by R J Gould
‘Serves you right, you miserable sod,’ the woman declared as she set off.
He reached the front door of Shirley’s house and rang the bell. He heard light footsteps then the door opened.
‘Jack, what a surprise. You got your slippers on.’
‘I know that, I’m not stupid.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I want to talk. I’ve got a bone to pick with you.’
‘It’s a bit early for discussion, I was working late last night and I’m shattered.’
‘Too bad.’ He pushed past her and headed through the hall to the door of her flat.
‘Take those slippers off, they’re soaking. You’ll ruin me carpet.’
He did so, placing them on the doormat. Memories of taking his shoes off, followed by the rest of his clothes, came flooding back and his anger surfaced. He turned to see Shirley leaning against her sideboard. She was wearing that same dressing gown and he could see that she was naked underneath.
‘Well, sit down then, Jack. I can give you five minutes maximum.’
He sank into the same red leather sofa that he had sat in just a few days earlier and she sat opposite. She had great legs. ‘I’ll be as long as I like. What you did was a bloody disgrace, girl.’
She yawned. ‘An act of revenge,’ she stated.
‘But what about my feelings?’
‘Didn’t know you had any. I wasn’t bothered about you when I sent it, but afterwards I did feel worried about upsetting Cheryl.’
‘Carol.’
‘Carol.’
‘I reckon she’ll get over it, though no thanks to you. Might take a bit of time, but she knows what a good life is when she sees it.’
‘More fool her then. Well, if you’ve finished telling me how you feel you might as well go. I’m going back to bed.’
‘I ain’t finished,’ Jack complained, his anger rising, frustrated that he had failed to get the upper hand during their short conversation.
‘Jack, perhaps I was silly doing what I did, especially for Cher – Carol’s sake. Maybe it was a mistake. OK?’
‘It was more than a mistake, it was a disgrace, a diabolical disgrace and that makes you a right ol’ cow, Shirley.’ He was standing up as he shouted this, pointing an accusing finger at her.
‘What’s going on in here? Who’s he?’ asked a naked man standing by the bedroom door. He was young with a smooth, muscular torso, a shaved head, and a substantial, semi-erect dick.
‘Who am I? More to the point, who is he?’ he asked, turning his gaze towards Shirley.
‘He’s Sam, Jack. We work together at the hotel.’
‘More than work together.’
‘What’s it got to do with you?’ Sam demanded as he joined them in the lounge.
‘Do you know what your slut of a girlfriend has done, mate?’ Jack said, turning back towards Sam.
‘Don’t you call Shirley a slut. And don’t call me mate, because I am not your mate.’
‘I’ll call her whatever I like.’
‘I don’t think you will,’ Sam said, striding towards him. Their faces were now inches apart and Jack looked into steel grey, ruthless eyes. Next thing he knew he had been pushed backwards with considerable force and he was only just able to keep his balance.
‘Out!’ Sam ordered.
Jack stood his ground in his new position nearer the door.
‘I said out!’ The second push was more forceful and Jack staggered and dropped to his knees. He looked up and found himself level with Sam’s dick. For an instant he had the urge to bite it.
‘No need to get rough. I’ve said what I came here to say, I’m off.’
Jack stood and picked up his slippers. Sam gave him a gentler third shove to assist his journey through the flat door. He stepped out and it was slammed shut. He heard laughter. He squeezed out his slippers before putting them on, leaving a puddle of water on the communal hall carpet. Resigned, he headed home.
Two young children, a boy and a girl, were standing at the Arlington Road lights, waiting for the signal to cross. They began to nudge each other and giggle.
‘Mister, did you know you’ve got yer slippers on?’ the little boy asked.
‘Of course I know, I’m not stupid.’
Jack stormed across the road with the light still red and gave a two fingers sign when the bus driver sounded a warning toot.
Lil Briggs-Collingwood
very weird here, Lil texted
what u mean, Matt replied
mum and tosser not speaking
sensible of her. off to football. have good day
no this isn’t normal
is tosser normal
mum looks really sad
sure it’ll be ok, speak later
Lil put her phone in her coat pocket. If he was off to football Matt wouldn’t want to hang about, not even to message her.
They were stuck in a traffic jam on their way to the engagement party. It wasn’t just odd that Mum was silent, she reflected; Jack wasn’t saying anything either, and that was a first. Something had happened, but she had no idea what. Not the best of starts to Wayne’s big day.
Whatever had gone wrong had been recent because her Mum had been so happy when Lil telephoned on Thursday evening to tell her that she was staying the night at a friend’s. Carol had gone on and on about a lecture she’d been to and how thrilled she was about some university course. Lil couldn’t remember hearing her so excited and was pleased for her, although she was impatiently desperate to relay her own news.
At college Thursday afternoon she’d been asked to stay after class by Hazel, her tutor. Hazel was her main teacher on the fashion course and was great, full of enthusiasm and good ideas. When she went into Hazel’s office, sitting next to her was a bloke she’d seen before but had no idea who he was.
‘Lil, this is Mr Carrington. He’s vice principal, with responsibility for higher education admissions.’
‘Hello, Lil,’ he said with a welcoming smile. Lil nodded. In front of him was her portfolio and he had it open at the page where she’d put together some sketches for the Fashion Visualisation part of the course.
She’d researched textiles and styles of the 1940s. She had become fascinated by the way women had reused their unwanted clothes, cutting them up, dyeing them, and putting different bits together to create something, at a time when rationing and shortages prevented the buying of anything new. Her grandmothers would have been girls in the 1940s and doing just that. A pity neither of them was still alive to interview when she was doing the coursework. They had died within a few weeks of each other when she was still at primary school, one from a stroke and the other from cancer.
Her memory of Mabel, the one who’d had a stroke and her mum’s mother, was a very large woman, in contrast to Mildred, her dad’s mum, who was all skin and bones. She’d got thinner and thinner by the time she died. Lil had enjoyed visiting them; they’d both tried to fatten her up like a turkey for Christmas and were forever buying her toys. She remembered the photographs of their husbands centre stage on their mantelpieces; the men were in uniform and both had died years before Lil was born.
‘Lil? Are you listening?’
It was Hazel speaking, and when Lil looked up at her she seemed puzzled and a bit angry.
‘Sorry, Hazel. I was just thinking about why I decided to do the 1940s as a topic. Perhaps I did it in memory of my grandmas, though I’ve never considered that as being the reason before.’
Mr Carrington beamed again. ‘Well, what a wonderful reason that is. I’m glad you did choose it because it’s a fascinating study and the research you’ve done is exceptional.’ He looked across to Hazel before continuing.
‘Lil, we want to help you to get into a top fashion college. We, by that I mean Hazel and the others in her department, think you have a lot of talent. They are convinced you should apply to Central Saint Martin’s College, it’s –’
‘It’s where Stella McCartney went. I r
emember from when I did a project on her,’ Lil interrupted.
‘Is it?’ asked Mr Carrington.
‘Yes,’ Hazel confirmed. She carried on. ‘It’s the best place to go for fashion, Lil. It’s not just Stella McCartney who made it after studying there, the alumni list is a who’s who of the fashion industry. They have an open day in March and I’ve booked you in. Just to see what it’s like there. You don’t have to apply before then. Up for it?’
‘Yeah, sounds great.’
‘And if you like what you see and decide to apply there’ll be a fair bit of work for you to do to be ready for the interview.’
‘That leads nicely on to something else.’ Now it was Mr Carrington again. His broad smile was back. ‘You probably know that the Art and Fashion departments are running a trip to New York in a couple of months’ time. There’s a spare place – would you like to go?’
‘It’s just a little bit pricey, Mr Carrington. In fact, it’s a big bit pricey.’
‘I know that, Lil, but my department has received a small amount of money to support students who could do with some funding to help them get to leading universities and colleges. I’d like to use some of it to pay for your trip to New York. I’m sure it would be a tremendous experience and a big help with your application. We would have to submit a testimonial in support to the senior leadership team here. And that would help with your application to Saint Martin’s since we’d inform them that we funded the trip because you are our top student. We need a fairly quick decision from you, but of course there’s some time to think about it. Why don’t you talk it over with Hazel and your parents then let me know.’
Lil was speechless, a very unusual event. Mr Carrington stood up, gave her a handshake that squashed her fingers, smiled again, then left.
Hazel chatted about the New York visit. She started by telling Lil that she was one of the teachers on the trip and that she would look after her. That was really nice to know because none of Lil’s closest friends were going; it was too expensive. The participants would be the students living the other side of the Marylebone Road. Most of them were OK, a bit posh, but OK. She would need a passport and a visa and some dollars, and all the bills could be passed on to Mr Carrington. She’d even get some spending money. Hazel told her to talk it through with her mum, but to be quick about it and let her know the next day as they had to get moving to have everything ready on time.
She wanted to tell Matt before anyone else. He had to get ready for football training but agreed to meet her for a quick drink in the college café. He came in wearing his navy overalls which were covered in dust and orange paint. There was a dark smudge down his left cheek, which looked like oil. He looked great. She related the story the way she’d heard it, starting with the suggestion that she apply to Saint Martins. He hadn’t heard of it, or of Stella McCarthy, but was pleased when she said it was the best you could get. Then she told him about New York and he beamed with delight. He walked around the table and gave her a kiss that sent shivers down her back. It was a soft, kind kiss, if it even made any sense to call a kiss “kind”. She was beginning to like Matt rather a lot.
‘Just a minute,’ she said, as he turned to go back to his seat. She took a tissue out of her bag and licked it. ‘Come ’ere.’ He stooped down and she wiped the smear off his cheek. ‘Stay there,’ she ordered, then planted a kiss on his still not quite stain-free cheek.
‘Can’t wait for tomorrow. You can stay over again and me parents will be out. Leeds this time so they won’t be back in a hurry,’ he said before heading off.
Then Lil phoned her mum and was all set to tell her the news, but had to wait patiently whilst she rabbited on about her own evening. Normally, Lil would have been annoyed not to get her words in first, but she was in such a good mood she didn’t mind. Finally, she could talk about what had happened to her, starting with Saint Martin’s and building up to the New York adventure. Carol wasn’t immediately excited. She had lots of questions about the cost and why someone had offered to pay.
‘We can’t accept all that money,’ she said.
Lil reassured her that Hazel could explain it all and that she’d get her to call the next morning.
And that was Terrific Thursday and it was followed by Fantastic Friday (with Matt) and Sexy Saturday (also with Matt), but now it was Sodding Sunday stuck in a traffic jam. Mum and Jack in right moods, as silent as her iPod, which was dead because she had forgotten to recharge it.
She broke the ice. ‘Bit of coincidence, innit Jack, Mum and me finding out about going to university the same day.’
Jack remained silent.
‘We’ll both be studying in London, we’ll be able to meet up after lectures for coffee and shopping.’
‘Yeah, nice for you two, and who’s going to look after me?’ he mumbled.
‘You won’t be looked after no more, even if I don’t go,’ Carol said with a tremor in her voice.
That ended the conversation, rather abruptly, and they continued the journey in silence.
Reginald and Suzie
‘Do up my zip, please. I can’t reach.’
‘Come over here then, lovely.’
Suzie walked around to the other side of the bed and turned. Reginald placed his hands on her back, then moved them to fondle her breasts.
‘Stop it! Just do the bloody zip, we’re late.’
‘You look gorgeous.’
‘Ha-ha.’
Suzie was wearing black trousers and an off-the-shoulder white top, wide enough to fit over her neck brace. Her shoes were what her mother would call sensible, without any heel, worn to minimise the risk of another injury in the snow. Reginald was decked in his favourite suit; double-breasted black with a wide grey pinstripe. He had put on a rather garish multi-coloured batik tie that he had bought during a visit to Malaysia just before he met Suzie. He would take her to Kuala Lumpur as soon as there was a business opportunity, he’d said. He promised a stay at a very special hotel called Traders that overlooked the Petronas Towers.
‘Coat over my shoulders,’ she ordered. Reginald did so, careful not to jog her left arm, which was still in a sling. Suzie’s pain hadn’t diminished since the accident, making sleep uncomfortable and intermittent. She was grumpy and felt that she had every right to punish Reginald.
‘Get my bag, it’s down on the floor there. Not that one, you idiot. The black suede one.’
They took the lift down to the ground floor in silence and Suzie waited in the elegant foyer while Reginald went out through the back door to get the car from the garage and drive it around to the front entrance.
As usual, Samuel was sitting behind the reception desk. He looked up from his Mail on Sunday and gave her a warm smile.
‘Good morning, Suzie.’
‘Hello, Samuel, and how are you today?’ She liked Samuel, always so considerate and gentle despite looking like a heavyweight boxer. His biceps pushed against his shirt sleeves and his neck was tight against his collar. His scalp was as clean-shaven as the rest of his face.
‘Fine, thank you. Glad I’m indoors.’
‘I’m beginning to wish that we were staying in,’ replied Suzie as she glanced outside.
‘Not going far, are you? Paper says we’re in for a lot more snow today.’
‘We’ve got a bit of a drive but I’m sure the main roads will be clear.’
‘Says here that they’re out of salt.’
Same old Mail, Suzie thought, scaremongering, everything a problem. It was a wonder that Samuel smiled so much reading that newspaper. There was a hoot.
‘That’s Reginald. I’m off. Bye.’
She stepped out onto the slushy pavement.
‘Bloody motor wreck,’ Reginald announced as she stepped inside the hire car.
‘What?’
‘BMW. Bloody Motor Wreck.’
‘Yes, Reginald. Very clever.’ Suzie wished she’d brought her iPod. It was too late to go back and get it.
‘I mean it. These
cars are so overrated, the Jag knocks it for six.’
‘A car’s a car, as long as it gets you to where you want to go and is reasonably comfortable.’
Reginald chuckled. ‘That’s just what I expect to hear from a woman.’ He gave her a patronising pat on the knee.
‘Reginald, I really don’t want to be touched. I’m in pain and I had very little sleep last night. Just keep your hands on the steering wheel. And for that matter, your eyes on the road.’
They made their way towards the A3 in silence. Suzie felt a rush of nausea as they entered the Kings Road, past where they’d had the accident, but the street name was enough to bring back the memory. Traffic was slow moving. Perhaps Samuel was right, there wasn’t enough salt, because even this fairly major road was as much a mix of slush and ice as the smaller ones they had travelled through.
At last there were signs for Putney Bridge. Surely it would be clear once they reached the dual carriageway past Twickenham. They stopped at traffic lights and with an almighty roar, a motorcycle parked beside them. The driver revved his engine ahead of the lights turning green. Reginald opened his window.
‘Could you stop that noise? I’m not going to shoot off ahead of you. If it’s so important to your ego you can go first.’
The motorcyclist lifted a finger then shot off as the lights changed.
‘Some people, absolute idiots,’ Reginald remarked as he set off. Ahead of him was the motorcyclist, zigzagging across his lane, travelling at a low speed. He then slowed even more and pulled to the left, but just as Reginald was about to overtake he accelerated and positioned himself in the middle of the lane again. Reginald hooted then flashed his headlights, and for good measure he hooted and flashed again. Suzie watched with trepidation as they reached another traffic light.
Reginald opened his window again. ‘I think you need medical help, you nutter,’ he growled.
The motorcyclist, faceless in his helmet with a scarf wrapped around his neck and lower face, positioned his bike in front of Reginald’s car, dismounted, and tugged at the side mirror. Up down, up down, he moved it with considerable force and finally, with a loud twang, it snapped off. Infuriated, Reginald jumped out of the car, ignoring the hooted requests from the drivers of the line of cars behind him to move on now that the lights had changed to green. Suzie watched the pointing, prodding, and shouting. She carried on watching as the cyclist took off his glove and punched Reginald in the face. Reginald reeled back against the car. The perpetrator replaced his glove, bent down to pick up the wing mirror, handed it to Reginald as if an act of kindness, got back on his bike, and drove off.