by Louise Wise
Half amused, Charlie closed her own door. Kicking off her shoes and throwing her handbag on the settee, she eyed her room. Crumpled lager cans littered the small coffee table and floor. Half-eaten kebabs in polystyrene containers lay on the floor with sorry looking salad. Fish and chip wrappers were dumped on the floor beside her bin.
Among the mess was Andy. He lay on the settee, dribble sliding out of his mouth, clutching a can of lager in one hand and kebab in the other. Instantly she knew he had made a fool of her. He’d coerced her out of the flat just so he could invite his mates around for beer and takeaways. She groaned. Man. City was playing tonight, and she remembered Andy talking about watching the game with a group of mates, only she hadn’t realised he had meant watching it at her flat with a group of mates.
Fuming, Charlie went over and shook him awake.
Andy muttered and tried to turn over, still clutching the lager and kebab against his chest as if they were a duvet.
‘Andy!’
He opened his eyes and stared vacantly at her.
‘Was this part of the deal?’ Charlie’s arm swept the room. She glared down at him. His eyes had closed again. She tugged at the cushion beneath his head and pulled it out. As his head fell back, she whacked him in the face with it. The cushion, soft and furry, did no damage, but Andy yelped anyway.
‘Awright, awright,’ he shouted, waving her away. He struggled to a sitting position and looked at her with bleary eyes. ‘Charl? That you?’
She stood back, breathless and ready with the cushion. ‘Who else? I do live here? Or had you forgotten?’
His head wobbled in classic drunkard style. ‘I was waitin’ up for you, but you didn’t come home,’ he said, his Brummie accent more pronounced. He looked so forlorn Charlie’s anger deflated as easily as it started. She lowered the cushion.
‘Really?’
He reached for the cushion and took it from her.
‘But why didn’t you text me so I knew when it was safe to come back?’ she said.
‘Stoopid varmit. You were s’posed to come home after three hours.’ He stood up – it took several attempts – but he eventually stood before her. ‘Had one pint, that’s all,’ he said, pronouncing pint as “point”. He staggered sidewards, righted himself, but then staggered the other way. He sat back down. ‘Think my drink was spiked.’
Charlie sat next to him. ‘Sorry I yelled, love, I’m tired, that’s all. You could have asked me about having your mates here. I wouldn’t have minded,’ she lied. She always felt the need to count the cutlery after they’d been round.
Andy swallowed a belch and nodded.
She slipped her arms around his waist. ‘I’m not too tired for making love though.’
‘Need a piss,’ he said and pulled from her. Before he got to the bathroom, his fly was undone and he was pulling his penis from his boxers. He peed with the door open, and staggered back towards Charlie tucking it away. He wiped his hands on his jeans. ‘Let’s shag until morning,’ he said with a grin.
He tripped and crashed to the ground by her feet. He laughed, belched and fell asleep.
SIX
Charlie stepped over the snoring Andy the following morning, and securing her dressing gown she headed to the kitchen where she flicked on the kettle. She rubbed her head; headache. She reached for the paracetamol and took two while watching the comatose Andy lying on the floor where he had fallen last night. It was the last two tablets, and she hoped his head hurt when he came round.
Making herself a coffee, she took it back into the bedroom not wanting to see the mess in her little sitting room. She could smell the kebabs and didn’t feel strong enough to add visual to her senses.
Putting the coffee on the side table, Charlie grabbed her bag laying on the floor where she dropped it last night and delved inside for her prostitute notes.
She didn’t have much; she only headed to the places she was familiar with during nights out with friends. She had jotted down the clothes the girls wore, their ages, how they acted etc. She read them back to see if they made any sense, and was pleased with herself.
The telephone rang, and as the phone was in the sitting room Charlie had to brave the smell and mess. It was Melvin.
‘Hi ya, doll. Wanna meet for lunch later?’
‘Sounds good.’ Clutching the phone between ear and shoulder she unlocked the latch on the window and slid it open to let in fresh air.
‘OK, I’m working as usual this morning so I’ll meet you in the Rat and Parrot at one thirty. Sound all right?’
It sounded great, and she had a lot to tell him. Treading over Andy she retreated back to the bedroom. She finished her coffee and shoved her notes back in her bag. In the bathroom she showered and dressed and armed with a bin bag she moved around her sitting room chucking in stale smelling food. Tying the bag up she put it outside her door ready to take down to the communal bins later.
Stepping over Andy, she grabbed the air freshener from the cupboard beneath the sink in the kitchen and began squirting it around the room. The cool air blowing in from the window was rousing him, either that or the Frebreeze.
He muttered something and rolled over onto his back. He giggled. ‘Lovely Susie…’ he said.
Charlie froze. His fidelity was always circumspect but she’d never had proof before. She could forgive him for using her flat as a social setting to watch football with his mates and even smoke pot in her presence, but not another woman. Not again. She nudged him with her foot. ‘Who’s Susie?’
‘Susie Sex. Sexy ... Susie,’ he mumbled. He was in the place between reality and unconsciousness. Charlie waited for the pain of his words to hit her, but anger welled in their place.
She nudged him again. Harder. ‘I said, who’s Susie?’
‘Huh?’ Andy half opened his eyes. ‘What…? Get that out of my face!’
Charlie was brandishing the air freshener like a gun. ‘Who’s Susie?’
‘Dunno what you’re talking about.’
She squirted.
‘Ugh… stoppit… Charl…’ Andy shielded his face and rolled onto his front.
‘Who is Slapper Susie?’ Charlie demanded.
Andy, on all fours, crawled towards the bathroom as quickly as he could. He closed and locked the door after him.
‘At least be man enough to admit there wasn’t an important deal last night, and the sole reason to getting me out of the way was the footie, your mates and this ... this tart!’ she shouted, her mouth close against the locked door.
Taps in the bathroom were turned on full.
Charlie thumped the door.
The telltale squeak of the shower cubicle told her that Andy was in the shower.
‘Bastard,’ she said, giving the door one final thump.
*
When Camilla hadn’t returned by Sunday and her mobile continually went to voicemail Ben began to feel worried. He even rang his gran to check that Camilla hadn’t really gone back with them after all.
The elderly grandparents only attended the funeral and not the wake, so it had been easy to lie to anyone who asked saying that Camilla had gone back with them. Even Iris believed she’d gone with her grandparents to help her over the grieving process. But they hadn’t seen her, either.
His father was in the lounge watching golf on the TV as Ben entered.
‘The solicitor wants to see us today,’ Ben said. ‘Are you up to it? It’ll be contract signing and that sort of thing.’
‘It’s Sunday,’ Donald said. ‘Nobody works on a Sunday.’
‘They’re doing us a favour, Dad. We should have signed last week.’
‘Have they no consideration for the dead?’
Ben rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Yes, I guess that’s why they agreed to do it today instead of last week.’
Donald grunted. He pointed to the screen. ‘I think I’ll go to the driving range for a few practise shots today.’
‘Dad, you’ve got to take things easy –’
&nbs
p; ‘Like heading to the solicitors and signing documents that should have been done weeks ago? If they’re that important bring them back here for me to sign. Better yet, bring them up to the driving range. The girl back yet?’
‘Camilla’s not back, no.’ Ben turned away, and began to leave the room.
‘I could’ve been a better father,’ Donald said, and Ben stopped at the door. He turned wondering if he’d heard wrong but saw the look of helplessness on his dad’s face. It was suddenly clear that Donald had been sitting alone, aimlessly watching TV, while mulling over his devastated family.
‘What’s that, Dad?’
‘I’ve seen my friends bringing up their kids to be spoilt and soft, and I wanted it to be different for you and Cam. I pushed the pair of you thinking I was helping when in fact I was causing untold damage.’
Ben felt he should say something to comfort his father, but he couldn’t find the words. He came back into the room and sat down on the settee opposite.
‘You seemed such a shy, timid little thing that I was worried you’d never make anything of yourself in adult life. The business was going to be handed down to you, but I thought the business would start and end with me, because you seemed so… so… anxious,’ Donald said at last struggling for words. ‘I felt your easy lifestyles had made you soft, I wanted to toughen you both up.’
‘You made me take up boxing,’ Ben remembered. He also remembered how he came to have his nose broken.
‘You liked it in the end,’ Donald protested.
‘I hated every minute of it,’ Ben said. ‘I carried on with it to please you. It was so hard to please you as a child,’ he admitted. ‘Even now, as a man, nothing is good enough.’
‘I don’t want you to waste yourself,’ Donald insisted gruffly. It was something Ben had come to hear so many times, but had only understood recently. His father had rarely spoken about his childhood, but it all stemmed from there. He had grown up on London’s back streets, and had to practically fend for himself. His own father had been an alcoholic; his mother had worked her fingers to stumps taking up various cleaning and factory jobs to keep her husband in vodka or gin. As an only child, both parents ignored Donald; he was never encouraged or praised. He grew up hungry for acknowledgement and success.
‘You made Cam take up horse-riding. She hated it and used to prick herself with a pin to pretend she had an allergic reaction to horse hair,’ Ben remembered.
Donald laughed. ‘Did she really? The little minx. You and her were as different as cat and dog. You, the faithful Labrador and she the spitting tiger.’
Ben bristled. He didn’t like that description of him.
‘I’m worried about her,’ Donald said.
‘I know, so am I.’
‘There’s a weirdo on the prowl. Did you see the headline in Core? They think the two disappearances are linked – police have confirmed it. Two whores presumed dead, but who’s to say the murderer isn’t prejudiced against ordinary women?’
‘You can’t think like that. Besides, nobody knows for certain what’s happened to those women,’ Ben said knowing, despite his words, he’d been thinking the very same. ‘I’m sure she’ll show up before long.’
‘Have you phoned her friends? Her university?’
‘I’m doing it today.’
‘I want to keep this out of the press. I don’t want her reported missing, yet…’
Ben forced a light-hearted laugh. ‘She’s only been gone since Friday. Two days is hardly a missing person! Tell you what, how about you and I head to the golf course after I’m back from Bradshaw’s?’ Bradshaw was the firm’s solicitors. ‘I don’t rate your chances on beating me though.’
It worked. Donald cheered up at a mention of his favourite past-time and challenge.
He smacked the arms of the chair he sat in. ‘You boy, stand no chance.’
As Donald settled to watch Lee Westwood take a shot, Ben, with the family’s personal telephone book, headed to his observatory and began to search through it.
His observatory also doubled as his office. It was built at the rear and off set from the house as an eighteenth birthday present. The ground floor was his office and ‘upstairs’ - a metal ladder led up to steel decking where in the centre was a metal pier which held his large telescope that extended out to the heavens by the touch of a button – was his observatory. The dome roof was closed at the moment; the stars hadn’t held any interest for him lately.
Ben began keying in the numbers. He would try all family, distant and near, first.
An hour later, Ben dropped the phone on the desk. Camilla hadn’t been seen by anybody. Over and over Ben had repeated his lie that she had said she might ‘pop in’ but could she call the house because she’s forgotten her door key? A lame fib, but everyone seemed to buy it.
Ben didn’t know where to try next. He told himself she was nineteen years old and quite able to look after herself, another voice told him that she had led a sheltered, structured life from birth and wasn’t equipped for life in the outside world.
Camilla was always getting into scrapes at school coming home with laddered tights and bloody knees. And she always used to hide. Whenever there was a problem, or she thought she was in trouble, she’d vanish.
Ben stroked his chin. That’s what she’s doing now, he thought. Only she wasn’t a little girl hiding in her Wendy house anymore.
SEVEN
‘Here you go, Lots,’ Andy said.
Charlie took the offered mug of tea with a smile. She and Andy had made up with Andy offering to vacuum the carpets. She’d taken him up on the offer and now sat back to watch, lifting her feet when required, and sipping her tea as he moved back and forth with the upright cleaner.
At last he was finished, and sat on the settee beside Charlie. She didn’t remind him that he hadn’t quite cleaned the entire carpet. She smiled instead and leaned her head against his shoulder.
‘I was going to tidy up, honest,’ he said. ‘Only you know what Dave’s like. He was para, hun. Me and Paul had to physically take him home else he’d have stayed at ours all night!’
She loved it when he called her flat ‘ours’. He stayed occasionally but preferred to alternate between his mum’s or his friend Paul’s. He was a free spirit. This was another of his attractions. Charlie found it so admirable that he didn’t want to belong.
‘You don’t have to keep apologising,’ she said.
‘But I do. I came back from taking Dave home and must’ve fallen asleep. Sorry I didn’t text you or nothing. His missus Susie was well pissed off. God, she’s a dog.’ He squeezed her shoulder. ‘Not a patch on you.’
Charlie glowed. ‘I’ve said it doesn’t matter, and sorry for the misunderstanding about her.’
‘I must’ve been having a nightmare about her!’
Charlie giggled.
‘It won’t be long now, hun,’ he said. ‘We’ll have our own place. You, me and the little ones.’
Charlie’s heart swelled and the messy flat seemed no longer a messy flat. When he spoke of us and ours and little ones, well, she could forgive him anything.
‘I’m having lunch with Melvin today,’ she said, snuggling up to him. ‘Want me to put it off?’
‘Not Mel the poof?’
‘Yes, and don’t say that. He’s a very good friend to me. I don’t know what I’d do without him to be honest.’
Andy grunted. ‘Sometimes I think you prefer him to me.’
‘Jealous?’ she teased. She put the tea on the floor and straddled his lap. She kissed his nose, moving to trail little kisses over his cheek and jawline before claiming his mouth.
He kissed her back and then fumbled under her T-shirt for her breasts. He clamped his hands over them.
‘Ouch,’ she complained. ‘They’re attached you know!’
‘Sorry,’ he said. He let go and pulled at her jeans. ‘Take them off then.’
Charlie climbed off his lap and stepped out of her jeans and underwear as A
ndy lowered his to his thighs. He indicated that she straddle him again.
‘Is it in?’ she asked.
‘Hang on. Yep, it’s in.’ He sighed, and settled back with this eyes closed. ‘Enjoy,’ he said.
She bounced up and down as Andy sat back with his hands behind his head.
‘Harder,’ he instructed. Breathless from effort more than ecstasy, she moved up and down with more force. She wondered what was on the menu at the Rat and Parrot. She fancied a nice juicy burger.
Andy groaned.
Maybe with a jacket potato instead of fries. She didn’t like those thin fries that seemed to be served up all that time. What happened to chunky chips?
‘You done yet?’ she looked down at Andy. He opened one eye.
‘Nearly.’
Charlie bounced some more, telling herself that it was all good exercise for the thighs. She turned her head to catch the time. She should really be making tracks. She bounced harder hoping he’d come.
‘That’s right. Harder, Lots, harder.’
Up. Down. Up. Down. Her thighs were aching, and her right knee was beginning to click with every ‘up’. She noticed a spider high on the wall, it was striding up towards the ceiling and she wondered if it’d make it before Andy came.
Andy yelped, and Charlie smiled at the spider. ‘You’re a winner,’ she said.
‘I am pretty good, ain’t I?’ Andy agreed as she pulled off him.
Charlie picked up her underwear and jeans as Andy barely raised from the chair to pull up his clothes. He sat back down, adjusted his anatomy and fastened his fly. With one hand he reached for her discarded tea on the floor and began to drink it, with the other, the remote control where he turned on the TV.
Charlie headed towards the bathroom.
‘Put the hoover away for us before you leave,’ he said as he channel hopped.
*
