Bagging Alice (Standalone) (Babes of Brighton Book 3)

by Laura Barnard

  Brooke: Yeah, I keep getting them emailed to me. And no offence, babe, but there’s only so many times I can look at your tits. Plus, Nic says he’s having trouble getting the site shut down. Whenever he thinks he’s cracked it, it ends up being back up within the hour.

  Evelyn: He shouldn’t be able to get away with this!

  Me: Okay, I’m in. What’s the plan?

  Tom

  The first day at my new job was a bitch. What they failed to tell me in the interview is that I have a female boss. Now, before you start shouting about feminism and equality in the work place, I’m not against women being above me. Or under me for that matter. But this woman doesn’t like me. I could tell it the moment she laid eyes on me.

  Bernice Shuttlecock. That’s right. Her surname is shuttlecock. And she insists on everyone calling her Mrs Shuttlecock. Every time I say it I can’t help but get a stupid grin on my face and have to literally bite my tongue to stop from laughing. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t like me?

  Anyway, she’s in her early fifties, wears fishnet stockings far too inappropriate for her age, and she’s strict. She expected me to know all their product lines off by heart on the first day and kept trying to trip me up. Then she made it even weirder by checking me out when I dropped my notebook. Freaky.

  So, I’ve brought home the catalogue and I intend to study the hell out of it. I hate being made to look stupid.

  Then I remember I’m going to have to face Alice and her wrath when I get in. I hesitate at the door, wondering if I should go for a quick pint first. No. I need a clear head to learn. I take a deep breath, broaden my shoulders and walk in.

  A gorgeous smell assaults my nostrils. Something is cooking, and it smells awesome. It’s the first time I’ve actually missed my mum since being here. She likes to feed her little prince. My stomach rumbles. God, I’d love nothing more than a homemade dinner by Mum right now.

  ‘Honey, I’m home!’ I shout as I walk down the corridor and into the open plan kitchen/living room.

  She’s dressed in grey sweatpants with a black tank top on, no bra. Shit, they may be small tits, but they’re pert as fuck, her nipples straining against the fabric. Do not get a boner. Do NOT get a boner.

  ‘Hey,’ she says absentmindedly as she bends over the worktop, pen in her mouth, trying to figure out a crossword. God, how I’d love to bend her over.

  ‘I didn’t realise people under sixty did those.’

  Her eyes flare. God, I love pissing her off. It excites something deep inside me.

  ‘Some of us like to exercise our brains, not just our muscles. You should try it some time.’

  I snort and hold up the catalogue. ‘Yeah, well I’ve got to learn the product codes for this entire thing. If that’s not working your brain, I don’t know what is.’

  She grimaces. ‘How was your first day?’

  ‘Rough.’ I sigh. ‘My boss hates me.’

  This news seems to make her happy, a smug smile gracing her perfect lips. ‘You sound surprised. Not everyone falls in love with you the minute they meet you, you know?’

  I snort a laugh. ‘Tell that to the female population of Peterborough.’

  She rolls her eyes. ‘Anyway, you’re gonna be happy with me.’

  ‘Really?’ I enquire, a bit too eager. I have to lighten the mood. I plaster a grin on. ‘You’ve decided I can pay my half of the rent with sexual favours?’ She grimaces in disgust. I’ve never seen someone look so disgusted. ‘It’s a good plan. You need to work off some of this tenseness.’ I poke her in her side.

  She flinches overdramatically. ‘Don’t touch me, Tom.’

  Wait a sec. Is she ticklish?

  ‘Is someone scared of the tickle monster?’ I joke, flexing my fingers threateningly in the air.

  Her sea-green eyes blaze. ‘I mean it, Tom, fuck off. I’m not in the mood. I had to clean up your shit show of a pancake mess this morning. Which brings me to another point.’

  I grab the stool and sit down, ready for a lecture. ‘Okay, shoot.’

  ‘Don’t tempt me,’ she mutters under her breath. ‘Okay, first of all, me and Brooke have fixed your bed.’ My mouth drops open in disbelief. Girls doing DIY. That sounds like some awesome porn. ‘So, no more sneaking into my bedroom at night. The next time you do, I’ll be calling the police.’

  I scoff a laugh and put my hands up in protest. ‘Okay, cuddle bunny. Understood. But don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy the spooning.’

  She grits her teeth and chooses to ignore that one.

  ‘Second, I’m guessing if that’s how you attempt to cook pancakes, you have no experience with cooking?’

  I hold my palms up. ‘Guilty!’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Hey, I can’t help it that I have a mum who loves me and wants to make sure her strapping son eats well.’

  ‘Your mother has done you no favours. She’s made you useless.’ That hurts more than it should. ‘So, I’ll be doing the cooking around here. I don’t want you to do anything harder than toast some bread. Am I understood?’

  ‘Yes, Miss,’ I joke giving her a soldier salute. God, this is amazing. First, she’s fixed my bed, now she’s going to cook for me. I picked the right roomie for sure.

  ‘But you’ll be doing the washing up, and the cleaning of the kitchen.’

  Ugh, just when I thought it was going well.

  ‘If you don’t know how to wash pans I’ll stand over you and instruct,’ she adds sarcastically.

  ‘Will you have a whip?’ I joke, giving her my best sexy smoulder.

  Another glare. She’s too easy to wind up.

  I open the catalogue and start trying to memorise everything. I now work for a consumer electronics company so it’s a load of TV’s, DVD players, and set top boxes. Possibly the most boring job in the world, but the pay is good.

  Before I register how much time has passed, she’s putting a dinner in front of me and sitting down on the other side of the kitchen table.

  I look down at my curry. God, it looks and smells amazing.

  ‘Thanks!’ I take my fork and dig in. It’s delicious, but something isn’t right. ‘This chicken tastes different. What have you done to it?’

  Oh God. I knew she was being too nice. She’s poisoned me, hasn’t she? I’m going to fall to the floor clutching at my throat as foam falls from my mouth. Until I take my last breath, as Alice looks over me with a sick, satisfied smile.

  She smirks. ‘That’s because it’s Quorn, bonehead.’

  I frown. ‘Quorn. What the fuck is Quorn?’

  She sighs, as if exhausted by me. ‘A meat alternative. I’m a vegetarian, remember?’

  Ugh, she’s feeding me fake meat. That is so evil.

  ‘Wait, wait, wait. So because you’re a vegetarian, that means I’m no longer allowed to eat the good stuff?’

  She shrugs. ‘You can eat meat; it’s just that all my meals won’t have any. But feel free to put steak cutlets in with your cereal.’

  I huff. ‘Look, I’m not saying this isn’t delicious, but I’m a growing lad. I need protein.’

  She rolls her eyes. ‘Jesus, Tom. Open a book once in a while. Quorn is full of protein as are the chickpeas and beans.’

  ‘So, you’re saying my muscles aren’t going to waste away?’ I still don’t believe her.

  She scoffs. ‘Don’t worry, muscle man, they’re safe.’

  I look back down at the catalogue, dreading diving back in after washing up.

  ‘How are you getting on?’ she asks nodding towards it.

  ‘Shit. It’s hard enough remembering all of the products, but they want us to learn the product codes too, and it might as well be fucking Chinese to me.’

  She takes the catalogue from me and studies it a bit, her forehead wrinkling in concentration. It’s kind of adorable. Shit, maybe she has poisoned me. Since when do I find birds adorable?

  ‘Okay, I think I’ve got it.’

  ‘Got what?’ I ask, swallowing down my last delicious mouthful. The girl can c
ook, I’ll give her that.

  ‘Got the way they code stuff. Like here.’ She points to a TV. ‘GTVR2DVSTB015. So, G stands for the brand, then TV means TV, duh. R2 is the model number. DV means built in DVD player. STB means it has set top box functionality. And then 015 is the year it was made.’

  I look back at her in amazement. ‘You worked that all out in two minutes? I’ve been staring at those codes all day.’

  She shrugs. ‘You just have to think about what the codes mean and it’s easy enough. Like here, take a guess what an Alva branded TV with set top box functionality would be?’

  ‘Okay, it’s Alva so A... TV... STB?’ I guess, feeling stupid.

  ‘Yes!’ she says punching the air far too excitedly. ‘And it’s 016 because that’s the year it was made.’

  This actually makes some fucking sense.

  After showing me how to wash up to her standards (fussy bitch) she spends all night quizzing me, and by midnight she only needs to point to a product picture and I’m shouting out the code like a trained monkey.

  ‘Thanks, Alice. Who knew you’d be helpful with shit like this.’

  ‘Not just a pretty face,’ she smiles, flicking her hair over her shoulder. It’s just about flickable length.

  ‘Not even that,’ I wink, bursting out laughing.

  She curls her lip up in anger, but her eyes say something else. Did I hurt her feelings? I was only taking the piss, having a bit of banter.

  ‘Just when I think you might be an okay human being.’ She jumps up, goes to her room and slams the door. Whoops.

  Alice

  Just when I actually start to think he might be a half-decent human being, he goes and calls me ugly. How fucking dare he? Every insecurity I’ve ever had rears its ugly head, pushing past thoughts to the surface.

  I got picked on at school for a myriad of things. My deathly pale complexion meant I was called dead or a vampire daily. I wore glasses and had train-track braces. I tried my best to blend in as much as I could. I laugh when I think about it now.

  That low confidence is what found me with an ungrateful boyfriend that constantly belittled me. We were living together by the time I was seventeen and it took me a long time to wake the fuck up and realise what a prize tool he was.

  It helped when I found the text messages on his phone. Laughing with his bit on the side about how little of an idea I had. Mocking me. That’s probably what hurt the most. The person that was supposed to love me most in the world taking the piss out of me.

  From that day, I vowed to never attempt to blend in again. After all, it had got me nowhere. I moved out and got residence in halls at Brighton university. A fresh start where I could re-invent myself. I scoured Pinterest for hours looking for a new image. In the end it took a walk through Brighton for me to decide how I wanted to look.

  I saw a beautiful woman with the same pale skin as me. She had bright red hair, tattoos, piercings, and wore a navy-blue polka-dot dress with the most stunning red shoes. She was going into a Rockabilly festival.

  I went home and googled Rockabilly. These people seemed to favour the fifties and enjoy all things vintage. I’d always been obsessed with that time. Apparently, I watched Grease so many times when I was younger, my mum banned me from eating those candy cigarettes and saying, ‘Tell me about it, stud.’ She’s always been a killjoy.

  So, I bought a glorious red hair colour from Superdrug and dyed my dark-blonde hair. I set out to change everything about myself. Over the next six months I got piercings, tattoos, and shopped to my heart’s content. Before buying something, I wouldn’t ask myself ‘what will people think?’, instead I’d ask myself ‘do I love it?’

  And I’ve never been happier. But when that dickwad just called me ugly it pulled that awkward, unsure of herself Alice, to the forefront. And for that I hate him.

  We can’t all be born with God-like features. Some of us have to work at it.

  I hear the front door slam. Thank God. For a few hours I can pretend I live on my own again.

  The door knocks a few minutes later. Oh God, the idiot’s obviously forgotten his keys. I’ll have to get him a necklace with a key on it. I stomp towards the door, ready to tear him a new one. Instead I find Brooke and Evelyn there.

  ‘Don’t shoot!’ Brooke says, her eyes twinkling with comedy. ‘What’s got you looking so pissed?’

  ‘Huh, how long have you got?’

  ‘Whatever,’ Evelyn says, passing me as she texts. No doubt her boyfriend Omar from Luna Island. I still find it shocking that they’ve managed all these months with being in different countries, but hey, it works for them. ‘We need to make a plan. Tomorrow we report your revenge porn.’

  Tom

  God, I hate an atmosphere. I already feel like a massive bellend for upsetting Alice, but with her storming off to her room it’s not like I could fix it. So that’s how I found myself grabbing my coat and walking to the local pub, where I’m currently chatting up some easy brunette who’s been giving me so many green lights it’s verging on embarrassing.

  She leans over, giving me a view of her ample cleavage. ‘How about we get out of here?’

  I was waiting for her to offer. I don’t think it would go down too well if I brought her back to the flat. Not with my no girls rule. Or no women rule as Alice likes to call it. God, that broad gets under my skin. I’m supposed to be charming her into bed to win my bet with Nicholas, but the woman is so infuriating I don’t think I’ll be able to.

  Within minutes we’re jumping in a taxi and making it back to her flat. I can’t help but notice that ours is far nicer, even with Alice’s crazy taste. I push her against her bedroom wall and start kissing her neck. She’s far more olive-skinned than Alice. Alice is so pale she’s like a porcelain doll. Wait, why the fuck am I thinking about Alice right now?

  Get your head in the game, Tom.

  I grab one of her tits and squeeze while I grind my dick up against her. This chick’s tits are massive. I don’t even know why I was thinking of Alice. She’s got itty bitty titties. Barely a handful I reckon. But then they are pert... and her nipples always seem to be erect. Poking out from every single top she wears, trying to provoke me.

  ‘Ooooh!’ she coos, before sticking her tongue down my throat. Fuck, why aren’t I into this? I need to just fucking get on with it.

  I throw her onto her bed and tear at her top. She throws it off over her head and has her skirt at her ankles before you can say that was unnervingly easy for her. It’s clear she’s no virgin, but then again neither am I.

  I undo my jeans, letting them fall to my ankles. I take out a condom, carefully put it on and then hover over her.

  ‘Oh Goooooooood!’ she coos like a porn star. ‘Do me! Do me now!’

  Ugh.

  I pick her up and turn her around so she’s on all fours. I don’t want to be looking at her if she’s going to be making those ridiculous noises. I thrust into her, not caring enough to warm her up first. Low and behold she’s as wet as an otter’s pocket. Dirty bitch.

  I fuck out all of my frustration; thrust after thrust making me more relaxed. Fucking Alice annoying the hell out of me. Who the hell does she think she is?

  The light catches the woman’s hair and for a second it has a tinge of redness to it. I imagine it’s Alice I’m fucking some sense into, and suddenly my mojo is back. I slap her arse and bite her shoulder.

  ‘Yeah, baby,’ she screams. ‘I’m going to come!’

  God, why does she insist on talking? She’s totally ruining my vibe.

  ‘I’m coming! I’m cooooooooooooming!’

  And that’s my erection gone. For the first time in my life, I fake my own orgasm, remove the condom before she notices, and get the hell out of there.

  Tuesday 16th October

  Alice

  Tom snuck back some time last night and out again early this morning before I woke up. I only know he came back at all because his protein shake container was in the sink. The stinky fucking thing. H
e couldn’t even be bothered to rinse it out. Lazy fucker. His mother has ruined him.

  Anyway, I have more important things to worry about. Like how us girls find ourselves waiting in the police station the next morning, expecting a PC Graeme Edwards to come talk to us.

  ‘Hi,’ a giant of a guy says, suddenly in front of me. He towers over us. Thank God, he’s one of the good guys, otherwise I’d fear the dude. He must be at least six-foot-three and sports a goatee. ‘I’m PC Edwards. Come with me, ladies.’

  We’re led into a room that smells of new paint, with a wooden table and blue plastic chairs. It’s not like how I imagined, but then I do watch a lot of US based cop shows. I kind of think I was expecting a dark room with a two-way window.

  He gets out a notebook and pen. ‘So, your friends told me on the phone that an ex-boyfriend has posted private naked photos of you. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes,’ I nod, swallowing hard at the reminder. It’s so embarrassing having to talk about it out loud. ‘It’s on a site called Revenge Porn Utopia. I can email you the link.’

  He nods, writing stuff down. ‘That would be helpful. And do you have any proof that your ex-boyfriend is the one behind this?’

  ‘It’s fucking obvious!’ Brooke exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air.

  ‘Way to keep it classy,’ Evelyn snorts, rolling her eyes at Brooke. ‘Sorry,’ she apologises to the policeman, ‘just ignore her.’

  I chew my lip, trying to think if I have anything solid. ‘I suppose I don’t have any rock-hard evidence. Just my word that he was the only person I sent the picture to.’

  He grimaces slightly. Shit, does that mean there’s no hope? That the case has collapsed before it’s even fully opened?

  ‘Okay, can I have his name?’

  ‘Yep, Ted Cundy.’

  He looks up mid-writing and stares at me. ‘And the fact his name was like Ted Bundy didn’t ring any alarm bells?’