Chapter X
Jack
“Morning,” Paige groaned, turning over in the king-sized bed to grasp at the steaming drink on her bedside table.
“Afternoon,” her boyfriend corrected, flinging wide the curtains in their spacious bedroom.
“Ahhhhh!” Paige screamed as the light flooded into the room, diving underneath the blue duvet to cover her eyes from the harsh glare of the bright light. “You evil … ow!”
“Good few days?”
Paige groaned and stretched before removing the thick duvet from her face. “Yeah, great.”
“No problems?”
“Fine.” Her lips broke into a smile. “If you really want to know what I get up to surely just read the gossip columns or check out PaigeStalk on Twatter!”
“Just askin'. Did Claire and Hazel enjoy themselves?”
“Why?” Paige asked, suspicious at the unusual questioning.
“Just a question.”
“Yeah. Hazel was fine but got pissed every night ‘cause she’s a lightweight and Claire had a couple of nights to banish Andre. Or some more nights to banish Andre.” Jack nodded and unfurled the tabloid newspaper from underneath the tea-tray, placing the gossip column open on the crumpled bedspread.
“What’s this?” Jack tapped the small sidebar on the paper and Paige squinted, reading aloud. “Which garment-challenged guitarist was the talk of Ibiza with her lewd antics in the bedroom and generosity in the bar, ensuring she made many male friends?”
Paige shrugged as she sipped her tea. “So? That’s not the worst of it. Can’t she have a life because she’s famous?”
“Of course not. I’m just saying ..”
“What?” Paige scowled and rubbed her nose. “Anyway, might not be us. It might be a completely different guitarist. Maybe one from Blink 182 or Dandy Warhols. They are always running around naked in their videos.” Paige cocked her head. “And if you want to know Claire was not the only one that weekend who had some extra fun, a couple of the girls let their hair down.”
“And their knickers,” Jack quipped.
Paige scowled. “Oh because she’s a woman she can’t have a sex life, lest she gets called a slut. OK for men to be Jack the Lad but a woman can’t be Jacqui the Lass. Fuck that, Ibiza is a great place to be young, free and single. And Claire is.”
“Oh. Well that sounds …”
“Like trouble, yes. It’s a side to her I didn’t know existed. Totally inhibited.” Paige’s hands moved elaborately to underline her concerns. “I have never seen her so drunk, and so out of control. I told her to go have a wild time, but she just lost it in Ibiza. I mean, to the point where Lucinda might have looked and said, ‘wow! That’s a lot to drink!’ Which is a lot. I think she sank enough to tranquillise a hippo on the first night.”
“Do we need to have a word? Get her to stay here for awhile to look after her and …”
“She’s an adult. She’s acting as an adult.”
“I’m not sure she sounds OK.”
“I asked her if she was OK and she told me that she was. And she was enjoying herself. Let’s be honest, she’s been totally stifled with Andre so let her have some crazy youth time. I‘m sure she’ll settle down and find someone to have colour-coded rotas with and all the other ridiculous stuff that girl does.”
“But...”
“But I’m thinking for breakfast I’d like bacon, eggs, sausages and hash browns please.”
“Dinner.”
“Yeah, that too.” Paige yawned and slumped against the mattress. “And wake me up when it’s ready. I need my beauty sleep.”
“I’m off out.” Paige rubbed her eyes. “I’ll be back before tea.”
“Where?”
“Does it matter?” Paige discarded the bedclothes and glared at him. “OK, you know. I’m off to a party meeting to …”
“We talked about this,” Paige snapped. “We said …”
“… and I said it was something I want to do. I want to be a candidate.”
“For The Nasty Party.” She sneered as she rubbed her eyes. “After everything we’ve done, you’re seriously still going for the nomination for the Really Fucking Nasty Party?”
“We don’t call ourselves that. Can you imagine that on the ballot sheet? Mr Parsons from the Lovely Fluffy Party, Mrs Berrington from the Wonderfully Beautiful Party or Mr Rees-Montague from the Really Fucking Nasty Party.”
Paige sneered. “It would be Dr Evil or Darth Vader. Do you reckon David Cameron aspires to be Darth Vader? Perhaps he’s more Mrs Umbridge. Osbourne definitely wants to be Dr Evil. You can see it in his eyes.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “I am not discussing politics with you.”
“Because I’m a free-thinking liberal socialist?” She sighed. “All that money we raised, all those benefit gigs we did. Gigs that I did. Save Croydon Hospital. Raising money for the poor and the disabled. For the disenfranchised youth. For refugees. All abandoned and vilified by this government and that party. How can you think of supporting them, joining them or being them?”
Jack groaned. “I am not discussing politics with you.”
“Because you can’t,” she continued. “Because I’m right.”
“I. Am. Not. Discussing. Politics. With. You.”
“Because I’m right.”
“Darling, I know this is hard for you to believe, but there are occasions when you are not right,” Jack smiled and picked up his smart shoes. “Love you,” he said and moved to kiss his girlfriend, but she dodged his movement.
“They want to burn babies from single mothers in nuclear reactors to provide power for the City bankers stealing from the poor. And they want to asset strip every hospital so that poor people can’t afford their healthcare and die. And …”
“That’s not true,” he laughed. “And you know it. I’ll be back later …”
“With blood on your hands, you fucking Judas!”
“Love you too, sweetcheeks,” he teased and winked as he slipped behind the bedroom door.
Jack’s party rally was organised at a shopping centre; a by-election, taking place the following month in an adjoining council, was being fought and the party were trying to garner support for their candidate. They had asked for volunteers, and party loyalists from neighbouring associations had travelled to the Surrey town to help distribute colourful leaflets to frustrated shoppers.
The local candidate, a sports centre manager, was popular with the activists and Jack’s presence brought shoppers’ attention from passing people to their stand, eager to talk to the world-famous musician.
Jack impressed, and did his chances of selection in his ward no harm whatsoever.
Chapter XI
Harriet
Harriet looked around the expansive golf club conference room. It had cost a small fortune to hire, and the dozens of contractors had been a larger cost, but the space was fantastically well decorated. Her party organiser had seen to that.
“Harriet, dear,” the woman simpered, clutching her neon pink clipboard. “It's half one, the guests should be arriving soon.”
Harriet nodded, straightening her dress. “I'll go and get him.”
“Oh, and we had that slightly unusual request from Paige after we sent out the invites.” Harriet rolled her eyes.
“No she can't.”
“I …”
“It's my stupid brother's girlfriend. And you've told the bar staff that Lucinda is only allowed one additional drink. I’m not havin’ her getting pissed and showing us all up.”
She nodded; the demands of the Rees-Montague surprise fiftieth party had felt never ending. So many guests had colourful backgrounds and Harriet had so many special requests as they arranged the venue, catering and entertainment.
Harriet's elegant black dress flared in the wind as she walked across the stone car park to her sporty hatchback and drove the three miles through the Sunday traffic to pick up her father. He had been told that it was a party rally for his son a
nd after some arm-twisting by his daughter and his best friend, the Mayor, he had agreed to attend.
“Let's hope this sets him onto a better career than the one he's been on,” the businessman mused as he in the passenger seat of his daughter's car. She smiled, turning the car into the long drive and speeding towards the eminent golf club in the heart of the Surrey countryside.
Meanwhile, two hundred guests filed into the expansive room and took glasses of champagne from the staff. Other esteemed local businessmen, family friends, key factory personnel and, of course, the family, filled the room and awaited for the arrival of Paul.
Paul looked at the packed car park as Harriet parked her car. “Quite a turnout,” he mumbled as he straightened his tie and jacket.
“Good weather. Golfers probably,” Harriet explained as she led him towards the conference room.
“Surprise!” Two hundred voices shouted in unison as Paul entered. “Happy birthday!” Harriet beamed as her father stepped back and embraced her.
“Thanks!” He mumbled, shocked by the vast number of guests.
“Yeah, I know you're not fifty for another ten days but we've got a meal coming up then some evening entertainment. And a free bar.”
Paige, only present under duress and ordered to stay away from the Mayor, sat with Lucinda in the corner of the room; the top table was reserved for Paul, his wife and two children. She grumbled as she sat down. “Bloody barman says I can only have one additional drink all evening,” she snapped, pouring a glass of wine from the bottles on the table. “It's that Harriet interfering.”
Paige shrugged. “Do you want me to get you a drink?”
Lucinda smiled, sliding a bottle of vodka from her handbag. “I came prepared. I was a Girl Guide you see. Be prepared.”
“I thought that was the Scouts?”
She mused for a moment. “I lost my virginity to a scout. He said he needed it for his fornication badge. Ahh, remember it so well. And he was prepared.” Paige laughed. “One hell of a chat-up line that was!”
Lucinda sent Paige three times to the bar to order vodka cocktails as the middle-aged woman swapped between wine and vibrantly coloured drinks.
“Drink some too,” Lucinda urged, pressing alcohol into Paige's hand. “It's not everyday your father-in-law turns fifty!”
“He's not my father-in-law.” Lucinda ignored the objection, refilling Paige's wine glass with white wine.
“Drink woman. We only ever get to truly wind up Paul when we're pissed!”
Paul gave a speech, thanking all those that attended and his daughter for arranging everything. Jack was barely mentioned, Paige wasn’t at all. Not that she was listening, openly giggling with Lucinda.
The band began to set up their instruments and Harriet watched as Jack approached his father and asked him to come outside. Underneath a green tarpaulin was an immaculate 1965 Jaguar E-Type in bright scarlet.
“Yeah, Happy Birthday Old Man,” he joked, holding the key to the £200,000 motor in front of his father. “Fifty years old, like you!”
Paul ran his hands over the pristine bodywork. “I've always dreamt of a classic car,” he said, opening the door and looking inside to the leather interior. It had been intimately restored.
“Paige helped me choose it.” He looked at his son. “It's OK, I wouldn't let her drive it. She had enough problems driving the shitty little Corsa her instructor had before she gave up.”
Paul embraced his son. “Thanks.” The two men looked under the bonnet, and walked around the spotless car several times, before starting the engine and driving around the car park. The motor started effortlessly and the thunderous roar of the highly tuned engine filled the evening sky.
“So, how did Paige come to choose it?” Paul asked as they dragged the tarpaulin over the vehicle. “She's hardly …”
“… your biggest fan,” Jack finished for him. “No. We discussed it. I think she likes reminding you how old you are! I never know with Paige. She has an ulterior motive, I’m sure. I just don’t know what it is. I’m not sure she does half the time.”
He laughed, as he held the reception door open for his son. “Volatile and unpredictable?”
“Definitely.” Jack giggled as the two men stepped into the conference room where a familiar voice carried over the two hundred guests.
Paige, naked from her discarded dress, held the microphone as she sang over the soft music from the brass band.
“I'm sorry,” Harriet gushed. “I did tell her she couldn't sing tonight but she slipped on stage. Jack, control your girlfriend please.”
Jack sighed and as Paige finished, he coerced his tipsy and naked girlfriend from the stage as a drunken Lucinda replaced her.
“Happy Birthday, dear brother,” she drunkenly slurred.
“Who plied Lucinda with alcohol?” Harriet demanded as Paige blushed for the first time that evening. “Who let Paige get on stage and who … I had plans and she’s spoilt them.”
“Oh, let them make fools of themselves,” Paul snapped. “Come see my new car!”
Chapter XII
Hazel
“You look fabulous,” Paige exclaimed, striding into the small hotel room containing Hazel. “Amazing!” Hazel blushed, glancing away from the mirror and towards her naked sister with unruly hair. The stylist brushed the bride’s face with powder as the Maid of Honour slouched in a chair opposite.
“It could be you getting married next!” Hazel replied.
Paige snorted. “He would need to propose. And he hasn’t. And it’s not like we’ve not had the time or the place. We’ve been on top of mountains at sunset, we’ve been running naked on the beach, through forests. We’ve been drinking champagne by the pool, at Geysir in Iceland, on safari in Africa and on private jets. If he wanted to marry me, he would have asked, but he hasn’t. So I’ll assume he doesn’t.”
“Perhaps …”
“And I’ve even gone halves with him on his Dad’s birthday present. A hundred grand each, just to show the Rees-Montague clan that, maybe, just maybe, I’m not the Satanic bitch they think I am.”
Hazel chuckled at her animated sister. “Did it work?”
“No. I might have spoilt that by singing naked, and then doing a duet with Lucinda on the stage. We sang Happy Birthday. And then Lucinda drunkenly told stories from their youth and I sort of got the blame for this because Lucinda was totalled.” Paige shrugged and turned in the swivel chair back and forth. “I bought her all of her drinks although she smuggled much in, in her handbag.”
“You OK there? You look like you’re enjoying the chair!”
“I’m practising for my role as the master villain in the new James Bond. It’s called Skyclad. And, I, Barefeld, will burn down every clothes shop and factory in the world,” she cackled, spinning in the chair. “And Mr Bond, will not stop me.”
“Maybe Jack will marry you when you’re a film star instead?”
“Hmmm … well he knows that I want a naturist wedding when and if I do tie the knot and he can’t agree to that.”
“I don’t think Mum would like you doing that,” Hazel suggested. “Or Dad.”
“Dad won’t care,” Paige replied, airily dismissing her sister. “They should expect it from me, anyway. If anyone they know from their nudist community is going to insist on naked nuptials, it’ll be me!”
Hazel giggled. “Maybe.”
“How are they anyway? I’ve not seen ‘em for a few weeks.”
“She’s good,” Hazel muttered. “The nursery is busy.”
“I know that!” Paige laughed. “We own it. Just not seen her for weeks. She speaks to Lucinda not me!”
“She’s fine. She wanted to help plan the wedding so she’s been meeting my planner with me.”
“Ah yeah, that reminds me, your planner said I have to wear my bridesmaid dress at the ceremony and at the evening reception. I am assuming this is a horrendously rampant mistake of gigantically epic proportions and obviously, clothing is all optional?
”
Hazel tittered. “It cost me two grand and it looks wonderful on you. You can wear it until the first dance at least.”
“It would look better as a crumpled heap on the castle floor,” Paige sniped. “And I look much better natural, and doesn’t everyone?” She sighed when her sister didn’t respond. “So how’s Ricky?”
Hazel shrugged and pursed her lips as Paige poured a glass of water from the complimentary refreshments. “S’ok. Nervous I think. He was panicking last week and getting tense.”
“Ahh yes, I’ve heard about his ‘getting tense’ from Andre’s PA when he was in the boy-band. Said he would lose it if he didn’t get his own way.”
“He’s a perfectionist. Like you. He gets frustrated when things aren’t perfect.”
“Hmmm … I never smashed up a hotel room.”
“No. You got arrested for your art on-stage,” Hazel reminded her with raised eyebrows. “More than once. I’ve been to the Police Station to get you outta jail, missy!”
“Bloody rozzers,” Paige snapped. “Always manhandling me.” She shook her mind as it wandered towards unenjoyable nostalgic memories. “But promise me, it is what you want, isn’t it? You do love him, don’t you? And he does love you?”
Hazel nodded, watching the make-up artist apply the finishing touches to her bridal appearance. “Course.”
“No, I mean he is what you want. It’s been really, really quick and I do worry ‘bout you.”
“Don’t,” she snapped. “And when are you going to put on that dress?” Her eyes fluttered to the three designer outfits hung on the wardrobe, waiting for Hazel’s bridesmaids to attire themselves. “You can call the other two in too.”
Paige rubbed her eyes. “Wedding’s not for an hour an’ ‘arf. I’ll get ready soon. Oh, and did you get my text about the wedding seating plan?”
“I’ve moved Claire and her ‘plus one’ to another table as you suggested.”
“Great. I just didn’t think Andre and his plus one should be remotely near me or Jack and especially not Claire and her plus one. That’s assuming that they bring their plus ones because neither of them should have plus anything after a couple of months but they like to fuck up the smooth running of my life,” Paige ranted. “To be honest Andre should fuck the fuck off if he knows what’s good for him.”
Bare Necessities 2 (The Bare Necessities) Page 6
