Guess Who I Pulled Last Night?

by Nikki Ashton

  “I’ll go at lunch time, is that okay?”

  Paul nodded and opened his office door for her. “Yes it is, but no later than that.”

  “I promise.”

  Charlotte made her way back to the office, mentally working out what she had to finish off before lunch; she could manage it easily. She was so organised where her work was concerned, she was usually well ahead. As she got to reception, Debbie called her over.

  “Yes, Debbie.”

  “Barratt’s have called about the flyers that you ordered to go into the local paper; apparently, they could be delayed because one of their presses is down.” Debbie picked up the phone in anticipation.

  “Get them on the line for me then please, we’re not too desperate, but we may get some discount from them.”

  “Okay Charlotte, oh and Charlotte Mr Devine is in your office.”

  Charlotte stopped dead in her tracks. “What does he want, do you know?” she asked, without turning around.

  “No, sorry. Shall I wait to call Barratt’s?”

  “Yes, give me five minutes; I shouldn’t be much longer than that.”

  As Charlotte entered the office, she was pleased to see that everyone was on a break, the only figure in the room was Niall Devine, sat on her chair, twirling himself around.

  “Huh, huh,” Charlotte coughed to attract his attention. “Mr Devine.”

  “Ah there yer are Miss Price. I was beginning to think that you had skived off for the day. I have been here ten minutes and there was no sign of anyone.” His face was blank, showing no sign of whether he was actually joking or chastising her.

  Charlotte assumed that it was probably the latter. “I’ve been with Mr Palmer, discussing our computer system and everyone else is on a break. If you had made an appointment I would have ensured that I had been here.” She smiled through gritted teeth, desperately trying to stay professional.

  “I was joking Miss Price. You are quite right I have made no appointment, so shouldn’t have expected to see you immediately, I apologise.” He now smiled, showing his perfect row of pure white teeth.

  Niall’s pleasantness alarmed Charlotte, although she guessed it was probably meant to charm her. She smiled and looked down at her feet, desperately wondering what his plan was; there must be a plan because she couldn’t imagine him ever being this pleasant to anyone.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “Is there something wrong with your shoes?” Niall stretched to look at Charlotte’s feet.

  “No. So what can I do for you?”

  Charlotte sat back on Bobby’s desk, as she glanced behind her, she noticed a square-cut diamond on the wrong finger. Desperately, Charlotte thrust her hands behind her back. He must not see that she wasn’t engaged, Grant must not find out that she was still single.

  “Well actually I am here to see Paul, who I do have an appointment with, on a personal insurance matter, but I was asked if I could drop this into you.” Niall carefully placed a CD on Charlotte’s desk, making no attempt to pass it to her.

  Even from a distance she could recognise it, she would know those five smiling faces anywhere.

  “Th-th-thank you,” she stuttered. Charlotte’s heart began to hammer hard. Beads of sweat appeared on her brow, and she felt sick. “My Take That CD,” she managed to whisper.

  “Hmm, Grant Beddows gave it to me.” Niall’s face clouded over, and he shifted uncomfortably in Charlotte’s chair. “I realise that it’s probably not very professional, but he insisted.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Any message?” he asked, rising to his feet and approaching Charlotte.

  “No!” she snapped, sitting on her hands. “No, no message, thank you.” Her tone was softer now.

  “Well okay, I’ll be off. Bye.”

  “Yes okay, bye.”

  As the door closed behind him, Charlotte pushed her hand against her mouth, to stifle the gasp that was about to escape.

  “Bastard,” she whispered. “You are a complete and utter bastard, Grant.”

  Charlotte got up and slowly moved to her desk. She picked up a pen and poked at the CD with it. Touching the CD was like touching Grant, it was tainted, and she would never play it. She shoved it, with the pen, off the desk into the bin. It landed with a loud clatter against the metal, and Charlotte sighed as Gary Barlow smiled up at her.

  “What are you smiling at?” she shouted down at him. “Oh, go and learn to dance or something.”

  Two hours later Charlotte was making her way home, having just left Paul and Niall on the way out to lunch.

  “Oh, so yer are skiving off then after all?” Niall asked, as he buttoned up his jacket.

  Charlotte didn’t answer him, but turned to Paul instead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, bye, and thanks a lot for earlier.”

  “No problem, bye.”

  Charlotte recalled that Niall had not said good-bye, but then she hadn’t acknowledged him either. Mr “I’m it you’re shit” Devine, so what if he was attractive, and he looked particularly good today in his slate grey suit with toning shirt and tie, his girlfriend had likely dressed him anyway. Charlotte gasped as she realised that she suddenly felt a little put out, so he probably had a girlfriend; why should that bother her? But it did, which made Charlotte even angrier. She couldn’t possibly fancy a man like him, he was rude, arrogant but worse still he ignored her whenever possible. Charlotte laughed emptily, of course she fancied him. His sort were the type she always fell for, Grant being a case in point. Although she had to be honest, Niall didn’t seem to be in the same bastard bracket as Grant; Grant had the gold medal on that one. Deciding that her head hurt thinking about him, Charlotte cranked up the volume on her radio blasting out the latest new band to take the country by storm. He really did make her head hurt, but Charlotte thought, which one was it, Niall or Grant?

  Chapter 14

  Bets ate her cornflakes wondering how she managed to let herself into such stupid things. It was always the same, a couple of glasses of wine, and she was up for anything, then, in the cold light of day, she realised that she had agreed to go pot holing, or Morris dancing or some other banal activity. This time she had agreed to help Tom out with the fashion show he was putting on, the following evening, with one of the dress shops in town. Bets was amazed at how well he was doing at the shop. After college Tom had spent a couple of months moping around, trying to decide what to do with his life, then a job had come up at Men’s Room. It was only part-time at first, but Tom felt that he’d better go for it, if only to appease his parents. Tom was now Manager at the shop. He had got on well with Brian and Cameron, the owners, right from the beginning, and he showed a great aptitude for the sales patter and the business side of things, so much so that within twelve months, Brian and Cameron had retired to Magaluf and left Tom in charge. Tom had told Bets, at one of Amanda’s parties, that his master plan was for one day to buy them out, and so it was within his interest to make sure that the business was successful. The fashion show was one of the phases of that plan.

  Bets smiled as she thought about the previous evening, when he had conned her into helping out. He had turned up at Amanda’s to give Kathleen a lift home, and happened to mention that his make-up technician for the show had let him down.

  “She’s got chickenpox Bets. I can’t find anyone else, please would you do it.”

  Bets, who had quaffed a couple of glasses of wine on an empty stomach, happily agreed. “Sure Tom, no problem.”

  The girl who had done the make-up demonstration that evening suddenly started to slam all her products into a big holdall. The batting of her eyelashes at Tom, as soon as he’d walked in, obviously had no effect.

  “I’ll deliver your orders next Thursday,” she snapped at Amanda, before swinging her bag in the direction of Tom’s nether regions, as she hauled it over her shoulder.

  “Oh well, I suppose it might be quite good fun Alfred.” Bets rubbed his head as Alfred looked at her lovingly. She sighed heavily, at least she woul
d be getting out of the flat for a while, and Brian, and Cameron were jetting over for “Tommy’s finest hour," and they were always good for a laugh. “And who knows Alfred; I may meet a hunky male model.”

  That evening was the final dress rehearsal, something that Bets was glad about as it meant that she didn’t have time to chicken out. She arrived in plenty of time. Her car boot full of make-up, hair products, tit tape and whatever eight models may need.

  “What exactly is it?” Tom asked, turning the reel of tape around in his fingers.

  “You are supposed to be the fashion expert around here; it’s for keeping items of clothing in place, hence the word tit tape.” Tom looked at her blankly. “Oh God Tom, if you have a particularly revealing top and can’t wear a bra, the tape keeps you covered up.”

  Tom smiled vacantly. “Ah, I see. I don’t think that you’ll need it though. I hardly think that Bazaar Fashions will be showing anything daring. An ankle maybe, but certainly not a pair of knockers!”

  Bets laughed and hit him on the arm gently. “Stick it back in the boot then, I just had some at home and thought that you may need it.”

  “Nah, sorry.”

  As Tom carried her bags through, Bets watched him smiling to herself. It was typical of Tom, taking a little time to understand, if he did at all. As he had got older, his cute, toothless baby face had developed into that of a handsome young man. He was square jawed, brown eyed, with extremely long lashes that any girl would kill for, and unlike Charlotte, he was tall for his age, nearly six feet, by the time he was thirteen. Having a brother who looked like a male model meant that young girls were always pestering Charlotte, wanting to know where he was and whether he had a girlfriend. Tom as usual hadn’t realised how sought after he was, all he was interested in was football. He just didn’t understand the effect that he had on the opposite sex. Even when the local beauty queen made a play for him, Tom thought that it was a case of mistaken identity.

  As Bets lay in bed later that evening, she thought about the last few hours. She really enjoyed herself, working alongside Tom, putting outfits’ together ready for the show tomorrow. The models were kind to her. She had been a little shaky at first, but a couple of them had put her at ease, and everything had gone really well. Her mind then wandered to Stuart, if things had been different where would they be now, and what would they be doing? Bets knew that they would have only been together five weeks, but she knew that their relationship would have moved on quite quickly, if things had continued to be so good. Bets turned over and smelled the pillow next to her. She had changed the sheets a couple of times since Stuart had died, but she was sure that she could still smell his aftershave, although she was probably imagining it. Bets flopped backward onto her usual side and stretched to switch off the lamp. She pulled her knees up to her sleeping position and closed her eyes tightly. She had enjoyed herself; she thought, and although this made her feel a little guilty. Bets was grateful to the girl with chickenpox for helping her to get some normality back in her life.

  “So, how are you feeling then?” Tom as forthright as ever asked the following evening, “We didn’t really get a chance to talk last night.” Tom and Bets were already at the Civic Centre, making final checks for the fashion show.

  “Not bad I suppose, although it is nice to hear a straight question rather than having people pussy footing around me,” Bets answered, checking outfits on the rail against a list.

  “Perhaps people don’t know what to say,” said Tom, working ahead of Bets, putting the outfits on the rail.

  “Maybe, I suppose I can understand why. I mean, we weren’t together long, so they perhaps don’t know how I’m feeling. Actually, I don’t really know myself, some days it’s as though he never existed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well I get on with things as normal, go to work, come home, go swimming, go to Zumba or take Alfred for a walk, and I don’t really think about him. Then on other days he’s all I think about. It’s always the same memories, because let’s face it, it’s not as though I have a lifetime of them to look back on, just a couple of weeks.” Bets stopped what she was doing, and pulled a hand through her hair, and then shook her head. “Urgh, I hate feeling like this, not knowing how I should be feeling. You know I felt guilty last night because I enjoyed myself, how silly is that, I hardly knew him.”

  “No it’s not silly. Stuart was special to you, and it doesn’t matter how long you were together.” Tom's hand rested on Bets' head and rubbed it.

  “Yes, he was special, well at least I thought that he was going to be, it may not have worked out. I must say though, it did seem right, and it was good, so good that I can’t even contemplate seeing anyone else. Is that silly do you think, playing the bereaved loved one?” Bets asked, as she moved along the rail, still checking her list.

  Tom shook his head. “No, I would have thought that it was quite natural to feel that way. In some ways, you are caught in the middle, you’re sad and want to grieve, but you don’t really feel as though you knew the person that has died, it’s just for a few days he made you happy. I suppose it’s like when Princess Diana died, all those people devastated, but they didn’t know her personally.”

  Bets nodded. “Yeah, I suppose I can liken it to watching a weepy film. You cry your eyes out, but you know that the woman dead on the bed is only an actress. She is probably walking around Hollywood while you are still blowing your nose.

  Tom smiled and rubbed a hand over his close-cropped hair. “Exactly, this is your weepy movie, so let’s just hope that there is a happy ending. Right,” he said standing back from the rail. “All done, so we’ve got two hours until the models arrive, three and a half until the doors open, so let’s go and get something to eat. That chippy over the road is open.”

  Bets was aghast. “No way, I’m not stinking of cod and chips while I make up the models. I want to look professional, and I may want to slip my number to one of the males, someone like Si perhaps. He’s not going to want to call me is he, if he remembers me as the bird that smelt fishy,” Bets cried.

  Tom laughed heartily. “He would be unlikely to call you anyway; he’s as camp as a group of brownies singing If I Had a Hammer.

  “I thought he may be,” said Bets. “But you know what I mean.”

  “Yes I do, but you will have plenty of time to nip home and get washed and brushed up. Then you will be all prepared for your seduction of whoever takes your fancy.”

  “I wish I hadn’t said anything now, don’t you dare to try to fix me up.”

  “As if I would,” laughed Tom, as he followed her out.

  The evening had been a roaring success, both clothes and make-up looked fantastic and one of the models had even tentatively booked a massage session at Bets’ salon. Brian and Cameron had caused uproar when they eventually arrived, ten minutes before the show started. Both were dressed identically in cream safari suits, although Brian’s had short sleeves, expensive Italian shoes and carrying what could only be described as a man’s handbag. Cameron made straight for Si, bedazzled by his snake-like hips and broad shoulders.

  “What a beautiful creature he is Elizabeth,” he whispered, out of the side of his mouth.

  “My God, you’d shite your pants if he even looked at you,” cried Brian, light heartedly. “Anyway Elizabeth, my greasy nose, what can you do for me?”

  Just as Bets was about to give an on the spot consultation Tom came rushing in. “Bets, quickly come with me. Isabel has stuck her finger in her eye, and her mascara is running. We need a repair job.” So Bets was dragged away to rescue the beautiful Isabel.

  “Finally Ladies and Gentlemen I would like you to put your hands together for our make-up expert, Miss Elizabeth Dobbs.”

  Tom was standing on stage having just accepted the plaudits for a very successful show and was now holding his hand out to get Bets up too.

  As Bets stood beneath the hot lights, she could just about see Charlotte, Amanda and their mum on the front
row. Charlotte was whooping and circling her arm in the air, shouting to go Bets go, while Kathleen tried to reach up to pull down the offending arm.

  “So,” finished Tom. “Thank you all for coming, from myself and Jean from Bazaar, and we hope to see you in our shops soon, thank you and bye.”

  Tom, Bets, Brian, Cameron and the models took one last bow before the stage lights thudded off, indicating that it was time to go home.

  Bets turned to Tom, who looked absolutely exhausted. “Thanks for persuading me to do this Tom. I’ve really enjoyed myself, and thank the girl who had chickenpox as well,” Bets gushed, kissing him on the cheek.

  Tom turned slightly pink. “Erm, sorry, but there was no other girl, the models were going to do their own make-up. You were an extra little treat for them. Charlotte and I just thought that you needed to get out a bit more, you’re not mad are you?” Tom put a hand on Bets shoulder.

  Slowly, her face broke into a smile. “No, I’m not mad. I really enjoyed it.” She turned to Charlotte, who had just come on stage. “Hey you, is this true; there was no chickenpox girl?”

  Charlotte grinned and ducked as Bets flung a hand out at her. “Sorry, but I thought that you needed a bit of fun.”

  “Well you did the right thing for once, so seeing as I’m in such a good mood, who fancies a drink?” Bets looked at Tom and Charlotte.

  “Sorry,” said Tom. “I’ve got plans.” He blushed slightly and jerked his head towards the injured Isabel leaning against a wall, swinging her car keys on her offending finger.

  “Charlotte?”

  “Yep, sure am. I’ll just see if Mum and Amanda fancy it too.” She looked over to where they were chatting with Cameron.

  “Okay,” said Bets. “I’ll get my stuff then.”

  Bets went back to the changing room and started to pack away all her make-up, humming to herself as she did so.