Bare Necessities 2 (The Bare Necessities)

by John David Harding

  “It's in the past now,” Hazel muttered. “Ricky is gone. Both me and mum could have done things differently.” She gulped and glanced at her sister who sullenly watched another pair of raindrops on the window. “You heard the Prime Minister on Sunday television?”

  “Strangely, I don't spend much time listening to him, given that I spend an awful lot of time opposing his policies.”

  “Ahh well … he said it was a great day for Britain and proof that this country is multi-talented. He mentioned something about a long-term economic plan and that the tourism for EuroSong 2017 would benefit the country.”

  “They better hold it in Croydon!” Paige demanded. “South London won it, they get the rewards. And …”

  “I haven't finished!” Hazel barked. “And then the interviewer asked if he was so keen on naturist singers, then surely he would be ensuring that naturists in Britain are never prosecuted for being naturists.”

  “Nice one!” Paige cooed.

  “Yeah, he got slippery at that point. And Andre says there might be a reception at Buckingham Palace.”

  “Yeah, I'm not going. Unless …”

  “Prince Philip might.” Paige smiled at the prospect of the famously eccentric monarch striding into a reception room of the imposing palace wearing nothing but a pipe and a pair of boots. “Or Harry. Or Kate, she was filmed sunbathing naked, wasn't she?”

  Paige tutted as she wound her hair around her finger. “Well unless there is an article in the paper which reads, 'Monarchy Shock: Yep, We're naturists all along' then I don't think we'll find too much in common.”

  “They might summon you for a dame-hood-ship-thing.”

  Paige giggled and leant back in the chair of Hazel's car. “Yes, Arise Dame Simmons of the Naturist Camp. You are awarded this honour for services to music, continental relations and getting arrested while claiming that you really do have nothing to wear! No thanks, the pomp and ceremony isn't my thing. It'll be Sir Jack Rees-Montague of the Cuntiness-on-the-Wold of Twattishire, the pompous git.”

  “You two had a row?”

  “Just the usual. He wants to call the baby a Rees-Montague and I think it should be a Simmons. Well it will be a Simmons as I am registering the bundle of screaming nightmare.”

  Hazel cocked her head, slowing at a set of traffic lights. “It's been a funny old year. It started with you lot splitting up, then you all failed at being apart, came together and won a major competition.”

  “Yeah, and now we can stop again for me to have a baby and get back some time in June or July. I was thinking of a tour and …”

  “What about Andre?”

  “What about him?” She flicked her hair behind her ears as she deliberately didn't make eye contact with her sister. “Lights are on green. Or they might be blue, looks blue but should be green. An emerald green, rather than …”

  “What about Andre? What happens now?”

  Paige groaned. “Claire heard what he did at the weekend, and they had a chat. She went on a date on Sunday lunchtime with the guitarist from the Swedish lot. Which makes her a traitor or a Judas or something. And Andre is being fine with her, they both agree they need to move on. And she thinks that we need to extend his contact. And Jack agrees.”

  “And you?”

  “Don't push it,” Paige hissed. “We've told him that we don't know when the next album is, or the next tour, but we're happy for him to handle our affairs and cream off some cash from our royalties until then. Claire said something about a weekly delivery of scones as part of the deal which is just silly and I demanded that if Incredible Talents wants our business, we demand Miss Hazel Simmons as our manager. OK?”

  “Yeah.” She smiled as she pulled into the hospital car park. “Although I'm not Miss Hazel Simmons yet. And are you sure about this?”

  “Oh yes,” Paige replied. “I want to see what I did to him.”

  “You know you had the Met Police suggesting that vigilante justice was mob rule by another name.”

  Paige laughed. “Yeah, the mob of the pregnant women. Dead scary. I heard, and our dozy Tory MP who asked Met Police on Twitter when I was going to be arrested. Fuck off! Even Peter Moran agreed that I did right, and that's rarer than unicorn spunk.”

  Hazel parked her car between two vans in the hospital car park, and the two sisters walked through the double doors, and towards Ward 5. A police constable stood outside Ricky's door in the private cubicle and Paige was stopped. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I'm gonna have to ask my colleague to search you.” He cocked his head. “Weapons, you see.”

  “Oh right. 'Cause that is likely. I was wondering about the Browning 9mm but in the end I just settled on the Butterfly Knife.” He gulped as Paige looked furtively around the room. “You see, there's a hit out on Ricky Nicholls. A hundred thousand pounds and I'm here to collect on the deal. Look at this, as I'll cut you in 50/50 if you turn a blind eye to it. If you don't, I'll make sure you turn a blind eye to everything.”

  She reached into her bag and watching his expression withdrew a travel pack of tissues. “Ssssst” She hissed, making the young man jump.

  “Paige, stop winding him up.”

  “I'm nine months pregnant. Does he really think I'm going to attack the slimy little runt.”

  Hazel coughed. “Yeah, 'cause the reason he's here is because he walked into a door.”

  The young singer smiled and put her hands up. “True. OK frisk me, I'm not carrying a weapon. I don't need to. He's been well thumped and he's probably got a three to five year jail term coming over the horizon. I don't need to hit him. He's already dead.”

  “Sorry Madam, procedure.” He radioed for a female police officer and both Hazel and Paige were frisked in an adjacent room. For once, Paige said nothing in complaint, and was escorted to the end of Ricky's bedside.

  “Hiya Ricky,” Paige called as the young officer looked on. Ricky's wrists and arms were in plaster, as was his ankle. He had bandages around his face, his right knee and several of his fingers.

  He spluttered as he saw his sister-in-law and wife at the end of his bed. “We just came to say,” Paige continued. “That Hazel and I have been down to the police station today and pressed charges against you.”

  “Against me,” he hoarsely croaked. “I'm pressing charges against you. Fucking bitch!”

  “Yes, I see I may have injured you in self-defence but am, well, I just had to see you for myself. For the last time, we're here to say goodbye. Maybe our paths will cross again, but I hope not. For both our sakes.”

  He said nothing and looked at Hazel. “And I'm getting a divorce.” She folded her arms and looked at Paige and then her husband. “Sorry, but I can't stay with you after what happened.”

  He said nothing at first, and his facial expression was hidden behind the bandages. Paige watched him. “Can I have a second chance?”

  Paige spluttered with indignation; Hazel shook her head.

  “Oh, and I see Ben and Jay are being prosecuted, so well done Leah.” Her eyes met with his and she smiled. “Oh yes, I was behind that one. Which is good because that stupid song about me has been pretty much killed.”

  “You did that?” He winced as he spoke.

  Paige beamed. “I did tell you not to mess with me. Oh, and one more thing, no-one cares about Jeremy and I've commissioned an artist to produce a set of pictures about our triumph and he is going to include pictures of me smashing you to bits. 'cause I asked him too. I would send you an invite to the gallery where we are going to display them at Christmas but you'll be picking up soap from the showers by then.”

  He whimpered as his sister-in-law looked out of the window.

  “Shall we go?” Hazel asked and Paige nodded. “Enjoy Strangeways, Ricky. Pretty boy like you will have lots of fun.”

  “Fuck you Paige. And fuck you. Fuck everyone. Fuck …”

  Paige and Hazel smiled as they closed the door on Ricky's shouting and Paige stopped at the nurses' station as she left the ward.


  “Ricky Nicholls was saying the doctor told him he needed a colonic and no-one has been along. He's getting quite stuffed up back there and asked me to remind you that's due.”

  Hazel sniggered; the nurse didn't notice. “A colonic?”

  “Yes. And as his family we are most troubled that the medical care he has been prescribed is not being administered.”

  The nurse clicked her fingers at a trainee nurse. “I don't know why he'd need an enema. We'll get on it.”

  “Thank you,” Paige said with a smile.

  “You're going to hell,” Hazel teased as they left the hospital.

  “Y'know, I wonder who'd win a fight between Satan and Paige Simmons. Is there a bigger bully in the world than the Devil?”

  “He'll torture you by making you wear underwear and clothes and stuff all the time.” Paige shuddered at the prospect.

  Chapter CIV

  Paige

  “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

  Paige ignored the complaints from her sister and glanced behind her at Andre, holding a hand-held video camera. Their garden was a vivid display of colours and dozens of friends filled their garden. Several piles of clothes lined the periphery as Paige walked to the front of her patio and picked up a microphone.

  Her voice came out of the speakers and hush fell upon the grounds. “Hi all. Thanks for coming. Now, you all saw the story in the Daily Herald from that columnist sayin’ that Ricky’s the real victim and marriage should be worked at, and all that bollocks. Well we wanted to record a little message to Ricky and my sister is going to do a cover of a crappy little pop song but it’s just perfect.”

  She clicked her fingers at Jack who nodded. “OK. Some of it Hazel is singing alone, and she has had some singing lessons from the best. Well, me. And some of it we will be duetting. But the chorus we want everyone singing. A proper anthem.” She smiled as Jack played the song through the same speakers that were projecting Paige’s voice.

  They replayed the chorus several times and Paige made the ragbag assortment of their friends, family and Paige’s People Power movement practice their five lines.

  Finally, they started recording. Jack had hooked up two microphones in the crowd, along with his keyboard, Claire and her guitar and two stage microphones to his professional studio equipment, and he was storing every sound for editing later.

  The song started with Claire’s simple guitar riff, and moved onto Jack, before Hazel sung the first verse of their version of G.R.L.’s Ugly Heart.

  Maybe I'm just crazy

  Maybe I'm a fool

  Maybe I don't know how to love but maybe I do

  Maybe you know more than me. This much is true

  This little heart and brain of mine say I’m done with you

  Paige smiled; the naked woman picked her microphone from the stand and joined her sister in singing the next section of the song.

  And we wonder why it blows your mind

  That we’ve left you far behind

  We wonder does it stop your heart to know

  You're not her sunshine any more

  Paige’s arms were spread aloft as their visitors joined in the chorus. Jack and Claire slowed the beat of the song as the number of singers rose from two; over 50 naked people sang the chorus with the two bare sisters.

  Okay you're pretty, your face is a work of art

  Your bum’s on billboards ‘round park after park

  So you're coverboy pretty, lookin’ pretty smart

  But it's such a pity, a boy so pretty

  Got a vicious heart

  They continued for another verse before Jack ran upstairsfor check the recording. “Oh, and don't shout at me,” Hazel said, talking to her sister. “But I have a date tonight after this. I know it's being a harlot ‘cause I'm not divorced yet and I'm searching for a warm pair of arms and all that.”

  “No, it's normal,” Paige said confidently. “You always moved on really quickly.”

  “Yeah, but it's someone you know.”

  Paige's smile dropped slightly. “Who?” She glanced her sister apprehensively putting the microphone on the stand. “Who, Hazel. Who? Not …”

  “Hey, we checked with Claire and she’s cool. Ask her if you want.”

  Claire nodded, listening on the conversation. “Yeah, she did. It’s fine. He’s a good man. A total cunt in Bangkok but it’s cool. I wish you two all the best.”

  “Not Andre, please not Andre.”

  Hazel beamed. “The very man.”

  “Fuck? Andre?” Paige shook her head and strode across the patio to their manager, looking at the video camera. Paige grabbed him by the T-Shirt and pushed him against her brick wall. “You go out with my sister, you should know that I’ve personally beaten up every one of her partners who has laid a finger on her.”

  “I know,” he simpered. “I was there.”

  “You were there for one of them,” Paige corrected. “There were bastards before Ricky.”

  Andre shook Paige’s hands from his shoulders and stared at her. “I don’t hit people. And I certainly don’t hit women. And it’s only a dinner date and a film. We may even splash out on some popcorn too, if the mood takes us.”

  “Oh might you?” Paige sneered. “I’m just sayin’ Hazel is too precious to us all to let some abusing bastard hurt her.”

  “I’m not going to.” He looked at his date on the patio and then at Paige. “We’ve already spent some time together. I helped her empty the flat. And it’s just a date. We get on. Who knows what’ll happen.”

  Paige grunted. “I’m just sayin’. You don’t need fists to hurt someone.”

  Andre shook his head. “Yeah. Some people can do it with bronze busts of their brother-in-law.” Paige broke into a smile as she stared at her manager.

  “Y’know. I still blame you for stopping me mid-”

  “Murder?”

  “Swing,” Paige replied.

  “I was just lookin’ out for you. Heaven knows, there is a part of me that wished you had finished him off, but you’ll always be upset he never saw justice if you had and you’d be awaiting a court date. Self-defence only gets you so far. Even heavily pregnant women.”

  Paige shook her head. “I’d have got away with it.”

  “Yeah well, it was a Saturday. And a blue day on my rota. Murdering attempting rapists is never permissible on a blue day. That would be a swimwear in Paige’s laundry situation.”

  “Goddamit, swimwear. What a pointless invention,” Paige shouted. “Don’t mention swimwear to me. It doesn’t do anything …”

  Epilogue

  Paige

  The knock on the door woke her; exhaustion may have gripped her body since childbirth but the paranoia that her sleeping baby may need her was at the forefront of her consciousness.

  “Hiya,” a familiar voice called, and Paige yawned to see the morning light framing Leah and Claire. “Jack texted us.”

  “Did he?” She looked to her empty seat by the side of her bed as she rubbed her eyes.

  “We saw him in the café. He looks knackered.”

  “He said he was absolutely shattered,” Claire said, stepping around the plastic cot.

  “Well he can piss right off,” Paige snarled. “I did all the work. Four a clock in the morning and I'm in agony as I'm giving birth while he is offering to hold my hand. And then he says he’s tired. Lazy little basket.”

  Claire and Leah looked at each other. Leah put a bunch of flowers on the table beside her friend. “Ooohhh,” Paige called at the home-cut bouquet. “Are they from your garden or …”

  “I grew them,” Claire said; a tinge of pride permeated her voice. “Well Leah planted them. Some of them.”

  “You grew them,” Leah said. “There's crocuses and daisies there. And snowdrops and bloodrot.” Claire peered over the side of the cot at the sleeping girl, a few hours old, in the cot beside her friend. “They could be good names.”

  Paige shook her head. “Bloodrot's not too b
ad, I s’pose.”

  “I meant the others,” the young hippie said with a smile. “Daisy or Snowdrop. I've always liked Rainbow. My brother’s girlfriend was called Rainbow.”

  “And this is where we differ, my pacifist hippie friend. Jack and I haven't agreed on a name, so as we are unmarried when I register the birth …”

  “Paige!” Claire interrupted; she glared at her friend. “You can't …”

  “Yes, I can.” She hesitated for a few seconds and rolled her eyes. “But I won't. But I will get my own way. I always do.”

  “Yeah, t'ose days are over now you've got a baby. You'll dance to her tune.”

  Paige giggled. “Don't bet on it. We are due a chat. I’ll give it a few days and then we’ll have a chat. There is one master of the Simmons and Rees-Montague household, and it is Paige Simmons. Little Miss Simmons doesn’t alter the balance of me getting my own way.” Leah rubbed her eye, and sat down on the chair.

  “You know Emit was released yesterday,” Claire said as she pulled a second chair to the end of the bed, still cooing over the baby.

  “I heard. Jack said something. I ain’t too upset with him to be honest. He was a twat but at least, in the end, he made amends.” Claire sniffed. “OK, he made amends to me. And you know, he was there when Claire was unconscious and he’s helped with Hazel, so I’m sort of cool with him. I still reckon if Claire sees him she’d twat ‘im over the head with the back end of a Les Paul.”

  Claire gulped. “Yeah, prob’ly.”

  “And we ain’t runnin’ into him again.”

  The conversation lulled as the two women looked at the baby, and took it in turns to cuddle Paige’s daughter.

  After all, the young baby was the real reason Paige had guests.

  * * *

  The suited interviewer stared at the elegant woman who took a sip from her glass of water. “It’s true,” she said. “The rumours are true, and I’ve spoken to the Police. They are investigating.”