by Calvin Wade
“Have you seen the new tennis instructor, mate?”
“Which one?”
“The blonde piece with the big tits.”
“No, I would have remembered her. When did she start?”
“Not sure mate, I only spotted her last week. You should see the norks on her mate, top quality.”
“Is she tidy as well?
“Stunning mate. In fact, she’s so fit, after watching her give someone a lesson for two minutes, I had to walk around for five as I didn’t want to go in the changing rooms with a boner.”
“Seriously, that fit?”
“Honestly mate, she’s a goddess.”
“Might have to book myself a tennis lesson then, sounds like it would be money well spent.”
“I reckon so, mate.”
“I tell you who’s my favourite instructor, that little dark piece with the bob in the gym.”
“Sandy?”
“Yeh, that’s the one, she’s gorgeous her. Chorley’s answer to Cheryl Cole.”
“She’s alright. No tits though.”
“I don’t care mate, she’s well tasty. I reckon she likes me too. She always comes over and has a chat when I’m doing my weights.”
These two blokes were sexist idiots but I must admit, I was finding their conversation entertaining.
“That’s her job, mate. Anyway, you’ve no chance with her.”
“How come?”
“I think she’s going out with that lad who works in there. What’s his name? The one built like a brick shit house. The one all the women flirt with.”
I wasn’t liking the sound of this.
“Martin.”
“Cocky git, full of himself?”
“Yes, that’s Martin.”
“Right, I think she’s going out with Martin then.”
I stopped closing my eyes at this point and sat up.
“Come to think of it, I think you’re right. They’re always messing around and grabbing each other, aren’t they? Maybe they’re just good mates though.”
“No chance. If you have a mate who’s a girl, you don’t feel her up like that, she’d give you a slap. He’s definitely giving her one.”
“Fair point. I’ll have to concentrate on that tennis instructor then.”
I was seething. Not with the stupid, sexist lads but with Martin and Sandy. Sandy is a good looking girl and I think it is only natural to worry when your boyfriend is working with a looker, but I had never imagined, for a second, that something was going on between them, not until now anyway. I knew Sandy, she always said ‘hello’ to me when I was in the gym. I thought she was lovely. This felt like a betrayal. Once Martin was finished, I knew I was going to have serious words. If Martin had proposal plans, this needed to be sorted out first.
To make matters even worse, when Martin came into the coffee lounge, who was he horsing around with? Bloody Sandy. He knew I was in there. I had text him to say I’d be there, so their laughing and joking felt like it was aimed at me. I couldn’t stand it. I stood up and decided I was leaving. Sod the proposal that wasn’t going to be happening. Problem was, I had to walk past them to get out. I headed towards them, intending to pass by without a word.
“Hi Zara!” Sandy said with a smile. False bitch. I still had my flavoured bottled water in my hand, with half the contents still in there, so as I unscrewed the top and as I passed her, threw the contents into her face.
“Zara! What the hell is wrong with you?” Martin asked.
I ignored him, marching straight out the room, pushing the double doors so hard they nearly hit a poor grey haired guy who was just coming in. I continued to storm off with a determined stride, but could hear Martin in pursuit.
I’m too tired now to go into the whole of our subsequent argument, but it wasn’t a big scene. Despite the water throwing incident, which I know was wrong, I am not into making a scene. I just calmly told Martin that I thought he was two timing me with Sandy. He told me that they were only friends. I then repeated some of the conversation the annoying men had about Sandy and Martin always fooling around together and Martin explained that he had been to school with Sandy, they had known each other for years and they just had a jokey brother and sister type relationship. I said if he acted like that it would be impossible for me to trust him and he said if I didn’t trust him we had no future, as he worked with hundreds of men and women every day and if I was going to come across all moody and possessive every time he spoke to a woman it would make things impossible.
“Is that it then?” I asked, “Are we finished?”
“I don’t see any future now, do you?” Martin asked.
“I’m not sure. What did you want to tell me face to face anyway?”
“Oh that,” Martin said a little sheepishly, “not that it really matters now, but I’d noticed all the bride magazines and stuff around your house and I just wanted to tell you that I didn’t want you getting your hopes up about marriage.”
“You mean you wouldn’t want to marry me.”
“Couldn’t, Zara. I am already married.”
“You’re married?” I said. I was stunned.
“On paper, anyway. I’ve been separated for eighteen months, but I’m not divorced. Marriage isn’t for me, Zara. I’ll never go through that experience again, ever.”
“So you let me subscribe to bridal magazines and even sit with you looking through dresses and marking them out of ten and you didn’t think to mention you were already married or that you never intended to marry again?”
“I’m telling you now, aren’t I? Anyway, it’s over between us now so what does it matter?”
I didn’t say anything more I just stormed off. We had been together a year and he didn’t even care to tell me that he was already married. I shed a little tear. Everyone I ever went out with just found a new way to humiliate me. It wasn’t fair.
So that was that. Married Martin was consigned to romantic history. Another one bites the dust. I stormed back to Charlie, my car, thinking the drama was over, but bloody hell, it had only just started.
ZARA – May 2012
I sat inside Charlie, my red Vauxhall Corsa and looked at myself in the rear view mirror. I was never going to win Miss Universe, but I had a pretty face and a decent body too. If my looks were measured on a ruler, with zero centimetres being really ugly and thirty centimetres being Michelle Keegan, from Corrie, then I reckon I would be in the low twenties. There were more girls my age that would trade looks with me, than those who wouldn’t. The depressing thing was, if I wasn’t failing in every relationship due to my looks or my body, then it must mean my personality was the cause of all my failings.
I turned the ignition on and put my foot down hard on the accelerator, before I was in gear, just to hear Charlie roar. I then put her into reverse. Although I was pretty sure that Martin had returned back into the gym and would not be tearfully watching my departure, I still wanted to drive off at top speed, just in case he was looking. Driving off slowly at ten miles an hour somehow did not give off the right impression. I was angry and wheel spinning off into the sunset reflected that.
I took the handbrake off, put my foot down hard again on the accelerator and jolted backwards at speed. Unfortunately, it was far too much speed. The gym car park at David Lloyd’s is always busy and before I had time to swop my right foot from accelerator to brake, I heard the ominous crunch of metal on metal.
“Shittin’ hell!” I cried out, I’d only gone and hit someone’s car.
I twisted around hoping to see a shabby contraption, full of rust, that was only fit for the scrap yard, but rather than that my eyes fell upon a brand spanking new silver Mercedes. Could my day get any worse? I’d only managed to smack into, what appeared to be, the newest, most expensive car in the whole bloody car park! How much was this going to cost me?
Lots of thoughts raced through my mind all at once. My brain wasn’t used to thinking hard and I was worried that it might flood like a car engine. Afte
r the initial panic, I began to relax about the cost of the damage, as I realised that’s what car insurance was for. Car insurance. Did I have car insurance? When I left ‘Penny Pinchers’, before I had started work for the council, my bank account had gone beyond its overdraft limit. When this happened, I was bombarded with letters from financial institutions telling me my direct debit had been returned unpaid and if I didn’t find an alternative method of payment, the facility would no longer be provided. I remember this happening with the gas and electricity, thankfully Nadeem took pity on me and paid it, but had I also had a letter from the car insurance company to? I wasn’t sure. What would happen if I had no insurance? Would I have to pay for the damage myself, or even worse, could I be prosecuted for not having car insurance in place?
All these thoughts went through my head in a matter of seconds. No wonder my brain hurt. It was then that instinct and panic took over. I put my little Charlie into first gear, edged forward a little and then put my foot down and got the hell out of that car park as quickly as I could. In the circumstances, I had no choice. I had no insurance and no cash. The owner of the Mercedes probably had both. He or she would need to pick up their tab this time. I know it wasn’t their fault, but it wasn’t mine either, I was in emotional turmoil. Temporary insanity I think they call it.
As I was making my get away, wondering whether the gym had CCTV or if anyone might have spotted my crime, I glanced in my mirror and felt like curling up in a bush and dying like an old age cat. The silver Mercedes was following me. The driver must have seen me crash into him, dived into his car and followed me. It looked as though he must be raging mad as he was right up my backside. I was bricking it. What would I say to him? There was no excuse possible that could justify driving off.
I kept on driving. It took me another minute to dare to look in the mirror again and when I did, sure enough, the Mercedes was still right behind me. I couldn’t make out the drivers face. It must have either been a small man or woman at the wheel. This re-assured me a little, at least now I was only going to be arrested, not beaten to death.
For once, common sense prevailed in my brain. I decided I needed to be brave. This was ridiculous. I had done a stupid thing driving off and if I tried to shake off a Mercedes in my Corsa, which would be an even more stupid idea. I needed to pull over at the next junction and put myself at the mercy of the Mercedes driver. If it was a man, I would use the dizzy blonde routine that I was well versed at. If it was a woman, I would just be honest, confess to being in distress due to a relationship break up and offer to pay all costs.
The first junction on my left was the entrance to Botany Bay. Botany Bay is an old mill between the Leeds-Liverpool canal and the M61 motorway that has been converted into a shopping centre. It closes at half past five every day so at around six o’clock, the gate to the car park is pulled shut. I drove into the access road and, as I expected, I was closely followed by the Mercedes. Two scruffy young teenagers, who looked about sixteen, were sitting on top of the gate smoking a shared cigarette. I was glad to see them as they would be witnesses to any incident that was about to take place. I pulled up about thirty metres before the gate, turned off my engine, took a deep breath and got out the car. The Mercedes driver had switched his engine off too. I walked towards him but couldn’t see him. Maybe he was lying down, inspecting the damage to the front of his prize possession.
“Hello,” I said nervously, “I’m really so sorry about all this. I don’t think the damage is all that bad. I just went into a panic. I know it was a stupid thing to do. Hello? Hello?”
I was getting no response, so I crouched down myself between my little Charlie and the enormous Mercedes. I received what I can only describe as the fright of my life. I was expecting to see a well-to-do man in his fifties, inspecting the damage or a young, smartly dressed woman, but instead I saw no-one. Not a soul. There just wasn’t anyone there. Where the bloody hell had the driver gone? Had they spontaneously combusted?
It was only when I did a full circle of the Mercedes and got back to the front that I realised what had happened. Charlie’s rear bumper had somehow caught on the front bumper of the Mercedes and hooked on to it. The driver of the Mercedes had not been following me at all. In my panic, I had just been towing an empty Mercedes along the road for half a mile. I needed to somehow prise the two cars apart as quickly as possible and get out of there. I desperately needed help and the two smoking lads sitting on the gate were the key.
“Boys, come over here a sec, “I called out, “have I got a deal for you!”
ZARA – May 2012
The two boys were both about sixteen. Both wore black hoodies and jeans. Both had dark, untidy hair. I should have offered them a decent make over rather than the offer I had put on the table. The only thing that distinguished them from the each other was their height. One of them was over six feet tall. The other was five feet four at most. The smaller one was more confident and cockier. He did the majority of the talking. Our negotiations were in full flow.
“How long for?” the smaller lad asked, twitching nervously as he did so. The air of confidence was definitely being questioned by the situation.
“What?” I asked, understanding the question but just shocked he would dare ask.
“If the deal is that we unhook your car from the Merc and in exchange you flash your boobs, how long do we get to see them for?”
“Five seconds.”
“Make it ten.”
“Ten, then.”
“Bra on or off? We’re not helping you if it’s bra on.”
“Off then.”
For almost the first time in the conversation, the taller kid chipped in.
“Do we get to feel them?”
“No,” I said firmly, “that would be pervy.”
“No deal then,” the tall guy said.
“Fair enough. Thanks anyway, boys,” I said and then turned and walked away, back towards my car.
As I was walking back, I could hear the smaller boy showing his annoyance.
“Why did you have to ask that, Darius, you idiot?”
“I dunno. I just thought our luck was in.”
“It was until you opened your gob.”
“Sorry George.”
I was halfway back when the smaller guy shouted after me,
“OK, you have a deal. We’ll unhook it now and when we’re finished, you flash the goods. Alright?”
I turned around.
“Boys, you have a deal.”
They climbed down from the gate and came over to have a proper look at the two cars.
“Whose is the Merc, anyway?” asked George, the talkative one.
“My husband’s,” I told them, “I reversed into it. He’ll go mad if he sees it hooked to mine. He’s always telling me that I’m an awful driver.”
“With good reason,” said George unsympathetically.
“Do you think you can do this?” I asked.
“I think so. They should be easily separated. If I lift your bumper up and Darius, you push down on the Mercedes bumper, we should be able to prise them apart.”
The boys toiled for about five minutes and with no lack of effort, managed to separate the two bumpers.
“Well done lads!”
George and Darius stood up and dusted themselves off.
“There you go. I told you we’d be able to do it! How is your hubby going to get his car home? You can’t drive them both away.”
“I’ll just tell him that I took his car out, stalled it at Botany Bay and couldn’t manage to re-start it. He’ll probably call me every name under the sun, but then I’ll just drive him here in my car to collect it,” I explained. I was lying so well, I could even picture my husband. He was an older, distinguished, well toned gentleman. Not unlike David Beckham but without the tattoos.
“Sounds plausible, seeing as though he thinks you’re a crap driver,” George agreed.
“We need paying now,” the quieter one, Darius chipped in.
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I was wearing a white blouse, so without hesitation, I just undid the buttons, slipped it off and stood there in my bra.
There was silence for a few seconds. I was half expecting their eyes to pop out their heads as they admired my surgically enhanced cleavage.
“Erm,” Darius, the taller guy gulped before continuing, “you need to take the bra off too. That was the deal.”
“So it was,” I said calmly, “I just need to put my blouse in the car though.”
“Why?” Darius queried.
“The floor’s dusty,” I explained.
“I’ll hold it!” both boys said in unison.
“Thanks boys, but you’re OK, I’ll just put it on the passenger seat.”
They should have realised what was coming. I opened Charlie’s drivers side door, sat in and feigned that I was busy smoothing out my blouse on the passenger seat. The truth was, I never had any intention of showing them my breasts. I just wanted my car releasing. I turned the engine on, did a semi-circular wheel spin so Charlie turned around 180 degrees, then brought my electric window down.
“Thanks guys!”
“Hey! That’s not fair,” said George sounding very much like a child who had his favourite toy confiscated, “We made a deal.”
“Life’s not fair lads. Sorry!”
I started to drive off along the access road, making the type of speedy exit I had intended to make from the gym. I was halfway to the exit when I slammed on the brakes as though an old lady had walked out in front of me. Two thoughts came into my head. Firstly, these two hoody kids will have seen my registration plate. If they wanted to pay me back for conning them, they could easily contact the police and tell them I had left a Mercedes at Botany Bay. I am sure the police would be less likely to believe the bogus story about it being my husband’s car. Secondly, those boys looked dejected. They hadn’t suggested to me that I show them my breasts. I had offered them the deal, knowing I would not be going through with it. I had spent several years receiving false promises from men. Now the tables were turned and it did not feel good at all. It felt horrible. The men that had lied to me probably didn’t give a second’s thought to their betrayal, but I did. I turned around once more, speeding back to the clearly confused kids.