The Bunk Up (The Village People Book 1) (14 page)

“See you later, Trev,” I tell him, and I rush out of the pub, looking forward to a tryst before I’m back later for work and filming.

God, she’s that keen she’s even left the door slightly ajar. I push it open with force; dust and small bits of plaster fall from the ceiling. A bit of plaster goes in my eye. “Ow. Fucking hell.”

I do that thing Mrs Flowers in Primary School showed me, where you pull your eyelid further forward and recite the numbers up to twenty before you then say, ‘
Now my eye should be empty
.
’

I look up and find a bemused Daisy in front of me.

“Sexy.”

“I’ll show you sexy.” I growl and start to chase her up the stairs.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Ignore it.”

But Daisy is already looking out of the bedroom window. “It’s a grey-haired bloke with a spanner in his hand. Any chance he’s the handy-man?”

“Fucking Henry. Now he comes to repair the boiler.”

Daisy chuckles. “Hopefully it won’t take him long and then we could have a nice, long, hot shower together.”

I dash downstairs to let Henry in. The sooner the job’s done the better.

Except this is Henry. Henry has four cups of tea for every four minutes of work he does. It’s been an hour and so far he’s only admired the shower and boiler. Daisy has given up and started some more painting. I’m about to give up on life itself if I have to sit here much longer. I’m thoroughly up to date with life with his wife, daughter, son, grandchildren, budgie and ferret. He was about to tell me about his new tropical fish tank when I interrupted him to ask if he wanted another cup of tea. However, he has the uncanny ability of remembering exactly where he’s left a story, which is a real achievement when he to’s and fro’s about his actual repairs, checking and double-checking.

In the end I have to leave Daisy and get to work. I’ve a short shift at the Horse and Hound and then at four pm Tilly and crew are coming to film my scene!

I ask Henry if he doesn’t mind if I check my hair out in the mirror. I’ve managed a small wash in the kitchen sink by using the kettle. I know there will be hair and make-up artists but I want to turn up looking professional, not like I’ve spent the evening with Frank.

So it’s when Henry moves out of the bathroom and I stare into the mirror that I remember I have a black eye.

Oh fuck. I hope those make-up artists are good.

***

My shift is over and the film crew are getting ready to film. Daisy has turned up as Henry has finally finished the repairs to the boiler and she keeps calling me hot stuff and singing
It’s Raining Men
and that she’s going to get soaking wet. It’s a good job I need to stay behind the bar for my scene.

Tilly storms in with a harried looking Joe behind her. She takes one look at my face and says, “Fuck no. Not now, Frazer.”

She grabs hold of a young girl’s arm. “See if you can do something with that.”

“Do you mean my eye?” I ask her.

She blows out her lips. They look inflatable. She’s obviously had that trout pout done. I get the evil eye and she flounces off, tearing a strip off of at least five people she passes. I catch Joe’s eyes, and he rolls them upwards.

“Artistic differences?” I ask him.

“Her mother said I was prettier,” he answers, smoothing down his wig. “Needless to say her mother was packed off back to the US and I’m stuck with my lovely wife.”

“Right. Come on. Get this scene set up!” Tilly yells at the set director. “Joe!” she bellows. “Come to the bar.”

“I’ll pass you a real drink instead of the prop shit,” I tell him.

“Thanks, mate. Make it a double.”

Except that’s not what happens. Because at the beginning of the scene, I, as the barman, have to insult Joe’s attempts to be a woman. This results in his character, Olivia, realising that if she’s going to be a woman, she needs to do it properly and she then goes on to a clinic. Joe/Olivia has to throw a drink at me. The first time we film it, I wipe my face with the bar cloth and my make-up comes off.

“Cut!” yells Tilly.

“Sorry, Tilly.”

“Sorry, Tilly,” she mimics. “I don’t have the time or the money for this shit, Frazer. I need to replace you, and fast.”

“What? You can’t.”

“I’m not writing that the barman has a black eye into my script, Frazer. You’re out. Maybe next time you’ll think before you crawl into a married woman’s knickers. No doubt it was a disgruntled husband who socked you one.”

“That’s not true.”

“Nothing to do with bedroom antics then?” She tilts her head towards me, waiting for a response.

“Well...”

“Get out of here, Frazer. You’re done. I should have known better than to take a chance on a man who only ever let me down. Who lets all women down.”

I’m sacked from my part. I feel like I’m going to cry. The only thing that can cheer me up right now is a shag with Daisy.

“Right. I need a new barman. Who wants to audition? We’ll sort any acting permissions out after. I need someone right now.”

“Can it be a barwoman?” says a familiar voice.

She’s got to be fucking kidding me.

“Oh my God, Daisy. I bet you can act, coming from such a dynasty. Of course it can be a woman. In fact, that’s even better for the script. Make-up. Get over here quickly. Let’s get Daisy in position as soon as possible.”

That’s what I’d wanted to say.

Chapter Seventeen

Daisy

When Tilly had her meltdown and fired Frazer I wasn’t sure what to do. Then Kathy’s words came into my mind and before I could consider whether or not it was a good idea, my hand was raised and I asked if I could be a barwoman.

I adore pretending to be someone else. In this case, I’m Lavinia the barmaid. My lines are few and so I pick them up in no time and all I do is imagine it’s totally real life and Joe is no longer in front of me. It’s Oliver/Olivia and though the scene asked for the barman to be cruel, I ask Tilly if I can try something else. She’s all, “Whatever you think, babe,” and so I gently tease out of Olivia a confession that he’s Oliver and I offer advice to maybe contact his doctor or an advice centre for guidance on how to move forwards. When we’ve filmed it, everyone applauds us! It’s only a few minutes’ claim to fame and Tilly does tell me that it may end up on the cutting room floor as the plot may go in a different direction. I don’t care. I’ve acted with Joe Foster! At the end of the scene he has to kiss my forehead. I’m never washing my head again!

There’s no sign of Frazer, which I take as not a good one.

“Hey there, Daisy. You were amazing back there.” Troy, whose scenes with his ‘best friend’ Oliver are up next, gives me a hug.

“Thank you. I loved it.”

“You were a natural. Ever thought of acting for a living?”

“Oh my God. No. Thanks, but it’s not for me. All that line learning and travelling around.”

“Fair enough. So what do you do around here in an evening, Daisy? Because I’ve been staying with Joe and Tilly and I can tell you now, there’s no way I’m going back to their house tonight.”

“There’s a B&B here. My mother’s here somewhere,” I tell him, looking around for any sign of her.

“Well that’s okay for later but I need some food after I shoot my scene. Fancy going for something to eat?”

I suck on my bottom lip then release it. “I know a great place just outside of Beydon. I visited there before but didn’t get to stay long.”

Troy’s gaze seeks more information.

“Bad date, bad food, bad wind.”

He snorts with laughter. “Oh, Daisy, you are a hoot.”

“Don’t let me have red wine.”

“I think we’ll do shots. You up for it?”

Shots with a tasty actor? I think of Kathy’s words again.

Dead right I’m up for it.

So it’s back to The Cock Inn. This time I enjoy a full three course meal with an accompaniment of water. Troy is quite a clean eater, all fresh food, and he skips dessert, saying he much prefers watching me eat mine. I have the biggest portion of chocolate cake I’ve ever seen.

Stomach lined, Troy orders a tray full of multi-coloured shots. He’s been super fun, with his stories about spoiled female actresses. I’ve enough gossip to not need to renew my subscription to Gossip magazine for at least a year. Which then reminds me I need to cancel it as no doubt Marcus is throwing my issues in the bin. I wish I could throw my issues in the bin.

“Hey, hey. What’s happening? You’ve gone all sad.”

I sigh. “Looks like I’ve not had enough shots.”

So Troy orders another round.

Somehow in our drunken states we manage to get in the back of a taxi. Unable to fasten my seatbelt because my eyes are seeing two places to insert it, we go around a corner and I slide across the seat straight into the side of Troy. Troy takes this as his cue to place his lips on mine. Wow, he’s a great kisser. I’m so lost in trying to concentrate on my tongue not slipping back out of Troy’s mouth, that I don’t realise we’ve pulled up at the edge of the village.

Troy pays the taxi driver and helps me out.

“Would you like to come to mine for a coffee?” I ask.

“Yes, I would, Miss Harlow.”

It takes Troy and myself quite some time to reach the cottage what with our inebriated states and stops for snogging.

Troy waits behind me as I try to get the cottage door open.

I can’t understand why my key won’t fit in the lock. I try a few more times until I realise that I’m trying to open the door with a tampon.

“See, the adverts are wrong,” I tell Troy as I shake my head in annoyance. “They say you can live your life as normal if you use tampons, but it’s not letting me in my house.”

“You crazy lady. Ha! Crazy Daisy,” hoots Troy, slapping me jollily on the arm. Just a little too hard. With my lack of balance in my drunken state I fall sideways into the garden.

I hear the front door open and a voice shout, “What the fuck is going on here?”

I sit up in the grass. “Frazer! Have you got a magic tampon?”

“What the hell are you talking about? It’s one o’ clock in the morning. I was trying to sleep.”

“Sorry, F. Well you go right back on to bed.” I make shoo-ing motions with my hands. “I’m having a coffee with Troy.”

“I’ll make you both one,” Frazer states as he stomps away.

We follow him into the house. “Did you actually mean a proper coffee?” Troy whispers in my ear as we both stare towards Frazer, who’s slamming stuff around in the kitchen.

“No.” I sulk. “I didn’t.”

I sit alongside Troy on the sofa, and every time Frazer isn’t looking, I cop a feel of Troy’s dick. I think this one might be a pierced one like those girls in the pub were talking about.

Frazer hands both myself and Troy a drink and then he sits in the middle of us.

“What are you doing?” I ask him.

“Having a hot drink with you two. You woke me up, so now you can entertain me.”

There’s virtual silence as we all drink our beverages. I slowly start to sober up and now the thought of entering into sexual relations while Frazer is in the house is mortifying. What was I thinking? Well, of course, I wasn’t. I was drunk.

Troy also seems to have sobered up, and realising nothing’s going to happen while Frazer’s in the house, he makes his excuses and leaves. He does give me a nice soft kiss on the lips as he leaves though, and asks me if we can go out again. For one moment I feel like I’m betraying Frazer, then I shake myself. We’re bunk-up partners, no strings.

“I’d love to go out again, Troy. I had a great time.”

“Well once again, congratulations on your acting today. It may be a one-off for you, but I thought you were incredible.”

I close the door and my back sinks against it, and I sigh dreamily. Did a Hollywood actor really congratulate me on my acting? Then take me out on a date? Snog me? Ask me out on another date and congratulate me on my acting again? I must be fucking dreaming.

“Have you quite finished now? Can I go to bed? Or is the next ride due soon?”

I open one eye. I can’t be bothered to open them both. “What’s eating you?”

“Well, it’s definitely not you,” Frazer barks at me. “By the way, Troy’s an actor, remember. He certainly had you fooled. Believing you’re a great actress. Fucking hell. I reckon they called your character Lavinia, as it was short for lav - i.e. a toilet, because your performance was shit.”

Both of my eyes snap open, and my mouth joins in. I’m speechless. And hurt. Before me, even still a little bit drunk I see the spoilt Frazer the small village speaks of.

Pulling my shoulders straight, I walk towards the bottom of the stairs, each of my steps matching the slow thud of my heart.

“Daisy, I –”

“No.” I hold my hand up, cutting him off. “You were right. You truly are a cunt.”

Frazer doesn’t follow me up. And although I try and muffle my sobs from him, I don’t even care if he can hear me. I should have known he’d work out to be an ass. Yet, I can’t stop the little voices in the back of my head that tell me it’s all my own fault.