Daddy Dom

by Lucy Wild

  Chapter One

  Abigail Moncrieff pouted into her phone as she drove, looking down at the screen, getting the perfect snapshot to upload. Her new lipstick shone in the photos, setting off perfectly the deep blue of her eyes. Taking her other hand off the wheel, she drove with her knees, smoothing her hair just a little more, ready for another snap. You are gorgeous, she thought, as the car veered to the right.

  She grabbed the wheel again just in time, swerving round a cyclist with inches to spare. What was he doing on the road anyway? Roads were for cars, not Lycra morons, she always said. There were too many bikes and too many cars in the city anyway. Roll on village life where she could be Queen of the road again.

  Scrolling through the photos she’d just taken, she began to upload her favourite, no filter needed. Typing in hashtags, she almost missed the red light in front of her. She hit the brakes, almost dropping her phone as her four inch heel slid off the pedal and thudded into the footwell underneath. The car stopped a hair’s breadth from the one in front, the occupant of that vehicle glaring in his rear view mirror at her, pointing theatrically at his eye whilst mouthing something.

  Why did he care about her? She’d be doing him a favour if she wrote off an old banger like that, the insurance was probably worth more than the car. If Abbey had her way, only people like her would be allowed to drive, people of means, people with cars that looked beautiful, driven by beautiful people, not rusty old things like that.

  The cyclist she’d come so close to hitting rode past her towards the front of the lights, shaking his fist as he went by. She tossed her hair and blew him a kiss, revving away as the lights turned green.

  Reaching down into the passenger footwell as she drove, she grabbed her phone, adding a caption to her photo as she mounted the kerb and then bumped back down again. “This city girl is ready for one last night of madness before the country life beckons.”

  When her father had first announced they were moving to the countryside, she’d been furious with him. The news had completely spoilt her eighteenth birthday. “You have to tell me this today?” she asked, kicking out at the convertible he’d just bought her, denting the wing and breaking the heel off her shoe at the same time. “First you get me the wrong colour car, then you tell me we’re moving?” She leaned towards him as he mumbled an apology. “I hate you.”

  She’d stormed off to her room, vowing never to speak to him again. But that had been three months ago and in the intervening period, he’d bought her the right colour car, promised her a new horse when they moved and even taken her to Scotland by chartered helicopter to go to that spa she loved, the one that helped her soothe away the stresses of life better than anywhere else.

  The more she thought about moving, the more the idea grew on her. The city was loud, noisy, and full of plebs. She could become an earth child, get the toxins out of her pores, live as simply as the peasants did, chopping wood and plucking apples from an orchard. She might even write an organic cookbook while she was at it.

  There was just time for one last night out before the move and she intended to make the most of it. The queue outside the club was enormous and it wasn’t even nine yet. She drove to the garage her father had rented just for her, feeling a strange sense of poignancy that she might never use it again.

  The garage had cost a quarter of a million to buy but as she’d pointed out, “Would you rather I have to walk, Daddy? Why not go all the way and make me take the bus? Or get me a council house somewhere so I can get pregnant from some drug addict?” He complained, he always did but batting her eyelids and having a huge tantrum whilst he tried to entertain the Chancellor of the Exchequer and his wife was enough to ensure the deal was sealed. Besides, he’d just arranged to sell the garage for three hundred thousand so he should be grateful, she’d made him a decent profit on the place.

  Climbing out of the car, she smiled to herself. It was so good to not have to worry about parking by her favourite club. Perhaps she should have made him keep it so she could come back when she wanted. No, time for a fresh start. Can’t be an earth child and go clubbing at the same time.

  She stepped out of the garage and onto the street as the door closed silently behind her. The unwashed masses gave her admiring glances as she sauntered by with a spring in her step. Yes, that’s right, she thought, it is that dress you saw at the movie awards last week. It might have looked good on the winner of the best actress award but it looked better on her, though the chill of the wind wasn’t helpful, making her quicken her pace as she headed for the door.

  Someone wolf whistled and she ignored them. Plebs, they were all the same. When would she meet a real man, not some gutter scum?

  “I’m not sure it’s entirely suitable for someone your age,” her father had said when she modelled it for him.

  “It’ll get me a husband,” she replied, using the sweetener she’d used so many times before. All her father had ever wanted was for her to find a decent man and get married, not something she intended to do any time soon. Still, it was a useful excuse whenever he needed pacifying.

  “Isn’t it showing off a bit much of you?”

  Abbey looked down at the slit up to her left hip, the cut of the chest, the missing panel that exposed most of her midriff, leaving her needing sticky tape to hold it in place below her belly button.

  “A bit much?” she parroted back, stamping her foot and folding her arms. “Rather I go out in sackcloth and string? Is that what you want? Am I too ugly or too fat or is it both? Shall I put a bag over my head while I’m at it?”

  “No, darling,” he replied, admitting defeat. “It looks lovely.”

  “It had better, I’m wearing it out tonight.”

  She could feel the eyes of the queue on her, the men wanting her, the women wanting to be her. She smiled to herself as she walked past them all, pausing to give the slightest of nods to the doorman before stepping inside to enter a heaving mass of people, lights flashing in the darkness, music so loud she could barely hear herself think. It was incredible.

  The heat of the place took away the chill of the outside in an instant. Looking around her, she ran her eyes over some of the people she knew. She would miss seeing Jocasta drunk and making a fool of herself, surrounded in her corner by men in suits, like a doe surrounded by wolves. If she got home without every hole sore, it’d be a miracle.

  Edwina and Tamsin were sitting together though they were both tapping on their phones, no doubt uploading images of their night out. They could try all they wanted, they’d never look as hot as her.

  Making her way to the bar, Abbey felt good. No, she felt better than good. She felt great. Then someone bumped into her, sending an entire glass of wine down the front of her dress. “You fucking idiot,” Abbey snapped, sneering at the cheap suit in front of her, the middle aged occupant of the shiny fabric looking back at her in horrified shock. “Do you have any idea how much this dress cost?”

  “Sorry, love,” the man replied, brushing his hand down her front. “Didn’t see you.”

  “Get your hands off me,” she replied, batting him away. “It’s ruined.”

  “Never mind, eh. It’ll come out in the wash.”

  “That’s it? That’s your apology?”

  “I said I was sorry. What more do you want?”

  “I should make you pay for it but by the look of you, it’d take years.”

  He went to brush her down again and she shoved him backwards. “Get away from me!” she snapped as he bumped into a group of people behind him, stumbling and falling to the floor as she spun on her heels and stormed off.

  She marched over to the ladies bathroom, doing her best to ignore the pointing fingers and giggling faces of Edwina and Tamsin. Pushing open the door, she shoved past the woman coming out. “Move!” she shouted, ignoring the queue for the cubicles and darting into the first one to open, locking it to the sound of protests from the queue. “This is urgent,” she called out to them, looking down at the red stain
that covered her chest, dripping down onto the bare skin of her stomach. What the hell was she supposed to do?

  Chapter Two

  When someone knocked on the cubicle door, Abbey didn’t answer, she was too busy trying not to cry.

  “Are you in there, Abbey?” a voice asked.

  She fumbled for the lock. “Kate, thank God it’s you. Get in here.” Swinging the door open, she grabbed her best friend by the arm, yanking her inside the cubicle. “It’s a disaster. Look at me. I might as well kill myself.”

  “It’s not that bad, honestly.”

  “Don’t lie to me, it’s ruined.”

  “Look,” Kate said, taking Abbey’s hands in hers. “It’s really not that bad. We just need to give it a rinse.” She pulled open the door and led a reluctant Abbey over to the sinks, twisting the tap until water began to pour downwards towards the plughole. “Watch,” she said, gathering up a handful of tissues and dabbing water onto the front of the dress.

  “Hey, that’s cold,” Abbey snapped. “What’s the point. Oh, my God, it’s working.”

  “Designer fabric,” Kate replied. “There’s some chemical in it that repels stains, can’t remember the name.”

  Abbey nodded. Kate knew everything there was to know about designer labels, from which assistant cut the cloth to what continent the threads came from. If she said the stain would come out, it would. She was right, as usual. Within minutes the red had faded to a barely visible pink. “Just need to let it dry and then it’ll be good as new. Lucky the club lights are forgiving. Let’s go get a drink, shall we?”

  “I can’t go back out there, not like this.”

  “It’s a dark nightclub, not a catwalk. No one will notice at thing. Now, you’re coming with me. I haven’t had any alcohol for ten minutes and if I don’t get some in me soon, I might start to sober up. That would never do.”

  Abbey followed her out to the bar, her arms folded across the damp section of her dress, shielding it from view. By the end of her first drink, she had lowered her guard and by the sixth, she didn’t care who noticed the stain. “I might just go roll round in some mud,” she slurred over the music. “Become earth child early”

  “Have another glass first,” Kate replied. “God, I feel like dancing.”

  Abbey watched Kate go, draining her drink before heading after her. She spent the next hour sweating on the dancefloor, grinding against one handsome guy after another, using her body to tease each of them before moving onto the next, laughing at the frustration at those she left behind her. She knew they wanted her to take them home. With her looks, she could choose anyone she liked.

  Turning, she spotted a face she thought she recognised. It took her a moment and then she realised it was the idiot who’d spilled his drink on her. Time for revenge, she thought, squeezing her way towards the bar. Then a thought occurred to her. There was a much better way of getting revenge than just pouring a drink on him. A grin spread across her face as she moved towards him, taking her time, swapping the grin for a seductive pout when she reached him.

  “Care to dance?” she asked, grabbing his hand and pulling him away from his friends. They all yelled encouragement as she pressed herself up against him, using the slit in the side of her dress to her advantage, sliding her leg around his, pushing herself against him, easing her way downwards and then back up, watching the growing discomfort on his face with glee.

  She had to resist laughing. Men were so easily manipulated. They were such simple creatures. No more than children really, so damned easy to tease. She rubbed herself against wine guy’s hips, turning away from him and grinding her buttocks against him, feeling the stiffness of his erection pressing against her as he stood immobile on the spot.

  She turned back to him, running her hand down his chest, her fingers stopping at the belt of his trousers. “Want to dance somewhere a little more privately?” she asked, hooking her thumb into his belt and leading him across the dancefloor. She pushed open the door to the back room. A long corridor linked the two areas of the club, couples lining the walls of the linkway. The corridor was well known as the place to go when you wanted to get more intimate with your new found friends. Abbey found an empty corner and pushed the man up against the wall behind him.

  “Get it out then,” she whispered in his ear, running her hand over his crotch, feeling the stiffness twitch at her touch.

  “I don’t think so,” the man replied. “I’m old enough to be your father.

  “Come on, I want it. I need it.”

  He reached down and moved her hand away, his face a mix of surprise and lust. “I said no. If you were my daughter, I’d be appalled by your behaviour.”

  “You didn’t get hard when I danced with you then, didn’t think about fucking me?”

  “You should wash your mouth out!” the man said, his hand grabbing her shoulder. “You don’t get to behave like a whore without consequences.” He grabbed her, reaching down to smack her bottom.

  “What are you doing? Get your hand off me or I’ll scream.”

  “I’m guessing no one’s ever down this before.” He began pushing her downwards and Abbey was surprised by his strength. This wasn’t what she had planned. He hand slammed onto her rear, making her buttock sting with pain as she yelped loudly. Looking down, she realised there was only one thing she could do. Lifting her leg, she shoved her knee upwards, connecting with the most sensitive part of his body. She watched as the man winced in surprised shock and then collapsed to the floor, his mouth open in a silent scream.

  Abbey was just turning when she felt a hand on her shoulder. “You know the rules,” a bouncer shouted in her ear, “no fighting in here.”

  “Get your hands off me,” she snapped back. “You animal, who do you think you are, manhandling a Moncrieff?”

  “Unluckily for you, I am in charge of client safety and I saw what you just did to him. Now out.”

  “But he was about to assault me,” Abbey replied, looking down at the prone figure on the floor. “Does he just get away with trying to force himself on me? That man needs arresting!”

  “Course he does,” the bouncer smiled as if to say he’d heard it all before. “Come on, off we go.”

  He began leading her through the club, Abbey clawing at his hand the entire time. “Don’t you know who I am?” she screamed as she was shoved out onto the street. “I’ll have your job for this, you fucking pleb.”

  “No doubt you will,” he replied. “Now go home and sober up.”

  “I will get you!” Abbey said, stamping her foot and pointing directly at him. “Mark my words, you’re done here.”

  “Go on, piss off before I call the police.”

  Abbey spun on her heels, stomping towards the garage, unable to believe what had just happened. Thrown out of her favourite club by some working class gorilla with no clue how powerful she was, how important she was. He’d pay though. When her father heard about what happened, he’d be on the dole queue by the end of the week. That’d teach him what happened to people who manhandled Abigail Moncrieff.

  Chapter Three

  The fresh air smelt good. She had to admit that. The journey from the city had taken an age, her father driving so slowly she might as well have walked, as she informed him several times an hour.

  “Why couldn’t I bring my car?” she asked as they caught up with yet another tractor.

  “Because you crashed your car, sweetie,” he replied patiently, not even trying to overtake. “I don’t know how long until it’s driveable again.”

  “If you’d bought me one with better brakes, I wouldn’t have done,” she replied, thinking how easy it would have been for her car to race past the tractor. She’d have been there hours ago.

  “You drove to the club whilst drunk. You left it more drunk. You crashed your car. Or did you forget? You were asleep when the police found you, your phone in the middle of sending a message. You’ve no idea how much it cost to get them to drop the charges, I’ll be funding the
ir Christmas party for a decade.”

  “I want to drive my own car.”

  “Well, I’m afraid you can’t until it’s fixed.”

  “That’s just like you. You never let me do anything I want to.”

  “Sweetie, please, I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

  “You better.”

  It had just gone noon by the time they arrived at the new house. It seemed smaller than the last time she viewed it. “Is this it?” she asked as she climbed out of the car. “This isn’t it, is it?” She stretched her back before turning to her father. “Tell me this isn’t it.”

  “Don’t you like it, sweetie?” her father asked, unlocking the gate so he could drive the car in.

  “I’m going for a walk,” she replied, heading down the path into the village. So they were going to live here? The place was so small that in ten minutes she’d reached the last of the houses and the end of the footpath, there was nothing else but road and fields. Turning round, she headed slowly back, catching her heel in a muddy puddle at the edge of the path.

  Swearing loudly, she looked around for something to wipe away the mud. In the garden next to her, a row of clothes was wafting back and forth on a clothes line. That’ll do, she thought, pushing open the gate and grabbing the nearest thing from the line. It was a white blouse, just the right size to scrape the mud from her shoe. She tossed the blouse back into the garden once she was done, not noticing the villager watching her through the cottage window at the far end of the garden.

  There was a small lane to her right a few houses later and she walked down it, spotting an orchard filled with apple and pear trees. Without stopping, she walked through the open gate into the orchard, reaching up and tugging at an apple, biting into it as she returned to the lane. Not bad, she thought as she chewed slowly. Organic at least. At the far end of the orchard, another villager watched her with his arms folded.