The Bunk Up (The Village People Book 1) (3 page)

Well that’s something I suppose. Hopefully it will tide me over until I can find something else.

“It’s not your fault, Mr Bennet.” And I know it isn’t, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.

This has been the shittiest week ever. I’ve lost my boyfriend, my home, my sanity, and now my job.

“Daisy!” Mr Bennet calls me back as I step out of his office.

I turn back to him.

His eyes lift into my hair and he grimaces. “It’s probably Comic Relief day, or something,” he says quietly, “but… why do you have an eyeball in your hair?”

Chapter Three

Daisy

I could see her flame red hair, two in front of me, as I stood in the queue at the chemist, waiting to collect my asthma medication. I have to dig my fingernails into my thigh to stop myself from picking up the bottle of bleach on the shelf beside me and turning her into a blonde.

I narrow my eyes suspiciously when Belinda leans over the counter and whispers something to Mrs Haversham, who owns the village chemist-cum-hardware store. A strange combination that somehow works.

Mrs Haversham nods her head but doesn’t greet Belinda with her usual happy chatter, which is bizarre in itself.

Then, as Mrs Haversham discreetly reaches into a drawer under the counter and slips something into a paper bag, Belinda’s shifty eyes lift to the mirror that is housed on the length of the wall behind the counter. A smirk curls the edges of her lips as her eyes lock onto mine, and then, loudly, she pipes up, “Oh, and a bumper box of condoms, please, Mrs Haversham.” Her fake giggle makes my skin crawl. “Can’t keep up with him.”

The old guy in front of me shifts uncomfortably, and Mrs Haversham’s eyes dart to mine. There’s a look in her eyes that I can’t read but I also see anger, which, once again, is unlike her. However, as it’s her job, she grabs an extra-large box of Durex and thrusts them at Belinda as Belinda hands her some cash.

I want the floor to swallow me whole when a range of whispers and knowing looks drift towards me. My mind won’t focus on anything but the fact that a thirty pack of condoms would have lasted me and Marcus a couple of years. And that hurts. It shouldn’t, but it does.

Heat floods my cheeks, and embarrassed and upset, I turn my gaze to a nicely arranged selection of deodorant aerosols. Apparently, according to the warning symbol, they were highly flammable. My eyes then roam two shelves up, to the pretty pink candle lighters sat upright in a replica pretty pink canister. Hmm.

I sense Belinda’s cruel smirk as she passes me on her way out, but just as she glides past me, her cheap perfume reminding me why I needed to collect my Ventolin spray, Mrs Haversham shouts out, “Belinda, don’t forget your thrush cream!”

The soft whispers turn to quiet sniggers and Belinda’s cheeks reflect the lovely red colour of her hair.

She snatches the paper bag out of Mrs Haversham’s waving hand and storms out of the shop.

The old guy in front of me purchases some haemorrhoid cream and when I reach the front of the queue and hand Mrs H my prescription she gives me a sympathetic smile. “Ignore the brazen hussy,” she says quietly as she reaches out and pats my hand softly.

It’s stupid. I was doing really well. But it’s Mrs Haversham’s gentle compassion that has the first sob of tears bursting from me.

“Oh, come now,” she whispers with worry.

“Timothy!” she shouts. “Hold the fort!”

Instantaneously, Timothy, Mrs Haversham’s assistant, rushes through from the back room, his wide eyes on Mrs H as he nods eagerly. Now usually Mrs Haversham likes to be front of house, serving and picking up all the local gossip, so I’m dumbfounded when she lifts the little barrier on the counter and ushers herself to my side. “Come on, Daisy, dear. Let’s find a coffee and a nice soft doughnut.”

I’m whisked out of the chemist without another word as eyes, juicy for gossip, follow us out.

A little while later Mrs H and I are sat on a bench in the park watching the kids kicking a football around. I love kids, but watching how much energy they have, and how much they enjoy pulling each other’s hair and kicking every single shin in close proximity – and living with Kath’s trio of tricksters - I suddenly realise I don’t need a box of condoms anymore to stop my body from thrusting a little person on me. I start to cry harder.

“I’ll never have kids, Mrs H.”

She tuts softly. “Oh come now. You’re only in your twenties.”

“Mid-twenties,” I blubber.

“You have lots of time to think about children, Daisy. You should concentrate on yourself. Enjoy your time being single.”

I shake my head, my bottom lip slipping out in a pout. “But I don’t like being single. I don’t know how to change a plug!”

“YouTube, dear.”

I stall at that response. Mrs Haversham is in her early sixties; I would never have her down as a YouTube junkie.

“You can find allsorts on there, Daisy.” Her gaze roams dreamily to the fountain. “There’s some really nice men.” She shifts on the bench as I stare at her open-mouthed. “Proper dishy.”

Dishy?

She seems to be in a world of her own as she continues. “There’s this one man who I subscribe to.” She shudders. “The things he can break between his thighs. Goodness. The only thing I can break without effort is wind.”

I nod slowly. “I’m broken.”

She smiles and turns to me. “It might feel that way now but give it time.”

“Pfft,” I scoff then sigh in resignation. “I’ve lost my boyfriend, my self-respect, my home, my job, all in the space of a week, Mrs H. The next breakage will most likely be my sanity.”

“Mmm, I heard about you losing your job. I’m going to miss your big smile. You were the only one that gave me the time of day. That’s why I always headed to your window.”

I sink a little inside, feeling guilty at how I always tried to avoid her.

“I know what they all say about me,” she says quietly, making me feel a bigger bitch. “But you know what? I concentrate on the good vibes. I seek out the positives. Your smile and your beautiful head full of wild blonde curls always made my day that little bit brighter.”

I’m starting to wonder if Mrs H bats for the other team but she takes a sip of her hot chocolate and smiles. “What you need is a change. A holiday.”

“Yeah,” I say sarcastically thinking of the dire amount in my bank account. “That’s a no go with my bank manager too.”

As if she has a firecracker up her ass, Mrs Haversham jumps and swivels around to me. “I have a cottage in Beydon.”

Where the hell is Beydon?

Answering my unspoken question, she grins at me. “It’s a quiet little village in Norfolk. It’s been in my family for years and I could never bear to sell it, so it just sits there empty forty-eight weeks of the year. You could go there.”

“I couldn’t.” I shake my head, gobsmacked with her generosity.

“Of course you can. It’s only sitting empty. You have nothing holding you back.”

My pout returns when I remember she’s right. I have no job to try and take holidays from. I have no boyfriend to seek permission from. My mother is still camping in Amsterdam with her Philippine boyfriend – don’t ask. And, the worse part, I have no home. It sounds like a good idea but… when I figure there are no buts to argue with, I frown at Mrs H. “You would do that? For me?”

The confusion that covers her face deepens the many wrinkles for a second. “Well why wouldn’t I? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Tears well harder. I don’t know what to say. A woman I’d gone out of my way to avoid showed me what a bitch I was. My heart swelled and a sob of gratefulness rolls from me.

“Don’t cry,” she whispers in my ear as she huddles me to her humungous bust. “Shh, Daisy. You’ll love it. Peace and quiet, for however long you want. And then when you find your happy again, you can come back and face the world again.”

I nod against her, unable to speak.

“Oh, I do wish my Nigel had picked you. You would have been my daughter-in-law, Daisy. Wouldn’t that have been wonderful? We’d have made a great team.”

I frown to myself. Nigel Haversham had buck teeth, a funny brown skin tag that hung from his left eyelid, and his nose sat slightly to the right. He always wore brown cords and a snotty green shirt. For many years I’d wondered if he’d bought those same clothes in bulk. But then he’d moved to Australia and his attire didn’t torture my eyes any longer – much to my relief. I knew he’d had a crush on me a couple of years back because he’d flash those large teeth in abundance every time he saw me.

“That would have been lovely,” I fib, a shudder ripping through me as I picture mine and Nigel’s wedding.

“Never mind,” she says. “Someone will come along – not as handsome as my Nigel – but still someone who will sweep you off your feet and treat you like a princess.”

I look up at her and smile. “Did Mr H treat you like a princess?”

Oddly, she stiffens and sits up straight. “Come on, let’s go and get you the key to the cottage.” Shaking herself from the strange atmosphere that has descended around us, she finally smiles and takes my hand, pulling me up from the bench and completely ignoring my question.

I frown as she directs me through the park. I was upset for Mrs H. It was obvious she had a few secrets of her own. Mrs Haversham had been married for many years. There was talk that early in her marriage she’d taken on a lover. One day he never turned up to their meeting place and she never saw him again. Mrs H had been heartbroken, but her husband had forgiven her and they’d gone on to have a long and happy marriage. Unfortunately, Mr H had died of a stroke six years ago. I hadn’t known much about her until I started work at the Post Office and she started coming to my window regularly.

Yet, I knew better than to listen to the village gossip. I had been the centre of it many times, so I had now come to ignore every whisper and every hushed statement.

***

“So you’re definitely going then?” Kathy asks with barely contained excitement as she takes a sip of her coffee from where she’s watching me closely across the kitchen table.

“Damn right.”

Miranda, Kathy’s eldest, meanders into the kitchen and plonks her ass down onto the floor beside us. She looks up at me, her huge blue eyes twinkling as she gives me a smile, then goes back to brushing her dolly’s hair. The way she’s yanking the brush through the mass of nylon curls makes me shudder.

“Oh!” I state, blinking as something clicks in my head.

Reaching into my bag I pull out the eyeball and hand it to Miranda. She gasps with delight then proceeds to, quite forcefully, pop dolly’s eye back into the gaping hole in its face.

Something about Miranda doesn’t seem right. She looks the same. Her long golden hair is pulled into a ponytail behind her head in a bobble. Her angelic face still displays her usual smile and her wide eyes that are coated in a thick clown-like layer of her mother’s make-up still shine with their customary twinkle. Unable to pinpoint what exactly is wrong, I shake my head and turn back to Kathy as she bounces with excitement.

“Sun, sex, sea and sand!” Kathy states, snapping back my attention.

“What?” I gawp at her. “No! This isn’t
Shirley Valentine
. I’m going to a remote cottage, somewhere on the other side of civilisation, Kath. There’s no beach and I doubt there’ll be any sun either. And there’ll definitely be no sex!”

She quirks an eyebrow at the overly-assertive tone in my voice.

“I’m going for a couple of weeks,” I defend. “Just until I can get my head back together and I don’t feel that everything’s getting on top of me.”

“You need a man with a big dick on top of you, Daise.”

My mouth falls open and I shoot a look at Miranda, praying that she hasn’t heard her mother’s declaration.

It’s then that I realise exactly what is
wrong
with Miranda. For a moment I can’t peel my round eyes away as my mouth falls open in shock. Slowly, unable to process movement for a moment, I turn to Kathy. “Are they your love balls in her hair?”

She rolls her eyes but other than that she is completely blasé. “Yeah. She couldn’t find her regular bobble so she ‘found’ those in Mummy’s bottom drawer.”

I stare in complete amazement. Then, as with everything crazy in Kathy’s household within the last week, I shrug and take another bite out of my sandwich.

Bring on Beydon. Even if I’d never heard of it, it couldn’t be wackier than my best friend’s home!

Chapter Four

Frazer

If London is the Oscar of the United Kingdom, Beydon is the Razzie. However, the show must go on and this is where Tilly Kendrick, superstar movie director, is filming her latest attempt to win one of the much-sought after awards. The film
All is Not Lost
is about a cancer suffering transgender (born male, now female) who becomes a superhero and saves the world from disease and suffering. I’m an actor and I’ve being trying to get a part in this film for over a year. The problem is I once shagged Tilly when we were studying drama at University and now she’s blacklisted me. She says I can’t act. That’s not true or I wouldn’t have won the part in an advert for a sofa company where I had to tell everyone about the great sale. Now we’ve swapped cock for cockerels as I’ve had to come to this bum-hole of the earth to beg her for a part. Now, I know I’m not going to get the lead role. That went to Joe Foster a long time ago. No, I’m aware I’m not in that league. But a supporting actor role, or even a goddamn extra if she’s going to continue to punish me. That will do. Anyway, I have something she may want.