Bare Necessities 2 (The Bare Necessities)

by John David Harding

  Paul hummed. “We need the monarchy.”

  Paige snorted. “No we need the NHS and food and water and sanitation. We need democracy not an absolute monarchy.”

  Paul shook his head; it was impossible to win an argument with Paige. “And why do you have to swan around with nothing on.” He looked at Lucinda drinking from the wine bottle. “And you too. Why do you have to be undressed?”

  Paige cocked her head at Lucinda. “I'm sorry dear,” Lucinda said. “He doesn't get it.”

  “I know,” Paige continued. “Do you think we need to explain to him what naturism means?”

  “We may have to.”

  Paige's voice was playful, yet her light-hearted demeanour had not permeated Paul's scowl. “Dearest Paul. What it means is, is some people live life naturally.”

  “In centrally-heated homes, with double-glazing and nylon carpets and … so on.”

  “Wool carpets,” Paige corrected. “I have bought organic lambswool carpets. And I suggested we have an outdoor Christmas and Jack said no to cooking turkey in a blizzard. Personally, I think he's a wuss, and the snow settling on top of the turkey would hide all the burnt bits we’d no doubt incinerate onto the oversized bird.”

  Lucinda giggled. “Come on Paul. Come join us.”

  He shook his head. “Not at all!”

  “Ahh it's fun and free!”

  “I said no, Lucinda! And you’ve had too much.”

  “I’ve never had too much. Apart from that one time when I woke up in Perth in just my underwear.” She sighed. “Handcuffed to a groom on his stag-do who most definitely didn’t have his underwear on!” She giggled. “What a weekend that was!”

  “Paige,” Jack called and led his naked girlfriend into another room of their property, ignoring the ramblings of his aunt. He took the tray of snacks from her and kissed her on the forehead. “Please can we have a day when you don't argue with my folks?”

  “He started it. I’m innocent.”

  “You always are,” he recited, rolling his eyes. “Do you have to be naked all day, you know he doesn't like it.”

  “But …”

  “I know it's our house but just a dressing gown would save so much trouble. We shouldn’t make guests to our house uncomfortable.”

  Paige groaned. She used both hands to jab at her partner's shoulders, aggressively. “Guests not being uncomfortable; what about the reluctant host? And what part of me is causing a problem? Is it my bare cheeks; am I supposed to have my face covered? How about my breasts. These are secondary sex organs that have the same characteristics as beards, but hey, we wouldn't want to have a man embarrassed that he can see where mothers feed their babies. If I was breast-feeding would that be a problem?”

  “I know. I get it. But …”

  “Butt. Yes, what about my butt? Is that a problem. What part of me is actually a problem with being on show? This is who I am and I feel most comfortable wandering around naked.”

  “Paige, we have guests. I don't want to be embarrassed and …”

  “Jack, the whole world has seen me naked,” she snapped.

  “My dad hasn't.”

  “Tough. He better get used to it.”

  Jack wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. “Just please can you keep your nudity to the pool today. And some private areas.”

  “Why?” Paige asked dogmatically. “What part of me can't I show? My butt? My breasts? Or how about my pregnant belly?” There was a silence from Jack. She detected the murmuring in the other room ceasing too; her voice had carried.

  “What?”

  “I'm pregnant. Thirteen weeks pregnant. You should probably know.”

  “And … what … when did you know?” He stammered.

  “A few weeks ago? I've been waiting to tell you for a few weeks,” she lied. “Just putting it off until a good moment … which this certainly isn’t. But this is all of me. What’s wrong about that?”

  Jack bit his lip, his face bursting into a smile. He put his arms around his nervous girlfriend and held her tightly. “Really? You’re pregnant.”

  She breathed in the scent of the washing powder from his checked shirt. “Yeah really! This isn't a game.”

  “Well, y'know. You can … be unpredictable.”

  Paige broke from the hug and walked into the other room, snatching at her purse and extracting an ultrasound photo. “See! I’ll know in eight weeks what gender he or she is.” His eyes watered; his lips tracing into a smile. “Wow. I’m gonna be a daddy. He dropped to one knee, kissing her hand.

  “Paige Simmons, will you marry me?”

  Chapter LIV

  Christmas

  The flickering strip light irritated and annoyed the fifty or so people inside the decrepit hall but it was too high up for someone to climb and remove the starter, and the occasional light was better than no light.

  The gurgling of the water in the adjacent shower room as the waste water pipes flowed underneath the giant hall was audible in the kitchen but was drowned out by the noise of the homeless attendees of the Christmas Homeless Banquet.

  Andre had donated a significant sum to establish a “banquet” in the disused building a mile away from his house. It was one of a dozen throughout the city and from December 22nd to the New Year, over fifty vulnerable people would have to medical care, food, showers, clean clothes, warmth and a safe place to sleep. The biggest of the occasions was on Christmas Day and Andre had personally provided all the necessary food and drink to the charity, as well as his time.

  The other volunteers knew who he was, but he just got on with his tasks and sliced the turkeys into thick strips of succulent meat, as well as washing up and cleaning worktops.

  His Christmas jumper was cheesy, and Andre looked like any well-meaning volunteer not the multi-millionaire with a telephone address book that read as the Who's Who of the British music industry.

  Far from popping in for a photoshoot, there wasn't a single camera in sight and Andre stayed for the five hours to help cook the meal, serve it and then clean up.

  Long after their guests had finished their food and were supping the provided wines, Andre sat at the end of the table with a turkey dinner and a Christmas pudding for dessert.

  “You that famous guy?” a young lady barked in a South London drawl. Her eyes glistened against her dark skin, and her black hair was braided. She smiled, at variance to the sharp tone of her questioning.

  “Yeah probably.”

  “The one that 'ad it away with that ladyboy?”

  Andre blushed and gulped, pushing his fork harder into the turkey so that the metal cutlery banged against the plate. “Yeah.”

  “Man! That's sick!”

  “I know,” he replied in a monotone voice. He put the half-eaten turkey dinner on the table and looked at the well-meaning volunteer. “I know it is. I was drunk. I was in a foreign land and I ended up in the bed of some sex workers and don't totally remember what I did although the papers have a sparkling good account. And I know none of this is an excuse. It's all unacceptable, but I cheated for the first time in my life that night. I didn't do it on the girl I didn't really like when I was seventeen, or my adsolescent crush when I was fifteen, but when I actually found the girl that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. And it caused me no end of pain and shattered my life. I've nothing …”

  She snorted derisively. “Hey Mister! I bet you got yourself a damn old big flat … sorry, a-part-ment. And you still got yo-self a damn old big car. And I bet those clothes ain't from no charity shop.”

  He shrugged. “I lost the woman I loved.”

  “Hey, you have a comfy-old place to go back to. These guys have nothing. No home. No car. No job. Not even a wardrobe full o' nice clothes. Damn, you have First World Problems!”

  Andre smiled. “I guess I do. But they're still problems though. Worrying about whether that pack of dogs is going to kill you, or if it's a pack of journalists who work for the Sun. You're still getting chewed alive and spat
out for the crows.”

  She laughed and he passed her an unopened bottle of champagne from his bag. “Want some?”

  “Yo man, that ain't the stuff we all had.”

  He smiled. “Maybe, maybe not. It's a hundred pound bottle of wine. Fancy some?”

  She glanced at the rest of the table and slid her plastic wine glass across the table. “Yo, I'll try some of your poncey wine!”

  * * *

  Claire bristled. She was trying hard not to, but for the first time since she was eighteen she had been living with her parents and the stresses of being so close to her familial members was beginning to show after a few weeks together.

  Unlike when she was eighteen, her parents placed her under scrutiny; everything she did was analysed and watched.

  Furthermore, it had been in her own house where she had been imprisoned by their worrying nature and demands to care for her. Her sanctuary from the world, that she had purchased from the revenues of her hard work, and a place she had wanted to become her oasis of heavenly serenity, had been taken over by her parents, demanding to stay with her “until she was back on her feet.”

  Sometimes it was just her father who stayed, other times just her mother. They took turns in commuting to and from Southend and despite Claire’s insistence that her “momentary blip” was not going to be repeated, her parents had stated in no uncertain terms that one of them would be with her every night until the New Year.

  They wanted to spend Christmas at their house, broaching it casually over breakfast one morning. At first Claire was delighted; she envisaged a peaceful festive time with either Paige or on her own, and getting a little space to take stock of the manic few months. Andrew and Teri Baynes had no such thoughts: they demanded that their daughter stay with them in Southend for the festive break and Claire was given little choice but to concede to the familial pressure.

  Her parents placed their alcohol in the utility room and then secured the door. She groaned as she came up against the locked room and wheeled around to see her younger brother watching. He tried to hide his smile, somewhat unsuccessfully. “Mum!” Claire yelled, storming through the detached house. “Mum!”

  “What dear?” The tone was calm against the stressed voice of her daughter. Teri turned from the porch, cigarette in hand.

  “Why's the room locked?”

  “You know why,” she soothed. “What do you want?”

  “A drink!”

  “You know you can't have a drink. Remember what the doctor said. Now …”

  Claire bristled with undisguised frustration. Her fingers clenched into fists. Her eyes widened. Her facial features screwed up into a frown. “I want a Coke. Or a Lemonade. You've put everything in there!”

  “Oh dear!” Teri cried, bouncing towards the kitchen. “We'll move the …”

  “Or just leave it unlocked,” Claire snapped. She gulped and sat on the first step, taking a deep breath before continuing in a calmer voice. “I know what I did and I know how close I came to being dependent on alcohol. I don't want an alcoholic drink, I'm fine. I promised the doctor I'd go easy and he told me to have a period of abstinence. I think that's a good idea. I’m going to stay away from the booze for an entire year at least. But I don't need you to hide things from me. I'm an adult.”

  Teri cocked her head. “I know, dear. But we just thought we'd remove the temptation.”

  “I am not tempted!” Claire screeched and put her head in her hands as she took exaggerated breaths. “Really, I'm not! I just don't want to be treated as a child.”

  “But …”

  “Yes, I know, I'm your child. I know you saw the pictures that were published and that can’t have been easy. But I don't need to be monitored and watched like I'm a two year old.”

  Teri bit her lip; there was a brief silence as they both gathered their thoughts. The obvious retort about sitting in the hospital chair watching their “adult” daughter recover from a critical condition went unspoken. For her part, Claire knew what was going through her mother's mind and was grateful it was not given a voice.

  Teri unlocked the utility room door, and left it unlocked. The presents Claire had purchased for her family were ostentatious and Claire could hear the latest gaming console – and oodles of games - being run through its paces by her brother as she begrudgingly helped with cooking dinner.

  After dinner a number of the neighbours congregated in the Baynes house for a few drinks and Claire blended into the background. She didn’t know any of the visitors, and they were either too polite to mention that she was a “famous and disgraced rock star” or too oblivious to popular culture to know. Claire never pressed the point and was happy being a semi-anonymous person talking about monotonous subjects such as the weather and holidays.

  The unspoken admission of Claire's identity would have remained unspoken if it wasn't for Liam. The eleven year old had received an electric guitar for Christmas and his parents had, obviously, not allowed him to bring it to their neighbour’s house. He wanted to get back what passed as his recording studio, most likely his bedroom.

  “Do you know how to play it?” Claire asked.

  “I got some DVDs,” he replied, without looking at who had asked. His parents cooed.

  “He wants to be like Jimi Hendrix or Brian May,” his father joked.

  “Please can I get back …”

  Claire interrupted. “I got an old axe upstairs. And an amp.” The wardrobe in the spare bedroom was still full of her old pre-Bare Necessities musical instruments that her parents had inexplicably kept when they moved house; a reminder of their daughter's past or a belief that one day her fortune will implode and she will need to move back in with her parents. “Do you want to go grab your guitar and I'll give you a lesson.”

  The boy focussed on the person offering and squinted. His mother asked the question first. “Oh, do you play? You don't see any girls on the guitar normally, do you?”

  Claire laughed and unable to resist the urge to boast replied with a smirk. “Yeah, I play. And I practised for hours and hours a day to be perfect. Those four number ones and three international tours didn't happen by accident. A few awards but they’re meaningless trinkets aren’t they? Mine are in my loft. Paige keeps hers in her en-suite I believe.” The penny dropped for a few of the neighbours; the woman still looked perplexed.

  “Mum, this is Claire from the Bare Necessities!” Liam shrieked. “Yeah, I want a lesson!”

  “Go get your axe then!”

  He begged his father for the house keys before hesitating. “Do you need to be naked?” He asked.

  Claire smiled. “Paige does. And we used to play naked. But it's personal preference. It's up to you.”

  He just nodded in response, and the keys had barely hit his palm before his feet skipped over bodies as he bolted for the door to retrieve his Christmas present.

  Claire was grateful to be able to slip away from the inquisitive eyes of the assembled group.

  This is what her life was now; gone were the expensive tours and performing to thousands of people. She was teaching an eleven year old how to handle his guitar.

  * * *

  Emit sat alone on his bunk bed, staring at the pattern in the wall. “Grubs up!” The voice of his cheery cell-mate in the remand jail barely penetrated his attention. The memories of Christmases past were too painful as he spent his first festive season away from his family.

  The complete lack of meaningful decoration in the jail was a stark reminder of the harsh environment he was incarcerated in; tinsel was a potential garrotting weapon or a suicide tool; it was banned.

  So was a lavish Christmas dinner; reconstituted turkey was promised, but it was a break from the usual fayre that he struggled to stomach.

  Time. That was what someone had told him. Prison gives people time. Time to think. Time to worry. Time to be scared and time to reflect. To beat themselves up over bad choices. And time to fight. Boredom was the enemy of the prisoner; Emit’s mind, once fil
led with intimate details of operating systems and complex programming languages was left with tabloid newspapers for inspiration. No longer was Hong Kong a click of the mouse away or a phone the ability to summon a hot, steaming pizza.

  And his library of pornography, that catered for every one of his whims was no longer with him. He’d exchanged a packet of cigarettes, sent by Barry, for a week with a big-breasted ladies magazine, but his libido demanded the sensory overload of video-on-demand erotica, that was beyond his reach. Being incarcerated didn’t stop his sexual urges.

  He glanced at a small pile of papers in the corner of the room, and snatched at them. “Hey, Emit. Turkey today.”

  “Not hungry!” He gruffly snorted and walked past his cell-mate towards the tiny library to work on his defence. His solicitor had provided him with the forms to read and complete and on a day when the world was filled with joy, Emit was intentionally doing something that would make him unhappy.

  And then he’d retrieve the magazine and go somewhere private.

  * * *

  Leah closed her eyes. Her left hand was gripped by her mother, her right hand by one of her brother’s girlfriends. They hummed; 22 people sat on the cold barren earth as the drizzle bounced off the trees above them.

  Skyclad and cold, the traditional celebration of their harmless coven began with some Anglo-Saxon words uttered by their lead witch.

  Her red hair billowed behind her as she bellowed her proclamations into the wind, and with a mighty shout, knelt down to strike a match into their bundle of firewood.

  Leah, adjusted the foliage in her hair; holly for Christmas, and glanced at Rainbow Moonbeam, holding her hand tightly.

  The crackling of the fire cut the silence as the feint flames sparked illumination over the group. She felt the warmth next; the gentle heat wafting over her breasts as the fledgling fire broke into life.