Kiss My Name (41 page)

ZARA – May 2012

             
I didn’t stir until I heard Lucy’s key in the door. The moment I opened my eyes, I knew this was going to be a day for dark shades.

“Good morning!” Lucy said, sounding like it was anything but a good morning.

“Morning,” I replied, “You look like I feel.”

“I’ve hardly slept,” said Lucy, “I don’t think I’m ever going to drink again.”

“I’ve heard that one before. Was he nice?”

“He was nice until his face started turning blue, after that he wasn’t as friendly.”

“His face turned blue?” I questioned matter-of-factly.

If I had been less hung over, I’d have been more dramatic.

“Yes, he must have had some sort of reaction to the tablet. He was blaming the tablet and I was trying to say it might have been the booze, but I knew it was probably the tablet too.”

It was only at this point that I realised Simon Strong had left. No kiss goodbye, no plans to meet up, no exchange of numbers, no thanks, nothing.

“Has anyone left any money on the side?” I asked Lucy. If Simon was going to treat me like a prostitute, I thought he may have had the decency to pay me.

“No, the only thing on the sideboard is the condom I gave you. It’s been opened so I take it you and that guy from Reflex had a good night too?”

I didn’t want to talk about my good night. I had concerns.

“Did you say the condom is still there on the side?”

“Yes, weird place to leave it.”

“Does it look used?”

“I’m not sure. Do you want me to check?”

“Go on.”

Most women would not check to see if a condom that hadn’t been used on them, had been used at all, but then Lucy wasn’t most women. She took the circular, open end, between her thumb and forefinger, turned it upside down and shook it.

“There’s no little spermies in here, Zara. If it’s been used, he didn’t finish.”

“He didn’t wear it then. Great! I hope his face turns blue. In fact, I hope his knob turns blue and then drops off.”

“Me too, babe. I also hope you don’t catch anything, like Chlamydia or pregnancy.”

“I won’t be pregnant, he’s had the snip.”

“Every bloke past thirty says that Zara, whether they have or they haven’t.”

“Thanks for those words of comfort, Lucy. I’m going back to sleep now. When I wake up, hopefully Simon will still be here, your condom won’t and this conversation will have just been a horrible nightmare!”

SIMON – May 2012

              As soon as Tim and I arrived back in the bedroom, Will sat up in his bed,

“Are you OK, Dad? Each time I woke up you guys weren’t here and I was beginning to panic. If you hadn’t come back in the next hour, I would have had to send out a search party.”

“You’d have had to send them a long way. We were over in Lytham St.Annes.”

“Dad, I know where you were. I came with you!”

“You did? To Lytham?”

“Do you not remember why, Dad?”

“Will I don’t remember a thing about Lytham other than waking up on the common by the windmill.”

“Do you remember, Tim?” Will asked my goblin friend.

“I do. I remember everything.”

I could hardly keep my eyes open any longer.

“Will, can you just fill me in later?” I asked, “Whatever happened, it can’t be any more dramatic than what happened when we woke up. Let us have a sleep for a few hours and tell us then.”

“OK. I need some kip myself. Wake me up when you get up.”

              The long sleep I was intending on having on the bed didn’t happen. I just threw all my clothes off, except my boxer shorts and fell on to the bed, with Tim obviously having to lie down beside me. Two of us on a single bed wasn’t the comfiest but I could have coped with that, it was the nausea that disturbed me. After about an hour, I gave up.

“Tim, Tim,” I prodded the Blue Goblin next to me who looked like he had gone into hibernation.

“What?” he mumbled grumpily.

“I’m going to be sick.”

              I wasn’t wrong. I made it to the toilet, dragging a barely conscious Tim along with me. I was sick, but we were both so knackered, I just flushed the chain and passed out. I was on one side of the toilet bowl, Tim was on the other.

             
I’m not sure how long we were out for, but I slept like a tortoise. When I started to come around, I could hear muttering. I still felt awful. I was lying flat on my stomach. I opened my right eye and I could see a load of lads from the Stag Do standing around me. I then opened the left one, looked to the left and there were a load more familiar faces.

“Is every single person who is on my Stag Do in this bathroom?” I asked.

“Nearly everyone,” someone said, “we couldn’t get your Dad and father-in-law out of bed. They look as bad as you.”

“But we did get Joey here and he looks even worse!” someone else piped up.

There were a few cheers and laughs. I understood why. I vaguely recalled seeing Joey’s blue face when we had arrived back. There was no doubt some lurid story about how he acquired it.

“Why are you all here?” I asked, not moving from the floor.

“We all came to take your photo with the Blue Goblin and Joey, but before we took it, we were just admiring your tattoo.”

“Thanks!” I said, kissing my handcuffed right wrist with Nicky’s name on.

“Not that one! Your new one.”

“Very funny!”

Still half drunk, I moved to scratch my backside with my left, non-handcuffed hand, which was when I realised I no longer had any boxer shorts on.

“Which joker has pinched my boxer shorts?”

“We had to. To see your tattoo.”

“Shut up,” I said drunkenly, “I don’t have another tattoo.”

“Yes, you do. Someone show him the photos on their phone.”

             
A phone was thrust in front of my face. I don’t really know what I look like from behind, but I presumed it was my body. Above my backside, there was writing which read,

‘THIS SEXY BODY IS THE PROPERTY OF NICKY STRONG. IF YOU ARE NOT NICKY STRONG, PLEASE KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF.’

On the two cheeks of my backside, there were two handprints.

“They are Charlie Smethurst’s hands,” someone said, “the tattoo artist had to draw around them.”

I had no recollection of Charlie’s hands on my bottom, which was a relief more than anything. I was too hungover to display any anger.

“She’s not Nicky Strong yet,” was the only response I could muster.

“Don’t worry, Simon, she will be in a few weeks. Then you will be lucky enough to have Nicky Strong and Charlie Smethurst’s handprints for the rest of your life!”

Once again, there was laughter and a few cheers.

              The miserable gits in that room then put my boxer shorts back on me, put Joey to my left, lifted the Blue Goblin up on my right and then took dozens and dozens of photos. They must have been seen by everyone in Chorley and thousands of people beyond. For months, every time I went on Facebook or Twitter, I stumbled across photos of a jaundiced man sandwiched between a Goblin and a bloke who looked like the genie from Aladdin after a crash diet.

             
The tattoo pictures did the rounds too. Thankfully, the reason Will had come along to Lytham St.Annes that night, was that he had got wind of a Stag Do plot to get me tattooed. Charlie Smethurst’s sister, Alice, was a tattoo artist who practised in Blackpool, but lived over in Lytham. Will only let the joke go ahead when he found out it was going to be a henna tattoo that would fade within weeks. Apparently about twenty of us went to Alice’s house after Reflex then when the tattoo was done, we hit the bars of Lytham. I was in such a mess by the end of the night, not a single taxi driver would let me in his cab. Tim told all the lads he would look after me, which in a strange way he did.

That afternoon, during the coach journey home, I was woken by the sound of a text coming through from Nicky.

‘How was your night?’ Nicky asked.

I sent a reply saying ‘Quiet’, then went back to sleep.

Part Twelve

The Uninvited Guest (reprise)

ZARA – June 2012

             
When you have troubles in your life, you turn to those who know you best and love you most for help. For me, that means turning to Flo. It was a few weeks after Blackpool that I rang her. I had been crying for about an hour by the time I picked up the phone. I knew she would be with Fran the farmer, she always was these days, but I couldn’t think of anyone else to turn to. I rang her mobile.

“Hi Zara, is it a quick one? I’m just over at Fran’s.”

Surprise, surprise! I just burst out crying straight away.

“I’m riddled with disease, Flo,” I tried to say but I was crying so hard, I’m not exactly sure what came out.

“Zara, what’s the matter darling? Take deep breaths, calm yourself down and start over again.”

I did what she said. After about thirty seconds, Flo grew impatient.

“Are you still there, Zara?”

“You told me to take deep breaths, Flo.”

“Just a couple, Zara, not for the rest of the day. Right, are you going to tell me again what the matter is?”

I took a further deep breath. It was horrible confessing to this, even to my closest friend.

“OK. Last week, I went to the Doctor’s because I’ve had this horrible green discharge and it’s been hurting to wee. I had to have a sample tested out and then I got a phone call today to say that I had to go back to the surgery, to see my Doctor. She was very nice about it...”

I started to cry. My Doctor was lovely but I just felt so ashamed of myself. People being lovely when you are upset tends to make you cry more.

“About what, Zara? What did she say it was?” Flo asked.

“Well,” I said trying to compose myself, “she said I had two things. I don’t just get one sexually transmitted disease, Flo, I get a collection of them.”

“Which ones?”

I blew my nose loudly.

“She said I have gonorrhoea and Chlamydia. I hadn’t heard of gonorrhoea, so I wrote down the spelling and I searched for it on the internet. I’ve got ‘the clap’, Flo. That Simon Strong has only gone and given me ‘the clap’.”

SIMON – June 2012

              I knew choosing Joey Neill as a second Best Man was always going to raise eyebrows amongst those closest to me. After the Stag Do though, I was happy with my decision. I have always been too cautious for my own good, but my Stag Do propelled me out of my comfort zone and taught me a lot of things about learning to smile through adversity. On reflection, I am glad Joey sorted out the big bash in Blackpool rather than a quiet pint in Chorley.

             
The days between the Stag Do and the wedding passed quickly. On the eve of our wedding, several people came to the house to drop things off for Nicky or just to wish her well. It was a beautiful day, so I had cut the ends off a pair of old jeans and was wearing them as shorts. I was gathering all my stuff together in the bedroom, as I was staying overnight at my Mum and Dad’s, when Will called up saying there was a woman at the door with a present for me.

             
It did seem strange that the present was for me and not Nicky, but I didn’t think too much about it and just went to the door. I was greeted by a heavy set lady, who was perhaps in her mid-twenties, with a pretty face but a stern expression. She looked me up and down as if I had entered Mr.Universe and she was a judge. My lack of good looks appeared to both puzzle and disappoint her. I presumed she must be the mother of one of the children at Nicky’s nursery. Perhaps, as a joke, someone had said to her that I was drop dead gorgeous.

“Are you a friend of Nicky’s?” I asked seeking confirmation that she was a kindhearted Mum dropping in a gift.

“I am a friend of Zara’s, Mr.Strong,” the woman said as she pulled a shotgun out from behind her back. Panic swept over me immediately. I had a nutcase at my door.

             
I stuck my hands up in a surrender motion straight away. I have always preferred the live coward to dead hero option. She was obviously seething about something, but what it had to do with me, I had no idea whatsoever, nor did I have any idea who Zara was.

“Whoa! Hang on a minute! Who the bloody hell is Zara?”

“Forgotten already? How convenient! It hasn’t even been a month.”

My mind was working overtime. Where could I have been in the last month that I could have met someone called Zara and really upset her? Nowhere was the answer.

“I don’t know any Zaras!” I pleaded, but in her angry, crazy mind she had convinced herself that I did. She prodded the shotgun towards my testicles. I took a step back. I could feel myself starting to sweat. She kept insisting that I knew this Zara and I kept insisting I didn’t. I was convinced that she must have the wrong Simon Strong until she said something about me leaving Zara with a reminder of our fumbles in the Guest House. That was the first time any of this made sense. It must have something to do with my Stag Do. I needed to calm her down and get to the bottom of it.

“Can you put the gun down?” I requested.

              The woman was having none of it. It was when she asked me to turn around that my panic really cranked up a few gears, I started to believe this woman had come to our house to kill me. I needed someone to rescue me. I thought maybe if I started talking loudly Nicky or Will may see what was happening and call the police. Thankfully, Chloe wasn’t in. Arthur had taken her over to pick up her bridesmaid dress from Eccleston.

             
I shouted my refusal to turn around but then the nutter threatened to blow my balls off. I turned pretty quickly once she said that. Then, she asked me to drop my pants. I was now really confused. Was this woman a total fruitcake or had she been sent here by Joey Neill or the lads at cricket to carry out some bizarre pre-wedding prank?

“What?” I asked.

“You heard me, Simon....DROP YOUR PANTS!” she shouted.

             
I began to relax. This was definitely a wind up. There was no Zara. This was just another opportunity to take the mickey out of me, like the Blue Goblin handcuffing had been. All the lads were probably all hiding in the bushes, ready to jump out. I wouldn’t even have been surprised if Nicky and Will were in on it too. I probably wasn’t even a real gun. I decided to get my own back. I was going to make this woman work hard for her money.

“I am not dropping my pants!” I said with a smile that she couldn’t see.

“Yes, you are!” she insisted.

“What if one of the neighbours sees me?” I protested, a ridiculous protest if I’d have felt this was a real gun but as I thought it wasn’t, I thought I’d wind all the pranksters up a bit.

“Simon, I have a double barrelled shotgun pointing at you! Believe me, what Mrs.Jones at number 28 thinks, is the least of your concerns!”

“Seventeen”, I joked. Mrs.Jones did genuinely live at number seventeen though! I pointed out she was partially sighted so would struggle to see me anyway. I was beginning to enjoy this farcical set up. I wondered if everyone had chipped in again. My wedding was costing these guys a fortune. I decided to consent, just so the woman could finish the prank. I undid my jeans and dropped them to the floor.

“Happy now?” I asked.

“No. Drop the boxer shorts too,” she demanded.

These lads were getting a bit much now!

“Bloody hell!” I complained, “Why does everyone get so much pleasure out of humiliating me?”

The Blue Goblin stunt, the tattoo stunt and now this. Hopefully this would be the last of it.

“Drop ‘em now!” she shouted.

As I dropped my boxer shorts so they joined my cut off jeans around my ankles, I realised what she was doing. The lads wanted the henna tattoo to be on display one last time before it faded. Someone was probably filming this.

“What the hell is that?” she questioned, probably knowing damn well what it was.

“What?” I asked all innocently, trying to act as well as the woman.

“That tattoo on your arse!”

At last, the punchline.

“Long story!” I said.

Surely this was now the end of the wind up. Any second now every lad from the Stag Do would jump out on me and I’d have to pretend I wasn’t on to them.

I could hear the woman getting agitated.

“Why is the stupid thing not working?” the woman asked angrily, just as she did so, Nicky came out of the kitchen to see what was going on. She was shocked to discover my wedding tackle was  already out and my hairy backside was being pointed at a visitor who appeared to be trying to fix her shotgun.

“Simon, what on earth is going on?”

“Joey and the lads have sent this woman round to play a pre-wedding trick on me. She’s pretending to be the angry mate of a girl from the Stag Do. I think she’s just finished.”

I pulled my trousers and boxer shorts up. I turned around and the woman was still inspecting the gun.

“Is that right?” Nicky asked.

“No, it isn’t. The man you are marrying tomorrow gave my best friend ‘the clap’.”

Nicky looked at me a bit too suspiciously for my liking.

“Nicky, don’t look at me like that! She’s still acting.”

“Why does this thing not fire?” the woman was chuntering to herself.

“Enough is enough now. Are you acting?” Nicky asked.

“No, why would I be bloody acting? Simon slept with my friend, Zara and gave her ‘the clap’, whilst he was on his Stag Do in Blackpool.”

“Did you Simon?” Nicky asked.

“Don’t be so stupid! I was handcuffed to a Blue Goblin for the whole weekend! How would I have managed that?”

“You were handcuffed to a Blue Goblin?” the woman asked.

“Did I not just say that? Yes, a dwarf called Tim Anderson. He is hired to dress up as a goblin and then gets handcuffed to the Stag. I was handcuffed to him from when I arrived in Blackpool and they unlocked the cuffs when the coach arrived back in Chorley.”

“So you didn’t meet a woman called Zara?”

“Not that I remember. Loads of women wanted their photos taken with us, one of them may have been called Zara, but I certainly didn’t sleep with anyone. Oh actually that’s a lie, I slept in a park, on a bed and next to a toilet with the Blue Goblin, but no hanky panky went on. I’ve never slept with anyone other than Nicky in the whole of my life.”

“Zara said the lad she slept with was in the David Lloyd gym, drove a Mercedes and was called Simon Strong.”

Nicky and I looked at each other.

“Joey Neill,” we said in unison.

“You do realise,” I said to the woman, “that if you’d have shot me in the backside from that distance, the bullets would probably have come out the other side?”

“There’re only blanks in here. My boyfriend’s a farmer, he uses it to scare the birds away. I wanted it to make that big bang noise, but I can’t get the stupid thing to work.”

“You need to take the safety catch off here,” I said, showing her.

“Oh right, thanks. Bit late now.”

“Of course it isn’t! Hang on there a minute, I’ll go and write down Joey Neill’s address for you!”