The Bonk Squad (22 page)

Flames rushed out of the old wooden
house. Tongues of fire licked over the boards of her basement flat;
there was no way she’d be living there again anytime soon. Her
quilt full of belongings was now all she owned in the world—apart
from her bank balance and maybe her bicycle in the
garage.

Still shivering from the flu and from
shock, she obediently tagged along as an arm drew her to a nearby
car. The man pushed her big bundle into the back seat with her. She
hugged it tightly, for warmth and for comfort, and felt the car
shudder as the trunk slammed shut. He reached in and draped a
picnic rug around her shoulders. “Be as fast as I can,” his deep
voice assured her.

She huddled into a corner, watching
from her little distance as the fire fighting continued. Firemen
moved like spacemen. Water soared and splashed. Half the
neighborhood clustered around for a better look. More dogs joined
the canine chorus.

Once the flames were finally out,
Bobbie’s rescuer remembered her and returned to the car. “Where
to?” he asked, peering at his dirty, haggard passenger.

She shriveled. There was nowhere
really. No family for a hundred miles or more, and they were two
unmarried aunts she wasn’t close to. Workmates she could impose on?
She wouldn’t dare. She cast about for any other
sanctuary.

“
Willowpark Road,” she
managed, thinking of Meg’s house. She’d always felt okay
there.

And so, four days after her birthday,
Meg relinquished her new spare-room study to a shivering, grimy,
half bald Bobbie at 12.30 am.

‘
Life’s not always
fair’
, Meg thought, trying to feel sorrier
for Bobbie than she did for herself. She’d been in paradise since
Sunday. At last she’d had her own little world to write in,
uninterrupted.

And now she’d lost it.

For several days, Bobbie hunched under
the bedclothes, sick and lost. Meg took breakfast to her each day,
and did her best to prepare tempting meat-free dinners. Then, one
evening, Bobbie finally emerged from hiding in ill matched clothes
and with a towel around her head.

“
What can I do about my
hair?” she whispered.

Meg sat her down and gently unwound
the towel.

“
Are you burnt?
Hurting?”

“
Nooooo....”

“
I’d be lying if I said it
looked good, Bobbie. I’m almost sure you’re going to need most of
it cut off. There’s just about nothing left on this side and over
the top.”

Bobbie sighed wheezily and nodded.
“It’s awful hair, but I’d rather have it than be bald.”

Meg bit her lip. “Maybe a really short
cut all over? It’ll grow quite fast...I expect.” Inspiration
struck. “We should ask Liz—she’s the fashion expert. I’ll see if
she’s home.”

They started watching the TV news
while they waited for Liz to arrive. Terrorists, murders, train
smashes...the usual stuff.

Ben ambled out from his adjoining
bedroom. Tigger had arranged to go out with a girlfriend tonight,
and he was almost grateful. “Sheesh!” he exclaimed, peering at
Bobbie.

“
Ben!”

“
Yeah, sorry Mom, but it’s
not real good.”

“
Put the kettle on, can
you?”

It took Liz only ten minutes to tear
across town. She bribed Rosie and Brett to stay in the SUV with the
promise of a video later that evening, and dashed through Meg’s
open front door, all legs and hair.

“
Holy cow!” she exclaimed,
inspecting the long and short of Bobbie. “Well, you can’t keep it
like that. I’ll see if Tony can do one of his miracles.” She
produced her mobile and tapped the screen. “Leslee? It’s Liz
McKenzie. Need the biggest favor from Tones, and I’ll tell you why.
I’ve got a friend who’s had a lot of hair burnt off in a
fire.”

A silence. “Yes, she has long hair,
and very short hair, too, in places.”

Another silence. “Bad. Awful. I know
he’ll be all booked up, but please-please-please?” She waited,
winding her long necklace around and around a finger.

“
Next Thursday? You must be
joking? This is a serious emergency. I mean, I know next Thursday
is really, really good of him, but couldn’t he just do an extra
half hour tonight?” Liz tapped an imperious foot on the floor as
she was put on hold. “He’ll do it? Tell him he’s wonderful. Seven
thirty then.”

She disconnected and turned to Bobbie.
“I brought some clothes along in case you didn’t rescue many of
yours. You’re welcome to any of these.” She unzipped a sports bag
and rummaged inside. There were jeans, a denim shirt, and several
T-shirts. “We’d be much the same size? You can roll the legs
up.”

Bobbie nodded gratefully. “The lights
were off with the fire. I grabbed a couple of things, but I
couldn’t see, and it was hopeless.”

“
Try the denims. They’d
look good on you.”

Bobbie slunk away to
change.

“
Have you got any scarves?”
Liz asked.

Meg had a search and produced several.
When Bobbie returned, Liz experimented with the remains of her hair
until the worst damage was hidden.

“
And a bit of lipstick to
brighten you up,” Meg insisted. She’d always thought Bobbie looked
unhealthily pale, and the flu had washed her out still further. Now
in the blue denim instead of her usual black, with a bright scarf
and a lick of Really Raspberry, she was halfway to being
pretty.

Liz checked her watch. “I’ll go and
get some takeaways for us all. The kids’ll be starving and playing
up pretty soon. Meg, if you can take them home via the video store
after, I’ll get Bobbie to Tony’s.”

Meg agreed, seeing languid Liz in a
whole new light. In just a few minutes, she’d organized everything
and everyone.

Liz zoomed off with her children, and
fifteen minutes later they returned with boxes of pungent fragrant
food.

“
Vegetarian samosas for
you, Bobbie. Chicken all right for everyone else?”

Meg dealt paper serviettes around the
table and insisted Liz accepted twenty dollars toward the food.
Orlando and Bella tried for shreds of chicken as they yowled and
pushed themselves against the children’s legs.

“
They’ll be far too tired
to watch their video tonight,” Liz muttered to Meg as everyone
began making a hasty departure. “Let them choose it, get a
three-day rental, and they can see it tomorrow or the next day.”
She wrestled the house key off her bundle, and the video store card
from her pocket, and handed them over. “Get them into bed somehow
or they’ll be useless at school tomorrow. I’ve left the security
alarm off for you.” She checked her watch again, cursed, and
hustled Bobbie out.

Meg loaded her new charges into the
old Toyota. Brett in particular seemed to find it wildly
exotic.

“
I’ve never been in a
vintage car before,” he said, sniffing the oily air.

“
Only 1979,” Meg protested.
Her father had bought the car for her mother to run about in, and,
little workhorse that it was, it had become Meg’s and never been
replaced.

“
1979?” Brett and Rosie
chorused. That was a hundred years ago at least.

That evening, Ian stood buck-naked in
front of his mirror. He was now burnished a rich gold. Even kilted
Herbie had been impressed with his progress, and sold him some
after-sun body moisturizer and special shower gel. Ian used them
religiously, fascinated by his new glowing body.

The prospect of a woman didn’t seem so
far-fetched now. One who’d be willing to rub moisturizer over his
back would be ideal.

He stood straighter, raising his chin
and throwing a defiant glare at the dangerous looking man in the
mirror. Tall and tanned, with a hard, lean body. With arms now as
brown as his hands.

One of the writers had mentioned his
body hair would show less if he was tanned. They’d been right.
Instead of white skin and whorls of dark hair, he now gleamed
bronze all over.

He thanked his lucky stars Liz had
taken pity on him. Just the haircut to go now—no doubt at some
poofy place where he’d feel really uncomfortable again. His
two-monthly trips to the local barber for ‘a bit of an even-up’
were enough of a trial. Old Bernie sometimes suggested he might
like to try a different look, but Ian was used to his thick mop the
way it was.

Tomorrow was Hair Day. Liz had made a
huge thing of it. She’d be having her own done at the same
time.

And just the thought of her was enough
to send blood pumping to his hopeful cock. Where was the woman he
needed to rub his back?

Or front?

He sighed. At least he could do that
for himself. He stretched out on the bed, looked down at Big Willy
and closed his eyes.

A small plane droned across the night
sky. He imagined it was hot daylight...saw the plane high in the
blinding blue firmament...heard its engine note change and
splutter.

Marianna struggled to free
herself from the tangle of cords and branches. The parachute had
saved her life. And hopefully the emergency beacon was already
sending a strong and steady signal out across the vast ocean. They
would know she’d hit trouble, and more-or-less where. But they’d
have no idea if she was dead or alive until they found
her.

She muttered with
annoyance and kicked as an insect bit her ankle. Her shirt had
ripped on the stubs of the branches. The sun poured down like
sticky treacle, hot and relentless on her shoulders.

On this deserted island
she could take nothing for granted. Was the insect poisonous? Was
there any water safe to drink? Were there dangerous
animals?

Marianna felt the answer
to her last query must surely be no. It was a tiny place. A dot in
the vast Pacific Ocean. Not large enough to sustain anything big,
although she hoped it would sustain her for as long as it took for
rescuers to arrive.

She tugged at the harness,
and one of the smaller branches snapped, dropping her further
toward the ground. Still she hung, suspended in the burning sun.
About twice her own height above the ground, she
estimated—dangerously far to fall.

But she’d been wrong about
being alone. A shadow moved on the ground right below her. A large
one. Something huge lurked here... Terror closed her throat and
stopped her from screaming with fright. She twisted and looked
down.

A big ape of some sort?
Male—no room for argument there! She licked her lips as all her
nerves tingled. He looked almost human...and yet...?

He wore no clothes of any
kind. His skin shone coppery from the sun, and dark hair covered
his chest, running down to a coarser, denser thatch at his groin.
Not dense enough to hide his long swinging manhood though. A
flicker of fascination ran through her, despite her predicament.
Was he savage? Was she safe?

He raised his head. He
snuffed at the air. And fixed her with enquiring brown
eyes.

Marianna tensed. He’d seen
her.

He made a throat clearing
noise. “Oo okay?” he rasped. He cleared his throat again, and stood
looking up to where she swung so precariously.

Was that
English?

It could have been
anything, but at least he didn’t look unkind.

“
I’m fine,” she called
down, all too conscious that her ripped shirt exposed not only her
shoulders but a plump breast as well. She cursed her lack of a bra,
but she’d wanted to be comfortable on the long solo flight and had
dispensed with anything that might chafe or bind. Her flying
harness had been bad enough to endure, and now she had the
entanglement of the parachute as well. She felt as trussed-up as a
chicken awaiting the roasting pan. As helpless as Fay Wray in King
Kong’s clutches.

Marianna blanched as the
beast made a sudden scrambling run and hauled himself up the tree
next to hers. He was bigger than she expected. Tall and
greyhound-lean, with well defined, powerful muscles.

He watched her as he
tested a branch that veered in her direction. She held his gaze,
avoiding looking at his unclad groin. For she’d glimpsed what was
happening there...

“
Marianna,” she said,
tapping her chest with a finger.

“
Anna,” he
managed.

“
Mari
anna,” she repeated, as though to a small child.

He cleared his throat
again, and closed his eyes in frustration. “
Mari
anna,” he managed. “Orry—O-one
talk to.”

“
What?” she demanded,
appalled.

“
No-one talk
to.”

“
No-one? There’s only
you?”

He nodded, glancing down
at himself and attempting to hide the evidence of his arousal with
a large hand.

They hung in the trees
together, just a few feet apart. Eventually he rolled his eyes,
shrugged his broad shoulders, and gave up any pretence of modesty.
He stepped with caution along the branch toward her until he could
anchor a foot in her tree. She scrunched her eyes closed—anything
rather than see that long, dark shaft rearing from the junction of
his thighs.