I take myself off around the local charity shops, looking for a pair of wedding shoes. I thought they could be my ‘something old’. While I don’t find shoes, I do come across a couple of dining chairs which would have looked fantastic done up in the cottage at Beydon. In the mood for a bit of painting, I buy them and carry one home, before returning for the other one. Marcus has us both wearing fitness wristbands as he says we need to slim down for the wedding. He’s taken to measuring out the portions of our food. I’m missing the cafe’s cakes something chronic.
I spend the afternoon sanding down the chairs in preparation. While I’m at it, I empty and drag our sideboard outside. I’m going to vintage up the house. If I can’t go back to Beydon, I’ll bring Beydon to the house.
I hear Marcus’ car pull up at seven. I’m still in the back garden where I’ve almost finished priming the furniture. Wiping dirt and sweat from my face, I take myself back inside to the kitchen where I begin to wash the paint from my hands.
“Ooh, in the kitchen where I like to see my woman,” says Marcus, coming up behind me and kissing my neck. “Ugh, you stink of paint.”
“I’ve had a fabulous afternoon upcycling some furniture.”
“Cycling furniture? Is that some new fitness craze?”
“No, dummy. Upcycling furniture. Where you get something you’re bored with or that was about to be thrown out and you make it look pretty again. Come and look.” I begin to drag him outside.
“Oh, Daisy, fucking hell. You’ve got paint on my suit. I’m wearing this to the wedding.”
I stand still, trying to figure out if I heard him correctly. “You’re wearing your work suit to our wedding?”
“I was, but it’s got chuffing paint on it now.”
“It’s primer. It will wash off.”
“Oh, that’s alright then. No point in me shelling out for another suit for one day, Daise.”
“But you’re wearing a grey suit in my dream box and this one is brown.”
He switches the subject. “Are you going to show me this cycling thing then? So I can get the suit off for you to wash?”
“Yes.” My excitement makes me grin at him.
We walk outside and I show him the chairs. “I’m going to sell them on. They only cost me £3 each at the charity shop and then a couple of quid for materials. I’ll be able to sell them for £15 each so there’s a small but decent profit to be made on each item.
Marcus’ face lights up. “I bet it doesn’t take that long to do either. You could turn a nice little profit. I like it, Daise. I like it a lot.” He smiles at me and I beam back.
He peruses the sideboard. “I bet you’ll make a huge chunk of money on this, with it being a larger piece.”
“Oh, that’s for us, babe. It’s our sideboard.”
Marcus’s face goes blood red. It looks like he’s concentrating really hard on getting a shit out. “Our sideboard?”
“Yes. I’m making everything vintage style. A fresh start for our new married home.”
“You mean my sideboard? That I’m still fucking paying for?”
I blanch. “What do you mean? I was there when we put the deposit down. I paid the deposit and then withdrew the rest of the money. You agreed to go back the next day to pay the balance.”
“Yeah, well they gave me some good borrowing terms so I used the money for other things.”
“What other things?”
“I don’t remember now. It was ages ago. But I’ve not finished paying for that unit and I’ve forgotten the last couple of payments so they might need to take it back. Can you undo all that and paint it back how it was?”
“Of course I can’t.”
“Well, you’ll have to find the money to pay for it now you’ve ruined it.”
“I have not ruined it and I already paid for it!” I shout.
“Ah, let’s not fall out, babe, over something as stupid as money. Tell you what, I’ll go get out of this suit so you can wash it and you get that beautiful smelling stew heated up. Then you can tell me how you’re doing with the wedding plans. I’ve even got my own little notebook, look.” He dips his hand in his suit pocket and pulls out a small pink notebook. “To keep up with what needs doing.” He smacks my backside. “Two weeks today and you’ll be the little missus at home. Not much different to now, really.” He chuckles. I have to fight the urge to smack him round the head with one of my new chairs, but I don’t want to chip the paint. “Hopefully this furniture thing will take off, or you’ll need to find another job. Honeymoon periods don’t last forever, you know.”
As we take our seats at the dining table, which is no doubt not paid for either, I watch with satisfaction as Marcus eats the dog food stew. As it dribbles down his chin and he speaks to me with his mouth full, I wonder if I really am going to go through with this wedding.
“You not having any of this, babe?”
“No. I’m sticking with salad.”
“Wise idea. Get that podge off before the wedding. Oh, by the way, I cancelled the wedding cake.”
“You did what?”
“Half the guests are Slimming Universe customers. Wouldn’t be a great idea to fill them with high calorie cake, would it? We’ll have a fruit salad.”
I imagine immersing the groom cake topper I’ve ordered off eBay under the juice of said fruit-fucking-salad and holding him there. Drowning by apple chunk.
In bed that night, Marcus moves over to me. I feel his small penis against my leg.
“Marcus.”
“Yes, darling.”
“Can we wait? Until our wedding night? It’s only a couple of weeks.”
There’s a large sigh. “I suppose so, if that’s what you want. I’m going to the loo to sort myself out if I’m not getting any here.”
While he’s gone I lie back against the pillow. What the hell am I doing? Nothing has changed here. I don’t love him. Marcus is a complete and utter prick and there’s no way on God’s earth I’m marrying him. But he’s not to know that. I’m going to go through with it right up until the end and then I hope the registrar forgives me when I yell, “No fucking way” to the question of marrying the tool.
Within ninety seconds, true to form, Marcus is back in bed. Within a further ninety seconds he’s sound asleep. I spend a good hour making new plans for my wedding day.
All of a sudden my enthusiasm for my wedding is back. It’s going to be a day to remember.
Men are fuckers and one of them is about to go down, and not in a sexy way.
Chapter Thirty
Frazer
My mother spends the rest of the afternoon telling me about her life, which by all accounts has been miserable as hell. The only thing she’s kept bringing up that’s made her smile is the “lovely girl in the post office”, which turns out to be the woman who’s been making me smile too.
After I discovered my parents doing the nasty they agreed to cut off all contact. An awful end to a love affair. My mother said it was a fitting punishment to something she shouldn’t have started in the first place.
“Do you regret it?” I ask her.
“Do I regret cheating on my husband? Yes. He was always a fair man and I chose to marry him even though I didn’t love him. But that wasn’t his fault. I don’t regret cheating with your father. I can’t, Frazer. I loved him so, so much. I lived for those few weeks here in Beydon when I’d meet him and get to see you.”
“But I ruined that, didn’t I? You made my father happy and it all stopped after I caught you...” My words trail off as I can’t bring myself to say it.
“No, you didn’t, Frazer. Me and your father were stupid and greedy. Our love affair was doomed to failure. I’d chosen my first husband and your father never forgave me for that. We’d meet and quarrel and then our arguments would lead to the bedroom, but it was a feisty affair and, in all honesty, I couldn’t be sure it would have survived in the outside world. The best love affairs never do. Life always messes them up somewhere.”
I sigh, thinking of my own feisty affair that hasn’t worked out.
“So tell me about what went on here with Daisy. I sent her here for rehabilitation after that moose cheated on her. Did she get what I sent her for? Only she told me you two had to share a bed.”
I figure while we’re being honest with each other I might as well deal out all my cards. “We agreed to share the bed and we had a no-strings arrangement, but she kind of got in my head and well…” I cough and hit my chest.
“Your heart?”
I don’t answer.
“Yes. That girl has a knack of getting people to love her. So what are you going to do about it, Frazer? You do know she’s considering marrying that ex-bozo of hers, don’t you?”
“She made her decision. She chose Cu…Marcus. I’m moving on with my life and she’ll move on with hers.”
“Frazer. She’s staying with her friend at the moment. You still have a chance.”
“No, I don’t.” I tell my mother all about my exploits with Tiffany.
“So apologise. How will you ever know what her answer will be if you don’t tell her?”
“No disrespect, but you’re hardly in a position to give out relationship advice, are you?”
My mother looks at the floor. “No. I’m not.” She gets out of her seat. “Thank you for letting me talk today, Frazer. I really hope that over time we can try to get to know each other a bit better.”
“I don’t know what to call you,” I tell her. “How stupid is that? I don’t want to call you Mrs Haversham. I can’t call you Mum; we just don’t have that kind of relationship.”
She reaches over and offers her hand to shake. “My name is Hazel. Pleased to meet you.”
Hazel. The name she was introduced to me as. Can I get past that?
“Thank you for today, Hazel,” I tell her. “Maybe you could call around again sometime?”
“I’d like that,” she says, her eyes softening with happiness. “I’ve arranged to stay in the pub for a few days. I want to catch up on things around here, before I decide what to do about Daisy.”
“What do you mean?”
“You might be able to let her go back to that moron, but I’m certainly not. I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”
“You should let her go back to him. It’s her decision.”
“Yes, well if someone had meddled in my life, maybe I would have made a different choice, though there’s no point my living in the past any more. Now I’m going to look towards the future.”
I can tell from the twinkle in her eye that she’s including me in that future and although we’re a long way from a stable relationship, for now, I’m happy I’m included in her plans.
As she heads towards the door there’s an almighty banging on the window.
My head spins towards the source of the noise and I’m greeted with a swollen-eyed Tilly.
I dash to the door and open it. “Everything all right, Tills?”
“No, everything is not fucking all right. That bastard Joe has been fucking Troy behind my back. Troy, for God’s sake! How can I compete with him? Even if I shorten my hair and work out I don’t have a penis. Though I suppose I could wear a strap-on. Anyway, they’ve run off. I’ve got another actor standing in for Troy but I have no-one for the lead. You’d better not have been lying to me when you said you could act, Frazer McNeil, because we have less than two weeks to reshoot all Joe’s scenes. It’s going to be full on. Can you handle it?”
The truth is I have no idea, but I’ll die trying. “I can.” I turn to Hazel. “You stay here, Hazel, because I’ll sleep near the film set.”
“Well, I could make your food and wash your clothes.”
“He’ll eat on set, be clothed by wardrobe, and sleep in a trailer,” Tilly informs, back to her business-like self.
She looks disappointed but nods. “Oh, okay.”
“Why don’t you come and watch me film?”
“Really?” my mother asks as I offer her a part of me she’s so far been denied.
“Absolutely.”
And just like that I go from sofa advert to lead role in a movie.
Chapter Thirty-One
Daisy
Funny how an unwilling maid of honour turns into the most eager assistant ever when you tell her you’re arranging a wedding that’s not going to take place.
“Fucking hell, you mad cow. I love this.” She sits, clapping her hands. “If only I’d had the sense to do this, I wouldn’t be stuck here with the evil pixies.”
“Yes, well I now would like to hire all three of them as my pageboys and bridesmaid.”
“Oh my God. You’re letting my demonlings loose at your wedding? Have you any idea what you’re letting yourself in for?”
“No. And that’s half the fun.”
The word on the street is that Belinda, being man-free at the moment, has been stripping for extra money. Rex rang her, speaking in a deeper voice, saying he thinks I’m a bitch who doesn’t deserve Marcus and he’s willing to pay double her usual fee for her to turn up at his stag do. The stag do Rex will be at, so we can feed him instructions. It’s the best £100 I ever spent. She tells Rex something I’m not supposed to know.
It appears that my betrothed is skint. His Slimming Universe customers began disappearing as his waistline began to spread. The Twixes had been his downfall and at one class they’d found him in the toilet with a Twix finger in his hand. Rather than admit he’d fallen off the wagon, he instead intimated he used it for sexual means. He lost more of his customers for being a deviant. So from there his mission became simple. Marry Daisy. Marry Daisy and then transfer all of his debts onto his wife. What a lovely wedding present. Belinda said he’d told her to leave it a while and then once I’d got us back in the black, he’d get her into some red (leather). The worst thing? He figured Mrs Haversham would come to my rescue and bail me out. He was hoping to milk my lovely older friend for the riches he presumed she had.
“I want a wedding cake made entirely from Twixes.”
“Consider it done.”
“On the stag night I’m going to pay someone to get him hammered and make sure he’s tied to a pole naked.”
“Okay.”
“I want photos of him boning the stripper. If he can get it up after all the alcohol, that is.”
“Are you going to let me see your wedding dress then?” Kathy asks.
“Only because you are my bestest friend ever. But you can’t tell a soul, not even Rex, because he might let it slip after a pint at the stag do.” Rex was known for being a lightweight, while his wife could drink the local rugby team under the table, and had done, pre-married life. That wasn’t the only thing she’d done under the table, but I digress.
I put the photo up on my phone.
There’s an almighty screech. “Oh my God. You can’t wear that. Hahahahahaha. Fucking hell. He’s going to go mental when he sees you. Hahahahahahaha. Oh my God, I’m so fucking recording all this.”
“Right, what’s next on my list then?” I’m interrupted by my mobile ringing. Miranda runs round the corner.
“Me get it, Daise?”
“No, darling. It’s Auntie Daisy’s phone, not a toy, sweetheart. Why don’t you go and get a biscuit?”
Miranda runs off, smiling.
Kathy turns back to me, making who is it faces while I try and concentrate on what the hell the person on the phone is saying to me.
I shake my hand at her, indicating that she needs to leave me a moment.
“I’m sorry, who is this again?”
“It’s Bartholomew, Tilly’s assistant. We had to recast the role of Oliver/Olivia and it’s all hands on deck to re-film. We need you on set tomorrow morning to re-do the bar scene.”
“I’m not sure I can-”
“There’s a bed for you here at the pub. Film the scene and then you can go. We’ll arrange transport there and back and we’ll pay you for your time, double the usual rate because of the short notice. Tilly ins
ists that you come. She said your acting was impeccable and she didn’t wish to upset Mr Spielberg.”
I sigh. I don’t want to bump into Frazer but at the same time my one acting scene is about to end up on the cutting room floor unless I re-film it. Plus, a night at the pub and a day away is less time I have to endure with Marcus.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” I tell Bartholomew, who sounds like he’s going to weep. I bet Tilly threatened to kneecap him if my answer was no. She can’t be upsetting Mr Spielberg, after all.
“I’m going back to Beydon,” I inform Kathy.
“Yes. Go and get your man!” she shouts. “Marry Frazer, not Marcus!”
“Have you been on the wine?”
Kathy looks at me slyly. “I may have. It is four o’ clock in the afternoon. I have three evil pixies in the house. Wine is always the answer.”
“Well, I need to get back and packed. I have a taxi picking me up in an hour. They’ve replaced the lead role in the film, apparently. Not sure what’s happened there, but it’s being re-filmed urgently and so I’m needed to re-perform my very short part.”
“We’ll be filming another short part soon.” Kathy laughs while indicating a penis with her little finger.
***
I arrive at the pub at eleven pm. I sneak up to my room, asking Trevor not to tell anyone I’m here. He very kindly brings me some crisps and a beer, telling me I’ll need the alcohol because the place is more of a madhouse than ever. It’s nice to have a room to myself so I make the most of it, lying around and watching the television.
The next morning, I shower and change and come down into the main part of the pub. The first sight I’m greeted with is Tilly arguing with Frazer.
What the fuck is he doing here?
I listen to the argument. He’s no doubt demanding another part in the film.
“You said you could act. Where’s your fire? Olivia’s being targeted for her lifestyle choices. She still has testosterone. She’s angry.”
The Bunk Up (The Village People Book 1) Page 16