Kiss My Name (31 page)

ZARA – May 2012

              I sat inside Charlie, my red Vauxhall Corsa and looked at myself in the rear view mirror. I was never going to win Miss Universe, but I had a pretty face and a decent body too. If my looks were measured on a ruler, with zero centimetres being really ugly and thirty centimetres being Michelle Keegan, from Corrie, then I reckon I would be in the low twenties. There were more girls my age that would trade looks with me, than those who wouldn’t. The depressing thing was, if I wasn’t failing in every relationship due to my looks or my body, then it must mean my personality was the cause of all my failings.

I turned the ignition on and put my foot down hard on the accelerator, before I was in gear, just to hear Charlie roar. I then put her into reverse. Although I was pretty sure that Martin had returned back into the gym and would not be tearfully watching my departure, I still wanted to drive off at top speed, just in case he was looking. Driving off slowly at ten miles an hour somehow did not give off the right impression. I was angry and wheel spinning off into the sunset reflected that.

I took the handbrake off, put my foot down hard again on the accelerator and jolted backwards at speed. Unfortunately, it was far too much speed. The gym car park at David Lloyd’s is always busy and before I had time to swop my right foot from accelerator to brake, I heard the ominous crunch of metal on metal.

“Shittin’ hell!” I cried out, I’d only gone and hit someone’s car.

I twisted around hoping to see a shabby contraption, full of rust, that was only fit for the scrap yard, but rather than that my eyes fell upon a brand spanking new silver Mercedes. Could my day get any worse? I’d only managed to smack into, what appeared to be, the newest, most expensive car in the whole bloody car park! How much was this going to cost me?

             
Lots of thoughts raced through my mind all at once. My brain wasn’t used to thinking hard and I was worried that it might flood like a car engine. After the initial panic, I began to relax about the cost of the damage, as I realised that’s what car insurance was for. Car insurance. Did I have car insurance? When I left ‘Penny Pinchers’, before I had started work for the council, my bank account had gone beyond its overdraft limit. When this happened, I was bombarded with letters from financial institutions telling me my direct debit had been returned unpaid and if I didn’t find an alternative method of payment, the facility would no longer be provided. I remember this happening with the gas and electricity, thankfully Nadeem took pity on me and paid it, but had I also had a letter from the car insurance company to? I wasn’t sure. What would happen if I had no insurance? Would I have to pay for the damage myself, or even worse, could I be prosecuted for not having car insurance in place?

             
All these thoughts went through my head in a matter of seconds. No wonder my brain hurt. It was then that instinct and panic took over. I put my little Charlie into first gear, edged forward a little and then put my foot down and got the hell out of that car park as quickly as I could. In the circumstances, I had no choice. I had no insurance and no cash. The owner of the Mercedes probably had both. He or she would need to pick up their tab this time. I know it wasn’t their fault, but it wasn’t mine either, I was in emotional turmoil. Temporary insanity I think they call it.

             
As I was making my get away, wondering whether the gym had CCTV or if anyone might have spotted my crime, I glanced in my mirror and felt like curling up in a bush and dying like an old age cat. The silver Mercedes was following me. The driver must have seen me crash into him, dived into his car and followed me. It looked as though he must be raging mad as he was right up my backside. I was bricking it. What would I say to him? There was no excuse possible that could justify driving off.

             
I kept on driving. It took me another minute to dare to look in the mirror again and when I did, sure enough, the Mercedes was still right behind me. I couldn’t make out the drivers face. It must have either been a small man or woman at the wheel. This re-assured me a little, at least now I was only going to be arrested, not beaten to death.

             
For once, common sense prevailed in my brain. I decided I needed to be brave. This was ridiculous. I had done a stupid thing driving off and if I tried to shake off a Mercedes in my Corsa, which would be an even more stupid idea. I needed to pull over at the next junction and put myself at the mercy of the Mercedes driver. If it was a man, I would use the dizzy blonde routine that I was well versed at. If it was a woman, I would just be honest, confess to being in distress due to a relationship break up and offer to pay all costs.

             
The first junction on my left was the entrance to Botany Bay. Botany Bay is an old mill between the Leeds-Liverpool canal and the M61 motorway that has been converted into a shopping centre. It closes at half past five every day so at around six o’clock, the gate to the car park is pulled shut. I drove into the access road and, as I expected, I was closely followed by the Mercedes. Two scruffy young teenagers, who looked about sixteen, were sitting on top of the gate smoking a shared cigarette. I was glad to see them as they would be witnesses to any incident that was about to take place. I pulled up about thirty metres before the gate, turned off my engine, took a deep breath and got out the car. The Mercedes driver had switched his engine off too. I walked towards him but couldn’t see him. Maybe he was lying down, inspecting the damage to the front of his prize possession.

“Hello,” I said nervously, “I’m really so sorry about all this. I don’t think the damage is all that bad. I just went into a panic. I know it was a stupid thing to do. Hello? Hello?”

I was getting no response, so I crouched down myself between my little Charlie and the enormous Mercedes. I received what I can only describe as the fright of my life. I was expecting to see a well-to-do man in his fifties, inspecting the damage or a young, smartly dressed woman, but instead I saw no-one. Not a soul. There just wasn’t anyone there. Where the bloody hell had the driver gone? Had they spontaneously combusted?

It was only when I did a full circle of the Mercedes and got back to the front that I realised what had happened. Charlie’s rear bumper had somehow caught on the front bumper of the Mercedes and hooked on to it. The driver of the Mercedes had not been following me at all. In my panic, I had just been towing an empty Mercedes along the road for half a mile. I needed to somehow prise the two cars apart as quickly as possible and get out of there. I desperately needed help and the two smoking lads sitting on the gate were the key.

“Boys, come over here a sec, “I called out, “have I got a deal for you!”

ZARA – May 2012

              The two boys were both about sixteen. Both wore black hoodies and jeans. Both had dark, untidy hair. I should have offered them a decent make over rather than the offer I had put on the table. The only thing that distinguished them from the each other was their height. One of them was over six feet tall. The other was five feet four at most. The smaller one was more confident and cockier. He did the majority of the talking. Our negotiations were in full flow.

“How long for?” the smaller lad asked, twitching nervously as he did so. The air of confidence was definitely being questioned by the situation.

“What?” I asked, understanding the question but just shocked he would dare ask.

“If the deal is that we unhook your car from the Merc and in exchange you flash your boobs, how long do we get to see them for?”

“Five seconds.”

“Make it ten.”

“Ten, then.”

“Bra on or off? We’re not helping you if it’s bra on.”

“Off then.”

For almost the first time in the conversation, the taller kid chipped in.

“Do we get to feel them?”

“No,” I said firmly, “that would be pervy.”

“No deal then,” the tall guy said.

“Fair enough. Thanks anyway, boys,” I said and then turned and walked away, back towards my car.

As I was walking back, I could hear the smaller boy showing his annoyance.

“Why did you have to ask that, Darius, you idiot?”

“I dunno. I just thought our luck was in.”

“It was until you opened your gob.”

“Sorry George.”

I was halfway back when the smaller guy shouted after me,

“OK, you have a deal. We’ll unhook it now and when we’re finished, you flash the goods. Alright?”

I turned around.

“Boys, you have a deal.”

They climbed down from the gate and came over to have a proper look at the two cars.

“Whose is the Merc, anyway?” asked George, the talkative one.

“My husband’s,” I told them, “I reversed into it. He’ll go mad if he sees it hooked to mine. He’s always telling me that I’m an awful driver.”

“With good reason,” said George unsympathetically.

“Do you think you can do this?” I asked.

“I think so. They should be easily separated. If I lift your bumper up and Darius, you push down on the Mercedes bumper, we should be able to prise them apart.”

The boys toiled for about five minutes and with no lack of effort, managed to separate the two bumpers.

“Well done lads!”

George and Darius stood up and dusted themselves off.

“There you go. I told you we’d be able to do it! How is your hubby going to get his car home? You can’t drive them both away.”

“I’ll just tell him that I took his car out, stalled it at Botany Bay and couldn’t manage to re-start it. He’ll probably call me every name under the sun, but then I’ll just drive him here in my car to collect it,” I explained. I was lying so well, I could even picture
my husband. He was an older, distinguished, well toned gentleman. Not unlike David Beckham but without the tattoos.

“Sounds plausible, seeing as though he thinks you’re a crap driver,” George agreed.

“We need paying now,” the quieter one, Darius chipped in.

I was wearing a white blouse, so without hesitation, I just undid the buttons, slipped it off and stood there in my bra.

There was silence for a few seconds. I was half expecting their eyes to pop out their heads as they admired my surgically enhanced cleavage.

“Erm,” Darius, the taller guy gulped before continuing, “you need to take the bra off too. That was the deal.”

“So it was,” I said calmly, “I just need to put my blouse in the car though.”

“Why?” Darius queried.

“The floor’s dusty,” I explained.

“I’ll hold it!” both boys said in unison.

“Thanks boys, but you’re OK, I’ll just put it on the passenger seat.”

They should have realised what was coming. I opened Charlie’s drivers side door, sat in and feigned that I was busy smoothing out my blouse on the passenger seat. The truth was, I never had any intention of showing them my breasts. I just wanted my car releasing. I turned the engine on, did a semi-circular wheel spin so Charlie turned around 180 degrees, then brought my electric window down.

“Thanks guys!”

“Hey! That’s not fair,” said George sounding very much like a child who had his favourite toy confiscated, “We made a deal.”

“Life’s not fair lads. Sorry!”

I started to drive off along the access road, making the type of speedy exit I had intended to make from the gym. I was halfway to the exit when I slammed on the brakes as though an old lady had walked out in front of me. Two thoughts came into my head. Firstly, these two hoody kids will have seen my registration plate. If they wanted to pay me back for conning them, they could easily contact the police and tell them I had left a Mercedes at Botany Bay. I am sure the police would be less likely to believe the bogus story about it being my husband’s car. Secondly, those boys looked dejected. They hadn’t suggested to me that I show them my breasts. I had offered them the deal, knowing I would not be going through with it. I had spent several years receiving false promises from men. Now the tables were turned and it did not feel good at all. It felt horrible. The men that had lied to me probably didn’t give a second’s thought to their betrayal, but I did. I turned around once more, speeding back to the clearly confused kids.

“OK, boys, listen up. I am going to keep the promise I made to you, but if either of you ever, ever, utter a word about this to anyone, I swear I’ll tell my husband what happened and he’ll come looking for you. He is the type of man who will find you and once he finds you, he will kill you.

             
With that, I slipped my bra off and exposed my chest to those two aroused and petrified teenage boys. I counted to ten, put it back on and drove home. I had no idea who owned that abandoned Mercedes, but I did know that my secret about how it arrived at Botany Bay would now be safe with those two boys.

FLO – May 2012

             
Zara and I had arranged to meet up in Costa Coffee for a lunch time catch up. Over a latte and a cappuccino, I had updated her about how things were going with Fran. We still hadn’t met but our on-line conversations were becoming increasingly frequent and I was continuing to become more optimistic as each day passed. Give Zara her due, she has always been a good listener, so we were on to our second drink before she launched into her bizarre tale about how she had split up from Martin, but in the process had managed to reverse into a Mercedes, tow it out of David Lloyd’s gym, drive over to Botany Bay and arrange for two teenage boys to unhook it, in exchange for flashing her boobs at them. I would never have believed it for a second, if it hadn’t been Zara telling the tale. There was, however, one part of the story that I took a particular dislike to.

“Do you know what, Zara? I’m really pissed off with you about that.”

“Flo, it was an accident! I didn’t mean for any of it to happen. It just did.”

“No, I don’t give a stuff about the Mercedes,” I explained, “you’re right, that was just you being you. What cheeses me off, is you making a deal with two teenage boys to get your knockers out. Why on earth would you do that, Zara?”

“I had to.”

“No you did not,” I said angrily, “Why do you have to sexualise everything? The clothes you wear, the way you act around men, the deals you make, why do you do this to yourself? You’re setting yourself up for all these falls that you keep having.”

“What else was I supposed to do, Flo?” Zara protested, “I had a Mercedes stuck to Charlie’s backside, I needed it off.”

“OK, look. I don’t have your looks and despite having tits even bigger than your cosmetically enhanced ones, I wouldn’t imagine any teenage kids would be jumping for joy at the thought of seeing them. If, therefore, I managed to get myself into a mess like you did. I would have to use my brain to get me out of it.”

“Go on, smart Alec,” Zara said, sipping her latte, “tell me what you’d have done then.”

“Zara, I’d have just gone over to those two boys and said. ‘Lads, you look like the type of intelligent blokes who know something about cars. You see I don’t, because I’m a woman, but as two smart lads, is there any chance you can do me a massive favour and show me how I unhook my car?’”

“Flo, that’s still undermining women! You’re saying women are thick, men aren’t, so help me out.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” I explained, “I’m playing upon the fact that men have big egos and like to show women how clever they are. It doesn’t involve me exposing my breasts like a lapdancer.”

Zara was prepared to fight her corner on this, which I was glad about. The one thing I did not want her to be was a soft touch.

“There’s no guarantee that would have worked though. I knew for certain the offer of flashing some flesh was guaranteed to work.”

“You could have tried it, Zara. If you keep demeaning yourself all the time, no wonder you keep discovering that men treat you like an object. You’re so much better than that. Stop doing it to yourself.”

I knew we were going over the same old ground, I was just hoping that one day it would actually sink in.

“OK. OK. Is that the lecture over now?” Zara asked.

“Not quite. This weekend you’ve got the Hen do, haven’t you?”

“Yes in Blackpool.”

“Promise me you’ll make a fresh start and try to show men that you’re a fantastic person before you go showing them your boobs and your knickers,” I was pleading but I have to admit my confidence in Zara’s capacity to do it was low. Rather than promise, Zara decided to ignore the plea entirely.

“I wish you were coming, Flo. You’d keep me in check. I love Lucy, but she does lead me astray.”

“Don’t let her then, Zara. Your problem is you keep trying to be the person you think other people want you to be. Just be yourself.”

Zara started laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“Flo, you try to change me more than anyone!”

Perhaps Zara had a point. She was a grown woman and could make her own decisions. I just feared that if I didn’t warn her, she would go off on that Hen do and come back with a sob story about how she had once again been manipulated by some no good male. As it transpired, I should have saved my breath, that’s exactly how it worked out anyway.