Digging Deeper

by Barbara Elsborg

  “Bad day?” Flick whispered to Josh.

  “Yes,” Kirsten screamed. “And it’s your bloody fault.”

  “What have I done now?” Flick kept her voice low.

  “You shrank my shirt,” Kirsten yelled from her room.

  Josh pushed Flick into the kitchen.

  “Has she suddenly developed batlike hearing?” Flick asked.

  “She’s just excellent at anticipating.”

  Kirsten stormed in, a shirt clasped in her hand. “Right. Look at the shirt I’m wearing. See how it reveals a line of flesh at my midriff?”

  “Very sexy, isn’t it Josh?” Flick said.

  He bit his lip.

  “I’m a lawyer. I’m not supposed to look sexy. I got hauled into HR today because a partner complained I was showing my stomach. And it’s the same flipping guy who addresses all his comments directly to a woman’s breasts, the hypocrite.”

  Kirsten unfastened the shirt she wore. “Hold this.” She thrust it toward Josh then yanked on the other shirt. “Now look,” she demanded, fastening the buttons. “Same make, same size. One borrowed and washed by Flick last week. The other never touched by Flick.”

  “Ooops,” Flick said. “Sorry.”

  “How do you manage it? Everything you touch, you shrink.”

  “Not quite everything,” Flick said. “I’ll have you know some things get much bigger.”

  Josh guffawed. Kirsten glared at him and he put his cross face back on again. Then Kirsten laughed.

  “You’re hopeless, Flick.”

  “I’m sorry. God, you have no idea how many times I’ve said that today.”

  “What else have you done?” Josh asked.

  “How long have you got?”

  “I’ll cook. You talk,” Kirsten said.

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  As she told them what had happened, Flick felt the chance of anything positive growing between her and Beck, shrink back to nothing. She picked listlessly at her burger.

  “Okay, I accept you’ve blown it with Beck,” Kirsten said, “but we have to get you out of this funk. Find you a man.”

  “That’s so the pair of you don’t feel guilty when you go out with Pierce and Sadie and leave me on my own.” Flick stabbed her burger.

  “No,” said Kirsten at the same time that Josh said, “Yes.”

  Kirsten helped herself to more salad. “You need to get out more.”

  “I’m never here as it is.”

  “You know what I mean. Not work. You need to go on dates. Doesn’t she, Josh.”

  Flick glanced at Josh whose lips were pressed even more tightly together. He knew when to keep quiet.

  “You could try enrolling for a college class again,” Kirsten said. “I brought the booklet home. It’s around somewhere. They start next month.”

  Flick groaned. Last year, she and Kirsten had signed up for every taster evening class at Ilkley College with the idea that they could check out the talent before paying. They’d come to the conclusion the only men they were likely to meet had signed up to get away from their wives for the night. Even “The Art of Drystone Walling” was full of women.

  “There are no suitable men left in the entire world,” Flick said. “They’re all taken.”

  She began to clear the kitchen table and load the dishwasher. Kirsten tsked. “You’re too lazy to look. You want some hunk to appear out of thin air and sweep you off to his chateau in France.”

  “A penthouse in Leeds would do,” Flick said. “But you’re right. I want to be picked, not do the picking. I never make the right choice.”

  Even before Marcus there had been a succession of disappointments, guys who had started out with such promise and they’d all let her down, every one of them shallow as a puddle.

  “I mean, think about the guys I’ve dated.” Flick chewed her nail. “Ben took me to that swingers’ party and dumped me when I refused to go in. Mike was thirty-three years old, still living with his parents and had to ring them to tell them he was going to be late, and Julian made up some lie about it not being me it was him. Although when I found the leather gear in the wardrobe I knew he was right. People who hide whips in secret places need to be avoided, unless they’re called Indiana Jones. And we all know Marcus had to go to the other side of the world to get away from me. Apart from the fact that they were all tall, dark and handsome bastards, the only common factor is me. So clearly I must be doing something wrong.”

  “You must meet lots of guys in all your jobs,” Kirsten said. “I mean the ones at the gym and the lido are already half-naked. You have a head start. You know what they’re 58

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  like under their clothes.” She wiped the table down and Josh lifted his glass out of the way.

  “Is that what women are looking for?” he asked. “Someone with a good body?”

  “Preferably the body of a god,” Kirsten said.

  Josh paused with his fork part way to his mouth with the last roast potato.

  “Only not too muscular. More a sort of a Ralph Lauren or Calvin Klein god,”

  Kirsten added.

  The potato dropped back on his plate.

  “How about money? Do you think women want a guy to be rich?” Josh asked.

  “Having money is nice, but not essential,” Kirsten said. “There has to be a physical attraction.”

  “Right, so good-looking is essential,” Josh muttered. “How about intelligent? A gentleman?” He followed Kirsten through to the lounge.

  “Forceful,” Kirsten suggested.

  “Take me, Gilbert,” Flick shrieked, throwing herself over the back of the couch.

  “No, strike forceful,” Kirsten said. “Strong, sort of masterful plus he has to be successful in what he does. I don’t want someone whining all the time.” She slumped on the chair facing the couch.

  “And hair,” Flick added. “Hair is most important. It has to be on his head and not his back and it needs to go top of the list.” She wriggled around to a sitting position. Josh looked at them carefully and Flick chuckled.

  “Venus moment?” he asked.

  “Yes, Marvin,” Flick said.

  “Be serious for a minute and describe your ideal man,” Josh asked. Flick took a deep breath. “I want someone who likes walking on a beach in the winter as well as lying on one in the summer. A guy who’ll read The Time Traveler’s Wife and cry but who’d queue in the rain for the next Predator movie. Someone who’ll watch CSI without fainting but needs me to take a splinter out of his finger. Plus he has to be excellent in bed.”

  “Watching CSI without fainting is going a bit far,” Josh said and sat next to her.

  “Yep, you’re right.” Flick struck her forehead in mock dismay. “I’d forgotten the one time you watched it, you threw up in the loo.”

  “That was a dodgy curry,” Josh said in indignation.

  “Ignore everything we’ve said. If the sex is fabulous, anything else is a bonus.” Flick sidled closer to Josh. “Sadie must think you’re awesome in bed.”

  That earned her a swipe from a cushion. “Ha bloody ha.”

  “So describe your ideal woman,” Kirsten said.

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  Flick watched as Josh stared straight at Kirsten. “Kind eyes, dark hair, goodhearted, a sort of gentle, squashy person.”

  “Squashy?” Kirsten repeated. “What does that mean?”

  “Soft. I like soft,” he blustered. “Not bony.”

  “So Sadie is not a twenty-one-year-old blonde pencil with breasts like Easter eggs?”

  Flick asked.

  “No.”

  “We’ll see if you’re lying on Saturday, when we meet her.” Kirsten raised her eyebrows.

  Josh continued to gaze at Kirsten who was too busy scouring the personal ads in the paper to notice. Flick felt as though she’d opened her eyes for first time. Josh fancied Kirsten. She couldn’t believe she’d not realized before.

&nbs
p; “See, a whole page of men wanting women, women wanting women, men wanting men, women wanting men, men wanting two women, oooh men wanting three women,” Kirsten said.

  “Where?” Josh reached for the paper.

  “Well, I might have made that last one up.” Kirsten giggled.

  “You already have three women,” Flick said. “Numbers One and Two cook and clean for you, and we’re nice to you. Three presumably does the other more personal things, like cut your toe nails. What more could you possibly need?”

  “Don’t answer that, Josh,” Kirsten said.

  “His bed’s not big enough.” Flick smiled. “Or strong enough.”

  “Buy me a new one, landlady.”

  “That would be encouraging you to fulfill your deviant sexual fantasies,” Flick teased.

  She saw him glance again at Kirsten who was running her finger down the ads. Flick wondered what she could do.

  “Look here’s one. Good-looking farmer. GSOH. 30. Loves countryside and outdoor pursuits.” Kirsten stopped reading.

  “No,” Flick said in a firm voice. “I’m not good with animals and how could I be interested in a farmer who has to tell me he loves the countryside? Plus, outdoor pursuits could mean anything. Naked cross-country running or snorkeling in boggy ditches. If these people are describing themselves truthfully, how come they haven’t found ‘the one’? What are they not saying? They wear plastic in bed? They can only have an orgasm if they call you Mummy?”

  Josh laughed so hard he started to choke and Kirsten had to slap him on the back.

  “You have to invite lots of guys from work to my party,” Kirsten told Josh.

  “There’s no one from my office Flick would like.”

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  “Hey, I’m not desperate,” she protested. “I really don’t mind being here on my own.”

  Kirsten leaped to her feet as a car pulled up outside. “That will be Pierce.”

  When she’d gone, Flick put her finger in her mouth and pretended to gag. Josh rolled his eyes. Pierce hardly acknowledged Josh, sneered at Flick’s haphazard life and constantly picked fault with Kirsten—reasons enough to dislike him—but now Flick realized he had the woman Josh wanted, she was surprised Josh hadn’t run him over with his car.

  “What are you wearing that old thing for? It doesn’t suit you.”

  Flick and Josh glanced at each other as Pierce’s voice carried from the hall. When the pair walked into the lounge, Flick felt Josh tense. Pierce ignored them. Flick knew he hadn’t forgiven her for last weekend. He’d turned up shouting at Kirsten to sew the button back on his tux. Because she was in the middle of getting ready, Flick had done it. Until they’d got to the hotel for the meal and Pierce had donned his jacket, neither he nor Kirsten had realized Flick had used a green plastic button shaped like a frog and secured it with such strong thread, it couldn’t be pulled off or cut off with a dinner knife. According to Kirsten, Pierce spent the evening with his arms crossed.

  “Why are you wearing that revolting white shirt?” Flick asked Pierce. “It really doesn’t suit you. Lime green would be much better.”

  He sneered.

  “Do you give lessons in lip curling?” She laughed.

  “Lost another job yet, Flick?” Pierce asked. “We could do with someone to clean our toilet.”

  “Sorry, but since you have it coming out both ends I couldn’t cope with the pressure. Anyway with hair like yours I thought you were the resident toilet brush.”

  “Glass of wine?” Kirsten blurted.

  Pierce turned on her again. “Don’t pour it like that, Kirsten.” He took the bottle from her and tilted the glass. “See? Now what can you tell me about this wine?”

  He put the bottle behind his back. Kirsten stared at him, her eyes widening in discomfort.

  “You’ve just drunk it, darling.” Pierce looked at the three empty glasses on the coffee table. “Describe it.”

  “It was nice, er fruity,” Kirsten mumbled and Pierce snorted. Flick thought he had an aggravating laugh, a cross between an unhappy hyena and a donkey with a sore throat. She could have made another cutting comment to Pierce, but she wanted Kirsten to see him for the control freak he was. Maybe he had that narcissistic personality disorder and really believed he was Mr. Wonderful. Sadly, there was no cure, so Flick would have to help her friend dump him because it was becoming too painful to watch Kirsten collapsing from the brain down. Flick could almost see her self-esteem surging down her legs and pouring out through her silver toenails. 61

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  “Er,” Kirsten muttered, “buttery?”

  Pierce tsked.

  Flick could see Josh biting his tongue. She guessed the temptation to tell Pierce to go find a sharp stick to sit on was itching to burst out of his mouth. But it was Flick who cracked.

  “Oh fuck off, Pierce. It’s four quid a bottle from Tesco and it’s red. Enough said.”

  Pierce looked at her smugly. “Hardy’s Stamp.”

  “You’ve just read the label,” Flick said. “Don’t come here and drink our wine and moan. If you don’t like it, bring your own.”

  “Just because it’s in your house, doesn’t mean it’s yours. When did you last buy a bottle of wine?” Pierce glared. “You’re happy enough to drink someone else’s but Kirsten says you never buy any. Let’s go upstairs, sweetheart, and leave these two sad twats to play with each other.”

  Flick put her hand on Josh’s knee to keep him sitting next to her as the pair left the lounge.

  “He’s not worth it,” she said.

  “He doesn’t deserve Kirsten.”

  “True. So did you make Sadie up?”

  Josh glanced at her but didn’t answer the question. “Kirsten has the most fantastic eyes. Did you see her when she tried to get him to shut up? They blazed. And when he upset her, she looked so hurt. And when he was getting at you, I swear they turned darker.” He sighed. “Don’t worry about the wine, Flick. I bet Kirsten didn’t say it in the way Pierce suggested.”

  “So you made Sadie up,” Flick asked, undeflected.

  He swallowed. “No, she exists. She works with me. She’s just not my girlfriend.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  “So Kirsten didn’t think I was a complete loser. I suppose to see if she’d be jealous. It’s a relief you know how I feel.”

  “How do you feel, Josh?”

  “I love her.” He gave a shy smile. “She’s the most beautiful woman in the world. She makes me happy every time I see her. She’s cute and kind and silly and fun and squashy and I want to spend the rest of my life looking after her.”

  A lump surged into Flick’s throat. “Why don’t you tell her?”

  “I can’t. She’s going out with Pierce. She likes me as I am. A friend. Everything will change if she thinks I fancy her. Don’t say anything, please.”

  “Take a risk, Josh. You’re expecting the worst and that’s crazy. You’re pretending you don’t want her and she doesn’t want you so you won’t be disappointed. Take a chance for once and tell her.”

  “What if she doesn’t like me like that?”

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  “You’re not giving her the opportunity to think of you ‘like that’ if you don’t say anything.”

  He looked distraught. “I can’t. I’m afraid.”

  Flick wasn’t surprised. He’d obviously bottled this up for months. “Okay, but dump Sadie. That is something you can do. Then at least you’re available.”

  “Right.”

  “Do it now and be gentle. Think about it, Kirsten will feel sorry for you. She’ll want to give you a hug.” Flick winked.

  “Sadie’s toast.”

  The phone rang. “Your turn,” Flick said.

  Josh picked up the receiver. A moment later, he grabbed the list, looked for the next response and checked his watch.

  “Could you spell that?” he asked. “No, could you spell your name?
”

  Flick smiled. They’d all become so cheesed off with unwanted cold calls, largely some poor sod from Mumbai pretending to be Debbie or Alison from down the road, that they’d created a list of responses to use in turn. They timed how long it took before the person at the other end put down the phone with a monthly prize for the longest and shortest times.

  “Where is the company exactly?” Josh asked. “And how long has it been in operation?” He smiled at Flick. “I think it sounds fabulous. I am lucky to have a mobile phone, don’t you think? Do you have a mobile phone?…How long have you had one?…Do all your family have one?” Josh paused to let the telemarketer pose another question which he ignored. “What are you wearing?”

  He put the phone down. “She hung up.”

  “You need to practice your seduction technique.”

  The phone rang again and Josh snatched at it. “What are you wear…Oh hi, Mum…I was just asking Flick what she was wearing to Kirsten’s party.”

  “Nothing at all,” Flick yelled loud enough for his mother to hear.

  “No, Mum, she didn’t mean that. Yes, she’s a very nice girl.”

  * * * * *

  Flick left the house at eleven dressed in her jeans and Josh’s black shirt, her face smeared with camouflage makeup left over from Halloween. Unfortunately, it had started to go off, so it smelled rather weird and there were several lumps she hadn’t been able to rub in. The overall effect was less marine commando and more diseaseridden plague victim. To think Grinstead’s had thought her capable of subterfuge. Ha!

  She stopped her mind wandering down that path. Flick had been disappointed to learn ostriches don’t really bury their heads in the sand because she thought it was a 63

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  brilliant idea. She parked at the bottom of the lane well away from Hartington Hall. All she needed now was to be caught by the police and her day would be perfect. The moon provided enough light to work by, but laying out the field with a grid of tape took longer than she’d expected. She fastened together the ripped ends with neat knots and stretched the yellow plastic between the metal pegs, measuring carefully so the distances were exact and all the squares true. Tucking a spare strip of the thick yellow tape in her back pocket, Flick moved up and down the field, feeling the tape fluttering behind her in the breeze.