by Lucy Vine
By the time we’ve cleared up, it’s nearly eleven and Sophie asks me if I want to stay over. I think about The Shithole waiting for me and nod my head, yes please.
I’ve been living in the three-bed flat, known universally as The Shithole (TS), for nine months now. It’s a run-down mess on a council estate, with two other inhabitants – Josh Day and Gemma Something. I genuinely don’t know her surname because I’ve only seen her once from the back. Josh says she’s a medical supplies driver, doing night shifts, and that’s why she’s never around. She’s awake when we’re sleeping. But I’m not even totally convinced she exists. I talk myself in and out of the conspiracy theories: like, maybe Josh keeps his dead ex-girlfriends in that room, like a council estate Bluebeard. Maybe it’s his secret Christian Grey sex dungeon where he stores his nipple clamps. Or maybe it’s where he shoots his pornos. Honestly, that boy is capable of anything. Or maybe it’s me – maybe I’ve Beautiful Minded ‘Gemma’ into being.
On the other hand, I cannot believe it’s possible that Josh and I are solely responsible for the level of clogging in that shower plug hole. So she must be real. Either way, I hate her. I hate the whole place.
I’m living there temporarily. Tem. Por. Rar. Ily. I keep repeating that to myself so I don’t get too depressed about the rusting broken kitchen, piled high with washing up, or the bathroom that smells like it does, however many bottles of Domestos I empty down the loo. I hate how small it is, I hate how dark it is, and I hate the tube seat-type décor and threadbare carpeting. I hate the black mould spreading across the living-room ceiling that the landlord genuinely tried to tell us was ‘designer wallpaper’. I hate the damp, musty smell that follows me from room to room. I hate the way it clings to my skin and hair, like a bad shampoo. Every day I come home, put my key in the shitty lock and open the broken door, knowing it’s a miracle we’ve survived another full day without being robbed (but when you live next door to drug dealers, thieves tend to give you a wide berth). It grinds me down, but I also know it’s my own fault.
We were three weeks into living in our very own lovely, brilliant flat – one we’d somehow wrangled an actual mortgage for – when I broke up with Tim. And of course, because it was all my doing, I was the one who volunteered to move out. My dad wasn’t so far away, so I stayed with him. But it only took a couple of months before I couldn’t stand his daily humming of the Neighbours theme tune any more, and moved into the only place I could afford – The Shithole. It was the first place I spotted on SpareRoom and I know I should’ve looked at more places, but it was so cheap. I was broke and my hormones took over when the door opened and I saw Josh. Josh is hot – like Poldark levels of hot – so I said I’d take the room before I’d even seen past the peeling hallway. It took me a week to realise that below Josh’s hotness lies a total dick. Moody, antagonistic, with a constant revolving door of hot blondes coming in and out like he’s Leonardo DiCuntprio. He’s a total wannabe hipster who clearly dreams of one day upgrading to the coolest parts of east London, where he will no longer have to hide his tiny fucking beard comb and can wear scarves with abandon.
But still so hot.
I hate that I fancy him.
Obviously I won’t do anything about it.
I cannot be yet another girl he knows he can have.
As if he’d want to have sex with me anyway, I’m not blonde or thin.
But still.
Definitely will not have sex with him.
But he is so hot.
Gah. I just wish Gemma was around more, or literally at all, so I could sit in the living-room with him without feeling like my vagina needs handcuffing down.
Either way, this is only temporary. Tim’s going to put our place on the market any day now, and with my share of the money I’ll be able to get somewhere better, maybe even buy somewhere again. I just need to hold on. I need to hold on and not have sex with sexy Josh. No shitting where you eat – that’s what they say, don’t they? Except, honestly, shitting where I eat could only improve the sanitation levels of TS. I need to hold on another few months without making The Shithole an Awkward Shithole.
Wah.
From: Alan Knight
To: [email protected], [email protected]
21st February
Alan Knight
106 Castle Rise
Judfield
East Sussex
TN22 5UN
Dear Eleanor and Jennifer,
I hope you are both very well and enjoyed the start of my “novel”?
Lenny – I am looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. Thank you for your “feedback”. I know you were only joking when you said I’ve “let myself go” all those times in real life but please remember that this is a “novel” and therefore this is “fiction”.
Jenny – I hope you, Andrew and Milly are very well. I love you all very much. Thank you for your email too, but I didn’t understand what “UNSUBSCRIBE” meant.
Here is the next part. I think it’s getting very exciting and I hope you will agree. I went over to Candice and Peter’s last night and Candice said she thought I was very “talented”, which I thought was very kind of her. I also read some to my “therapist” who said she was “very pleased” with my progress. I think it is helping me feel more “positive” about life. I have decided not to mention this to Psychic Sharon or Aunt Susie because I am worried they will shout at me about not consulting them, so please do not bring it up the next time you are having your palms read.
Love you both very much and I’m very proud of you both.
Best wishes,
Dad
75 HUES OF TONY
A novel, by Alan Bernard Knight
When Tony arrives at the Book Club the next day after Wanda had invited him the day before he has no idea his life is about to change FOREVER. Of course, Tony is very perceptive and he had sensed that it might a little bit, but he didn’t know for sure. He has come along really dressed to the nines in his most stylish but also very comfy tracksuit that really highlights his calves that everyone comments on. He was previously in a tiny bit of a bad mood because the downstairs shower at his house is currently out of action thanks to some really aggressive lime scale that Anita has abandoned him with. He is very disappointed with Anita about this and very nearly wrote her a very cross email eloquently expressing this disappointment, but then he decided to be the better man because that is who Tony is all the time. Anyway, Tony was able to have a bath instead in the downstairs bathroom and his hair is still wet, which no one could argue really, really suits Tony. His wet hair complements his deep liquid eyes because they are both liquidy. Anyway, anyone looking at him right now – and there are ALWAYS people looking at Tony – would be comparing his appearance to that scene in James Bond where James Bond comes out of the ocean with similarly wet hair. Although Tony has that extra air of gravitas about him, being older and no doubt stronger than James Bond.
As Tony walks into the village hall, he counts ten women at the Book Club, including Wanda who is also there because she was the one who actually invited him. Tony feels a little overwhelmed because all the ten women are looking at him and seem impressed. He hasn’t even tried to impress them but they seem impressed anyway and are no doubt comparing Tony Braxton to James Bond or to Captain James T Kirk. The women all crowd around him asking him questions about his recent single status and also mentioning his calves a lot – unsurprisingly!
‘Oh Tony,’ says one of the very attractive women, ‘you smell superior to every other man I’ve smelled before. You smell like cinnamon.’
‘Thank you, madam,’ says Tony seductively, ‘that is Anita’s Christmas hand soap you are smelling, which I used as shampoo this morning because I could not find any shampoo and I appreciate you noticing.’
Then they ask him what he thought of the book and Tony realises he has forgotten to ask Wanda what the book they’re discussing is, but he’s a
very well-read man, if he does say so himself. They tell him that it is a Stephen King book and he explains that he knows basically all the pages off by heart. In fact he wrote a dissertation on it at university even though he didn’t need to and wasn’t at university at that time but he still got an A and it is now in the dissertation library as an example of amazing dissertations.
As Tony talks really compellingly, he looks around the room, because he can definitely multitask despite what Anita always said to him. His eye is drawn over the ladies’ heads – because Tony is taller than all of the ten women – to another, eleventh woman in the corner standing alone by the Victoria sponges on a table which also has lots of other cakes and pots of tea on it. She is incredibly, incredibly attractive. She looks exactly like a young Helen Mirren except she is probably the same age as Tony, so it’s not inappropriate that he finds her very attractive. He and the Helen Mirren lady stare at each other and the room fills up to the ceiling with sexual tension. It is clear that they really, really fancy each other and Tony feels an unfamiliar feeling. He is nervous! Tony is never nervous about anything!!
The other ten ladies all fall silent and turn to look at the Helen Mirren lady, and they are no doubt sensing all that sexual tension that has really, really filled up the room, even though the village hall is quite spacious. There is a really long silence and then Wanda suggests they all have a little sit down to continue talking about the book. As Tony sits down, he feels a presence right behind him and a really nice sultry voice that is all gravelly but also very feminine speaks.
‘Please may I sit here next to you?’
It is the lady from the corner who looks like Helen Mirren and she is asking if she can sit here next to Tony. She also has an accent and Tony thinks it is probably Russian, which he recognises because he spent many years living in Russia and everywhere else in the world. Tony is a very well-travelled man, as well as being very well-read, as previously mentioned.
‘Of course,’ Tony says, really gracefully jumping up to pull the chair out for her. ‘May I take your coat?’ he says very gallantly even though she’s not wearing a coat.
‘No, thank you,’ she says, because she’s not wearing a coat, but it is clear she thinks it is very impressive that he is being so gallant.
‘I am Svetlana,’ she says in her deep but very feminine voice. ‘You can call me Lana.’
She then pauses and then she says in a really knowing deep feminine voice, ‘I know who you are. You are Tony, I have heard all about you.’
They look at each other deeply, like her voice, for a really long time.
Then Wanda, who is no doubt a bit jealous of the sexual tension that is something akin to a big sexual fog or some other type of sexual weather inside the village hall, suggests they all start talking about the book because that is why they are here, of course. For the next few minutes Tony forgets about trying to impress Svetlana because he is so involved in the discussion and everyone is very impressed with Tony for knowing so much about the book even though he didn’t even know what the book was until today.
‘You are so clever’ says one woman who is very attractive but is definitely no Lana.
‘I am so impressed with you for knowing so much about the book even though you didn’t even know what the book was until today,’ says another woman who is also very attractive, but again, just to emphasise, not as attractive as Svetlana.
When Tony finishes reading the last four chapters out to the group even though no one asked him to, he suddenly remembers Lana is sitting next to him and he looks at her. She is staring at him, incredibly aroused with really dilated pupils that indicate sexual arousal which he knows from Anita, who spent their entire marriage, all twenty-four hours a day with really dilated pupils. Svetlana makes Tony very nervous and he suggests everyone has a break so all the ladies can powder their noses as he knows they like to do. He is very sensitive like that. Lucky for Tony, he is the only man there, so he is able to visit the loo with ease while all the women have to queue up to use the ladies’.
In the loo Tony cannot help but admire his undeniably attractive frame in the mirror. Tony is a very modest man but even his exceptional modesty cannot deny the alluring shape of his erotic nose. His show-stopping tracksuit is almost glowing in the loo’s dim lighting and Tony nods in the mirror, acknowledging his very impressive choice of outfit. When he comes back out of the loo, renewed with vigour and confidence, there is no sign of Lana and the ten other women all gather round him like freshly powdered hens. They are all saying that they are worried about him but it sure does seem like they might actually be really jealous.
‘Svetlana is dangerous!’ says one of the women. ‘You must stay away from Svetlana!’
Another one says, ‘She will hurt you, Tony, you must not talk to her any more!’
And then another one says, ‘Tony, do you want to go into the cupboard under the stairs to discuss this a bit more?’ And she is winking at him. Tony is used to this and gives her a provocative wink back but also says no thank you to her offer.
Then his neighbour Wanda takes Tony to one side and offers him some of the Victoria sponge that she made, which Tony says yes to because he did go on the step machine for ten minutes this morning before his bath.
‘Tony,’ says Wanda, nicely, ‘you mustn’t listen to all of that. You are a very attractive man, Tony, and many of the women here obviously desire you. I know you are a very clever, very wise, very intuitive man, Tony, and you must make your own decisions. Everyone here can see there is a big sexual fog between you and Svetlana, but all I ask is that you just be careful. That is all I ask, Tony, just be careful.’
‘Who is she?’ asks Tony, who always asks really insightful questions.
‘She is called Svetlana,’ says Wanda, helpfully. ‘I think she is from Russia.’
Tony was right.
‘Other than that, she is quite mysterious,’ says Wanda. ‘She runs her own company and she is very, very, very rich. She owns a helicopter and also the huge mansion at the edge of this village. I think I can tell that you like her, Tony, but just please be careful. We all care about you here at the Book Club that you are now a member of, and we don’t want you to get hurt.’
Tony is intrigued, and just as he picks up his second slice of Victoria sponge, which is OK because he did do an hour on his step machine this morning while watching Bargain Hunt, he senses a presence and feels someone breathing sexily on his neck.
It is Svetlana!
‘Hello, Tony,’ she says.
Tony doesn’t know what to say because she has such an effect on him, so he drops his Victoria sponge and then trips over a bit because the sexual fog engulfs him.
Svetlana smiles because his clumsiness really humanises him, and she starts stroking his arm. ‘Tony,’ she says, and she is pouting. ‘Sorry for my mysterious disappearance just now, I was having a wee and there was a long queue for the ladies’ loo. Anyway I came to ask you for help. I believe you used to work for BT, no? Would you please come to my house tomorrow to help fix my landline phone? It is broken somehow, I do not know how.’
Tony is flattered that Lana knows so much about him and also would trust him with such an important job. But he is also manly enough to admit that he is a bit scared of this woman who is so ravishing. Everyone has told him to stay away from this very dangerous and very rich woman although he doesn’t know why. He has amazing instincts and his instincts are saying, ‘Be careful, Tony!!!’ He also has a lot of inner turmoil debating whether he should say yes or not. He has only just split up with Anita, after all, and he was hoping to use this time on his own to get in even better shape with the help of his step machine, hence the two hours on it this morning, and then also really get a handle on his gardening, even though his garden has already won awards for being so well kept. After all, Tony does like a well trimmed bush!! His other worry is that Lana does not look like the type of lady to cook nut roast and chicken for him on nut roast and chicken night, which is
what he thought he would want in a second wife. But he cannot deny the very, very strong feelings he is now feeling towards Lana. The feelings he felt immediately when he saw her in the corner of the village hall. She is like a giant magnet, like those ones they use at the scrap yard to pick up old bangers. Much like a car, he cannot stop himself from drawing closer to Lana as he whispers seductively in her ear, ‘Yes! I’ll come to your house tomorrow.’ She smiles and slips her number into his pocket, before leaving. At the door of the village hall she turns back and says, ‘Until tomorrow then, Tony-who-smells-like-cinnamon.’
Tony cannot help but feel that, much like a car and the magnet, which is the same metaphor he used a minute ago, he is about to be crushed into a small cube, or possibly used for spare parts.
But maybe he likes that idea . . . or maybe he doesn’t . . . or MAYBE HE DOES . . .
END SCENE
Lenny and Jenny! It’s Dad here again. I really hope you enjoyed this latest “chapter”?! I know I’ve left you on a “cliffhanger” here, but I read an “article” that said you should do that for “dramatic effect”. But I didn’t want you to worry because I’m ALREADY working on the next “instalment”. It will be with you shortly, so don’t despair! Love you both.
