The Bunk Up (The Village People Book 1)

by D H Sidebottom

  Kathy has two sons, aged four and three, and a little blonde beauty aged five. The third one was a surprise. They are loveable rogues and the nickname evil pixies comes from their own mother.

  “Right, come through to the kitchen then. It’s relatively clean seeing as they’ve had tea out.”

  Kathy’s relatively clean is far removed from my own idea. The floor is littered with at least that morning’s catapulted cereal. The sink is full of dishes and the bin is overflowing with an orange juice carton half hung through the opening. An evil smell emits from the bin, suggestive of it being a couple of days since it was last emptied. What looks like remnants of pasta sauce is dribbled down the front of it.

  Kathy fills and then flicks the kettle on at the socket.

  “So how long has this being going on then?”

  “I don’t know.” I sniff again and Kathy reaches over for a tissue in a well-practiced manner. I’ve become child number four, complete with snotty nose.

  “Maybe it’s just a fling. You’ve been together so long, perhaps he wanted to see what someone else was like. It could be all out of his system now.”

  “She apparently has better tits than me and a tighter foo.”

  “Oh.” Kathy’s jaw tightens. “Tell me he did not fucking go there.”

  Now, my friend Kathy is lovely, but if she experiences anything unjustified she fires up like the Human Torch.

  “So it’s your fault he’s strayed? Is that what he’s implying? Because your vagina isn’t what it used to be and you try and do Kegels, but it’s boring. So it’s not as elastic as before. It still takes a penis.”

  “Eh?”

  “Oh, sorry. I hope you hit him. Did you punch him? Did you scratch her eyes out and pull her hair?”

  “No. I ran to the pub. That’s where he found me and told me about my inadequate body.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know. I’ve nowhere to live, so I may have to move back into the house and see how it goes.”

  “You will not. You’ll stay here until you’ve had some proper time to think.”

  “I can’t stay here. There are five of you as it is in three bedrooms.”

  “Nonsense. The kids will be fine all in one room. Rex will do some re-arranging when he gets home. We have a camp bed. It’s not the comfiest thing ever but it will do you for a couple of nights.”

  My tummy rumbles.

  “Have you eaten?” she asks me.

  “No. I don’t have much of an appetite.”

  Kathy reaches in the fridge for some leftover lasagne, which explains the bin splashes.

  “I’ll warm you some of this up. Mince for protein. Brain food, so you can think straight.”

  I smile at her and say thank you, while inwardly berating myself for not asking in the pub for some takeaway miniatures to get me through the night.

  ***

  Now, I love my best friend. I do. However, the evil pixies make me think my choice of bus shelter would have been a wiser idea. The following Monday I already look as though I’ve done ten rounds with Mike Tyson and used the vacuum cleaner to dry my hair. I have this nervous twitch in my right eye that’s suddenly appeared from nowhere, and I flinch at the slightest sound, my nerves frayed.

  “Kathy!” I shout up the stairs, hoping I’m heard above the screaming trio. There’s a funny smell rolling down and I back away slightly. I swear I can see the green Bisto vapours flowing fluidly through the air. “You seen my work cravat?”

  I’m already late for work and I jig about on the spot, my bladder cursing me at the choice I made to use the work loo instead of braving the smell currently secreting from Kathy’s bathroom.

  Kathy appears at the top of the stairs with Billy, her youngest, attached to her leg. I squint. It appears Billy is humping her leg like a dog. I am never having kids. Ever! “Sorry,” she mouths as she unwraps my cravat from around a freaky looking dolly’s body and throws it down to me.

  Nodding, I mouth back, deciding not to waste my time with an actual voice as it’s never heard. “I’m off. Catch you there!”

  I’m still tying the piece of material around my neck as I clamber into the waiting taxi.

  The driver quirks his brow at me through the mirror. I glare at him when it’s obvious his wide eyes are taking in the state of my hair. “What? It’s a wet day!” After chasing Kathy’s kids around all morning for my stuff, all I had managed was to quickly pin it up on the top of my head. Besides, messy buns are in right now!

  Raising his other eyebrow, he smirks and pulls away.

  After a weird morning of sniggers, strange looks and sideways glances, Mr Bennet, my boss, calls me into his office.

  His eyes widen as he stares with incredulity at my head before he blinks and lowers them to my chest, and he gestures to the chair opposite him. “Daisy,” he begins, his face still fixed on my boobs. I like my boss, he’s usually okay. He’s never once let his gaze roam and I glare at him, crossing my arms over my ample breasts – with apparently extra-small nipples. I’ve worked for the local Post Office for around four years now, and although it’s hard work and long hours, it suits my lifestyle.

  Sighing, Mr Bennet looks down at his lap and then sighs again. This gets my attention and I stiffen with anxiety. He’s never one to mince words, so I know it’s bad news before he even manages to spit out the words. “I’m going to have to let you go, Daisy.”

  I laugh. But it soon peters out when I take in his slow nod. “W-What?”

  “I’m so sorry, Daisy. It’s not my decision. Head office has told me I have to lower workforce numbers. Financial problems, or so I’ve been told. You and Mary were the last in…” He shrugs, the gesture finishing his statement for him.

  “I…”

  Mr Bennet winces at the high pitch of my one syllable.

  “I’m so sorry, Daisy. You’ve been a good worker.”

  “Not good enough, obviously!”

  He shifts uneasily at my anger and pushes his specs up his nose. He still refuses to look me in the eyes, and now I know why.

  I can see the guilt on his face, but I also see resoluteness. Not wanting to embarrass myself, I shift my chair back and stand up. My eyes well but I blink back the tears. “Right.”

  Finally, he looks up at me. His lips press together but he stands and holds out his hand. “Again, I’m so sorry, Daisy. It isn’t my call. I’ll get Lucy to prepare your severance package. You’ll be paid until the end of your six months’ contract.”

  Well that’s something I suppose. Hopefully it will tide me over until I can find something else.

  “It’s not your fault, Mr Bennet.” And I know it isn’t, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.

  This has been the shittiest week ever. I’ve lost my boyfriend, my home, my sanity, and now my job.

  “Daisy!” Mr Bennet calls me back as I step out of his office.

  I turn back to him.

  His eyes lift into my hair and he grimaces. “It’s probably Comic Relief day, or something,” he says quietly, “but… why do you have an eyeball in your hair?”

  Chapter Three

  Daisy

  I could see her flame red hair, two in front of me, as I stood in the queue at the chemist, waiting to collect my asthma medication. I have to dig my fingernails into my thigh to stop myself from picking up the bottle of bleach on the shelf beside me and turning her into a blonde.

  I narrow my eyes suspiciously when Belinda leans over the counter and whispers something to Mrs Haversham, who owns the village chemist-cum-hardware store. A strange combination that somehow works.

  Mrs Haversham nods her head but doesn’t greet Belinda with her usual happy chatter, which is bizarre in itself.

  Then, as Mrs Haversham discreetly reaches into a drawer under the counter and slips something into a paper bag, Belinda’s shifty eyes lift to the mirror that is housed on the length of the wall behind the counter. A smirk curls the edges of her lips as h
er eyes lock onto mine, and then, loudly, she pipes up, “Oh, and a bumper box of condoms, please, Mrs Haversham.” Her fake giggle makes my skin crawl. “Can’t keep up with him.”

  The old guy in front of me shifts uncomfortably, and Mrs Haversham’s eyes dart to mine. There’s a look in her eyes that I can’t read but I also see anger, which, once again, is unlike her. However, as it’s her job, she grabs an extra-large box of Durex and thrusts them at Belinda as Belinda hands her some cash.

  I want the floor to swallow me whole when a range of whispers and knowing looks drift towards me. My mind won’t focus on anything but the fact that a thirty pack of condoms would have lasted me and Marcus a couple of years. And that hurts. It shouldn’t, but it does.

  Heat floods my cheeks, and embarrassed and upset, I turn my gaze to a nicely arranged selection of deodorant aerosols. Apparently, according to the warning symbol, they were highly flammable. My eyes then roam two shelves up, to the pretty pink candle lighters sat upright in a replica pretty pink canister. Hmm.

  I sense Belinda’s cruel smirk as she passes me on her way out, but just as she glides past me, her cheap perfume reminding me why I needed to collect my Ventolin spray, Mrs Haversham shouts out, “Belinda, don’t forget your thrush cream!”

  The soft whispers turn to quiet sniggers and Belinda’s cheeks reflect the lovely red colour of her hair.

  She snatches the paper bag out of Mrs Haversham’s waving hand and storms out of the shop.

  The old guy in front of me purchases some haemorrhoid cream and when I reach the front of the queue and hand Mrs H my prescription she gives me a sympathetic smile. “Ignore the brazen hussy,” she says quietly as she reaches out and pats my hand softly.

  It’s stupid. I was doing really well. But it’s Mrs Haversham’s gentle compassion that has the first sob of tears bursting from me.

  “Oh, come now,” she whispers with worry.

  “Timothy!” she shouts. “Hold the fort!”

  Instantaneously, Timothy, Mrs Haversham’s assistant, rushes through from the back room, his wide eyes on Mrs H as he nods eagerly. Now usually Mrs Haversham likes to be front of house, serving and picking up all the local gossip, so I’m dumbfounded when she lifts the little barrier on the counter and ushers herself to my side. “Come on, Daisy, dear. Let’s find a coffee and a nice soft doughnut.”

  I’m whisked out of the chemist without another word as eyes, juicy for gossip, follow us out.

  A little while later Mrs H and I are sat on a bench in the park watching the kids kicking a football around. I love kids, but watching how much energy they have, and how much they enjoy pulling each other’s hair and kicking every single shin in close proximity – and living with Kath’s trio of tricksters - I suddenly realise I don’t need a box of condoms anymore to stop my body from thrusting a little person on me. I start to cry harder.

  “I’ll never have kids, Mrs H.”

  She tuts softly. “Oh come now. You’re only in your twenties.”

  “Mid-twenties,” I blubber.

  “You have lots of time to think about children, Daisy. You should concentrate on yourself. Enjoy your time being single.”

  I shake my head, my bottom lip slipping out in a pout. “But I don’t like being single. I don’t know how to change a plug!”

  “YouTube, dear.”

  I stall at that response. Mrs Haversham is in her early sixties; I would never have her down as a YouTube junkie.

  “You can find allsorts on there, Daisy.” Her gaze roams dreamily to the fountain. “There’s some really nice men.” She shifts on the bench as I stare at her open-mouthed. “Proper dishy.”

  Dishy?

  She seems to be in a world of her own as she continues. “There’s this one man who I subscribe to.” She shudders. “The things he can break between his thighs. Goodness. The only thing I can break without effort is wind.”

  I nod slowly. “I’m broken.”

  She smiles and turns to me. “It might feel that way now but give it time.”

  “Pfft,” I scoff then sigh in resignation. “I’ve lost my boyfriend, my self-respect, my home, my job, all in the space of a week, Mrs H. The next breakage will most likely be my sanity.”

  “Mmm, I heard about you losing your job. I’m going to miss your big smile. You were the only one that gave me the time of day. That’s why I always headed to your window.”

  I sink a little inside, feeling guilty at how I always tried to avoid her.

  “I know what they all say about me,” she says quietly, making me feel a bigger bitch. “But you know what? I concentrate on the good vibes. I seek out the positives. Your smile and your beautiful head full of wild blonde curls always made my day that little bit brighter.”

  I’m starting to wonder if Mrs H bats for the other team but she takes a sip of her hot chocolate and smiles. “What you need is a change. A holiday.”

  “Yeah,” I say sarcastically thinking of the dire amount in my bank account. “That’s a no go with my bank manager too.”

  As if she has a firecracker up her ass, Mrs Haversham jumps and swivels around to me. “I have a cottage in Beydon.”

  Where the hell is Beydon?

  Answering my unspoken question, she grins at me. “It’s a quiet little village in Norfolk. It’s been in my family for years and I could never bear to sell it, so it just sits there empty forty-eight weeks of the year. You could go there.”

  “I couldn’t.” I shake my head, gobsmacked with her generosity.

  “Of course you can. It’s only sitting empty. You have nothing holding you back.”

  My pout returns when I remember she’s right. I have no job to try and take holidays from. I have no boyfriend to seek permission from. My mother is still camping in Amsterdam with her Philippine boyfriend – don’t ask. And, the worse part, I have no home. It sounds like a good idea but… when I figure there are no buts to argue with, I frown at Mrs H. “You would do that? For me?”

  The confusion that covers her face deepens the many wrinkles for a second. “Well why wouldn’t I? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  Tears well harder. I don’t know what to say. A woman I’d gone out of my way to avoid showed me what a bitch I was. My heart swelled and a sob of gratefulness rolls from me.

  “Don’t cry,” she whispers in my ear as she huddles me to her humungous bust. “Shh, Daisy. You’ll love it. Peace and quiet, for however long you want. And then when you find your happy again, you can come back and face the world again.”

  I nod against her, unable to speak.

  “Oh, I do wish my Nigel had picked you. You would have been my daughter-in-law, Daisy. Wouldn’t that have been wonderful? We’d have made a great team.”

  I frown to myself. Nigel Haversham had buck teeth, a funny brown skin tag that hung from his left eyelid, and his nose sat slightly to the right. He always wore brown cords and a snotty green shirt. For many years I’d wondered if he’d bought those same clothes in bulk. But then he’d moved to Australia and his attire didn’t torture my eyes any longer – much to my relief. I knew he’d had a crush on me a couple of years back because he’d flash those large teeth in abundance every time he saw me.

  “That would have been lovely,” I fib, a shudder ripping through me as I picture mine and Nigel’s wedding.

  “Never mind,” she says. “Someone will come along – not as handsome as my Nigel – but still someone who will sweep you off your feet and treat you like a princess.”

  I look up at her and smile. “Did Mr H treat you like a princess?”

  Oddly, she stiffens and sits up straight. “Come on, let’s go and get you the key to the cottage.” Shaking herself from the strange atmosphere that has descended around us, she finally smiles and takes my hand, pulling me up from the bench and completely ignoring my question.

  I frown as she directs me through the park. I was upset for Mrs H. It was obvious she had a few secrets of her own. Mrs Haversham had been married for many years. There w
as talk that early in her marriage she’d taken on a lover. One day he never turned up to their meeting place and she never saw him again. Mrs H had been heartbroken, but her husband had forgiven her and they’d gone on to have a long and happy marriage. Unfortunately, Mr H had died of a stroke six years ago. I hadn’t known much about her until I started work at the Post Office and she started coming to my window regularly.

  Yet, I knew better than to listen to the village gossip. I had been the centre of it many times, so I had now come to ignore every whisper and every hushed statement.

  ***

  “So you’re definitely going then?” Kathy asks with barely contained excitement as she takes a sip of her coffee from where she’s watching me closely across the kitchen table.

  “Damn right.”

  Miranda, Kathy’s eldest, meanders into the kitchen and plonks her ass down onto the floor beside us. She looks up at me, her huge blue eyes twinkling as she gives me a smile, then goes back to brushing her dolly’s hair. The way she’s yanking the brush through the mass of nylon curls makes me shudder.

  “Oh!” I state, blinking as something clicks in my head.

  Reaching into my bag I pull out the eyeball and hand it to Miranda. She gasps with delight then proceeds to, quite forcefully, pop dolly’s eye back into the gaping hole in its face.

  Something about Miranda doesn’t seem right. She looks the same. Her long golden hair is pulled into a ponytail behind her head in a bobble. Her angelic face still displays her usual smile and her wide eyes that are coated in a thick clown-like layer of her mother’s make-up still shine with their customary twinkle. Unable to pinpoint what exactly is wrong, I shake my head and turn back to Kathy as she bounces with excitement.

  “Sun, sex, sea and sand!” Kathy states, snapping back my attention.

  “What?” I gawp at her. “No! This isn’t Shirley Valentine. I’m going to a remote cottage, somewhere on the other side of civilisation, Kath. There’s no beach and I doubt there’ll be any sun either. And there’ll definitely be no sex!”

  She quirks an eyebrow at the overly-assertive tone in my voice.