cafe. I shuddered. I was glad we weren’t getting on that bus again. I caught Soph’s eye and she gave a weak little smile. Soph was easily upset and she had been a bit shocked by the whole Fanny Wagon thing.

  The coach came up the road in a cloud of dust, and we all put our suitcases in the big hold and climbed on board.

  It had been a good holiday, I thought scratching at a mosquito bite, as the coach rumbled off down the road. We passed Nico who was trimming the hedge outside the cafe, and he waved. I gave an embarrassed wave back, and then quickly looked away. I felt like I had the word ‘Fanny’ tattooed on my forehead for the whole world to see.

  None of us had quite forgiven Tash, for going missing for the last 24 hours. She still thought she had done nothing wrong. When I had told her that we’d all imagined her dead body rolled in a carpet and stuffed into a car boot somewhere, she told me off for having a too vivid imagination.

  ‘You want to live a little, Bee,’ she had said airily.

  ‘That doesn’t mean shagging every dark stranger you come across, especially some lunatic who trusses himself up in chains,’ I had retorted furiously. But there was no telling Tash. She did what she wanted and there was no stopping her. I was so angry at her, I half wished that she had actually been rolled up in a carpet and dumped somewhere. It would have served her right.

  ******************************

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I had that awful Monday morning feeling. Going back into work after a weekend was always a killer. But after a week’s holiday was a million times worse.

  Maria laughed when I walked into the agency.

  ‘Good holiday was it then?’ she said, noting my gloomy expression.

  The rain was pouring down the front of the glass doors, and I shook my umbrella viciously on the mat before leaning it in a corner.

  ‘Anywhere’s better than this country,’ I told her, thinking of the seven days of pure blue sunshine I’d just had, and the golden beach we had left behind. Post holiday blues was a serious thing, I thought as I switched on the coffee machine as part of my morning ritual. I had seriously felt like killing myself when I had woke up this morning and remembered that I wasn’t on holiday in Italy.

  ‘I could even quite happily climb aboard the Fanny Wagon right now, as long as it took me out of rainy Cheshire and back into the sun,’ I had told Rach on the phone this morning, on my way into work.

  ‘Crikey, you must have it bad,’ she told me. ‘You wouldn’t catch me within ten miles of that thing now.’

  I stirred my coffee and took it back to my desk. I must do some work now, I thought, switching on my computer. But an hour later, I found I was still staring into space and the little box for my office password was still flashing blank on the screen.

  I looked up, jolted out of my reverie, as the glass entrance doors swung open and in walked Nick. He looked sickeningly brown - compared to my white pallor from too many late nights.

  ‘I thought you’d been on holiday?’ said Nick, stopping at my desk and looking puzzled.

  ‘This,’ I said, pointing to my white face, ‘is what you call having a good time. We were too busy clubbing and meeting people to get a tan.’

  ‘So did you meet any potential husbands amongst the beer swilling monsters?’ laughed Nick, dumping his bag on his desk.

  ‘No,’ I confessed. ‘Although there were plenty of men sussing us out each night.’ I told him about the Fanny Wagon and I thought he was going to choke on his own tongue, he was laughing so hard.

  ‘You mean to say you only found out on the last night, and for six nights you’d hitched a ride on that thing?’ he asked incredulously.

  ‘Well we weren’t to know,’ I retorted hotly, regretting having told that last bit to him.

  ‘Didn’t you think it was strange that men were getting into taxis at the cafe instead of hopping on a free bus. Hello is anyone in there?’ he added, tapping hard on my forehead.

  ‘All right, all right. So we were being paraded to the locals. It’s not that bad,’ I added lamely, thinking actually yes it sounded horrendous, in an almost seedy prostitute kind of way. What must Nick think of me?

  ‘What on earth made you go to such a resort,’ added Nick. ‘Aren’t you a bit old to be galavanting around places like that? It’s what I used to do as a teenager.’

  ‘Yes well that was last century,’ I reminded him. ‘Probably about two centuries ago judging from how old and decrepit you look.’

  But Nick had hit on a nerve. I had felt out of place at the clubs. Perhaps I would suggest to Tash that we go somewhere more refined and sedate next year. Mind you, if the club did its job properly, hopefully we would all be in the first flush of married life by this time next year.

  I felt a bit sad at the thought that we may have gone on the last girly holiday ever. But never having the humiliation of being aboard a Fanny Wagon again wouldn’t be a bad thing. I think Soph has been scarred for life. And to go on a holiday with a gorgeous and attentive husband looking after my every need would be fantastic.

  ‘How was your safari trip?’ I said, diverting Nick’s attention from my holiday, and from thinking of me as a sad grubby old crone who hung around young clubs trying to recapture her youth.

  ‘It was an adventure to say the least,’ said Nick, coming back from the coffee machine with two steaming cappuccinos and putting one down on my desk.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, taking a sip.

  ‘I don’t think Claire will ever want to go back to Africa again after the experience we had,’ he added.

  ‘I didn’t know Claire was going with you,’ I said, a dart of jealousy suddenly ripping through me. That took me by surprise. Why on earth would I be jealous of Claire? I made a mental note to ask Rach about it when I spoke to her later.

  ‘Why what happened? I thought you were on a safari trip taking wildlife photographs,’ I said, puzzled.

  ‘We set off in a jeep to a wildlife reserve that we had been told was a two hour drive away, and it turned out to be twice that long,’ said Nick. ‘We hadn’t got a guide with us as the other couple with us had said they knew the area. When we got in the nature reserve
we were driving along a track and it had been raining hard so it was very muddy and the jeep wheels suddenly got stuck in the mud.’

  My eyes widened. It was already sounding scary.

  ‘Aren’t there lions and things on safari?’ I asked hopefully, suddenly having a lovely vision of Nick being eaten by a lion.

  ‘Loads of them,’ he replied. ‘ I knew that we needed to find some stones to try and wedge under the wheels to give them some grip, so we had to jump out the jeep and find some. The thing was, the only stones were in a nearby dry river bed, so we had to spend the next two hours dragging stones up from there. And it’s a well known fact that lions like to prowl along dry river beds, looking for prey. But it was the only way of getting out of there alive.’ Honestly, Nick made it sound like he was Indiana Jones or something.

  ‘What about Claire, wasn’t she terrified?’ I asked, hoping that she’d been so frightened she’d had a cardiac arrest.

  ‘She had to stay in the jeep as she was wearing a pair of white high heeled shoes, so she couldn’t walk in the river bed easily,’ said Nick.

  ‘What, she was on safari in a pair of white high heels,’ I said, incredulously. ‘Has she got no sense at all?’

  ‘Do you mean as much sense as someone getting in a Fanny Wagon and being trawled past all the men in Italy?’ Nick shot back at me. I ignored him.

  ‘I still wouldn’t do anything as stupid as wear a pair of heels on safari,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Mind you, what would you expect with someone that young,’ I added, giving my best pitying look to Nick. But it was lost on him.

  ‘So you didn’t get mauled then?’ I asked hopefully.

  ‘Well now you mention it,’ he said, rolling up his sleeve to show a hideous looking wound that stretched from the top of his arm right down to his elbow.

  I gaped at him. Perhaps he was Indiana Jones after all.

  ‘Was that really a lion?’ I breathed.

  ‘Yep,’ said Nick. ‘I was carrying the last stone and suddenly one jumped out of a nearby bush and ran at us. I pushed Keith into the jeep in front of me, but he got my arm. I punched him on the nose and managed to get my arm out of his mouth, but not before he ripped it clean open.’

  I couldn’t speak for admiration. He had gone up about a hundred feet in my estimation. I had never had Nick down for the sweat covered tarzan type who swung from vines, but here he was telling me he had wrestled a lion and won. Suddenly a spark of something shot through me, and I looked at him through different eyes. Nick was quite attractive after all, I decided, in a split second.

  He pulled at the scar on his arm. It came off in a clean sweep, leaving his arm perfectly healthy underneath.

  ‘Gotcha!’ he said, dangling the scar in front of my face. I snatched at it. It felt rubbery in my hands. It was a fake scar. Nick was grinning at me.

  ‘I had you going there,’ he teased. I thought of the split second when I’d looked at him with lust in my eyes, and I knew he’d clocked it. I felt hot with shame. How could I have ever thought Nick looked like Indiana Jones. He was just a washed up old hairy photographer. Yuk.

  I threw the scar at him and it plopped into his coffee, spilling hot drops over his trousers.

  ‘Ouch,’ he said, rubbing at the spots.

  ‘It serves you right,’ I screeched at him. ‘Fancy letting me think you had fought a lion. I might have known that it was all a joke - you couldn’t fight a flea and win.’ And with that I got up from my chair and swept out the side door into the ladies. That was twice in two weeks that I’d swept out the office. It instantly made me feel better.

  Kaz and Rach fell about laughing when I told them about Nick’s fake scar later on. I’d met them for a coffee after work at Saleros.

  ‘It's a good joke Bee, don’t take it so much to heart,’ Kaz had said when she had stopped laughing so hard.

  ‘He made me feel stupid,’ I complained, giving my coffee a stir. ‘For one moment, it had changed my opinion of him, and I thought he was a bit attractive for once. And I’m sure he caught me giving him a split second lustful look.’

  ‘Well Indiana Jones is very attractive,’ admitted Kaz. ‘There is something very sexy about a man who squashes killer spiders with his bare hands and looks like he hasn’t washed for a week. Kind of rough and ready,’ she added.

  ‘I know, and that’s what took me by surprise,’ I said. ‘And for him to see me looking at him like that was plain humiliating.’

  ‘He probably never saw the look,’ consoled Rach.

  ‘Oh yes he did,’ I said, darkly. ‘And now he’s got one up on me. And another thing. Why was I jealous for a split second when he told me Claire had gone on holiday with him? I didn’t even slightly fancy him then as he hadn’t yet told me about the lion.’

  ‘Well that’s understandable,’ said Rach. ‘You were moaning on holiday about feeling too old to go clubbing, and saying we should be holidaying individually with husbands by now. Then you see Claire doing what you think we should be doing. That’s why you were jealous - of what she was doing, not who she was doing it with.’

  ‘Yes you’re right,’ I said in relief. Thank God I didn’t harbour a secret passion for Nick that I hadn’t known about. That would be just disastrous.

  I had something to ask Rach.

  ‘Did you ever make that appointment for us to get latex masks fitted?’ I asked her, as we walked out of Saleros.

  ‘I rang and the woman said we could come in anytime. Why?’ she asked.

  ‘I fancy having mine done as soon as possible,’ I said. ‘I wanted to go and watch Paul’s house for a couple of days, to see if he was seeing anyone else, to see if that was the reason why he stood me up.’

  Being stood up by Paul was still preying on my mind. And I wanted to get some answers. If I watched his house for a few days, then I might get some closure.

  ‘I don’t want him to recognise me, so I thought what a good idea the masks would be,’ I added.

  ‘You said we would all look like we were off to rob a bank a few weeks ago,’ pointed out Kaz.

  ‘I know, but I didn’t have a real reason to wear one then,’ I said crossly. ‘With one of these, I could actually walk past Paul and hopefully he wouldn’t even know it was me.’

  ‘I’ll ring the woman and see if she can fit us in tomorrow,’ promised Rach. ‘I’ve always wanted to walk around in a disguise, like a spy.’

  ‘Paul will probably take one look at you and think ‘what’s that mad cow doing in a mask’ and ring the police,’ Kaz pointed out.

  ‘I won’t be walking past him,’ I said. ‘I’ll be in a car across the road. I only want to watch his house, not punch him in the face.’ Admittedly that was quite a nice thought - as satisfying as the thought of Nick getting eaten by a lion.

  Rach rang me excitedly the next day. It was a Saturday and she had managed to get us an appointment that afternoon for all five of us at the latex mask company.

  Rach and I were the only ones who were excited about it. Rach because of her mad delusions at being a top spy, and me because of my crazed obsession to find out why Paul had stood me up.

  The others were less interested, and Tash was worried that the rubber used to make the mould of our faces was going to get in her hair.

  A few hours later we all trooped into the grey corrugated iron building on an industrial site out of town. It didn’t look very impressive, I thought. I hope the masks will be a bit more professional looking - we didn’t want to end up looking like gargoyles on acid.

  A woman came out of the side door and came up to us smiling. She shook our hands.

  ‘I’m Lena,’ she said. ‘I’ll be making your masks today.’ She shook our hands one by one as we introduced ourselves.

  ‘What are you needing the masks for - do you all belong to a local theatre company?’ she asked.

  ‘No, we...’ I kicked Rach on the ankle and hurriedly interrupted her.

  ‘Yes we’ve got a production coming up and we need them for
that,’ I said. I didn’t want this woman to know what we really wanted them for. That we were a bunch of sad girls who needed masks to go stalking ex boyfriends who have stood us up.

  She’d probably call the local hospital and get us all sectioned for being completely mad. Either that or she would look at us with such pity it would be embarrassing. I didn’t know which would be worse.

  ‘What production are you doing?’ asked Lena, curiously. ‘I did drama at university, so I know quite a lot of plays.’ I looked at her blankly. Oh my God what should I say?

  ‘Oh...erm...erm. It’s actually this thing that.......well it’s some modern one, you won’t know it,’ I said quickly, desperately looking around at the others for some support.

  ‘It has been written by one of our colleagues,’ added Tash. ‘It’s about five girls who all change their identities,’ she added lamely.

  ‘Oh that sounds good,’ said Lena, politely. ‘Anyway here we are.’ She opened a side door and let us into a studio. It was full of clay heads. It was quite spooky, and I was glad that broad daylight was streaming through the skylight.

  Tash was the first to go. She sat in the chair and Lena carefully secured her hair back with a wide Alice band. Some special cream was rubbed into her face to stop the latex sticking as it was put on with a wide paint brush.

  Whilst Tash was being done, Lena’s assistant Max started on me. The cream being rubbed into my face was quite pleasant - rather like having a facial. But the liquid rubber was then painted over my face.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ instructed Max, starting to paint over my eyelids with big strokes. I had to close my mouth too and that was painted over, the only two holes were left in my nostrils for me to breathe. Then it started to get hot. I could feel the panic rising in my throat and my heart began to thump in my chest.

  I’ve always dreaded going in one of those tube scanner things at hospital, and this felt much worse. I had this horrible desire to open my eyes, but I knew I couldn’t. It was like being tortured.