by Holly Martin
A movement down below in her back garden caught her eye: evil Philippe, Judith’s beloved psycho cat from next door. Philippe was apparently no ordinary moggie, he was an exceptionally rare breed; Judith had proudly told her so. She had explained at length what he was, but Amy had switched off after she had heard the words ‘minskin’ and ‘munchkin’, which sounded like characters from The Wizard of Oz. Philippe was pure white, with short stumpy legs and huge ears and was actually the devil incarnate. Amy had made the mistake of trying to stroke him once and he had cut her so deep she wondered if he had been bred with razor blades instead of claws.
She watched him now, up the tree in her garden, and realised that he was stuck, his paw wedged or caught somehow. She watched him pulling frantically, starting to panic as he couldn’t get himself free. What if he hurt himself, tore a ligament in his plight, or broke his leg? As much as she hated Philippe, she wasn’t about to leave the poor animal to suffer. Judith was out – she’d seen her leave earlier – so it was down to Amy to do something about it.
Fastening her robe tighter around her, she ran barefoot down the stairs and out into the garden. Without even thinking about it, she swung herself up into the tree and quickly made her way up the long, twisted branches.
Philippe was howling as she drew close, yanking and pulling desperately at his paw. She reached out for him and he took a swipe at her, slashing her hand so fiercely he drew blood immediately.
‘You little bastard, I’m trying to help you.’ She went for his paw to try to free it and Philippe sank his teeth into her hand, making her howl louder than him.
Suddenly Philippe managed to free his paw and launched himself at her head, digging his claws into her scalp. She tried to shake him off, but he clung on tight and every time she tried to grab him, he took a swipe at her with his claws.
Somehow she managed to free him from his hold on her head and pulled him into her arms and realised, to her horror, he now had purple patches all over him.
* * *
As Judith let herself back into her house, her friend Claudia, the local town councillor, followed her into the kitchen.
‘Well that’s what I told him,’ Claudia said, ‘he can’t just park a caravan outside my house and leave it there…’
Judith moved to the sink to fill up the kettle, looked out the window and froze when she saw Amy halfway up the tree, her purple hair sticking out at all angles. She was struggling with something in her arms, and trying to get down the tree at the same time. To her absolute horror, she saw Amy suddenly whip her robe off, revealing a large tattoo of a shark swimming over her naked bum.
‘What are you looking at?’ Claudia said as she drew level with her. ‘Oh my…’
Judith grimaced as Amy wrapped her robe round something, scratched her bum and then made her way down the tree and ran back into the house, her large breasts bouncing as she ran.
* * *
Amy ran upstairs with the yowling, struggling bundle and threw it unceremoniously into the shower cubicle and slammed the door.
She looked down at her body. She was bleeding so badly she looked like she had been butchered. She tended to her wounds as quickly as possible then stepped into the shower, closing the door behind her. Her dressing gown howled and thrashed, but Philippe couldn’t get out. She had purple dye all over her now, her shoulders and arms covered in purple blotches.
She washed her hair and scrubbed at her body, then turned her attention to the writhing lump.
She grabbed the shower head and untangled her dressing gown. As Philippe launched himself at her she sprayed him with the shower head so he flinched away, backing into the corner, though he continued to hiss. He was almost purple all over now, the dye looking even brighter against his white fur. Grabbing her deluxe shampoo, she squirted it in his direction and, keeping him at bay with the shower head, she managed to rub bits of it into his fur. But as she rinsed him off, much to his disgust, the purple dye didn’t shift.
How could she return Philippe to Judith looking like this? Maybe she should just keep him, tell Judith that she hadn’t seen him. She could keep him locked up in her house for the rest of his life so Judith would never find out. But as Philippe took another swipe at her ankles, she knew she would probably end up killing the evil monster before the week was out.
Feeling panic rise in her, she grabbed her electric razor and aimed it at the most heavily purple parts. Fur flew off and Philippe yowled, taking a swipe at her, but she kept him pinned in the corner with the shower spray.
Eventually, after she had done as much as she could, she turned the shower off and, leaving Philippe wet and howling in the cubicle, she went to get changed into her uniform.
She surveyed herself in the mirror a few minutes later and rolled her eyes. Dressing as a purple blackberry, complete with purple tights and shiny purple oversized shoes, wasn’t an ideal way to spend her Monday, but it paid the bills – paid them very well as it happened.
She called a taxi and then surveyed the damage she had inflicted on the purple monster through the cubicle door. He was still purple – the shampoo had done nothing to change that, the dye having seeped through the fur and marked his skin. Shaving him had achieved nothing either, other than making him look like he had been tortured. The fur had not come off evenly, leaving bald patches all over his body.
She opened the door and threw a towel over him, scooping up the hissing bundle and plodding downstairs, hoping against hope that Judith was still out and that she could leave Philippe on her doorstep.
As soon as she stepped outside and saw Judith’s car, her heart plummeted.
Waddling across her garden, she rang the doorbell, hoping that overnight Judith had developed a sense of humour and she would find the whole thing hilarious.
Amy surveyed her neighbour’s house. It was lacking in any kind of Christmas decorations at all. Amy never went overboard with the decorations in her own house but to have nothing this close to Christmas was a little sad, though she wondered if that was because the thought of celebrating anything since the death of Marie was not something that Judith could comprehend.
The door opened.
‘Judith, hi, I…’
‘Amy…’ Judith faltered at seeing a large purple blackberry on her doorstep but then carried on. ‘I would thank you not to parade around naked in your back garden when I have visitors. In fact, I don’t appreciate seeing you naked at any time.’
Amy flushed with embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry if my nudity offended you but I was actually trying to help Philippe.’ She gestured to the yowling lump in her arms that Judith suddenly noticed for the first time.
‘Philippe, that’s Philippe! Oh my God, what are you doing to him?’ Judith snatched the lump from her hands and he became suddenly still and subdued at the sound of his mistress’ voice.
Judith started to unwrap the towel, but Amy reached out to stop her. ‘Look, I’m really sorry, he was stuck in the tree and when I went to get him down he jumped on my head and got covered in purple dye. I tried to wash him, but it wouldn’t come off and… I shaved him. I thought I could shave some of the purple off but that didn’t work either and… well I’m sorry.’
The taxi beeped behind her.
‘You shaved him?’ Judith stammered and Amy was grateful she was focussing on the shaving rather than the fact Philippe had been dyed bright purple.
‘I’m sorry.’ Amy gestured to the taxi driver that she would be a minute.
Judith carefully unwrapped the lump and gasped in horror at the full torture that poor Philippe had endured
‘You brute, you horrid girl, how could you…’ Judith said, cradling Philippe in her arms.
‘I’m really sorry, I was trying to help him, but he doesn’t like me and—’
‘I’m not surprised he doesn’t like you, you’re a horrible, foul person. Seb is always moaning about you at work, he doesn’t like you either, no one does, you vile, cruel girl.’
‘I really am very
sorry.’ Amy sighed sadly, as she turned and shuffled over to the taxi.
‘You’ll never set foot in his pub again; I’ll make sure of that.’
Amy stiffened then turned back to say something. But realising whatever she said now would just make the situation worse, she got into the taxi and it drove off.
* * *
George had been out, helping his mum with an antique wardrobe she had bought at some fair. He was tired after the night before and was looking forward to having a small kip on his sofa.
‘Hi honey, I’m home,’ he called to Candy in the bedroom, the mannequin he had rescued from a skip a few years before. One day, he would come home and she would answer him, having changed into the beautiful Kim Cattrall, just like in the film Mannequin.
‘Hi darling. Dinner is in the oven; I’ve polished your shoes and starched your shirts for you.’
He smiled, as he moved through to the kitchen, poured two glasses of apple juice and carried them back through to the lounge.
There was Libby lying on his sofa, still in her Christmas pudding onesie, her hair all tousled and unbrushed. She grinned hugely at him when she saw him. She was lying on her front, her legs swinging behind her, busy typing away on her laptop, with several sheets of paper lying around her. Tucked behind her ear was a red biro and tucked between her toes a purple one.
He passed her the glass of juice and threw himself down in his easy chair, flicking up the footrest in one swift movement.
‘How’s your mum?’ Libby asked.
George smiled. ‘She’s fine. You know what Verity is like. She always has someone she needs to take under her wing, whether they like it or not. She’s set her mind on helping poor Judith Axe now. She says Judith has been mourning her daughter for too long and it’s time she got over it. Mum wants her married off to Uncle Bob by Christmas because, apparently, “They’d make the perfect couple.”’
‘I love your mum.’
George smiled. He loved that Libby had so much time for her.
‘So, is there a reason you have invaded my territory on this fine Monday morning?’
‘Do I need a reason?’
‘Not at all, you are always welcome, you know that.’
‘I did have a reason actually, Rosie and Alex; I just can’t concentrate on writing when they’re upstairs going at it like rabbits every second of the day. It seems Alex has a day off today.’
‘But you write all that romance stuff. Surely a bit of sex would help to inspire you?’
‘You’d think, wouldn’t you? It’s actually more of a hindrance than a help at the moment.’
He surveyed her. She had always said she didn’t want him to read her books and he wanted to respect that, but he was often tempted so he could find out more about the inner workings of her mind. Would there be a clue in there about why she felt the need to always move on?
‘So you’re having problems writing lately?’
‘Yeah, I think it’s the lack of romance in my own life, I’m finding it hard to be inspired at the moment.’
‘Do you normally have boyfriends and go on dates in the places that you stay to inspire you to write all the romantic stuff?’
‘No, I can’t say I’ve ever had a boyfriend. I’ve had men I’ve gone out on a few dates with, but there’s never been anything serious. When I write, I used to write as Eve Loveheart, my pseudonym, and it was easy to imagine what she would do in the different scenarios I throw at my characters. I also watch other people, draw experiences from real life but make it sound so much better. I write the relationships that women fantasise about. The rugged hero who saves a small boy from drowning at sea, comes back and declares his love for the woman who fills his dreams and every waking breath because he suddenly realises that life is too short and you need to grab it with both hands.’
George smiled. ‘Are you writing about me?’
‘Maybe.’
He sighed. ‘I can see how a dashing lifeboat crewman who perhaps only wears waterproof trousers and no top, with soaking wet abs, who risks his life to save a boy would be miles better than the reality of me coming home from a very quick, easy rescue, sorting out my laundry and never being brave enough to tell the woman of my dreams that I’m completely and utterly in love with her just in case she rejects me.’
‘I’m going to help you with that. It’s about loving the person you are so other people can love you too. Women love to read about the big, strong alpha males who are mean and broody but in reality they want someone who would take care of them, who is sweet and kind, someone who would make them smile every single day. You have that in spades.’
He looked out the window over the sea. No woman would ever choose sweet and kind over dashing and sexy. He was living proof of that. Josie had left him for the dynamic Chase Kent. George was boring, Josie had told him so on many occasions, along with dull, predictable and pathetic. He quickly changed the subject before he dwelled too long on that.
‘And what about you? You write love stories, you’re trying to give me advice, but you’ve never been in love yourself. Don’t you think that the thing that’s missing, not only from your story but your life, is your own experience of true love in all its spectacular, wonderful glory?’
‘I don’t need it.’
‘Everybody needs to be loved, everyone needs someone.’
Libby shook her head vehemently. ‘I don’t.’
‘How can an author of beautiful love stories be so anti love herself? What happened to you to make you so fearful of letting yourself fall in love?’
‘I’m not scared of it, I just don’t want it. Falling in love means relying on someone else and I don’t want that. Your hopes and dreams for the future tied up in their hands. There can be nothing worse than watching your dreams fade away. To see them slowly crushed and belittled must be destroying. Have you ever seen someone die inside, every bit of joy and happiness just fading to nothing, so all they are left with is this shell. It’s heartbreaking. That’s what Josie did to you, she put you down, battered your confidence, but at least you were brave enough to get out before you were broken completely.’
‘There was nothing left in our marriage any more. I don’t think it was brave to walk away from that. She hated me and had no respect for me, something which was proved when I asked her for a divorce and she threw the fact that she had been sleeping with Chase Kent for the last two years in my face. One last-ditch attempt to destroy me once and for all.’
‘Christ, who does that to someone they love? Even if you’ve fallen out of love with them, how could you hurt someone who loves you with everything they have? That’s not the kind of love I ever want to be a part of.’
He frowned. ‘If you find the right person, then you build your dreams around them, your dreams become theirs and you build new dreams together. Being with Josie destroyed me and, yes, it’s made me fearful of dating again in case I’m hurt like that again, but I would never just give up on love. It’s one of the most glorious experiences you can ever have – imagine the highs you got from that parachute jump you did in Thailand and double that, no times it by a hundred. I had that with Josie in the beginning and I want that again. You’ve said before that you want to look back on your life with no regrets. I think the thing you will miss the most, the one thing that you will regret, is never having that heart-stopping, passionate, crazy rollercoaster ride of falling head over heels in love. In fact, while you are helping me back into the dating saddle and teaching me all about first-date etiquette, I’m going to use this time to show you what you’ve been missing by avoiding relationships all this time.’
Libby stared at him and a smile slowly emerged on her face. ‘OK.’
He sensed the tension from the conversation had gone. She’d had a bad experience of love and it broke his heart to see her closed off from love like that, but he’d had a bad experience too and he was determined to show her how great it could be. It wouldn’t change things between them, he knew that, but maybe one
day in the future she would be open to being in a relationship again. He couldn’t bear the thought that she would always be drifting through life alone.
‘OK?’
‘Yes. OK. I always like to try new things, new foods and experiences. I can try being in a relationship too.’
‘So our big date is tonight.’ George waggled his eyebrows mischievously, hoping to bring the smile back on her face. ‘What can I do to guarantee our date ends in hot, passionate sex?’
Libby laughed.
‘I don’t want to go overboard and scare you off on the first date but I don’t want to be blasé too and not put in enough effort to result in a second date.’
‘You’re pretty much guaranteed a second date from me and a third. If we’re going to do this we have to do this right. For my story, for me to be fully immersed in this new experience, nothing is too much. I want every romantic gesture that you can think of. My fans love the big epic forever-style romances, so anything that you can think of that might be considered romantic is fine with me. I need as much inspiration as I can get. Christmassy too if you can manage it. I’ve never really had any spectacular Christmases, I’ve spent most of my Christmases alone. So anything that has that Christmas theme to it will be a great addition to the experience. If you can arrange a reindeer sleigh ride through the snow, I’ll be dropping to one knee and asking you to marry me. But I’ll tell you if you do anything that might be deemed over the top for Giselle. The six-foot engagement ring made from ice or a barbershop quartet declaring their love might be a bit much for a first date with Giselle.’
‘But for you?’
‘Oh God yes, I love all that stuff. Just because I don’t want a relationship for myself doesn’t mean I can’t swoon with that “aww” factor when I see it done for other people.’
‘Duly noted.’
Libby smiled. ‘Just do whatever feels natural to you – remember I want to help you as well as you helping me, so I need to assess the real George, the one that Giselle will see.’
