[Churchminster #3] Wild Things

by Jo Carnegie

  ‘Oh, come on, you’re hardly Barry from Bedlington are you?’ Calypso paused, tasting her drink. ‘What about your love life?’

  ‘There was someone in LA,’ he said. ‘But it’s over now.’ He didn’t volunteer anything else.

  ‘Nasty break-up?’ Calypso enquired. Rafe shrugged.

  ‘As break-ups go it was OK. But I don’t really like talking about it; it’s not fair on Daphne. Water under the bridge and all that.’ He changed the subject. ‘How about you? Any significant relationships?’

  Their starters arrived. Calypso waited until the waitress had left. ‘There was someone,’ she said, loading her toasted bread with pate. ‘Sam. But it didn’t really work out, we wanted different things.’

  ‘Did he come from round here?’ Rafe asked.

  ‘She, actually.’

  Rafe stopped, oyster halfway to his mouth. He looked startled. ‘She?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Calypso wrily. ‘Does that offend you?’

  Rafe recovered himself. ‘Of course not. I was just, well, surprised. I thought you’d be with some cool rock-band type.’

  Calypso laughed. ‘Never judge a book by its cover.’

  ‘So you’re bisexual?’ He seemed quite interested.

  ‘I suppose if you had to define me, you could say that,’ she said. ‘Sam’s the only woman I’ve ever dated, though, and I’ve had plenty of boyfriends. I guess I’m just inquisitive. Like, it doesn’t have to be about what sex you are, it’s about how attractive you are as a person.’

  ‘So would you date another woman?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ she replied, finishing the last of the pate. ‘Never say never and all that.’ Her eyes studied him mischievously. ‘How about you? Have you ever been with a man?’

  ‘God, no!’ Rafe exclaimed. ‘I mean I’ve got nothing against it but …’ He saw her expression and relaxed. ‘Ah. You’re pulling my leg.’

  Calypso laughed. ‘I don’t think Stacey Turner would be able to cope if you swapped tits for testicles.’

  After lunch, which Rafe insisted on paying for, he walked Calypso back to the cottage. He stopped at the gate. ‘Here we are again, then.’

  ‘Do you want to come in for a coffee?’ she asked, suddenly not wanting the afternoon to end.

  Rafe glanced at his watch. ‘I need to get back. But I wouldn’t mind a quick guided tour.’

  He followed Calypso up the path. She unlocked the front door and pushed it open. The cottage was silent. ‘My sister’s at work today,’ she explained. She briefly showed him the downstairs and the garden, which was now festooned with the summer flowers planted by Camilla. Leading Rafe back through to the hallway, Calypso paused by the staircase. She waved a hand upwards.

  ‘It’s just the bedrooms up there and stuff,’ she mumbled, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Why was she being like this?

  Rafe glanced up the stairs before his eyes settled back on her. She noticed their blue looked darker today, fringed by golden lashes.

  ‘I’ve really got to go,’ he said softly.

  Calypso tried to sound airy. ‘No problem.’

  Neither of them made a move towards the front door.

  Rafe took a step towards her. ‘I’ve had a really nice time today.’

  Calypso felt her heart quicken. ‘Me, too.’

  The air had suddenly become heavy and expectant. Calypso was sure she could hear her heart drumming. As if in slow motion, Rafe leant down and pecked her softly on the lips. Calypso felt like it wasn’t happening to her, like she was watching someone else feel the soft touch of a famous film star on their mouth.

  ‘I’d like to do this again,’ he said, pulling away.

  ‘Me, too,’ she said again. For some reason, she had lost the power of normal speech.

  Rafe ran his hand down her arm. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  Trying to regain her composure, Calypso saw him out. Afterwards, she closed the front door and sat down heavily on the staircase. Her lips were still tingling. Calypso ran her fingers across her mouth. She was trying to quell the excitement building inside her.

  ‘My God,’ she exclaimed finally. ‘I’ve just been kissed by Rafe Wolfe!’

  PART TWO

  Chapter 21

  IT WAS THE day of the Churchminster’s Got Talent competition and the three judges were having a dress rehearsal. Clementine was nonplussed by the high-waisted trousers and black wig Calypso had brought along for her, and despite Calypso’s pleas, was refusing to wear them.

  ‘Granny Clem, it’ll be hysterical!’ Calypso said, holding the trousers up against her grandmother. The third judge, Freddie Fox-Titt, stifled a chortle.

  Clementine was not for the turning. ‘I’m not going to make myself a laughing stock. Besides, I don’t even know who this Simon Powell character is.’

  ‘Cowell,’ Calypso corrected. The three were sitting behind a desk on a raised platform. Beryl Turner had lent one of her shiny gold tablecloths to drape over it and Ted Briggs had done a marvellous job of rigging up three buzzers.

  Clementine was looking at hers uncomprehendingly. ‘How does it all work, again?’

  ‘The act starts, and if you don’t like it, you press your buzzer,’ Calypso told her. ‘Three buzzes, one from each of us, and they’re out. If they go through to the next round, they have to perform again, and the audience vote on the eventual winner.’

  Clementine grimaced. ‘The buzzer idea seems awfully cruel.’

  ‘That’s showbiz, Granny Clem,’ Calypso laughed.

  ‘We won’t be merciless,’ Freddie said reassuringly. ‘Everyone has been practising so hard I’m sure they’ll be jolly good.’

  ‘Anyway, the bad ones are the best ones!’ Calypso said. She looked round the hall. ‘It looks pretty cool in here.’

  The Garden Party had done a fantastic job of making it look atmospheric. A proper stage had been built with wings either side, which each act would enter from. A huge Churchminster’s Got Talent sign painted by Angie Fox-Titt and Camilla hung from the ceiling. Disco lights and a stereo had been placed at the side of the stage. The back of the village hall was crammed with seats: at least 150 people were expected to turn up. Posters advertising the event with the words ‘Sold Out’ were stuck all over the walls. A trestle table with the raffle prizes on for later had been put by the front door, so everyone could eye up the goodies when they came in.

  Calypso turned to the other two. ‘Let’s have one more run-through …’

  At No. 5 The Green, Camilla was getting ready. She checked her watch and frowned. Jed was late. She tried his mobile. It was picked up immediately.

  ‘I’m outside, I’ll be two secs.’ A few moments later he appeared in the doorway, breathing slightly heavily. He went straight over to the wardrobe and started stripping off. ‘Sorry I’m late. Brenda Briggs was having trouble with her boiler, and I went round to have a look at it after work. Took longer than expected.’

  ‘My hero,’ smiled Camilla, studying him. He’d lost weight. Already lean, Jed’s beautiful face was looking even more concave, his muscular torso sinewy to the point of showing off every muscle. ‘You need to take it easy, darling, you’re not invincible, you know.’

  He looked up and smiled affectionately. ‘You don’t have to worry about me.’

  The front door slammed shut beneath them and footsteps thundered up the stairs. Moments later, Calypso burst in the room. Now naked, Jed deftly stepped back behind the wardrobe door.

  ‘Calypso!’ Camilla protested. ‘You could at least have knocked.’

  Her sister shot a cursory glance in the direction of the concealed Jed. ‘Whoops, sorry.’

  She opened an expensive-looking bag with ‘Boutique Babylon’ written across it in looped writing and held up a gold-sequinned minidress. ‘What do you think?’

  Camilla didn’t recognize the funky-looking label, but the dress was dazzling. ‘You’re going to look a million dollars!’

  Calypso grinned. ‘Cost me an arm and a leg, but s
od it. I haven’t bought anything new for ages.’ She bounded out of the room.

  Jed chuckled as he reappeared. ‘Someone’s in a good mood at the moment.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Camilla perceptively. ‘I wonder if that has anything to do with a certain film star.’

  Jed raised an eyebrow.

  Camilla was bursting to tell him, despite Calypso swearing her to secrecy. Jed wouldn’t say anything, anyway. ‘They had a snog in the hallway the other day!’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘Yes! Can you believe it?’

  Jed paused, taking the information in. ‘Knowing your sister I can, actually,’ he said. ‘Maybe we’ll be needing that red carpet after all.’

  In her own bedroom Calypso hummed merrily as she rifled through her underwear drawer for a clean G-string. She had been feeling on top of the world the last few days. The sun was out, her business going from strength to strength. Yet deep down, Calypso knew the exact reason her mood was extra buoyant at the moment.

  It had been nine days since Rafe had kissed her. He had sent her several texts since, perfectly pleasant ones, interested in what she had been up to. Calypso had taken a perverse pleasure in not replying to them immediately. Normally quite vocal about her love life, for some reason she hadn’t told anyone about her feelings, not even her sister. She couldn’t explain it, but in the few moments their lips had met, Calypso’s heart had done a complete flip, and it hadn’t quite settled since.

  This is ridiculous, I’m acting like a giddy schoolgirl! she thought. Calypso did not do giddy schoolgirl. At first, she had told herself it was the sheer novelty of the situation. After all, it wasn’t every day one had a snog with a famous film star in one’s hallway. Then she felt cross with herself for being so predictable and falling prey to Rafe’s evident charms. He wasn’t even her type. Clean living and clean-cut, Rafe Wolfe was definitely not Calypso’s idea of a good time.

  And yet, despite all her attempts to write the situation off, there was one glaring obstacle in the way.

  She absolutely fancied the pants off him.

  By 7.55 p.m., the village hall was bursting at the seams. As she peered out from behind the wings, Clementine was delighted to see half the district had turned out. It was so good that one could count on everyone to rally round. As well as the residents of Churchminster, she recognized a few faces from the Bedlington Bridge Association and a fair few young people. To her surprise there were also some film crew (as Calypso had warned her), including Pam Viner, who smiled and waved from her seat in the audience. In spite of herself, Clementine felt rather flattered; she applauded any efforts to integrate with a new community.

  The door to the side of the building suddenly flew open. Clementine could see contestants lining up in the narrow corridor. Jack and Beryl were at the front, he looking very jaunty in his magician’s hat, and she dressed in a glittery bodice and long skirt. Behind them was an explosion of noise and colour as everyone practised their act for the last time and made sure their costumes were right.

  ‘Granny Clem, it’s eight o’clock,’ whispered Calypso. She, Freddie and Clementine were standing together, waiting to go on. Calypso’s hair was piled in a sexy updo and the new dress clung to her like a second skin. Beside her, Freddie was looking very jolly in a multicoloured waistcoat.

  Ted Briggs, in a dusty dinner jacket and bow tie, pressed play on the antiquated stereo system. As the entrance music started the three judges stepped out. The crowd began whooping and clapping.

  Clementine waited for the noise to die down. ‘Good evening, and welcome to Churchminster’s Got Talent. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Clementine Standington-Fulthrope. Judging beside me tonight are Freddie Fox-Titt, and my granddaughter Calypso.’

  There were a few wolf whistles as Calypso stepped forward to take her bow.

  ‘I’d like a performance with you, love!’ a male voice shouted.

  Clementine shot a disapproving look in the direction of the heckler. ‘While we are all here to enjoy ourselves, I would like to remind everyone why we are putting this evening on in the first place: to raise money for St Bartholomew’s and improve the village. As I am sure all of you are aware, Churchminster has beaten off stiff competition to land a place in the final of Britain’s Best Village.’

  More clapping and cheering.

  Clementine permitted herself a smile. ‘As head of the Garden Party – the committee that has been formed to get this village ready – I know what a huge task we have taken on. We can leave no stone unturned, no hedge untrimmed to make Churchminster look the best it possibly can. This however, takes a lot of time and money. So I’d like to thank everyone who has bought a ticket for tonight, as well as my fellow committee-members for all their efforts over the past few weeks.’

  There was an ear-splitting shriek of static from one of the speakers. Everyone winced. With a final plea for people to buy raffle tickets, Clementine wished all the contestants good luck and sat down behind the judges’ desk.

  ‘Bloody good atmosphere,’ Freddie whispered. He gave his buzzer a honk for good measure.

  ‘Freddie! I haven’t started yet,’ Clementine scolded.

  He gave her a boyish grin. ‘Sorry, Clementine, just warming it up!’

  Clementine looked at the first name on her list. ‘I take great pleasure in introducing master magician, the Grand Supremo!’

  The speakers crackled into life and a jet of smoke started to shoot across the stage, gradually turning into a dense cloud. As the judges coughed and spluttered, Jack Turner strode on, hand in hand with Beryl.

  ‘Greetings!’ he announced in a funny, Transylvanian-sounding accent. ‘I am the Grand Supremo, master of all things magical, and this is my stunning assistant, Violetta.’

  Brenda did a provocative little jiggle. Behind Angie, the Blackford-under-Bridge Women’s Institute gasped collectively.

  ‘A woman of that age shouldn’t be showing off so much flesh!’ said one.

  ‘That corset doesn’t give much support,’ exclaimed another.

  Angie Fox-Titt turned around and smiled sweetly at them, shutting them up.

  On stage Jack had produced a white rabbit from his black silk cape. ‘For my first trick, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the exploding rabbit! Three, two, one …’

  For the next ten minutes, the Grand Supremo thoroughly entertained the audience with a variety of half-decent magic tricks, from Violetta being sawed in half to the Jolly Boot’s pub cat Pebbles seemingly vanishing into thin air. None of the three judges pressed their buzzers until the end, and the Grand Supremo exited the stage to loud cheers.

  Next on was a dog trainer from Bedlington whose ‘break-dancing fox terrier’ got an attack of stage fright and dived under the judges’ table, only to be cajoled out when Angie found an old Hobnob in her handbag. Ted Briggs then stunned everyone when he got up and sang ‘Nessun Dorma’ in a beautiful tenor. There was hardly a dry eye in the house.

  ‘He used to be in the operatic society,’ a proud Brenda Briggs told Angie.

  Ted was followed by a very good string quartet, and then a middle-aged stand-up in a tiara, who had them all in stitches with an endless supply of rude jokes about the royal family. Clementine resolutely pressed her buzzer when he made a particularly risqué one about Prince Philip and one of the Queen’s corgis, but Calypso and Freddie let the comic stay on. Unfortunately things started to go downhill from then, when Lucinda Reinard’s precocious daughter Hero came on to do the Riverdance. Unfortunately 15-year-old Hero, who seemed to be taking after her mother in the hips and bum department, tripped over a cable and had to be heaved offstage by a sweating Ted Briggs. It got even worse when Reverend Bellows and Joyce took to the stage dressed as Sonny and Cher to do a toe-curling rendition of ‘I Got You Babe’. Clementine had only just recovered before she had to announce the next act, a thankfully rather good trumpet player from the other side of the Cotswolds.

  An hour and a half later, nearly everyone had performe
d. Only Stacey Turner was left. Her mother and father had changed back into their normal clothes and were sitting with Angie in the audience, waiting expectantly. The booze from the bar had been flowing freely and things were getting more raucous, especially amongst the younger people at the back.

  ‘Stacey has been so secretive about what she’s doing, I’m dying to find out,’ Brenda told Angie. ‘Jack thinks it’s going to be a ballet recital.’

  The lights had been dimmed and sultry music was playing softly in the background.

  Ted Briggs walked on to the stage carrying a large metal pole.

  Jack frowned as he watched it being screwed it into place. ‘What’s all this, then?’

  The music got louder and Clementine had to shout to be heard. ‘Our last act of the evening is Stacey Turner.’ She paused and shot a worried look in the direction of the Turners. ‘Otherwise known as “Harem”.’

  The lights went off and the hall was plunged into darkness. The audience held their breath expectantly. There was a crash backstage and someone shouted ‘Shit!’ as they walked into something.

  Thirty seconds passed. Everyone was starting to fidget when the stage lit up in a crescendo of light and music. In the middle stood Stacey Turner, wearing a tiny two-piece costume made from latex and diamanté. In her navel was a glittering jewel, and her eyes were heavily made-up and mysterious-looking. A feathered headdress and six-inch heels made up the rest.

  A babble of male voices erupted, calling and cheering. Jack was out of his seat like a shot, but his wife pulled him down warningly.

  ‘Jack! She’s been practising like mad for this. You can’t go up there.’

  ‘She’s practically bleeding naked!’ he spluttered.

  ‘Stacey’s an adult now, you’ve got to trust her!’ Beryl warned, but she did look a bit concerned when her daughter turned and shook her assets at the judging panel.

  As the hypnotic music started to play, Stacey writhed and wiggled her nubile young body. The shouts from the back of the hall got even louder. Stacey smiled and flashed her eyes, enjoying the effect she was having. Throwing her head back, she arched her spine and started sliding up and down the pole.