The Bunk Up (The Village People Book 1)
Page 1
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Epilogue
Coming Autumn 2016
Coming soon from Andie M. Long
Out now from D H Sidebottom
The Bunk Up
Andie M. Long
&
D H Sidebottom
The Bunk Up
Copyright © 2016
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual places, incidents and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 D H Sidebottom, Andie M. Long. Please do not copy, alter or redistribute this book.
Please secure author’s permission before sharing any extracts of this book.
Acknowledgements
Dawn and Andrea would like to thank everyone who has helped them bring the Bunk-Up to fruition. Without the support of the betas and people who take time to promote us, our work would not reach readers hands.
You’re bloody marvellous and so not a twatfanny
xxx
Chapter One
Daisy
Every – day!
Every day, with exactly seven minutes until the end of my shift, did Mrs Haversham amble around the sectioned queue area. Her narrow, beady eyes fix onto me as my fingers stall mid-count. Why me? Why does she always make a beeline for me?
I hear the wave of faint groans from my colleagues as they, one by one, spot her moving around the barrier.
There is just one person presently stood waiting to be served, and I quickly glance at my co-workers, checking to see who is already serving.
If I hurry with my current customer, I can grab the already waiting one, and then someone else will get Mrs Haversham!
As soon as the thought enters my head, the exact same idea pops into the heads of every single other worker. Every hand in my peripheral view starts to move with a speed that defies gravity, everyone spewing the routine spiel with a slur of blustering syllables.
“Sixty-seven pence change. Thank you for using the Post Office,” I reel off hastily to the woman stood at the other side of my Perspex window. “Have a nice day.”
She blinks at me then quickly nods, sensing my eagerness, and hurries away.
A grin lights my face when I speedily bang my palm onto my number call button.
“Window four,” the automated female voice sings out, my happiness singing in tune with her.
As soon as my number rings out, all the quickly moving hands slow to an almost stop, the previous fast-forward commotion now suddenly paused as everyone eagerly tries to out-slow their neighbour.
Kathy, my co-worker and best friend, glares at me with narrow eyes when I pump my fist in delight under the counter. “Bitch,” she hisses at me. I blow her a kiss and turn to watch my next customer hurry up to my booth.
I can’t help but grin like a loony at the man who thrusts his face into my vision. “Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you today?”
“First class stamp.”
What? No!
I fluster for a moment. “Uhh, can I offer you any other services, sir? The Post Office offers very competitive rates on house insurance…”
“No.”
I glance sideways, my foot tapping nervously as my colleagues continue to serve their current customers.
“Maybe I can offer you…”
“A stamp!” he growls at me. There’s something fierce in his eyes and I instinctively lean back a little. “Just – a – stamp!”
“Right.”
Biting into my lip, I slowly slide open my drawer. The stamps sit right at the top in their little designated section. I pick up a few leaflets, pretending to look underneath as I hear my customer huff angrily with my slow service.
“Was that first class or second, sir?” I ask without looking up.
“Hello, Daisy, dear.”
My eyes shoot up to the window, and Mrs Haversham’s toothless grin stares back at me. In shock, I shoot upright, my eyes scanning the vicinity. “Where did he go?”
“Who, dear?”
“The man. My last customer.”
Kathy sniggers as she turns off her cubicle light next to me and stretches languidly. “That’s me done. The weekend here I come.”
“Oh, he went that way.” Mrs Haversham points to Mary at the end of the line. Mary pokes her tongue at me as she slides a first class stamp across to my previous customer.
“He was mine!” I shout to Mary. “I owned him!”
The man, horrified, widens his eyes on me, then snatches up his stamp and hurries out of the front doors.
“I won’t keep you today, Daisy, dear,” Mrs Haversham croaks.
Defeated, my shoulders slump as I look back to her. I nod. I don’t believe her. Every day she says, ‘I won’t keep you today, dear.’ And every day she fibs, right to my face.
“I have a small parcel to send to my Nigel.”
I nod again, trying my best to smile. Here it comes.
“He’s in Australia. Did I tell you that?”
“You did.”
“Married a girl. Such a pretty thing, she is. And plenty of money.” Her bright red lips purse as she nods. Her shocking crimson lipstick slithers into the lines that bleed from her lips, and I can’t hold back the shudder.
“My Nigel is such a catch. He’s big in the art world. Did I tell you that?”
“You did, yes.”
“He’s a fully trained accountant too. Did I…?”
“You did,” I drawl. “You have a parcel for me, Mrs Haversham?”
She stares at me for a long moment before she blinks. “Oh, yes.”
Reaching into her handbag, she pulls out a tiny box and pushes it under the window.
“He’s so handsome, my Nigel,” she continues.
“You need to pop the package onto the scales for me, Mrs Haversham.”
“He has all his own teeth,” she says with pride.
“That’s nice. The scales,” I almost beg as I push the parcel towards her.
One by one my colleagues switch off their lights and smirk at me as they pass me on their way to the staffroom. “Night, Daisy,” they laugh.
I dig my nails into the top of my thighs. “Mrs Haversham, the scales.”
“Oh, yes, dear. Sorry.”
Finally, she places the small box onto the scales.
“Five pounds forty-five, please,” I inform her when she passes me the box back.
Reaching into her
bag slowly, she pulls out the largest purse in the history of… ever. Rattling through her coins she grins back up at me. “My Nigel’s making a sculpture, and needs me to contribute so it’s more personal.”
“That’s nice.” I am slowly losing the will to live.
She nods again as she slides a coin under the window slot. “He called me yesterday… from Australia!”
I nod as I spin the box in my fingers, waiting for her to count out the one hundred and nine five pence pieces.
“It’s for Kylie Minogue,” she declares.
“Wow. I’m sure she’s thrilled.”
“He’s such a good boy, my Nigel.”
I smile as my eyes roam to the clock on the wall.
“He’s making a replica of the Sydney Opera House.”
“Wow.”
She nods again, slipping another five pence through the gap. “Out of toenails and all!”
I throw the box. It bounces off the counter and lands in my lap. Squealing, I shoot up, the box dropping to the floor by my feet.
“Are you alright, dear?”
“Uhh.” Horrified, I stare at the box and then to Mrs Haversham. “Spider?”
“Forty-eight clippings in there. You wouldn’t think so with the size would you?”
Oh, Christ.
Well, at least it’s Friday. Things can only get better.
***
Or so I thought...
Now, when I’ve read books and people find their boyfriend in their bed with the mistress, I thought it was fiction, because come on, who would be that stupid? Well, it would seem my boyfriend would.
I love that pasty white arse pumping up and down in front of my eyes - eyes that can’t believe what is on display in front of them. I can see tendrils of long red hair spread across my pillow, but the confirmation of it being Belinda, the receptionist from the local estate agents, is only confirmed when my boyfriend lets out a gasp of, “Oh yeah, baby.” His come cry before letting his head flop and rest at the pillow at the side of hers.
“She hasn’t come,” I say to the back of his head. Belinda’s gaze snaps to my own and then she screams. “I’m sorry. Am I inconveniencing you coming into my own bedroom?” I ask her. By this stage she and Marcus are pulling the duvet up around themselves. A bit late; I’d already seen enough to do a medical assessment.
“You’re really lucky you know?” I sit on the bed at the side of her, rummaging in my bedside drawer for one of the matches I use to light candles. “I’ll cry every time I look at one of these from now on.” I hold up a match. “These remind me of Marcus’s tiny penis. Watch.” I strike it against the match box and extinguish it with a quick breath. “One quick blow and he’s out.”
“Well, maybe you weren’t enough of a woman for him?” She fixes me with a green-eyed smug stare.
I light another match. “Yeah. Maybe I wasn’t hot enough.”
I drop the match on the end of the duvet. I know it’s already extinguished when it hits, but they don’t. They jump out, Belinda’s screech of, ‘You crazy bitch’ giving me a smug smile as Marcus stumbles to pull his trousers on.
The reality of the situation hits me finally. I refuse to allow them to witness my hurt. Neither of them deserve it, especially Marcus.
Yanking the strap of my bag higher up my shoulder, I swallow back the bile that is forcing its way upwards and slam the front door behind me.
Having a pub opposite your house has more good points than bad, especially when the need to get raging drunk hits.
I should have known it would only be a matter of time before Marcus walked in too.
He takes a seat at my table - without asking.
I will not cry. I will not cry.
“I’m so sorry, Daisy.” He reaches across the table, squeezing my fingers. “I… It’s just, well, we’ve been together since we were sixteen. I didn’t mean to get bored. I didn’t mean to fall in love with her…”
He didn’t mean to do a lot of things by the sounds of it.
I can’t speak, the lump in my throat forcing the words back down into my heart. I can only stare at him as I try to blink back the tears.
“I mean, eight years is a long time, Daisy. We all get bored. You should be proud that I was with you for that long.”
What the…?
“You’ll like Belinda when you get to know her…”
“What?” I finally manage.
Marcus winces at the high pitch of my voice.
“I’ll like Belinda? I’ll like the woman you’ve been screwing behind my back for God knows how long? Is it because she has nicer boobs than me?”
“It’s not your boobs, Daisy. There’s nothing wrong with your boobs, although… well, your nipples are a little too small… babe… and Belinda does have a very tight grip if you know what I mean.” His voice filters out and he gulps when he watches my face redden with rage.
The barmaid coming to clear my empty glass away senses the encroaching storm and spins on her heels, swiftly escaping the chilliness around our table.
Marcus stares up at me with wide, horrified eyes when I stand up. Leaning toward him, I rest my fists on the table. “Maybe my nipples are small. I’ll even admit my boobs are wonky. Maybe my foo isn’t to your specific tastes,” I rage. “But I happen to like my foo! It’s cute! It’s nice and clean, and it was okay at keeping your small pencil dick warm!”
“You tell him, girl!” A young blonde woman at the next table nods firmly at me before she turns her glare on Marcus. “From what I can make out your missus has a perfectly good rack. I can’t see her foo, but she looks like the type of woman who would keep it trim and clean.” Turning to me, she sticks her chin out. “He’ll come crawling back, love. But don’t you dare take him back. You get yourself out there and find someone who loves your boobs and has a big thick dick!”
I nod to her. “He’s rubbish in bed anyway.”
She nods slowly in return, narrowing her eyes on Marcus. “Yeah, he looks like it. Selfish. Eight years you’ve been with him? Nah, you need to have some fun, love.”
Her friend nods, crossing her arms over her chest as she gives Marcus an assessing gaze. “I’m guessing five inch.”
“Five and a quarter.”
“Shit, girl. You deserve at least a seven.”
“Can we not discuss my penis in the pub?” yells Marcus. Even more people turn towards us.
“I’ve never been with anyone else, so I thought it was okay...”
Both girls gasp. “What?” Two pairs of horrified eyes fix on me. “Oh, you’ve got a surprise coming your way. You’ll love a bigger dick. And if you can, find one that’s pierced.”
“Okay.” I gulp. “I’ll try.”
They both high-five me when I snatch up my bag.
“Thank you for being a big dick with a small cock,” I tell him. “I’m now going in search of a better one.” I leave Marcus staring after me.
Keeping my chin high and my shoulders back, I slowly walk down the road to the bus stop.
And then I cry.
Chapter Two
Daisy
Once the tears had subsided it became clear that I had a problem. I could not spend the night in a bus shelter. Unfortunately, Marcus owned our home so not only was I boyfriendless, I was now also homeless. There was no way I was going back home for my belongings so I took the only option currently available to me. The next bus took me to Kathy’s messy semi where she lived with her husband and three children.
Kathy takes one look at me and grabs her phone. “Have you been attacked? Mugged? Christ, you look a fucking sight. Who’s punched you in the eyes?”
I take the phone out of her hand. “No-one. It’s Marcus. He’s been shagging Belinda from the estate agents.” I start to sob again.
“He’s what? Are you sure? But you’ve been together forever. He can’t.”
“I saw him. Actually saw his penis going in Belinda’s love tunnel.” Love tunnel? I wince, my own term repulsing me and making me s
hiver. “How will I ever get that image from my mind? Where will I live? What about my box full of wedding ideas for when he actually proposed? I have 3,643 pins on Pinterest. Do you know how many hours I’ve spent planning my wedding? All wasted.”
“Oh honey.” Kathy scrunches up her nose. “But you weren’t even engaged.”
I hiccough. “He said he would propose when he got a promotion.”
“But he seems really quite settled running his Slimming Universe group.”
I sniff. “He said he’d expand.”
“More chance of his returning to deep fried Mars Bars in that respect, Daisy.”
Marcus had been a small plump lad with short blonde hair when we’d met at Night Fever, the downtown disco. He was eighteen to my sixteen and had offered to get me a lager, and that was it. True love forever. I didn’t care about his size; I fell in love with him.
We moved in together to his small terraced house when I was twenty and he was twenty-two. He said it was too much hassle to add me to the mortgage so we agreed I would pay the bills. Fry-ups and chocolate binges meant we got larger and larger. Two years ago Marcus returned home saying he had joined Slimming Universe. I felt it was something we could do together but he was adamant he wanted to go alone. Said we needed to spend some evenings independent to each other so we’d have things to talk about. Secretly, I was so miserable I barely ate and lost an extra stone I could have done without, with little effort. I went to the gym and smacked punch bags and toned up. Marcus saw it as a competition. He started losing huge amounts of weight and bringing home certificates. One year later he was their Slimmer of the Year, featuring in magazines. He started running his own club with great success.
I stashed away chocolate and settled on hovering between a size twelve and fourteen.
“Earth calling Daisy.”
“Err, what?”
“You’re staring into space in my hallway. Come in. Let’s get you warmed up and a cup of tea.”
“Where are the evil pixies?” I look around cautiously.
“At Rex’s mothers. He’s taken them for a visit, the poor woman.”