A Right Old Fiasco in Borrington

by M W Foolster

  Fifteen minutes later he is showered, dressed and sat at a chair in the kitchen, struggling to gulp down his second mug of instant black coffee. The toast had already gone in the bin, tasted more like cardboard than bread, scrapping some mould off the crust with a pair of scissors hadn’t exactly helped his appetite. A coughing spasm leads to him stubbing out the cigarette on the plate he'd rescued from the sink, just wishes that he could find the willpower to give the damned things up. If he hadn't been so desperate in his search for a sodding cigarette last night, then the bedsit wouldn't be looking like a crime scene. Thought he'd lost the ciggies on the way home from the pub, but they’d obviously fallen out of his pocket when he taken his jeans off. An irrational panic, no doubt alcohol induced, had led to him searching the entire room for a spare pack. Having emptied the contents of every single drawer on to the floor and cleared the bookcase, he’d then started on the wardrobe. All jacket and trouser pockets emptied but still no joy. Unable to reach the top shelf, had dragged the coffee table across; a big mistake. As he’d stretched to reach the shelf, had lost his balance, the table going one way and him the other. A vague memory of falling backwards and colliding with the bedside unit. Probably explains as to how he'd cut his forehead. Still, at least he'd tidied up the worst of it. Not sure what he could do about the damaged wall though, just typical that the table leg would go straight through it. Poxy plasterboard partition walls.

  His stomach suddenly shrieks its objection to that second cup of coffee. Jason makes a quick dash out into the communal hallway and back up the stairs to the shared bathroom. Door is locked. His stomach is now turning cartwheels. Crossing his legs, he leans against the door and becomes aware of the female voice on the other side,

  "Luscious Lucretia never disappoints...

  Yes, I am so hot for you my lord...

  My body is throbbing all over...

  Yes master, so hard they are like bullets...

  Am now removing my tunic...

  Yes, they are so firm...

  Am so desperate for the touch of your hands...

  Yes master, in nothing but a leather thong...

  Yes, please, use your teeth to tear it from me, my strong, sexy warrior...

  Yes, I am your willing slave...

  Yes master, am now on my knees...

  Your sword is so powerful...

  Yes, I am in the shower...

  Sorry…

  Yes, my lord, I am under the waterfall...

  You’re strong and powerful hands are all over me...

  And am so desperate for you...

  My skin is all wet and soft...

  Yes...

  Yes..."

  Jason has heard enough. Struggling to stand upright, his bum cheeks now clenched so tightly it’s bringing tears to his eyes, he bangs loudly on the door,

  "Susie, I'm desperate."

  The door crashes open, narrowly missing him. He is met by a venomous,

  "Schhhhhhhhh".

  With her hand over the mouthpiece of a phone, and her face caked in an avocado coloured face pack, Susie appears at the door. Dressed in a panda print black and white onesie, she looks anything but pleased to see him, and even the pair of Westie dog slippers on her feet now appear to be snarling up at him. He grimaces as he stares into the huge panda eyes, if looks could kill, but it’s not as though he had any choice. Her hand now waving him into the bathroom as she impatiently barges past, she slams the door shut behind her. Jason barely makes it to the toilet before his rumbling stomach literally explodes beneath him, the sigh of relief soon becoming one of anguish on seeing that the toilet roll holder is empty. As if that isn't bad enough, he has to listen to Susie stood outside the door graphically describing the duties she is willing to perform for her Spartan master. He looks around the bathroom, for something, anything, that he can use. An old bar of soap on the shower ledge so full of hair it now resembles a hedgehog. The drenched shower curtain, falling drips battling their way through the thick scum lining the bath. Looking up in desperation, he sees yet more fungi growing through the black mould, almost giving the appearance that it's harvesting a mushroom farm on the ceiling. But nothing in the room that he can use.

  "Fuck. Don't believe this."

  No choice, he will have to improvise. Shirt removed, one problem solved but another now presents itself. No bin in here, in fact there's nowhere to hide it and he definitely is not going to pass by Susie with it in hand. Only option available is the window, he'll just have to collect it on the way to work and bin it.

  "What happened to your shirt?"

  "Shirt? Wasn't wearing one, Suse."

  Susie looks at him quizzically, now following him down the stairs and into his bedsit.

  "Crikey, Jay, you been burgled?"

  She looks aghast at the state of the room. He thinks she should have seen it fifteen minutes back.

  "Ehh. Ohh err, no. Look a long story. You finished with the phone, then? Kind of early for that isn't it, only 6:45?"

  "This place is a mess, wasn't like this last night when I borrowed your phone. What the hell happened in here?"

  He shrugs. Susie clears a space for herself on the sofa bed,

  "Beggars can't be choosers, Jay. Got to pay the bills somehow, and Councillor Robinson usually calls early. Must wake feeling horny and its not like it takes long. An easy £20 before breakfast. Any idea where the phone cradle is? It probably needs charging."

  She dangles the handset in front of him. Jason looks at the bed longingly, just wanting to curl up under the quilt and go back to sleep.

  "Look, just throw it on the bed, Susie. I'll find it later."

  A good question though, where the hell is the cradle?

  "Don't you ever run out of things to say to them? I mean, it can't be easy coming out with all that crap."

  She laughs. "I am a drama student, Jay, so couldn't be any easier. Anybody stupid enough to pay the £20 flat rate for a dirty phone call must have more money than sense. Reminds me, still owe you £30 for the electricity. Not hmmm... Well… Like had any letters from Inland revenue, have you?"

  "Letters? What kind of letters?"

  "Nothing important. I have got your phone bill so will clear that later, ok? And promise I’ll give you the £30 tomorrow for charging the electricity card by the end of next week."

  "Susie?"

  "Well, it's just that Luscious Lucretia might be eligible to pay tax on the revenue she's earning."

  "WHAT?"

  "Don't worry, I will sort it. You know that I am blacklisted cause of the bloody credit cards so not like I can get my own line. And, well, not as though it will cost you anything. Promise. And look, I have made enough to cover this month’s rent already this week. Cool yer. But seriously, Jay, without Lucretia, well I would be declaring myself bankrupt. And so you won’t forget to charge the handset, will you?"

  She winks at him on the way out. He's tempted to mention that having lived on the plastic and maxed out her cards on a six month trek around Europe was the reason why she's blacklisted, but he bites his tongue.

  Wandering into the kitchen, he stares helplessly at the sink stacked full of mugs, crockery and cutlery. A quick look in the cupboards confirming that he still hasn't remembered to buy any washing up liquid. He was intending to get some shopping on the way home from work but then he had got the call from Tony. Could he fill in for Andy in the pub quiz team. They wouldn't be drinking much because they all had work the following day. Why does he ever listen? Once in the pub, common sense goes out the window.

  Head throbbing and feeling thoroughly miserable, Jason runs his hand through his thick mop of black hair. And that reminds him, he needs to get it trimmed at lunchtime, it grows so quickly, probably looks as though he's been electrocuted. He tries to remember if there's any hair gel left in the tub, or if he'd used it all on the squeaky door hinges but can’t be bothered to look. Resting his head on the kitchen table, he desperately tries to recollect the events of the previous evening. But
its all just a hazy memory.

  Knows that had no choice other than to go straight from work, was running late, he didn't get out of the library until gone 7pm. A salmonella burger and chips from the kebab shop, got to the pub at 8pm, a couple of pints of that strong ale before the pub quiz started, then they got started on the whisky chasers …

  The flat suddenly explodes with noise, Jason leaps from the chair, smacking his knee on the table. His head about to explode.

  "Fuck."

  It's his mobile ring tone, and as much as he loves listening to Jazz’s voice, now is not a good time to have her vocals filling the room.

  ♪Now my eyes are open

  Can see it as it is

  You took me for a fool

  And you strung me along

  Here’s your wakeup call

  Cause you got me all wrong

  You hurt me

  When you left me

  You judged me

  And you’re wrong

  How dare you

  Just ignore me

  How could you

  Leave me and run ♪

  ………………..

  "Where the hell is it?"

  He lurches into the adjoining bedroom, stubbing his toe on the door frame. Now hopping around, swearing loudly at himself, and desperate to find it before his head really does explode.

  “For fuck sake.”

  Finally, it stops playing, but he still can’t see it. He has just heard the damned thing, so it has got to be in here. He picks the pillows up from the floor and quickly makes the bed, well, he fluffs up the quilt and pulls it back at any rate. It’s not there but does find the phone charger. Shifts the piles of books and papers from one side of the room to the other, he can sort them out later. Nearly walks on the broken glass from the picture frame, close call. He sits on the sofa bed, cringing as the ancient mattress creaks, head in his hands, feeling totally distraught.

  ‘Think, Jason, think… Ohhh shit, Cathy, the plant she’d bought him for his 30th birthday, it’s in the damned plant pot.’

  He remembers now, he’d been angry at having had found the decree nisi shoved under his door when he'd got home from the pub. Eight years of marriage down the drain. And with too many painful memories to deal with, he had drained every beer can and bottle in the bedsit dry. Remembers that he had got into a strop, and thrown the phone across the room at the poxy plant.

  Limps across to the badly dented and truly repulsive zinc plant pot. He stands staring down at it. Was probably another unwanted gift from her parents. A distressed plant pot was how she'd described it, and well, if it wasn't before, it definitely is now, having been booted on numerous occasions. Found it. He pulls the mobile free of the dried out soil and cigarette butts. The shrivelled rubber plant now looking dangerously lopsided, desperately pleading for water. Hand shaking, he brushes the dirt from the screen and frantically searches for the call log.

  "Please, please, don’t let me of called Cathy, not last night, please, please, please, not in that state..."

  Only one outgoing call made, but not her, and a missed call from Tony. He sighs with relief.

  "Well you can sod off mate."

  Head spinning, he stares down at the coffee table littered with empty beer cans, empty whisky and wine bottles, and the near full tinfoil containers. He vaguely remembers attempting to eat the microwaved curry and rice. Yes that’s right. There was no clean crockery or cutlery, all still in the sink, so he had improvised and used the metal ladle. A vague memory of struggling to eat the vindaloo with it, of burning his mouth and spilling it over himself. He sniffs his hand, no lingering smell thankfully. He tosses the tin foil containers and beer cans into a heavy duty brown bag and wanders into the kitchen. He kicks the pedal bin in frustration on finding that there isn't a rubbish bag inside, none in the cupboard either. Talking aloud to himself, he shakes his head,

  "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

  A ringing in his ears, actually it's the landline. Pulls it free of the quilt, another call to the premium rate number and stumbles towards the door, yelling,

  "Susie!"

  She comes bounding down the stairs, still wearing the onesie, but now barefooted and with a steaming iron in her hand. Grabs the phone, smiles up at him in gratitude before answering.

  "Luscious Lucretia, here to please... You are a very naughty boy and yes, how did you know I am wearing a tight leather skirt? Of course I’m going commando…"

  Susie disappears back down the stairs and into her flat, threatening to restrain the naughty boy on the phone with a leash, before whipping him. Jason shakes his head in exasperation, probably the magistrate, he tends to call early as well. Looks down at his watch, 7: 00, he will need to leave soon. A short burst of the panpipes announcing the arrival of a text message.

  'Traffic heavy, roads chaotic, might be late, Jessica x'

  He is about to reply but suddenly loses his signal. He then hears Susie swearing loudly from downstairs before storming back up to him.

  "Jay, you sodding about with the frickin phone?"

  "Haven't touched it. Maybe it needs charging."

  She brushes past him, heading towards the recently discovered phone cradle, thumping the handset down heavily.

  "See, plenty of charge left on it. Bloody cut me off mid flow. Sod it. Needed the money."

  "Swear haven't touched it. Weird. Nope, look nothing, the landline is completely dead. Lost the signal for the mobile as well."

  She shrugs apologetically and smiles. "Sorry didn't mean to..."

  "Forget it. Look, can I use your iron? I need a shirt for work."

  "Yer sure. Am ironing anyway, bring it down, will do it for you."

  Jason grabs a white shirt from the laundry bag. Noticing that it’s the last clean one in there, he sighs heavily, will have to squeeze in a trip to the launderette on top of everything else. He slams the door closed behind him.

  Having grown bored of staring up at the silver stars on the painted black ceiling, Jason carefully eases himself out of the free standing hammock Susie uses as a bed.

  "How the hell can you sleep in that, Susie? Only in it for five minutes and I've already got a backache."

  She smiles,

  "It's cool, Jay, but I guess you are way too old to appreciate the concept."

  She giggles as he shows her his middle finger. "I see it as, well, it's kinda like sleeping on a desert Island, you know? Somewhere real hot and exotic. The hammock strung up between some palm trees on the beach, clear skies above me so I can see the stars, and, well, am like as free as a bird. That's how I imagine it anyway."

  “You’re crazy, you know that, right?”

  Susie winks at him, and continues ironing, still irked at having lost out on the income for the call. But her mobile network is down too, so she takes some comfort in the thought that the magistrate would most likely of had the same problem.

  Dogs barking outside has Jason threading his way carefully through the piles of boxes littering the floor and across to the window; he tries not to crease any of the party dresses as he slides the numerous coat hangers along the curtain pole. Despite her having lived here for nearly six months, she still hasn’t invested in any furniture, and he’s tempted to buy her a wardrobe if nothing else. Jason leans out of the window, can now see that it's two of the traveller’s dogs fighting over something. He releases a sharp intake of breath on the realisation that it's his discarded shirt. They are playing tug of war with the soiled shirt he'd thrown from the bathroom window. Ivan the Russian then appears from the shed. The landlord, Mr Kazim, is never one to miss an income generating opportunity and rents it out to him. Ivan now yelling at the dogs, "Idi nahuey."

  Well at least that’s how it sounds, and he is now threatening to wallop them with a shovel. That, in turn, attracts the attention of the distant travellers sitting around a smouldering fire, their illegally parked caravans behind them. Can hear their raised voices but can't quite make out what they're shouting, but
Jason assumes that it's nothing complimentary. He then spots three male shapes appearing from the waste ground beyond the garden, stomping their way towards all of the commotion, menacing expressions on their faces. The sound of splintering wood as the three of them trample over the collapsed fencing that Mr Kazim has never bothered repairing. Now across the severely parched grass, hollering at Ivan to stay the fuck away from their dogs. Susie joins him at the window.

  Ivan, swearing in Russian, swings and catches a dark and curly haired traveller across the chest with the shovel. He goes down on one knee. Ivan now attempting to shake off the dog tugging viciously at his jean bottoms.

  Having appeared next to him at the window, Susie rest her hand on his arm. "Do you think we should call the police? This could turn really nasty."

  "What with? No phones, remember?"

  "What are those dogs doing with that disgusting shirt anyway?"

  Jason feels himself blushing, changes the subject abruptly, just hopes that she hasn't noticed his face is now crimson.

  "Looks like Ivan has got company,"

  Another man appears from the shed, shaven headed, topless, covered in tattoos and very bulky. Approaching them from behind, he roars something inaudible as he smacks the heads of the two remaining travellers together. Both Susie and Jason cringe on hearing the almighty thud, watch as the travellers then fall to the ground, both looking totally disorientated. Having received a hefty boot up its backside, the dog attacking Ivan yelps and charges from the garden, closely followed by the shirt munching terrier. Dragging the travellers from the garden by their hair, Ivan and friend give each of them a swift kick up their posteriors for their troubles and send them on their way. Ivan stands hands on hips, his friend wrapping an arm around his shoulder, both bellowing with laughter and shouting derogatory insults in Russian.

  "That's not something you see every day, is it Jay?”