The Whiskerly Sisters (35 page)

“Shove over, your Ladyship if you don’t mind,” she replied, emphasising the word, ladyship.

Together, the pair squashed up on the sofa with Izza whilst the rest sprawled carelessly on the floor or shared the remaining sofa in a profusion of over-excited ribbons, net, jewellery and femininity.

“How often do you come here?” demanded Charley, mid-nibble.

“I haven’t been here for a while; not since – well, not since…” began Sly.

“Before that then? How often did you used to come here?” butted in Izza quickly.

“All the time,” replied Sly. “Several times a week. After my shift, after class, when I couldn’t sleep, when I… well… you know,” and he shrugged, suddenly shy.

“We should’ve guessed,” said Charley. “I noticed you were shaving your legs, but I decided it was because you were a cyclist or something.”

“And your eyebrows are always so neat,” added Jax.

“What’s cyclists got to do with?” asked Celia, trying not to spill any of the delicious coffee over her gorgeous, gorgeous dress.

Sly felt deeply grateful and mightily impressed with the easy way in which his friends seemed to have accepted his nether world. It felt as if they had always known about it; as if they had been dropping in for years and not at all as if they had never experienced anything quite like it before.

“Can we borrow stuff if we need to?” asked Izza, pleased with the idea.

“Izabelle!” her mother reprimanded her.

“Just asking,” came the mumbled reply. “Sorry.”

“It depends on what you want to borrow,” said Sly. “Some of this stuff is quite expensive and most of it has never seen the light of day. We’ll have to see,” he told the embarrassed girl.

“Not seen the light of day?” queried Celia, baffled. “Then it’s about bloody time it did. I would die to go out in some of this stuff.”

“Me too,” added Tiff.

With coffee over, the girls began a further investigation of the room, delving deeper into the cupboards. They concluded that Sly had expensive taste in cosmetics and perfume, but a rotten collection of handbags. Towards the end, Fresna pulled an oddly lumpy, flesh coloured garment from deep inside a drawer. It resembled a body, but it was made of some kind of spandex. It was padded at the bra and over the hips.

“What on earth is this ugly thing?” she asked Sly.

“Oh,” he shrugged at his embarrassment. “That’s my girl suit.”

“You’re what?” shrieked Celia.

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” replied Sly mysteriously and then said, “Watch and learn.” Without preamble, he stripped down to his shorts. The girls sighed collectively at the sight of his naked back. What a bloody waste! He stretched out to take the girl suit from Fresna’s hand and wiggled himself into it. Reaching out towards the clothes rail, he selected one of the dresses at random and threw it over his head. One step ahead, Bex tossed him a pair of shoes and he climbed into them. As a finale, he reached into another drawer, pulled out a long, blonde wig and clumsily put it on. He then turned to face them.

“Ta da,” he announced. “What do you think?” he added shyly. With baited breath, he waited for their reaction. “It gives me my girl shape,” he finished and bizarrely, it did actually give him something of the natural curve of a woman, although he still very much looked like a man. The girls just stared. No one spoke.

Sly began to wish he had not been so bold. He coughed to cover up his shame and then said, “Of course, you’d need to see me in my make up too. You know, full costume and bling to get the full effect,” he said, feeling somehow suddenly completely naked under the unwavering stare of his friends.

It was Charley who rescued him by announcing, “Bloody hell, you brush up better than the rest of us put together,” which was not at all true, but it did break the spell. The girls found it difficult to believe that Sly rarely ventured out as his alter ego and it was then that the deal was struck. They agreed on a night on the tiles with their fully made up, fully kitted out newest Sister and, if anyone dared to look askance at the overly tall, rather ungainly blonde with the Adam’s apple, then Celia declared loudly that she would thump that individual very hard somewhere very painful with the enormous leather handbag she intended to borrow from Sly’s collection especially for the occasion.

It turned out to be the first of many enjoyable nights out with Imelda, the name chosen by the girls for Sly’s alter ego because of his fabulous collection of shoes.

After its maiden voyage, Sly’s ship headed for deeper waters.

T
he Boeing 757 landed safely slightly ahead of schedule amid glorious sunshine and azure blue skies, eager to discharge a group of particularly high spirited passengers. As they headed towards passport control and the interminable wait for luggage, Charley hung on to the slightly weaving figure of Tiffany in an effort to prevent her going astray and crashing into anyone.

“If you barf, you are on your own,” she informed her friend with mock disgust. “In these jimmy’s, I don’t think so.”

“Lighten up for God’s sake, you anal cow. We’re supposed to be on holiday. Chillax, I’ve only had a couple,” came the indignant and somewhat slurred reply.

“Don’t you anal cow me! We’d only just got off the sodding ground when you started. I don’t think we’d crossed the channel before you were slaughtered,” Charley replied theatrically and wagged a finger in the direction of her friend.

“Shut up grumbling the pair of you,” ordered a very confident Jax, “or we’ll send you both packing where you came from and bloody good riddance.”

Suitable chagrined, the pair continued to stumble their way forward, following the herd in front of them. Behind them, Jax had already switched on her mobile and was endeavouring to send a text to Peter, informing him of her safe landing and her undying devotion. By the time they arrived at the baggage carousel, the ping pong of emails was beginning to irritate Tiff.

“Put the man down for Christ’s sake,” she told Jax, getting right into her face. “Give him a chance to miss you, you numpty.”

Izza repressed a grin. Now whose life was being dominated by the Nokia?

Charley’s designer luggage was easily identifiable and obligingly early, but they had to wait an irritating twenty minutes for Tiffany’s to arrive. Whilst the four of them felt inconvenienced by the hold up, they were equally glad that Celia had not travelled with them. Patience had never been her strong suit and the air would have been purple by the time the tardy bags had turned up, on top of which, they would have had to waste time while she complained, in no uncertain terms, to the nearest customer service operator that was unfortunate enough to catch her eye.

Mercifully, she wasn’t with them and neither was Fresna so thanking God and all that’s holy for their infinite wisdom, and not a small amount of pre-planning, Charley hurried her friends through the barricades into the arrivals lounge, finally exiting the terminal building itself and walking into the dazzling sun, which almost blotted out the scenery around them, such was its searing strength.

Reacting strongly to the glare, they blinked in the unfamiliar surroundings for a few seconds until Charley had the presence of mind to put on her sunnies, which meant that she was the first to spot the slight figure, waving energetically at them from the other side of the car park. They had not seen each other for months; not since their friend had absconded the country with her lover in a campervan, intent on a trip around the world. The girls had been furious with her at the time for not letting them into her plans but, following an individual postcard to each of them explaining her reasons, they had long since forgiven her.

How different she looked! Gone were the tidy, respectable hairstyles and neat black combs; gone were the prim, drab outfits. In their place stood a Bohemian princess with glowing russet, shoulder length curls, which suited her more than the former grey and offset a tan, which was the envy of them all. She ran towards them unselfconsciously wearing a brightly coloured tie dye vest over a long cotton skirt. There were bracelets around both wrists and a silver anklet chain so that she tinkled musically as she came towards them. The girls were amused. She had finally turned herself into the gypsy she had always imagined she would be and none of them would have been surprised had she tried to sell them pegs or tell their fortunes. She simply glowed with health and had even put on a little weight, giving her previously gaunt features a pleasing roundness. Delighted to be reunited with their absent friend, the girls embraced her warmly one by one and then in an enormous group hug, which blocked the road to the annoyance of the hooting taxi drivers. Ignoring the commotion, they took their time greeting Bex properly and then, picking up their luggage, they followed noisily in her wake, peppering her with questions as she led them across the car park towards the ever patient, David, who was waiting in the camper van to ferry them across to the next stage of their journey.

From the airport and out onto the motorway, David expertly drove his precious cargo through the heavy traffic, confident in his ability to drive on what would always be, to him, the wrong side of the road. Relaxing in the back, the little group of travellers chattered with Bex as if it were yesterday, as if no water had passed under each of their individual bridges. Modern technology meant that they were able to keep up with her news despite the distance between them. As the noisy flow of conversation bounced around the back of the van, time began to fly by and it was no time at all before Bex glanced out of the window and checked her watch.

“Here we are,” she announced and nodded at the view from out of the van’s tiny windows down towards the vast island harbour, which fairly bustled with activity. Vehicles were coming and going, people in uniform strode purposefully around, strings of people queued in the sunshine, talking animatedly to one another or simply enjoying the view.

Bringing his vehicle to a gentle stop, David deposited his partner and her friends onto the pavement in front of the embarkation booth. Handing each woman her luggage, he wrapped them up in a bear hug and wished them well. Finally taking Bex into his arms, he kissed her a shameless farewell and promised to be waiting for them all on their return. A swift, final kiss for Bex and he was gone. The girls collected themselves together and hurried to join the end of a growing throng of people in front of them. With so much to see and comment on, it was hardly surprising that the paperwork seemed to take no time at all. A few forms and several questions later, they were climbing the steps of a tiny passageway and back out into the brilliant sunshine. Drinking it all in had made them dizzy with excitement and yet they paused in awe as they appreciated the sight of the tall, sleek, shimmering white liner that towered above them, making them feel like Lilliputians in the face of the mighty Gulliver.

At quay level, in the very centre of the boat, was a canopied awning, signalling the entrance to their floating monolith. Standing to one side of the entrance, stood a blond, muscular Adonis in full dress uniform. Tiffany, suddenly very sober, raised her eyebrows at Charley and a message was passed. In perfect synchronicity, the bold as brass pair sashayed flirtatiously towards the smiling stranger. Bex, watching them, simply shrugged and smiled resignedly at Jax.

Hand in hand, the two women followed in the wake of their purring, predatory compatriots when suddenly they were stopped by the sound of familiar voices. From the top of the boat, two tiny figures hollered down towards them, waving their arms frantically in an effort to be noticed.

“Put him down. You don’t know where he’s been,” squealed Celia. “Besides, he’s a flaming pouffter. Ask Fres. She’s been stalking him all sodding week.”

“S’right,” yelled Fresna. “Not so much as a sniff. Gay as Christmas if you ask me.”

“Get a bloody wriggle on,” roared Celia. “The cocktails are getting sodding warm.”

“Besides which, we’ll be on our second bottle if you don’t bloody well hurry up,” added Fresna, smiling and blowing kisses to her friends way below on the quayside.

“Tell you what; we’re coming down to meet you. Wrench you from the arms of the pouf in the uniform,” screamed Celia, heedless as usual of any political sensitivity that might have been offended. The two women disappeared from view. Several minutes later, the group of women met in a flurry of hugs and kisses on the embarkation deck of the holiday cruiser, blocking the hallway for a considerable amount of time and causing the purser to purse his lips in disapproval and encourage them to hurry along.

Some hope! With the exception of Bex, whom no one had seen in ages, the others hadn’t seen each other in over a week. The purser and his entourage could sod off. They would embrace each other for as long as they wanted to and, if he didn’t back off, they would hug him too. If that didn’t work, then Celia would probably stick his clipboard where the sun didn’t shine!

Eventually, when they were good and ready, the new arrivals made their way to their cabins to stow their bags, squeaking with delight at the miniature perfection of the bedrooms, cleverly designed to make the most of the tiny space given to each of the guests. Freshening up hastily, they each made their way to the top deck where Fresna and Celia waited impatiently for them; drinks at the ready, together with a few plates of nibbles taken from one of the innumerable eateries that littered the ship. Not a good place for a diet, a cruise liner!