Fifty Shades of Roxie Brown (Comedy Romance)

by Lynda Renham

  I’d never have known.

  ‘You got trifle fingers,’ he says accusingly, unpacking the carrier. ‘You’ll get fat if you keep eating those. I don’t want people saying there’s Darren’s chubby girlfriend.’

  ‘I’m not chubby, am I?’ I ask. I confess I do eat a lot of trifle fingers. I dip them in Nutella spread. It’s divine, especially when reading a bit of erotica.

  ‘Your arse is getting bigger,’ he says thoughtlessly. ‘Shame it doesn’t go onto your tits. You know how I love big ones.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say.

  What else can you say when your loved one tells you you’re getting fat. I’m not going to say thanks for the compliment am I?

  ‘I got paid today. You want to go bowling tonight? Joey and May are going.’

  ‘It’s Halide’s last night of freedom do, I did tell you. We’re going to the Fun Palace. It came to the Common today; can you give me thirty pounds?’ I say, removing empty lager cans from the bin and dropping them into the recycling bag.

  ‘I wish you’d put things in the right bin,’ I say tiredly, grabbing my cardigan from the back of a chair. I look around the kitchen and fight back the urge to nag. The last thing I need is to keep cleaning up behind Darren. What is it with men and tidying up? I scoop up the dirty dishes from the kitchen table and take them to the sink. I’m getting a dishwasher if we ever win the lottery. Of course I’d help eradicate hunger and poverty across the globe too. I imagine Ark Morgan does that every day. But a dishwasher would be my priority. I’m sick of cleaning hotel rooms and then coming home to clean mine. Flat that is, not hotel. I should be so rich.

  ‘Honestly you girls are worse than us blokes. Last night of freedom? It’s just an excuse for a girl’s night out if you ask me. You only had the hen do a few weekends back.’

  ‘It’s not like I do it all the time,’ I say, biting back the ‘unlike you.’ Kev’s had numerous boys’ nights out leading up to the wedding.

  He lugs the box into the kitchen.

  ‘Christ, are we going to live on chips for the next month, there’s enough spuds here to feed an army. Your dad does realise there isn’t going to be a potato famine doesn’t he?’

  ‘There are carrots too. Can you watch the pasta, I need to change,’ I say, carefully sneaking the package out from under the spuds.

  ‘Ark Morgan was on telly this afternoon,’ I call, stepping out of my jeans and pulling off my top. ‘A programme called Empire Magnets. Can you record it for me? It’s being repeated at seven.’

  I turn to the wardrobe almost bumping my head on the sodding telescope. I ask you, who has a telescope in a tower block? The bedroom door opens and Darren stares at me. I’m standing in my bra and knickers. His eyes widen.

  ‘What do you want to watch that stuck up bugger for? Don’t you get enough of him all week?’

  Oh, if only. One cannot get enough of Ark Morgan.

  ‘It will be interesting, I think.’

  ‘Interesting my arse. I’m looking at something interesting,’ he winks, handing me thirty quid. ‘Is that enough to buy you?’

  I guess it’s what I’m worth.

  ‘We’d best hurry,’ I say.

  What am I saying? We always hurry.

  ‘I’m meeting the girls in an hour.’

  ‘I don’t need an hour,’ he says huskily, pushing me onto the bed.

  I find myself wondering how long Ark Morgan would take. I hear the pasta boil over. I bet that never happens to Jennifer Aniston.

  Chapter Four

  The Fun Palace is heaving. Music blares from a fairground organ and the smell of hot dogs and fried onions makes my stomach rumble. A little tremor of excitement runs through me. The Fun Palace comes to Clapham Common on the last weekend in May and Halide had decided there is no better place to celebrate her last night of ‘freedom’ than here. I’m wearing the one decent dress I own. I’d bought it from Zara four years ago when Darren took me for a romantic weekend in Brighton. The dress shows off my figure nicely. I am sure my cleaning job keeps me slim and I look okay, I think, that is apart from my bum if you believe Darren. I must ask Sylvie if my bum looks big in this dress. I don’t get time for real exercise but I often imagine I could run my own fitness programme for busy housewives. I could call it Suck and Tuck it with Roxie. Ooh, that sounds a bit wrong doesn’t it? I can see myself on the telly. Welcome to Roxie’s Hoover, the Fat Remover. It’s a plan, and it could get me out of cleaning work couldn’t it?

  I’d decided to wear my hair loose. My hair is a messy blonde bun when I’m at work so it’s nice to have it free. I’d slapped on a bit of make-up, but it felt so weird that I’d scrubbed it off. I’m not really a make-up person. I’ve tried mascara to thicken my lashes but always end up with thickened eyelids and a bloodshot eye instead. Not quite the Charlize Theron look I’d hoped for unless it was her Monster look I was aiming at. Blusher is fine but after a few drinks I look like I have a bad case of Rosacea. I’m best keeping away from make-up I’ve decided, but looking at Halide’s and Sylvie’s nicely made-up faces I’m starting to regret it. But it’s not like I’m out to pull is it? After five years together, Darren and I are as good as married after all.

  ‘Isn’t this fab?’ says Halide, her eyes filling up.

  ‘It’s not how I would have spent the night before my wedding, but if this is what you want,’ smiles Sylvie.

  ‘We’re going to have our tea leaves read,’ she says gleefully, ‘by The Great Zehilda.’

  ‘Oh no, are you serious Hal?’ I groan.

  ‘It’s her night,’ Sylvie reminds me.

  ‘It’s a load of crap,’ I say.

  ‘No, she is really good,’ Hal says, checking the time on her phone. ‘Please, you’ve got to come. We’ve got an hour. She’s known all the over the world.’

  ‘Known all over the world,’ I say cynically, ‘for reading tea leaves? How come I’ve never heard of her?’

  ‘The Great Zehilda from Italy, you must have heard of her.’ She thrusts a flyer at me with a picture of a large busty woman with a scarf around her head. ‘She has special cups. They’re all handmade.’

  Looking at those breasts I’m not surprised she has special cups. Bra cups that is, not tea cups. I shake my head.

  ‘I’ve heard of her,’ says Sylvie excitedly.

  Buggered if I have, but then I have always got my head in an erotic book or my head in the clouds or my head and my body very close to Ark Morgan’s. Just the thought makes me tremble.

  ‘I’ve had to book us in, she is so popular. Nine o’clock was the only slot I could get. I’m so happy.’

  God, she’s emotional. It’s only a night out for goodness’ sake. Kev’s a good catch and all that, but he’s not Kevin Costner. Oh well, let’s hope I have lucky tea leaves. We spend the next hour wandering around the stalls. We play the coconut shy which Sylvie does like a pro.

  ‘Let’s have a go at the rifle range,’ squeals Hal rushing to grab a rifle.

  She’s pretty good too, which is worth bearing in mind if I ever need anyone knocking off. The guy beside her however is exceptionally good and doesn’t miss a shot. We watch in awe as he wins cuddly toy after cuddly toy only to hand them back.

  ‘He’s a bit of a dish,’ says Hal dreamily.

  ‘Hey, you’re getting married tomorrow,’ Sylvie reprimands her.

  ‘Even so, I know a dish when I see one,’ she grins.

  ‘You’re a real gent,’ laughs the stallholder, displaying the cuddly toys back on the shelves.

  ‘I’m a man,’ laughs the dish. ‘You could at least have had some cans of beer for prizes.’

  The only thing I manage is to hook a rubber duck, which says a lot about me. I could have taken a cuddly toy but our flat is so bloody cluttered already, that even a fluffy teddy isn’t welcome. At nine o’clock we head to the world-renowned Italian tea leaf reader where a burly man stops us at the entrance to her tent. You’d think a world-renowned tea leaf psychic could afford better than this wo
uldn’t you?

  ‘Ave you booked?’ he asks. ‘No one gets in without booking.’

  Hal shows our tickets and we squeeze into the tent. There is a strange smell, which I feel sure is a mix of sandalwood and cat pee. I fight the urge to gag. Everywhere is so dark and I accidently tread on Hal’s foot. A curtain is pulled back and The Great Zehilda emerges, or should I say her breasts do, followed by her shawl-covered head.

  ‘Who wishes to go first?’ she asks in an eerie voice. If she meant who is going first in terms of leaving, my hand would have shot up. For a tea leaf reading this is getting pretty spooky. We look at each other and I say in a less eerie voice,

  ‘She is,’ and push Hal forward. After all, this was her idea, and it is her night. Sylvie and I sit in the tatty waiting area accompanied by an incense burner. Sylvie spends the time sneezing while I tap my feet in tune to the fairground organ. If there was a pair of roller skates handy I’d be tempted to do a Torvill and Dean party piece. Anything would be better than sitting here waiting for some stranger to hold my hand and tell me a whole load of rubbish. After what seems like an eternity Hal emerges looking somewhat dazed. At least I think she looks dazed. It’s hard to see anything in the darkness. The Great Zehilda might have mugged her for all I know and she could still be reeling.

  ‘You go,’ I say pushing Sylvie in. If she comes out looking the same then I’m off.

  ‘Well?’ I ask Hal.

  ‘Unbelievable,’ she says in an awe-stricken voice. ‘The leaves showed the ace of hearts. That’s a sign for happiness. She knew I was getting married and everything and she saw babies …’ She dabs her eyes.

  ‘Uncanny,’ I say. ‘You didn’t happen to mention it was your wedding this weekend when you booked by any chance?’

  ‘You’re so scathing,’ she says irritably. ‘Don’t you want to know the future? After all, let’s face it we could all do with a bit of luck.’

  Well, I can’t disagree with that.

  ‘If she mentions tantric sex, then I’ll know she’s good.’

  Her eyes widen.

  ‘Are you and Darren into …?’ she begins.

  ‘And when do you think I’d fit tantric sex into my schedule Hal? Don’t you think I’m run ragged as it is? I don’t even know how to do the half lotus, let alone a full one. So I think tantric sex might be a bit of a challenge and an even bigger challenge for Darren, who let’s face it, only knows the couch potato position.’

  If her eyes widen any more I’m sure they’ll pop out.

  ‘You’re more enlightened than me. I don’t even know the lotus position,’ she says innocently.

  ‘Mum gave me a book today, Tantric for the Busy Woman, so if this gypsy is good she should pick up on that.’

  ‘Why would your mum give you a book on tantric sex?’

  I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t started this.

  ‘Maybe Kev and I should try some tantric sex. What do you think?’

  I think they’d have to give up their jobs. It’s okay when you’re a rock star but a garage mechanic and a Debenhams store assistant? I’m sure you know what I mean. I’m not saying normal people can’t do tantric sex but if it takes that long, how can you do anything else? After all, you can’t do everything can you?

  Fortunately I’m not able to reply as Sylvie rolls out and looks just as shell-shocked as Hal had.

  ‘She’s good Roxie. Go on, get yours done.’

  I’m shoved into the room where I fall into a chair and find myself staring into The Great Zehilda’s eyes. She pushes a china cup and saucer towards me and slowly pours tea into it from a cracked white teapot.

  ‘This ze best China tea, drink up, dearie,’ she says. ‘Make sure you leave about half a teaspoonful.’

  I’d much prefer to leave half a cup full. It looks and tastes like cat’s piss. Come to think of it, it probably is cat’s piss. That explains where the smell is coming from. I wonder who last drank from the cup. I just hope I don’t catch something. I down the stuff and push the cup towards her. She turns it from left to right and then very slowly, and carefully, turns it over and settles it onto the saucer. It’s a good act, I’ll give her that. She looks up at me, her eyes boring into mine.

  ‘Now ve vait,’

  Is that a northern twang in her voice that I hear? I fight the urge to giggle. I wonder if I should remind her she’s supposed to be Italian. At the moment she’s sounding more like a German.

  ‘Focus your mind on your destiny,’ she says in that eerie voice.

  She lifts the cup and stares into it.

  ‘Ah,’ she says suddenly, making me jump. ‘I see ze sitting hen in the bottom of the cup …’

  Well, that’s my bloody mum isn’t it? Crikey, she’s not going to see the tantric sex next is she?

  ‘This means wealth from an unexpected legacy.’

  All that from a hen? She is bloody good.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she adds, giving me a pitying look. ‘You have the sausage and the snail. I foresee a marring of your pleasant conditions.’

  What pleasant conditions would they be? She isn’t talking about our flat that’s for sure.

  ‘Your life will change dramatically. But I see a lot of confusion in the leaves.’

  I see a lot of confusion right here.

  ‘You’re not sure where you’re going are you my dear?’

  Well I think it’s probably The King’s Head after this, but I know what she means.

  ‘But wait …’ she gasps.

  I pretend to hold my breath. I might as well play along I suppose.

  ‘I see wealth but also danger. You know something. You will know something. You’ve seen something haven’t you? Or you will see something.’

  I wish she’d make up her mind. Her Italian accent has dropped completely now.

  ‘I’ve seen lots of things,’ I say. ‘I also know a lot of things. Nothing worthwhile, mind you, but I know them.’

  Her eyes roll into the back of her head. God, she’s not going into a trance is she? That’s all I need. I don’t fancy giving The Great Zehilda CPR.

  ‘You will see much. Too much,’ she says dramatically. ‘I see things coming closer.’

  Frankly so do I. Those breasts of hers are looming closer. Too close for my liking. I wish she’d stop leaning towards me.

  ‘The number six is showing. This is important to you. Much will change for you tonight.’

  I fight back a gasp. That’s Mrs Patel’s lucky number, the one I put on my lottery ticket.

  ‘Things are not what they seem. Remember that,’ she says eerily, lifting her eyebrows.

  Something soft rubs against my leg and I jump up knocking over the tea cup. The Great Zehilda snaps her eyes open.

  ‘Session is over,’ she states flatly.

  Thank God for that.

  ‘Wait …’ she says ominously looking at the spilt tea leaves. She’s got her money’s worth; can’t she just let me go? ‘Love is coming your way from an unexpected quarter. That’s all I have to say.’

  ‘But I’m already …’ I begin.

  ‘Session over,’ she snaps.

  I leave the room looking as shell-shocked as the others.

  ‘My God,’ gasps Sylvie. ‘What happened? It sounded terrible. Did she go into a trance? That’s fantastic isn’t it Hal? We told you she was good.’

  ‘What did she tell you?’ asks Hal breathlessly.

  ‘Wealth and danger, you know the usual stuff. Her cat scared the shit out of me, that’s what you heard. Can we go now?’

  ‘Come on, let’s go into the Fun Palace,’ says Hal, grabbing me by the arm.

  ‘It’s exciting though isn’t it?’ says Sylvie. ‘She told me I would meet my soulmate in the next month.’

  ‘And that I’d have a baby within the year,’ says Hal.

  I could have told them that. Sylvie has a different bloke every month and each time she is convinced she’s found her soulmate, and Hal has made it clear that she and Kev won’t wait long before s
tarting a family.

  ‘Amazing,’ I say cynically.

  ‘And that a friend would be giving me the one thing I’ve always wanted. Although I can’t think what that is,’ says Sylvie, thoughtfully.

  ‘Sounds like you’re going to be getting some,’ laughs Hal, leading us past the candyfloss stand.

  We weave through the stalls until we’re standing in front of the main circus tent. Bright lights illuminate the front and the words flash at us.

  ‘Let’s do it. If we lose each other, we’ll meet at the entrance in an hour and go to the pub,’ says Sylvie.

  We step into the tent to the deafening music from the fairground organ. Before I know what is happening I am shoved through a black curtain and am surrounded by images of myself from all angles. At least I can see for myself if my bum looks big.

  ‘Welcome to the House of Mirrors,’ says a ghoulish voice.

  I jump and go to grip a handrail to steady myself but find myself grabbing an arm instead.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say without looking. ‘That voice scared the shit out of me.’

  ‘No problem,’ replies a very well-spoken man, a warm musky fragrance emanating from him.

  I move along the mirrors and stare horrified. I look huge.

  ‘My God,’ I whisper.

  ‘The next room is better,’ says the voice.

  I see his image in the mirrors. He is huge like me, but despite this there is something about him that is very sexy. He looks like a huge Ark Morgan and there’s not just one Ark Morgan there must be at least ten of them reflected back at me. I must have died and gone to heaven. He looks shorter close up but that is probably the effect of the mirrors. He smiles and inclines his head. I watch him move to the next room and I follow.

  ‘Things are not what they seem,’ laughs the ghoulish voice,

  Oh my God, didn’t The Great Zehilda say that? I close my eyes and open them expecting him to have vanished but he is still here. The room is full of images of Ark Morgan and me. I turn to face one, he is slimmer and smaller, but so are my reflections too, but he is more gorgeous than even in my fantasies, if that can be at all possible. He is painfully handsome, dazzling, in fact, a real-life Christian Grey. His warm eyes meet mine through a mirror. Does he recognise me? What am I thinking, of course he doesn’t? I’ve never been this close to Ark Morgan.