Dirty Bad Strangers (11 page)

Jason

“I’m being used for my Land Rover. That’s a first, mate.” Steve was in good humour; the promise of sweet pussy clearly putting a smile on his face.

A universal effect, it seems.

“Not just your Land Rover, Steve. I want your barn as well.”

“You’re a cheap date, Redfern. Battered old jeep and a hay shed? Money’s wasted on you.”

I breathed in the cool breeze, zipping my training top a little bit higher. “Did a parcel arrive for me?”

“Aye.” He gestured to a box in the corner. “Gift for the redhead by any chance?”

“Gift for me
and
the redhead,” I smirked. “I’m not sure who’ll enjoy it more.”

I felt the weight of his stare, a strange half-smile on his face. “I don’t bloody believe it. You’ve only gone and got feelings for her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I hardly know her.”

“
I
know
you
¸ Jason Redfern, and it’s all over your bloody face. Never seen you smile so much as you have over this chick.”

“That’s what a good lay does for you. You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Ain’t no lay that’s put that spring in your step, mate. Chick’s crawled into your brain.” He lit up a cigarette. “You’ve gone soft for her.”

“I’ve only seen the girl twice.”

“Twice is all it’s taken.”

“Whatever, Steve. You just wait til you’ve had a go. My cock’s never felt so good.”

He threw me his keys. “Bring her out here real soon, or my balls are gonna explode.”

“It’ll be soon.”

My mobile buzzed as I loaded the package into the car. I clicked the icon with a smile.

But it wasn’t Gemma.

April:
Dinner party at ours. Kate and Reece, and VERONICA ASHDOWN! I’ve invited Trevor Loveridge too, thought it would do your chances next season some good. Seven sharp. Don’t be fucking late, Jason, don’t you dare. xxx

This was fucking news.

Steve appeared at my shoulder. “Megabitch calling?”

“Texting.”

“What’s she want? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, mate.”

“She wants me to play happy fucking families at her shitty little dinner party.”

“Christ.”

“Tonight.” My sky clouded over, a torrential fucking rainstorm.

“Fuck her off,” Steve shrugged. “Tell her to get stuffed.”

“She’s invited Trevor...”

“She’s a devious fucking cow, that one,” Steve said. “She really is.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Can you get away early? Still make it round to Redhead’s?”

“Her flatmate finishes work at eleven.”

Steve looked gutted for me, genuinely. “Gonna have to call it off, then. Stinks bad. She’ll understand, though, won’t she?”

I bloody hoped so.

***

Gemma

I grabbed my phone idly as it started up, expecting my mum.

Jason calling
.

How I smiled. “Missing me already? You’ll see me in a couple of hours.”

His tone was positively morbid. “I’m really sorry, Gem, I have to rain check. Something’s come up.”

“Oh?” I was inquisitive, much too inquisitive. “I mean, of course... sure. No problem. Some other time…”

Wife trouble?

The thought was unwelcome.

“Give me another time,” he said. “Tell me when.”

I scoped out the route to Tessa’s timetable, but she was still at home, pottering around the kitchen and humming to herself. “I’ll have to figure it out.”

“I can do Saturday, if that works.”

“I definitely can’t do Saturday,” I sighed. “I’m being dragged out to some swanky nightclub in Kensington. A friend of mine’s after a footballer. Theo something.”

“Theo Fernandez?”

“That’s him,” I groaned. “He looks about twelve. From Spain, apparently.”

“Yes, he does and yes, he is.”

“You like football, do you?” I smiled. “Maybe
you
should take her, I know nothing about any of it.”

“I like it some days more than others,” he sighed. “Today, not so much.”

“Whatever’s come up, I hope it gets sorted.”

“I live in hope.”

***

Jason

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

My dirty little Gemma would be out at Kings. Talk about a small fucking world.

She’d be in the general bar, of course, far away from the VIP area, but even so.

Maybe I’d accept Theo’s invitation after all. Maybe I’d even venture out amongst the general Kings’ populous and watch her from afar.

Even that thought wasn’t enough to make the evening more bearable.

Veronica Ashdown was even more annoying in a small group than she was in a large one. Her laughter grated almost as much as April’s fake smile.

My wife was all out to impress the stupid cow, gushing over everything from her outfit to her latest fad, and caring little for Reece and Kate. They were out of favour, I guessed, career popularity on the wane.

April gripped my elbow. “Ooh, Jason enjoys tennis, don’t you, darling? Maybe you could give Ronnie some lessons?”

Ronnie? Jesus Christ.

“Haven’t played for years,
darling
,” I replied. “Forgotten what a racket looks like.
Ronnie
would be better off if
you
coached her.”

If anyone picked up on my tone it didn’t dampen their mood. That’s what the bottles of vintage red were for, no doubt.

“Jase doesn’t have time for tennis,” Trevor grinned. “It’s all about the beautiful game. Cheers to that.”

He raised his glass to the truly absurd toast, and I cringed inside as everyone joined him. So much for my contract negotiation chances, he wouldn’t remember shit in the morning.

I should be balls-deep in soft white pussy, listening to my dirty girl moan for me.

Fuck it. I poured myself a glass. The only fucking way I’d get through it.

***

“You were such a sour-faced shit tonight, Jason. They’re our
friends
. You could damn well act like it.”

“They’re not my friends. They’re not yours, either. You don’t have any real friends, April, just pawns you climb over to get your fucking face in the papers.”

Her eyes were frosty. “That’s what you’d be doing, too, if you had any sense. You do fuck all to help, strolling around with a chip on your shoulder like our life’s some kind of bore to you.”

“It
is
a bore to me.”

“It
is
your life, Jason.”

I poured out the last of the red. “This is no life.”

I was full of self-pity and I knew it, but I didn’t care. Not about any of it. Not even the fucking house anymore. Bad investments had taken their toll, and none so bad as the monster I’d vowed my life to.

“Crack out the violin.” She slumped into the chair next to mine, a dainty foot tapping the floor in frustration. “You think this makes me happy? Do you?” She leaned forward close enough that I could feel her breath on my face. “I hate living here with you, Jason. I hate
you
.”

The venom took me aback, even from her. “Hate is a very strong word, April. Mind your fucking tongue.”

“I
hate
you, Jason. I hate your train wreck life. I hate your sick, twisted perversions. I hate the way you think you’ve so much more integrity than the rest of us.” She gestured to the room. “You sit on your high and mighty pedestal, too fucking sour to smile your way through it, and too fucking weak to walk away.”

“Fifty-fifty and I’ll walk tomorrow.”

“You don’t want to walk,” she seethed. “This house means fuck all to you, you use it as an excuse to stay. Go and live with Steve, you can jack off to porn all night together, and carve up bits of twig through the day. A match made in heaven.”

It was surprisingly tempting.

“Go to bed, April. You’re drunk and vile.”

“I may be drunk, Jason, but tomorrow I shall be sober.
You’ll
still be an arrogant pervert.” She tottered off, shooting me a glare back over her shoulder.

“That’s a Winston Churchill quote, and it doesn’t work in that context. Tomorrow you’ll still be as fucking vile as you are today. Don’t give me your high-horse act. It doesn’t pissing wash.”

“Move out, Jason. Please, for God’s fucking sake,
please
just move the fuck out.”

It was tempting. Oh so fucking tempting.

***

Gemma

I’d forgotten how long it took Chelsea to get ready for a night out. She’d insisted I arrive at hers mid-afternoon, parading every outfit in her possession only to decide on the one she’d originally picked out. I could have done without the boredom.

Her apartment was a tiny shoebox in the centre of London costing almost twice as much as ours. Blackfriars hadn’t been swanky enough for Chelsea’s aspirations, so she’d moved here on credit. I dreaded to think how much she’d racked up in debt since we’d been here, but it wasn’t really my concern.

“It’s gonna be so much fun!” she squealed. “You’ll love it, I know you will!”

Unlikely.

I tried not to dwell on what else I could be doing on a Saturday evening.

She carried on gushing. “This is my night, I can feel it!”

I felt almost sorry for this Theo chap.

Chelsea’s dress barely covered her arse, or her tits, for that matter. A tiny little scrap of pink lace, leaving virtually nothing to the imagination. She looked like a Barbie doll, pretty but plastic. Very, very plastic. Still, she was happy, and undoubtedly plenty of men at this
Kings
place would be, too.

I looked like a plain Jane at her side, but I couldn’t care less. One night at this crappy club would keep her quiet for a while, at least.

She was already half pissed on cheap wine by the time we reached the queue for Kings. It was a long one. A long one filled with Chelsea types. I stuck out like a big, sore ginger thumb.

I sent a text to Jason.

In the queue at this crappy club. Wish me luck. x

I wondered what he was doing. Something better than this if he had any sense. His reply gave little hint. A simple
enjoy
and nothing else.

Finally we reached the front of the line. Chelsea shimmied up to the bouncers, fluttering her eyelashes like a professional. She was so excited, grinning her head off as they raised the barrier and waved her on in. Maybe this really would be her night. Maybe I’d even enjoy the place.

I hadn’t even noticed the barrier come down.

“Sorry, Miss, not tonight.”

I looked up at the bouncer. “Sorry, what?”

“You can’t come in,” he said. “Dress code.”

I looked down at my outfit. It was longer than Chelsea’s but that was about all. A perfectly presentable satin number with decent height heels. “What’s wrong with it?”

Chelsea came dashing back, reaching for my arm over the barrier. “She’s with me.”

“Dress code is dress code. Nothing I can do.”

My cheeks burned, mortified at the snickering from the queue behind me. Faces peered out from the club, too, my predicament in plain view of the swanky reception bar.

“What is the dress code?” I asked. “I don’t see what’s wrong.”

The bouncer leaned into me like I was some kind of simpleton. “It’s a big night for us. Singers are in. Club’s gotta look the part, you know?”

Suddenly it made sense. So much fucking sense.

“Please...” Chelsea whined. “Please let her in.”

I choked back the humiliation, knowing full well they’d never let me in. “It’s ok,” I said. “You go on.”

Her eyes flew wide. “I can’t go on my own!”

I managed a smile. “I don’t think you’ve got much choice.”

Some skinnier girls squeezed on past, disappearing inside without incident.

I turned away, determined not to get upset in front of any of the assholes, gesturing that I’d call her in the morning. I heard her pleading with the bouncers, but it fell on deaf ears. I carried on along the walk of shame, taken aback when Chelsea tottered along after me.

“Thanks,” I said. “You could have stayed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “As if...”