by Ellis Major
“Charlie,” she whispered, her voice half amused, half yearning. “It does occur to me that we can have some fun without going all the way. And I really do want to have some fun with you Charlie, right now.”
He opened his mouth as she leant down, took her weight on her arms and let her hair brush his face. She beat him to it. “And,” she went on, shifting her hips. “I can feel you’ve got the same thought. But I tell you what, Charlie.”
“What?” He could barely speak. This was it. This was really it. She was everything he had ever, in his entire life, dreamed of, the perfect woman. And she seemed pretty happy with him too, right now. Charlie finally had his spark – and it seemed to have set off a conflagration. His heart was thumping and he was dizzy with the scent of her and the feel of her. Her eyes were filled with desire and she was staring straight down at him; him, plain old Charlie Tiptree.
She smiled and kissed him on the forehead. “Sweetie, however hard I breathe in, my bra is never going to undo itself.”
~~~
Breakfast was not at all mushily uneventful.
“I don’t snore do I?” Rowena stood behind Charlie and massaged his shoulders.
“Not that I heard. I suppose you’ll tell me I do.”
“Not that I heard, Sweetie.”
The toast clicked up and Rowena, being nearest, put it on the plate and sat down next to the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with - albeit that he had yet to hear the news.
“Toast for two,” she said, as Charlie began to butter the slices. She watched as he performed the operation neatly and dexterously, taking a quarter, carefully spreading it with his precious marmalade and passing it to her, before doing the same for himself.
He took a substantial bite.
“Charlie,” she said quietly. He turned towards her, raising his eyebrows.
“How about getting married?”
His eyes widened, he choked spectacularly, the toast flew out and landed, almost whole, on the upper slope of Rowena’s right breast.
She removed it daintily and placed it on the plate. “Bad timing, Charlie, sorry.”
“You actually want to marry me?” He was staring at her in complete amazement.
“That’s why I asked, darling.”
“But we haven’t even had sex. I mean last night was....”
“Charlie.” She tilted her head on one side and raised a lovely eyebrow. “Nice girls don’t.”
“I can’t believe it. You love me Rowena, do you, really?”
“Charlie, please don’t keep me waiting. I’m scared here. Of course I love you.”
Charlie seized her hands in his. “Yes, yes, yes, Rowena of course. Last night I knew for sure that I was head over heels but are you sure. It’s me, Charlie, sitting here, not some dream boat. It’s so sudden.”
She smiled at him. “Charlie, will you put your arms around me and tell me we’ll be happy forever because that’s the sort of stupid mush I want to hear right now.”
It was quite a clinch as clinches go, but they had to come up for air eventually.
“This is going to be a surprise for everyone,” Charlie decided.
“Even for Lance,” Rowena mumbled. She was beginning to glow. It was wonderful.
Lance had dozed off in front of the TV and dragged himself off to bed when he woke up at three, so he had no idea that Rowena had stayed the night. He ambled into the kitchen in his jogging bottoms and t-shirt.
On seeing Rowena he stopped in mid-stride and stared. “Hello gorgeous,” he growled. “Is there any time of day you don’t look fantastic?”
“Lance, sweet of you to say so, but hadn’t you noticed Rowena is here.” Charlie was higher than a kite.
Rowena stood up. “Lance,” she told him. “It’s only right that you should be the first to know. We’re getting married.”
“Thank the Lord and pass the ammunition,” he cried, flinging his arms around her. “I couldn’t be happier for the pair of you. Charlie, come here you wonderful wally and give me a great big kiss.”
“She proposed to me,” Charlie confided as they settled down, having decided Lance could make do with a hug and miss out on the kiss. “I still can’t believe that this is happening.”
“Very sensible,” Lance told Rowena with an appreciative nod. “If you’d waited for him to screw up his courage you’d have been menopausal.” He chuckled as a new thought came to him. “Poor old Babs, she’ll have to mess around with the rooms again.” Then he winked at Rowena. “Nice white wedding is it?”
“Cream is more my colour,” she told him, with the faintest moue.
PART 5 - Wrecked?
Chapter 1 – Stag Nights (Year 2 – June)
The eve of the big day had arrived.
On the following Saturday, June 27th at two in the afternoon, in a joint wedding at St Giles’ Church in Charles Street W1, Mr. Geoffrey Blenkinsop was to wed Miss Camilla Deane and Mr. Charles Tiptree was to marry none other than Ms Rowena Hepple.
The surprise at the latters’ announcement had been universal, apart from Lance of course, and the astonishment was widely expressed, with one other notable exception.
The morning that they’d decided to take the plunge, Charlie and Rowena went to speak to Babs. She started to smile the moment they walked through the door.
“It ‘ad to ‘appen,” she announced.
“What?” Charlie and Rowena were talking in harmony all of a sudden.
“Well if you two ain’t in love I’m not the Madame of the finest little ‘orehouse in Mayfair, less yer both in love with sumwun else, that is.”
“Is it that obvious?” Rowena’s smile made it even more so.
“Course it is darlin’. I’m very ‘appy for yer, the pair of yer. I was startin’ ter wunder if I woz Charlie’s only other real fan apart from Lance, but the boy dun good an’ woke you up young lady.”
Rowena laughed. “He did that alright, Babs. But you know why we’re here.”
“Yer want aht, which is fair enough. I’ve bin trainin’ Lana up so she sounds a bit less like a slapper from ‘arlow. Yer wanna stop straight away or do yer wanna ‘ear an idea?”
“I don’t want to leave you in the lurch Babs, but I do want to stop as soon as I can.”
“I got two ideas,” Babs announced. “If yer can do a few more tricks I’ll put the word arahnd that yer packin’ it in an’ auction ‘em. Second idea, once her hang up yer mask an’ start bonkin’ Charlie fer free, wot abaht the pair of yer doin’ a few numbers nah and again dahnstairs. I’ll pay the market rate and it’ll ‘elp pay fer yer groceries at least. Punters might even think you’ve run upstairs later an’ it’s you they’ve got not Lana, har, har, har.”
Rowena gazed at Charlie. “Five more Sweetie. How does that sound? Then I’m done with it forever. I do want as much capital as I can get. Whether people think I’m after you for your money or not, I don’t care, but at least then we’ll both know it’s crap.”
Charlie held up his hands. “I’m not going to argue with my two favourite ladies in all the world, now am I? And they’ll be queuing round the block once you start singing.”
“Five it is,” cried Babs. “I ‘ave a nice rahnd number in mind but I ain’t gonna make a rod fer me own back by tellin’ yer.”
In some instances, astonishment was an understatement - open mouthed incredulity was Roddy’s reaction, tinged with undoubted envy. The girls in the club were taken aback, but pleased because Rowena was so obviously content. They all liked Charlie, thought he was fun, and had been delighted by his antics in the Sudan. But would they have married the man? They privately asked themselves what Rowena saw in him. She was a stunningly attractive girl and very bright. Surely, she could have done better than a pleasant, musical sort of guy, even if he was prepared to throw himself in the line of fire. Could you build a marriage on the back of a flash of bravery?
As to the wider circle of Charlie’s friends and acquaintances, the comments which Camilla Deane ma
de to her intended some time later, having actually met Rowena, rather summed it up. “The girl is bright, with bone structure that a top model or film star would envy, hair that styles itself, skin without a blemish, a figure so amazing that men start dribbling when they see her in the street, and she’s marrying Charlie!!”
Geoff made the sort of response you don’t expect to hear from a friend, but he knew what Camilla liked. He was just the slightest bit jealous that Charlie had been in the position to save lives with his grenade lobbing trick, although not so resentful as Roddy. He would rather have liked to do that himself and bask in the glory (not that he had done anything other than freeze then dive for cover at the time - but memory can be a funny thing).
“Perhaps she’s not as bright as you think and just got dazzled by him getting a few scratches on her behalf.”(Charlie’s three broken ribs and plentiful stitches had slipped his memory too).
“Perhaps, with her background she thought he was the best she could do,” he told her. “In the end though, whatever they may say, class will out, eh Camilla. I suspect she thought her antecedents wouldn’t bear too much scrutiny and, what with Charlie’s trusts, she’ll never starve.” Geoff knew he should never mention Rowena’s former profession. He’d seen death close up and it wasn’t for him – not for a while at least, and not at the hands of Babs.
The whole business of the Works Outing was somewhat opaque when it came to Camilla. Beforehand it had been dressed up as a bit of a business trip with clients of Geoff’s and Roddy’s. There was an implication that Charlie was somehow footing more than his fair share of the bill because he’d wanted to take Rowena on holiday pursuant to his promise to Mary. The other girls hadn’t really come up at all in conversation. The exact circumstances of the rescue were also quite vague…
Camilla crossed her long and shapely legs. Camilla was something of a stunner herself, more in the tall, willowy way, though.
“Yes, Geoffrey, class will out, as you say. Her mother’s people are ok, from what I hear, though they cut her loose, but the father...” she shuddered. “Still, bit of brainwave of yours to have a joint wedding and share the cost of the Reception. She’ll have next to no family there.”
In fairness, this had not been the motivation behind Geoff’s proposal – he just thought it would be a nice idea. Having been accused of a brainwave, though, he kept quiet.
Talk then turned to Stag and Hen nights. Camilla thought it unwise of Charlie and Geoff to have their Stag night the evening before the wedding.
“I shall be having my Hen night the week before. Why don’t you do the same?”
“Oh the other chaps seem very keen on keeping the old tradition going,” Geoff explained to her. “Roddy, especially. It’s going to be a very quiet do anyway. Charlie still doesn’t quite believe his luck so he’s terrified about doing anything that might make her think badly of him. He just wants to have a couple of drinks at Vamps and head home. Roddy, sorry Camilla, I mean Roderick, and William have sworn not to do anything silly.”
“Well you make sure you’re there on time,” she drawled. “I will not be a happy bunny if you keep me driving round the block and then turn up looking as if you’ve just been dug up.”
“I know that Camilla – it’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
Rowena had decided, in the spirit of equality, that she’d have her Hen night on the eve of the wedding as well. She spoke to Charlie over the phone just before she was dragged off, by some of the girls from the Academy, to a nearby restaurant.
“I’ll see you tomorrow Charlie. Be good, Sweetie.”
“Rowena, I’ve made everyone swear to be sensible. I plan to enjoy every minute of our Wedding, not be rushing there with a hammer banging around inside my head.”
“You’d better not,” she warned him. “If you’re not there I don’t know what I might do.”
He laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there, short of the World ending. Trust me.”
Chapter 2 – Transport Delays (Year 2 – June)
Don’t worry.
Sound advice in general, but unwise words in the circumstances.
Lance had declined Charlie’s suggestion that he should be his Best Man.
“No,” he said. “I’m a Johnny come lately. Geoff’s made his arrangements with Roddy, not that you’d have wanted him anyway, but why not ask Slick Willy? He’s a sensible guy and you’ve known him for years. Just because Geoff’s picked an idiot doesn’t mean you have to.”
In fairness to William Reeves, he wouldn’t have been keen on spiking the grooms’ drinks with Rohypnol. He would have violently opposed the idea that his own should be so doctored as well. As the only other potential threat to his plans was Lance, Roddy arranged to introduce both a potent laxative and emetic into his mug of tea as the party was assembling at Charlie’s flat. Lance was therefore left behind in the toilet, in some disarray, the blame for his condition being laid most unfairly on a prawn sandwich.
Geoff could, in the aftermath, swear that they really had only downed two drinks but recalled nothing after that until he and Charlie woke up, almost simultaneously, in strange and unfamiliar surroundings, some undefined time later.
Geoff took a moment or two to orientate himself. He was in a bunk, on his back, on the lower of the two beds. He turned his head and saw Charlie looking at him from the bunk opposite.
“Geoff, have you just woken up too?”
“Yes, Charlie. What have they done – they must have put something in our drinks?”
“I remember the second drink and then it all goes fuzzy,” Charlie confirmed.
“I feel rather sticky.” Geoff glanced down and groaned. His nether regions were smothered in a particularly thick treacle and it appeared as if someone had then emptied half the contents of a feather pillow over him, the other half having been reserved for Charlie.
“At least that looks like an en suite,” Charlie muttered, struggling to get himself off the bunk without taking the blanket along too. “I hope there’s plenty of soap in there. Treacle! Stupid tossers! At least it’s not tar.”
He’d just succeeded in extricating himself from the bedding, itself liberally smeared with treacle, when there was a click and the door opened. A plump middle-aged lady in a blue overall stood in the doorway.
“Oh, here you are,” she said, a note of resignation in her voice. “They said they thought you were along here somewhere.”
“Who, what..?” Charlie spluttered.
“You’re the wedding party, right?”
“I suppose you could say that, yes, but, before we talk about anything else, please can you tell us where we are?” Charlie felt somewhat awkward about facing this lady clad only in treacle and feathers, but a glance down indicated that his tackle was well and truly concealed and, frankly, he had more important things on his mind.
She sighed. “You’re in St. Helier ferry port.”
Charlie stared blankly at her. He’d heard of it but was struggling with the exact location. Look on the bright side, he told himself. She speaks English.
“St Helier in Jersey?” Geoff’s voice had gone up an octave.
“Only St. Helier I know of,” she responded with a sniff.
Geoff glanced around the bare cabin. There were no clothes, no wallets, no watches, nothing.
“What’s the time please?” he asked.
“Six o’clock,” she replied.
“It is Saturday isn’t it,” Charlie asked, hopefully. “Saturday June 27th?”
She nodded, the corners of her mouth beginning to turn down.
“Oh shit,” groaned Geoff.
Charlie was more sanguine. “At least it’s not Sunday June 28th,” he comforted Geoff.
“I’ll fetch the Purser,” the woman told them grumpily, before stumping off along the corridor.
The Purser was a calm and sensible gentleman. He suggested that Geoff and Charlie wash off the treacle and feathers and sent the lady in the blue overall to fetch a couple more such
garments from her store as well as some industrial strength detergent. He advised them to rinse it off quickly or it would remove skin.
“Fine bunch of friends you have,” he told them over a bacon sandwich, courtesy of the ferry line.
“They were pretty pissed, most of them, when they dropped you two off, apparently, so I heard from some of the crew. It seems pretty stupid to leave you with nothing, and the hassle of cleaning up the mess to other people. Maybe I’ve got a weird sense of humour not finding it screamingly funny.”
“I agree with you. Moronic. Good of you to buy us breakfast, though.” Charlie was keen to thank the Purser, thinking it might be best not to dwell on the blocked shower and the soggy mass of feathers they’d left behind. “If I could just make a phone call, we can make ourselves scarce.”
“When’s the wedding?” the Purser asked as he pulled out his mobile phone.
“This afternoon,” Geoff told him. “If we make a call, we can sort out some cash with you perhaps and get a cab to the airport. Only an hour back to London, isn’t it?”
The Purser sighed. “Normally, yes.”
“What do you mean, normally?” Charlie asked in sudden alarm.
“You won’t have heard,” the Purser told them. “The airport is closed. Another volcano in Iceland has erupted.”
Charlie’s hand was shaking as he took the phone and dialled. This was not good news. In fact, it was very bad news.
Lance answered.
“Charlie. Where the fuck are you? The bastards left your clothes outside in a bag so the tracker I put in your shoe was no sodding use.”
“Lance, we’re in a place called St. Helier in somewhere called Jersey and the airport’s closed.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it on the news. Any places left on a fast ferry to Portsmouth?”