House of Straw

by Marc Scott

  When she had eaten, Poppy fetched the cocoa butter from the bathroom cabinet and began to apply it to her neck. She didn’t stop there, pulling out large scoops of the soothing cream and covering whole areas of her yellowing skin. Cameron’s hefty kicks had certainly done their job, the bruises had covered most of her body. Her aches and pains felt slightly better when she had finished. The mental scars of her beating, however, would never fade.

  It was time for her to have another look around. Poppy had uncovered one of Matt’s hidden secrets, maybe she would find some others? It amazed her just how immaculate everything was laid out in his flat. Did he have a cleaner or maybe a secret girlfriend that he had never mentioned? Back in the lounge she studied the photographs standing proudly on the long glass cabinet beneath the television. There were several of him with an older couple. One of the pictures seemed to be a graduation. Matt was wearing one of those funny gowns. It did not take a genius to know that the older man in the picture was of his father, the two of them sharing the same large ears and inane grin. Poppy opened a few more drawers and cupboards, not quite sure what she was looking for. She didn’t know why, but she was becoming more curious about the lifestyle of the man she had belittled for the past eight months. When she had finished her investigation, she concluded that she had been wrong about him all along. Yes, he was a lecherous chancer, full of sexist remarks and smutty innuendos, but in her small friendless world, who else would have trusted her with the keys to this place?

  A feeling of guilt, an unusual emotion for Poppy, suddenly struck her, and she realised that she should not abuse her colleague’s generosity. She replaced the £60 she had taken from his drawer and cleaned up the crumbs she had dropped onto his shiny floor. If nothing else, Poppy learned that day that she did indeed have a friend ‘of sorts’ in Matt.

  * * *

  By the time Poppy had returned to the restaurant everyone had left, apart from the Geordie lad, who was busy preparing some vegetables for the evening sitting. She still felt no obligation to offer her thanks for the use of his shower and flat but did at least offer him something of a small smile as she entered. ‘I see you found the shampoo,’ Matt said smelling the side of her head. ‘It’s really nice that one.’ Danny had left an envelope with £30 inside. He was aware that his waitress had little or no money to her name that day so gave her a share of the tips from the busy lunchtime session. Strangely, the woman running the ‘Poppy Hate Club’ did not contribute to the gratuity left by the hen party.

  Chez Blanc was quiet that night, so Danny had picked a good time to take an evening away from his place of business. There were only ten customers served during the whole evening – two couples, a mother and daughter and a table of four women, who, despite being slightly drunk when they left the restaurant, had behaved like nuns compared to the lunchtime gaggle of hens at the birthday bash. By ten thirty the restaurant was empty. Matt locked the doors before pouring himself and Poppy a large glass of wine.

  ‘Wow! What a day!’ the ever-smiling chef declared. ‘I really thought you had lost the plot earlier.’ Poppy downed a mouthful of the refreshing wine and sat herself down at one of the tables that had yet to be cleaned. She would have loved a post-service cigarette to enjoy with her drink, but she had smoked the other one given to her by Anton on the way back from Matt’s flat. Making his way to the CD player located at the side of the bar, Matt sifted through some of Danny’s collection before settling on an R&B compilation. ‘Where do you think Danny has gone tonight?’ he asked. ‘Maybe he is out on a date, maybe he has been on dating websites and we don’t know.’

  Poppy was not impressed with his comment. ‘Don’t take the piss, Matt, just because he doesn’t try to chat up the women that come in here, it doesn’t mean he has to find someone. He still misses his wife, he would take her back in a heartbeat.’

  Matt laughed. ‘Calm down, lass, I was only saying. I like Danny, I like him a lot.’

  Poppy made it clear where her loyalties lay. ‘Well don’t take the piss out of him then or maybe I will have to tell him how much you also like his special wine.’

  The chef looked puzzled for a few seconds and then his boyish grin reappeared as he realised what she meant. ‘Danny and I have an arrangement,’ he said. ‘He lets me have a dozen bottles each month at cost. It helps him get a bigger discount with the supplier. It’s a win-win for both of us.’

  Poppy was not convinced. ‘Yeah, yeah, sure, Matt, whatever you say!’

  It was not often that the two of them were left alone together. Matt hoped that his earlier act of kindness would have helped break down a few barriers between them. He thought that this time alone would be a good chance to get to know Poppy a little better. ‘So, tell me more about you, tell me about the real Poppy.’

  Poppy frowned and poured herself another glass of wine. ‘What are you, Matt, a therapist? You sound just like my probation officer.’

  ‘So, there is one thing, let’s start there, you are on probation. What is that for?’

  ‘Fuck off, Matt!’

  ‘Tell me something else then, something that no one else knows about you.’

  Poppy thought for a few seconds before giving her response. ‘OK, my boyfriend is over six feet tall and very violent. He hates Geordies, especially pervy ones!’

  Matt laughed. ‘That’s funny, that’s really funny. Tell me, why do you let him get away with it, hitting you I mean, why do you put up with it? There, that’s another question.’

  Poppy shook her head. ‘It’s none of your business, Matt, keep your beak out, OK?’

  ‘OK, calm down, lass. What about that woman today, what pushed you over the edge?’

  ‘I was nowhere near the edge, Matt, trust me, you wouldn’t want to see me pushed over the edge.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Poppy! You went from nought to psycho in a split second, you pointed a carving knife in her face.’

  ‘She deserved it, she was a bully.’

  ‘Bully?’

  ‘I met her type in prison, they think they own the fucking world, but when push comes to shove they are just all talk and no action.’

  Matt was shocked. ‘You were inside, you were really in prison?’

  Poppy ignored his question. Checking the clock on her mobile phone, she decided it was time to go home. Despite the application of the cocoa butter, her body still ached. She thought an early night might be a good tonic for her. In the back of her mind she didn’t want to give her boyfriend any reason to punish her again. She finished the remnants of the wine in her glass and made her way to the staff toilet. Matt was still stunned by her revelation and thought it best to end his questioning there. Poppy stood looking into the bathroom mirror, turning her head slightly. Beneath the bright lights, she could make out the red marks made by the boiling water. She pulled her hair down slightly to hide them. Suddenly Poppy became aware that she was not alone. Matt had followed her and was watching her from the shadows in the corridor. Within a few seconds he had made his way into the small bathroom and was directly behind her.

  ‘Fuck off, Matt!’ Poppy said. ‘I have had enough of your silly questions for one night.’ The chef ignored her. Moving a little closer, he was right behind her now. She could see his reflection clearly in the mirror. There was that smile, that confident yet extremely irritating smile. Before she knew what was happening, Matt had put his hands on her waist. Poppy swiftly pushed them away. ‘Matt, stop fucking around! I swear you will be sorry.’ But the Geordie lad was going nowhere, his hands returned to her waist before slowly moving upwards. He began cupping her firm breasts. Poppy started to wriggle her way free from his grasp. She turned around to face him.

  Matt had a sickly smile, the one she hated. It was beaming all the way across his face, it was making her blood boil. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘I know you like me.’

  Something began to snap inside Poppy’s head, she felt her ang
er slowly rising. ‘So what is this then, Matt?’ she asked. ‘You let me use your shower and shampoo and expect a fuck in return?’

  Matt’s hands slowly moved down and held her wrists tightly. ‘Come on, Poppy,’ he said. ‘Just one kiss.’ With that he leaned down and aimed his mouth towards hers. She turned her head before he could connect with her lips and he caught her cheek.

  Poppy was getting angrier by the second. ‘Matt!’ she barked, her tone becoming louder and more direct. ‘Do yourself a favour and let me go, I swear, Matt, you will be sorry, you will be very sorry!’

  The jolly northerner ignored her comment. He had a look of stealthy determination in his eyes. He lunged forward in another attempt to kiss her. Poppy’s head began to spin. She didn’t want to find any calming colours passing through her thoughts at that second, all she wanted to do was break free and kick this big lump in front of her in his testicles, as hard as she could. But Poppy chose another weapon, one that would completely degrade the chef and leave him in no doubt what her feelings truly were for him. As the Geordie lad towered over her, Poppy rolled around as much spit in her dry mouth as she could. A small smile cracked on her lips, before she swung her head and delivered the full ball of messy phlegm directly into his face. That will teach him, she thought, that will teach him to mess around with me.

  There was a brief silence, apart from some heavy breathing, then, suddenly, Matt’s smile returned and one of his hands released Poppy’s arm and moved upwards towards his head. His fingers caught the ball of spit and he rubbed it down his cheek and across his face into his mouth. Poppy’s breathing became heavier. The look of rage on her face had been replaced with one of confusion. What the hell is he doing? she thought. But something strange began to evolve inside Poppy’s head. The venom had gone, she wasn’t angry, she wasn’t anything, anything except extremely turned on by his crazy reaction. She felt a tingle rip through her body, she was excited, she could sense something strange was happening to her. Suddenly her head lunged towards him and her lips met his with a mighty force. Her tongue entered his mouth and rolled around inside, reclaiming some of her own spit, which she swallowed. Matt squeezed her tightly as they shared the embrace. She was aching for him now, she wanted him, she wanted him badly. Within seconds her trousers were undone and lying on the bathroom floor alongside his chef whites. The strong northerner lifted her from the floor and perched her bottom firmly on the basin. It wobbled slightly as she moved her frame to get more comfortable. His hands ran over her body and reached up inside her top, unbuttoning her bra with one click of his finger. His began grabbing her breasts firmly and tugging hard at her erect nipples. Poppy could feel herself down between her legs, she was moist, she was wet, she wanted him inside her now. She did not have to wait long. His hands reached down and ripped at her knickers. They came apart like sheets of cheap kitchen tissue. Poppy moaned loudly as first one and then a second of Matt’s fingers found their soaking target. They were still kissing, a deep sensuous all-engaging kiss, when he moved forward and entered her, thrusting his whole manhood inside her. It felt huge, it hurt her, but in a good way. Her eyes began to roll as she bit hard on her lip. As Matt’s tool began to move inside her wet cavity, Poppy’s scalded head hit the mirror repeatedly as she rocked backwards and forwards. She could feel those bruises on her body now, they were stinging, but she felt no pain, just pleasure, pure pleasure. A bead of sweat appeared on Matt’s forehead, as his body jerked back and forth. Poppy let out another groan as the thrusting continued, still in a state of erotic confusion. Half of her wanted to cut him, to stab him, to slice him up, rip him to pieces, but the other half of her just wanted him to carry on, not to stop, never to stop. It did carry on, for what seemed to be an age, but was probably no more than a few moments. His thrusts became deeper and much harder, Poppy’s moans became louder and much longer. ‘Don’t stop!’ she screamed. ‘Don’t fucking stop!’

  Suddenly the basin beneath Poppy’s bottom began to shake and tremble as if it was going to fall off the wall. Matt’s movements became more rapid and his noisy panting became much heavier. Poppy let out another scream of passion. Finally, just as Poppy’s nails ripped into Matt’s fleshy back, his whole body jerked violently and moved upwards as he reached his climax, letting out a screeching yell as if his team had scored a winning goal in a cup final.

  The pair of them remained locked together for a few seconds, entwined in a mess of flesh and body fluids. The moment of madness was over. They were both breathing heavily. Neither one could find the energy to speak. Poppy’s legs still quivered beneath her as Matt slowly pulled himself away from her body. When she moved down from the basin Poppy grabbed the chef tightly fearing that her legs might give way. She was finding it very hard to hide the smile of satisfaction on her blushing face. Matt was red-cheeked and still breathing hard. He pulled up his trousers and stood over his shell-shocked colleague, waiting for her to break the silence.

  Finally, as Poppy began to recover the feeling in her legs, she looked up and gave the sweating Geordie a harsh stare. ‘You are in big trouble now,’ she said. ‘Do you know what they do to rapists in prison?’

  ‘Rape?’ Matt said, still trying to catch his breath. ‘You enjoyed that as much as I did.’

  Poppy shook her head. Her voice was weak, but she made her statement very clear. ‘That was just wrong, Matt, that was just so fucking wrong!’

  The Geordie buttoned up his trousers and left the waitress in a state of both bewilderment and complete ecstasy, a strange mix for Poppy to come to terms with. As he walked away toward the kitchen area, he shouted back at her, ‘That was incredible, I need a drink!’ Poppy, still shocked by the episode, slipped on her bra and did up her work shirt as fast as she could. Her head told her a hundred things to do next. She decided that leaving the restaurant as quickly as she could was without doubt her best option.

  As Matt arrived back in the corridor with a bottle of wine and two glasses, he caught a glimpse of Poppy’s green bomber jacket as she exited Chez Blanc through the back entrance. He thought about calling out her name, but something told him that it was better to just let her go. Neither he nor Poppy knew why what had just happened had indeed happened, but strangely, neither of them felt guilty for their behaviour. If anything, they both felt a warm glow inside their bodies, something that would last for at least a few hours.

  Chapter Ten

  Poppy lay back in her steaming hot bath of foamy bubbles, her headspace fully occupied by the crazy events of the previous night. She was pleased that she gone into work the day before. The money she had earned in tips had helped her to get the heating and hot water back on in the flat, not that Cameron had shown any real appreciation for her efforts. Poppy replayed her encounter with the Geordie chef over and over in her head but could not come up with any logical reason for having had sex with him. She didn’t fancy him, God, she didn’t even like him, why the hell did she have sex with him? It wasn’t like she was that vulnerable teenager anymore, the one that would be so high on pills, the one that might end the night with some random guy who happened to be paying her attention. No, this was different, very different. Despite the fact she felt no shame for what she had done, she was worried that things might be awkward for her now at the restaurant. Worse still, she feared that Matt would have got the wrong idea and now thought that she had wanted him all along.

  Her train of thought was broken by Cameron entering the bathroom. She covered her soapy breasts with her hands, she didn’t know why. Maybe she should stand up and wipe the suds down from her body to reveal the bruising he had inflicted on her earlier that week, shame him, on the spot. But she couldn’t be bothered, she felt relaxed that morning and not in the mood for any form of conflict.

  ‘I am going over to see my mum this afternoon,’ he said. ‘It is her birthday tomorrow. I thought I would buy her a card and take her some chocolates or something.’ Poppy had been on the receiving end of this line of c
onversation a hundred times before, she knew what was coming next. ‘I don’t suppose you have a tenner that I can borrow until pay day.’

  That expression always angered Poppy, him constantly referring to the day he received his benefits as ‘pay day’. She often felt like saying to him, ‘It is not pay day, Cameron, it is not your wages, you have not done any work to receive wages. No one would pay you to sit on your fat lazy arse all day, smoking weed and watching daytime television. It is not a job, Cameron, you don’t get paid wages, you are just a fucking benefits scrounger!’ But today she had no energy. She pointed him at her work trousers lying on the living room floor. ‘There are two fivers in the front pocket,’ she told him. ‘Don’t take the change, Cam, I need to get some milk and bread before I go to work.’

  Her boyfriend left the flat with a smile on his face and the £10 in his pocket. She was pleased that he had gone and left her with her thoughts. It was worth that money to get him out of her way for the morning. If only he knew, she thought, what had happened at the restaurant the previous night. She shuddered to think what kind of damage he would inflict on the softly spoken northerner. The poor chef certainly wouldn’t have that sickly grin left on his face by the time Cameron had finished with him.

  Poppy had more than an hour before she needed to set off for the restaurant. She turned on the hot tap to top up her bath water and lay back. She enjoyed a good long soak in the tub. It always reminded her of her friend Nikita and the crazy days in the tower block at the side of the Marfield estate. The local council had given Nikita the flat after she won back custody of her son Zain. The high-rise block of flats, Rutland Towers, was very modest to say the least. The walls of the outer building were in a state of decay and were covered in badly spelt graffiti. Young children would be playing games beside the abandoned dog faeces which often littered the path to the entrance.