Guess Who I Pulled Last Night?

by Nikki Ashton

  “I beg your pardon, tidy myself up.” Charlotte stayed on the chair as he bent to pick his shirt up.

  “Well you do look a bit rough.” He seemed astonished at her tone.

  “So, when you head back to Manchester are you going to let me have your telephone number then?” Charlotte already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from his mouth, almost to prove to her once more what an absolute shit he really was.

  “Well it’s a bit difficult at the moment. I'm moving flats soon, but once I’m settled, I’ll give you a call or pop round perhaps,” he muttered, not looking at Charlotte while he carried on getting dressed.

  This was too much for Charlotte. She flew at him not caring that by now her robe had come undone, and she was showing him everything that he’d enjoyed the night before.

  “You wanker, you haven’t changed one bit have you, you are a big shitty toss bag!” she cried, landing a perfect right hook on his nose, leaving his eyes watering.

  “What was that for?” he asked stamping his feet, almost in tears.

  Charlotte rearranged her robe and looked at him, hands defiantly on hips. “That was for two timing me three years ago, for the crap shag last night, and for still being a tosser after all these years!”

  Grant’s bottom lip jutted out petulantly. “You bitch. You really hurt me. You are absolutely bloody loopy no wonder I left you the first time.” He turned to retrieve the rest of his clothes, only stopping momentarily to stuff his socks into his pocket. “Any man who gets mixed up with you wants to be careful, they’ll end up dead.”

  “Oh don’t tempt me dick head, and if I hear that you have told anyone about last night, I’ll let them in on your little secret.” Charlotte wiggled her pinky at him, smiling inanely, which scared him even more.

  “Don’t worry I won’t be telling anyone, I’ve got my reputation to think of. Anyway, I’ve never had any complaints before, it must be you!” he spat out at her, running past her quickly and thundering down the stairs.

  He went through the lounge to collect his coat and shoes. Charlotte stood on the bottom stair having followed him down. He came back into the hall pulling on his shoes. As he put his left foot in, he let out a scream.

  “Ugh, who has been sick in my shoe?” He turned to glare at a grinning Charlotte. “You,” he shouted pointing a stubby finger at her, “you are definitely off your trolley.” And with that he sprinted out of the front door.

  Bets poked her head round the dining room door as Charlotte leaned against the now closed front door. “He’s gone then?” she asked.

  Oh yes, he’s gone, gone for good this time.”

  Chapter 23

  After the escapade of the previous day Bets was quite looking forward to dressing up and going for a nice meal, even if she did have to entertain Des. She was, however, feeling rather anxious; afraid that he would be an absolute idiot, or even worse boring. Bets was also worried about Kerry; what if she rang while Bets was out? Then she remembered that her land line had been diverted to her mobile, so she wouldn’t miss her if she did call. Bets also felt a little happier when she realised that this evening meant that Tom owed her a favour. She had a bridal fair coming up soon, and the organiser wanted her to show a facial for bridegrooms, the perfect opportunity to rope Tom in. She had her overnight bag packed and was finishing off her make up when Tom arrived to pick her up.

  “You look nice,” he said admiring the calf length scarlet dress that she was wearing. “That colour really suits you.”

  “I know that’s why I’m wearing it; you're not the only fashion expert you know. I'll just be a minute.” She went back to her bedroom to finish applying her matching red lipstick.

  “Where’s Alfred?” Tom shouted to her, looking around for his playmate.

  Bets came back into the room. “He’s at Charlie’s, He's having a sleep over. Okay are you ready?” She dropped the lipstick into her handbag and clipped it shut, following Tom out as he picked up her overnight bag and disappeared through the front door.

  As they approached Isabel’s apartment block Bets started to get butterflies. She was strong and confident with people who knew her, her friends, but with people that she didn’t know very well, Bets became quiet and self-doubting. The journey over had been good, with Bets and Tom reminiscing, and talking about fashion and music. It had been one of those pleasant journeys that you didn’t want to end, feeling disappointed when you arrived at your destination.

  When Isabel opened the door to them, Bets suddenly felt rather gauche. She recognised the Karen Millen dress and Gucci shoes at once, they were beautiful and extremely expensive and Isabel carried them off perfectly. She was tall and willowy, as most models, and she had an air of confidence about her, even just opening the door. Tom positively drooled as he gazed at Isabel, not having seen her for two weeks he looked like he could have taken her there and then, but looking at Isabel’s haughty expression Bets guessed that she would scold him about messing up her chignon.

  Isabel cut into Bet’s thoughts with her clipped tone. “Nice to see you again Bets.” She air kissed her guest, either side of her face. “Come in and I’ll show you to your room.”

  Bets smiled to herself. She must only be twenty-five or twenty-six, yet spoke like some Dowager Duchess, inviting the workers in for Christmas drinks.

  “Put your bag in here, this is where you’ll be staying this evening. There’s tea and coffee next to the bed and a kettle, if you would like a drink.” Isabel showed Bets into a very stark light blue room. Inside were just a bed, covered in pale blue linen, and a white bedside table. Bets thought that there were probably more sumptuous operating theatres. It was like a budget, quick stopover hotel; sparse but very clean.

  “No mini bar then?” Bets asked, laughing at her joke. Isabel didn’t reciprocate but carried on talking.

  “The bathroom is straight across from you, and as you’ll see I’ve left guest towels on your bed. Right I think that’s everything, so if you’d like to leave your bag…no, not on the bed, perhaps on the floor would be better. I’ll introduce you both to Des, my cousin from London. I’m sure that you’ll both like him. He's a really funny guy,” she suddenly sounded quite animated, as she showed Bets to the door with her outstretched hand. Even Tom, who had been waiting patiently by the door, couldn’t resist a wry smile.

  “Are you sure she’s not royalty?” Bets hissed to Tom, as she followed them into the rather minimalist lounge.

  “He won’t be a moment he’s just meditating in my room. I’ll get us some drinks, white wine okay?” Isabel asked.

  Bets nodded distractedly as she looked for somewhere to sit, anywhere that she wouldn’t be in danger of messing up. There was a two-seater sofa in white brocade, with three matching cream scatter cushions, which Isabel had clearly spent a great deal of time arranging, then to the left of that was a cream brocade armchair with a white scatter cushion, but on that sat a porcelain doll; probably called Isabel thoughts Bets. The floor was wooden, covered with a large cream rug and at the huge picture window, overlooking the dock, was a white roller blind; and that was it. There was nothing else in the room, not even a T.V. Bets noted.

  “Where does she keep all her crap?” she whispered to Tom.

  “Isabel doesn’t do crap, there is no room in her life for mementos,” he replied from the corner of his mouth.

  “Oh right.” Bets nodded.

  She looked past Tom into the kitchen. She could just about see that it too was very sparse, all rosewood cupboards and chrome handles, but nothing on the work surfaces; that was probably why she had a kettle in the guest room, Bets thought, giggling to herself. Isabel came back carrying a little hostess tray with a glass of wine for them all.

  “I’ll put Des’ there.” She handed them a glass and placed the tray on the floor next to the sofa. “Please be careful.”

  They each took a sip and stood silently, gazing about the room. Bets was amazed that Tom was so quiet and that Isabel was so aloof; he hadn�
�t shut up about her all the way here, and they were lovers who hadn’t seen each other for fourteen days and nights. She would have expected them to be trying to rip each other’s clothes off. Then it struck her; Tom's black suit and aubergine shirt and tie didn’t match Isabel’s colour scheme. There was no way she would want them lying about the place. Bets smiled as she got a mental image of Isabel making Tom fold his clothes and put them away before he was allowed to ravish her, remonstrating that she didn’t like clutter.

  “What are you smiling at?” Tom asked, breaking the silence.

  “Nothing; so how did your fashion shoot go on Isabel?” Bets asked, turning from Tom to Isabel, her grin widening.

  “Fab, Pablo our photographer was marvellous and said that I really should think about moving to Europe, I’d get a lot more work.”

  “Oh dear, I don’t think that Tom would be very happy about that, would you mate?” Bets asked, playfully thumping him on the arm.

  “I’m sure that Tom would accept that my career comes first, and it’s not as if we are engaged or anything,” Isabel replied curtly.

  Bets winced, God, she really was a cold bitch. She glanced at Tom, but he didn’t seem unduly worried by Isabel’s comments. Just then Des appeared; how Bets didn’t burst out laughing she didn’t know. To describe him as a clown was an understatement. He was probably only five feet five, and he had long, curly, blond hair, a handle bar moustache and a pointed goatee beard, he was a very miniature Billy Connolly look-a-like. His trousers looked as though Al Capone may have worn them; very wide, black pinstripes, with huge turn ups at the bottom, and holding them up a pair of bright red braces, over a crisp, white, frilled shirt. Bets looked down to avoid eye contact, only to be astonished by his feet, they were huge, enormous for a man of his height, and he wore flip flops; she quickly looked back up again.

  Des air kissed Isabel and shook his hair back away from his face. “Awright darlin’, introduce us then,” he said.

  Bets and Tom nearly spat their wine over the pristine, white rug. His cockney accent was just like Dick Van Dyke’s in Mary Poppins – phoney! Isabel introduced Tom and Bets to more air kisses and then passed Des his wine; he knocked it back in one.

  “Right then, let’s go luvva duck.” They followed him out silently, Bets bringing up the rear with tears of laughter pricking her eyes.

  Dinner wasn't a raving success. The food was lovely, but the company was rather lacking. Isabel the Ice Queen suddenly thawed out, and decided that Tom should be fed his meal from her chopsticks, totally ignoring their dinner guests. This annoyed Bets immensely, and only served to compound her dislike of Isabel. The main crux of the matter was that she had tried to use chopsticks for years, and had never managed it, trust Isabel to be an expert! Des had tried to rub his flip flopped foot along Bets' leg, but a quick kick to the shin had soon put a stop to it, although unfortunately, it hadn’t terminated the immensely boring, constant stream of drivel coming from his mouth. Now they were back at Isabel’s apartment, and Bets was desperate for her bed. She wanted morning to come, so she could escape from the nightmare that was Des. Unfortunately, Des didn’t agree and insisted that they all play a game. However, games constituted clutter, so the only option they had was to play charades. After an hour of watching Des make a prat of himself, while Isabel brayed like a donkey at his antics, Bets had had enough and made her excuses.

  “Aw but it’s only one o’clock darlin’, the night is still young.”

  “Sorry Des, but us northerners can’t take the pace like you cockneys. Anyway, it was nice to meet you. I don’t expect that we’ll meet up again, so all the best with your ducking and diving. Tom what time would you like to leave tomorrow morning?” Her last sentence was through gritted teeth, and she gave him the ‘make it early’ look. Luckily, Tom recognised this look, as Charlotte had used it regularly as they were growing up and had obviously shown Bets how to do it.

  “Oh early,” he said earnestly. “Is nine o’clock okay?”

  Bets heaved a sigh of relief. “Great fine, well thanks for your hospitality Isabel, and I promise that I’ll keep my room tidy.” Bets smiled at Isabel, but her beautiful face didn’t crack with a response, so Bets went into her room.

  Shivering against the cold Bets slipped in between the sheets, thankful that she had brought her bed socks with her. She was exhausted, but the bed wasn’t really that inviting; it was cold and hard, an ice block floating in the middle of an ocean of coldness. The bathroom hadn’t been much better. Everything was white and stark and Bets had committed a heinous crime; but at least she managed to sort it without Isabel finding out. Bets rolled around the bed, rubbing her feet together, thinking what a disaster the evening had been, until eventually she was warm enough to fall asleep.

  She had only been asleep for a couple of hours when she woke, aware that someone was standing over her at the side of the bed, it was Des, totally naked, with a fairly impressive erection.

  “What do you think of this then?” he asked, pointing to his penis, a huge grin upon his face.

  “Well it’s like a dick only smaller,” Bets sighed, reaching out to the bedside table. She picked up the nearest object and hit his protrusion with it. She hadn’t thought that a small kettle would hurt so much, but the tears running down Des’ face was testament to the fact that it did; so that's what the kettle is for, Bets thought? Des limped away, literally, back to the sofa leaving Bets to continue her beauty sleep. Before he could stand up straight, Bets had promised not to speak about the incident again, unless of course, Des decided to bother her once more. Des shook his head vehemently and managed to gasp something about dropping dead being a better option. Once he had disappeared from the room, Bets started to giggle hysterically. How many people did she know who were visited by a huge penis during the night and ended up hitting it with a kettle; it could only happen to her.

  “Oh, please make morning come quickly,” she breathed into the cold air.

  Bets slept fitfully during the night, dreaming of Des standing over her with his erection, while Isabel rifled through her bag and ordered her to be shot at dawn on discovery of a dirty towel. When she woke Bets immediately looked at her watch; it had to be time to get up. It said eight o’clock and she jumped out of bed and practically sprinted to the bathroom with her overnight bag. Breakfast was a very quiet affair; obviously Des wasn’t talking very much, but strangely neither were Isabel and Tom. Once they had finished their muesli Tom indicated that it was time to go. He kissed Isabel on the cheek as they reached the front door.

  “I’ll call you,” he said dully.

  “Well bye, thanks again.” Bets felt that she should try to lighten the atmosphere; however, there was no response.

  “So what happened?” she asked as the lift door closed behind them.

  “I haven’t seen her for two weeks, and yet she made me fold my clothes up before she’d have sex with me, but by the time I’d finished putting them away she’d fallen asleep!” Tom looked dejected and rejected.

  “But she looked well up for it in the restaurant,” said Bets, envisaging Isabel’s tongue down Tom’s throat.

  “Yeah well, maybe the game of charades was all too much for her.”

  The last two floors were taken in silence until the doors slid open, and the crisp morning air hit them.

  “What’s that?” Tom asked, nodding over to a Golf Cabriolet.

  “Err, what?” Bets responded, lowering her head to hide the small smile upon her lips.

  “On Isabel’s car; you know I think it’s actually, you know what,” said Tom screwing up his face.

  “Urgh, fancy that, I wonder how that got there?” Bets replied, looking up at the cloudy sky.

  “Don’t know,” answered Tom shaking his head. “But Isabel is going to have a shock when she finds it.”

  “Hmm, I’m sure she will.” Bets tried to sound concerned. “But I tell you what; they must have bloody big seagulls around here.

  Chapter 24


  It was five-thirty in the morning, and the pasture was covered with a fine gossamer layer of frost, resembling a delicate spider’s web. It was generally quiet, except for the occasional contented moo of a cow in the shed, and the clanging of the milk churns as the yard started to come to life. Kerry was looking through her caravan window, drinking a cup of tea, watching the day start and taking the opportunity of peace and quiet to think about things. This became her morning ritual since arriving eight days ago. Behind her Kerry could hear Mr Llewellyn and Owen starting the day’s work, ready for the Monday morning collection of the milk that their herd had produced over the last few days. Kerry was familiar with the routine now, in about half an hour Mrs Llewellyn would call them in for breakfast, the smell of which wafted under the caravan door, then when that was over, they would come and check the cows again before the tanker arrived at eight o’clock. When the milk was on its way, Mr. Llewellyn would herd the cows into the field, leaving Owen to muck out the stalls in time for lunch. In the afternoon, Owen didn’t seem to have an awful lot to do. Once his odd jobs on the farm had been done he had got into the habit of visiting Kerry, for a chat. She was still a little wary of him, there was something dangerous about him, something in his eyes that warned her to be careful, but despite her feelings she enjoyed his company. He was very pleasant and polite, still calling her Mrs Johnson up until the previous day, and he always made her laugh with some story about himself or his friends.

  As the morning light grew Kerry could hear Esme stirring in her bed, she hoped that her baby would sleep on a little while longer because she wanted to write home today. She wasn’t going to tell them where she was, but knew that they would all be worried and deserved to know that she, and Esme were both okay. Kerry knew that her mum would be frantic, and she felt guilty about not writing sooner, but she had needed the last few days to try to get her head together; to let it sink in what happened between her and Kelvin. When she was certain that Esme wasn’t waking, Kerry put her cup into the sink and picked up the writing paper that she had bought the day before.