“I’m going for a couple of weeks,” I defend. “Just until I can get my head back together and I don’t feel that everything’s getting on top of me.”
“You need a man with a big dick on top of you, Daise.”
My mouth falls open and I shoot a look at Miranda, praying that she hasn’t heard her mother’s declaration.
It’s then that I realise exactly what is wrong with Miranda. For a moment I can’t peel my round eyes away as my mouth falls open in shock. Slowly, unable to process movement for a moment, I turn to Kathy. “Are they your love balls in her hair?”
She rolls her eyes but other than that she is completely blasé. “Yeah. She couldn’t find her regular bobble so she ‘found’ those in Mummy’s bottom drawer.”
I stare in complete amazement. Then, as with everything crazy in Kathy’s household within the last week, I shrug and take another bite out of my sandwich.
Bring on Beydon. Even if I’d never heard of it, it couldn’t be wackier than my best friend’s home!
Chapter Four
Frazer
If London is the Oscar of the United Kingdom, Beydon is the Razzie. However, the show must go on and this is where Tilly Kendrick, superstar movie director, is filming her latest attempt to win one of the much-sought after awards. The film All is Not Lost is about a cancer suffering transgender (born male, now female) who becomes a superhero and saves the world from disease and suffering. I’m an actor and I’ve being trying to get a part in this film for over a year. The problem is I once shagged Tilly when we were studying drama at University and now she’s blacklisted me. She says I can’t act. That’s not true or I wouldn’t have won the part in an advert for a sofa company where I had to tell everyone about the great sale. Now we’ve swapped cock for cockerels as I’ve had to come to this bum-hole of the earth to beg her for a part. Now, I know I’m not going to get the lead role. That went to Joe Foster a long time ago. No, I’m aware I’m not in that league. But a supporting actor role, or even a goddamn extra if she’s going to continue to punish me. That will do. Anyway, I have something she may want.
A cottage. Actually it’s my mother’s house. I say the term ‘mother’ loosely as I was brought up by my father. This cottage has been in her family for generations and she wants me to have it when she passes. She rents it out on occasion when she can be bothered, but by the looks of things there’s been no one resident for a while. A little shove on the rickety window at the back and I was in. My mother had left a key for the cottage inside on the hook. Talk about asking to be broken into. I’ve boarded the back window up and stuck some tape on it for now. It’s a little breezy. I’ll get someone to look at it later. I’m hardly flush with money right now. Acting jobs are hard to come by.
My hope is that Tilly needs a location to film some scenes in and that as well as finding me a part, she also pays rent for the property. I sincerely hope I don’t have to contact my mother and let her know I need to stay here. We’re not exactly on the best of terms. She’s too busy adoring her other son. Her eldest. He’s a freaking nutter. An accountant by day, he makes a ridiculous amount of money as an artist in his spare time -if by art you mean sticking strange detritus together like empty toilet roll tubes. He did that once, really. It was entitled The Unused Guinea Pig Paradise and people paid vast sums of money to go and see it. He makes money out of used loo rolls and my life is so shit I need the toilet tissue.
Wiping dust off the bathroom mirror, I check out my appearance. I’ve not shaved for a couple of days so I’ve five o’ clock shadow giving me a broody leading man appearance. Maybe I can push Joe in a pond if I need to, or under a horse. There’s bound to be a few round here. My stomach growls. Decision made. First I need to find Tilly and then I’ll pop to the Horse and Hound for pie and mash.
Beydon has no through road. I figure that’s how it has its current population of ninety-four people. They obviously came here and couldn’t find their way back out again. I miss the bustle of London already, with its huge array of delicatessens and women. Here there’s a tea-room, Beydon Hall (where the main filming is taking place), a village shop and a furniture shop. Even the church is called St Peter’s and St Paul’s, urging people to fly away. The average age here seems to be about sixty. Most of the property here is privately owned by the owner of Beydon Hall. Maybe they should sell it off to get a bit of young blood back in the place. From what I’ve seen of some of the local women, it wouldn’t surprise me if a little in-breeding hadn’t occurred, or bestiality. No, I’m not being cruel. My eyes have burned at times.
I finally get to the entrance of Beydon Hall. There’s an imposing garden to the front of it, with a sweeping gravel driveway. It’s a good job I’m a gym bunny and love a morning run or I’d be sweating like some of the pigs in the barns here. How does one solitary piece of gravel always manage to find its way to the bottom of your shoe? I spent half the jog tapping my foot to the ground to get it to stay at the front. I lean against a wall and take off my trainer.
“Cut.” I hear someone yell. “Can someone get the bloody idiot away from the property.”
“I know the bloody idiot. Carry on and I’ll deal with him,” says a familiar voice.
Having put my shoe back on I stroll towards Tilly. The cameraman can fuck off if he thinks I’m rushing for him.
“Over here,” she beckons. “Out of shot. Time is money. You’re costing me.”
“Put me in the film then,” I beg her. “Then I can pay you back.”
She runs a hand through spiky short black strands. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”
I nod in agreement. “No.”
She sighs.
“Look,” I tell her. “I don’t think it’s fair to penalise me, or should I say penis-alise me, because of our past.”
“Frazer. This has nothing to do with our past. It’s because I don’t think you can actually act.”
“Huh.” I shake my head. “Still bitter after all this time.”
“I’ve been married to Joe now for three years,” she reminds me. As if it’s something I don’t know. I’d say that’s how he got the part except he already had several Golden Globes when they met. He needs that elusive Oscar now, hence this role.
“I need a break. Once I make it into films, the world’s my oyster.”
“Look, I’m not promising, but there’s a small part.”
“Yes.” My eyes widen and I hop from one foot to the other.
“Do you need the toilet?”
“What part?” I practically shout.
“It’s a barman.”
“Oh.” My shoulders slump.
“He could be quite pivotal to the plot. The scriptwriter and author are hashing it out at the moment. Artistic differences.” She sighs. “It could well be that talking to the barman is the crux of what gets Oliver to want to become Olivia.”
“Really?” My mind runs this scenario through. It could be the main scene in the film. If I do my best acting, I could act Joe off the screen. Daydreams flick past my vision. A supporting actor nod. Reviews saying the best thing about this film was the iconic scene between Oliver/Olivia’s identity struggle and the life affirming conversation with the gorgeous barman.
“So, how do I get the part?”
“Like any other part, Frazer. We’ll audition for it if it does become part of the film. So in the meantime I suggest you practice your craft. Get in the zone or whatever else it is you actors call it. Honestly, it’s like living with several men at once sometimes in my house, and very strange at the moment now he’s acting like a woman.”
“Too much information, Tilly, there, I think. Right. I won’t let you down. Make sure they want a barman. I need that part.”
She laughs and turns away.
I head off to the Horse and Hound. Now I need more than a pint, pie and mash. I need a job. I need to quickly learn how to be a barman. Shit. I forgot to ask if she wanted to rent the cottage. Oh well, I’ll do that if the part doesn’t co
me off. That can be my back-up plan.
Chapter Five
Daisy
I’m only going on a short holiday but that’s not how this feels. Standing in the doorway of our home, I can’t believe I’m here to remove my belongings forever. I walk through to the lounge. My personality is reflected in the eclectic furnishings; the Moroccan tea-light holders, the silver candlesticks. Even the smell that permeates throughout - vanilla from the small tea-lights that sit within those holders. It’s me. Yet now I’m an outsider. A visitor.
I sit on the sofa and begin to weep. How has it come to this? Marcus and I were meant to be a forever kind of love. We’d been together for so long. How will I learn to be single when I’ve been part of a couple since I was sixteen? To date someone else. To sleep with someone else. Surely that’s what I should want to do right now? Just like the ladies in the pub said. Find a guy with a giant cock and forget Marcus. But, small-average or not, he’s all I’ve ever known. He was all I ever needed. Until...
The thought of him shagging Belinda in our bedroom has me from snivelling to seething in seconds. The fucking total bastard. I can’t take all my belongings on my holiday but Kathy has said she’ll store some boxes for me in her attic and garage. She dropped me over here this morning and I’ve to call her when I’m ready. Rex works for a building contractor and has use of a van.
So it begins; the end of Daisy and Marcus.
I realise that packing all my cushions will take up a lot of room, so seeing as I only ever bought expensive duck feathered ones, I slash them with the scissors and let the feathers cascade everywhere. It looks like a cat’s had one happy party. Whatever happens in the future, wherever my new home may be, I’ll buy new cushions. For all I know, Marcus has shagged on those too. I pack my precious silverware and glassware. These are items given to me by my late father, that used to belong to my grandmother, and pieces I’ve been collecting for some time from charity shops, all carefully chosen and placed. They’ve been pre-loved and loved again and I’ll find them a new home, whether it’s with me or a new owner through a vintage shop. Without my accessories the place looks bare. It’s lacking a soul now. The beige walls are stark against the plain wooden furniture and the laminate flooring.
I bought our dinner service. It’s Denby and he’s certainly not having that. I wrap each item carefully and place it in a box. There are a couple of odd mugs that we got for Christmas or that came with Easter eggs. I smash those in the sink. I’m not leaving the twat a single utensil for drinking out of or eating off. As I think of Marcus eating, an idea comes to mind, so I pop out to the local mini-supermarket for supplies.
Twenty minutes later I’m back, and I put down a plastic bowl full of dog food. I write a note for Marcus.
I’ve left dinner out for the bitch. Here’s my goodbye present to you.
Daisy.
On the table I leave ten packets of extra-large Twix. There are four in each pack so that leaves Marcus forty of his most-missed chocolate. I know how much it’s killed him to not eat them. Now I hope he takes the two fingers as they were intended. In his face, super-sized.
In our bedroom I extract my ‘dream wedding box’ from the back of the wardrobe. It’s only an old shoe box with an elastic band around it, nothing elaborate. I open it, the smell of old paper teasing my nose. I love it. As I search through the items in the box I realise that when I started this box years ago after being a bridesmaid at a cousin’s wedding, the contents are all my ideas. Marcus never commented on any thoughts of a wedding. I can keep my dreams because he’s never really been part of them. I carefully wrap the box and place it in my items to take to Beydon. One night I’m going to look through the box and see how my ideas have changed since I was a thirteen-year-old bridesmaid. Whatever I had picked with Marcus in mind can go in the fire. A country cottage is bound to have a real one.
I flush Marcus’ condoms down the toilet. That should put paid to his next shag. He was petrified I’d get pregnant, to the point I was on the pill and he still used condoms. I run downstairs to the freezer and grab a packet of peppered mackerel fillets which I place under the mattress on the bed. I hope tomorrow is a really hot day.
At the end of the afternoon I have several packed boxes. I notice Marcus has taken a stew out of the freezer. A stew made with my loving hands last month. I hope he enjoys it with its extra ingredients, only not all the dog food made it to the bowl.
As I see Rex pull up outside the house, I look around one last time. Marcus is left with a clean and basic looking house. Well, apart from the emptied cushions. I reckon they’ll not be the only feathers flying when my ex-boyfriend gets home.
Chapter Six
Daisy
The taxi driver lifts an eyebrow at me through his mirror. “Sorry, love, but this is as far as I go.”
I gawp into the darkness through the window. I can’t believe the village doesn’t have a road in or out; that’s absolutely ridiculous. “But, I can’t walk the rest of the way. It’s dark. I could get mugged!”
He snorts. “The only thing that will mug you in this sleepy town is the worms when you’re six foot under.”
Gritting my teeth, I push open the door and clamber out. There’s a slight summer breeze that catches my hair and whips it up around my face. The dirt track that leads into the village has two small, and frankly quite useless, lamps that offer a faint idea of the direction I need to head.
“You’ll be okay,” the driver encourages with a smile. “I’ll put my high-beam on for you. That’ll light most of the pathway. Just head straight forwards and it will bring you out into the village square.”
“How the hell do people live here?” I ask, already regretting my decision to dump my old life of takeaways, regular buses and actual roads. Then Kathy’s three kids grin into my imagination and I hurriedly pick up my case, shivering at the last three weeks of torture.
He waves me off as I step onto the start of the gravel path. I feel like Dorothy visiting Oz, but I know this place is definitely not anywhere over the rainbow. My decision to wear heels is quickly regretted when my ankles twist and snap over the pebbles.
I’m quite surprised when after only a few minutes the path leads onto a little square. There’s a fountain in the middle, the water still flowing even though it’s the middle of the night. A few people are milling around, which also surprises me. I’d have expected it to be sleepy and deserted at this time.
A café and a pub sit to the west side of the square and a few shops to the other. A large pond surrounded by a mass of greenery is situated in the shadows to the south and another pathway leads off to the north side.
An elderly man is sat on a bench, watching me curiously when the wheels of my old case bump and squeal over the cobbled area. My heels aren’t any happier with the small concrete slabs and I grunt in frustration when a wheel gets caught between two large stones.
“Show us ya’ fanny!”
My mouth falls open and my eyes widen on the old man sat on the bench. He winks at me and I shudder when just two teeth grin back at me.
“And ya’ titties!” he shouts again. “Nice pair!”
“Excuse me!”
“Frank,” a female voice chastises from behind me, making me spin round. A woman around my own age smiles at me then turns to the man with a scowl. “Behave yourself.”
Chuckling, she turns back to me. “You’ll have to excuse Frank. He, uhh… has a unique way with words. You’ll get used to him.”
I nod slowly.
“Sam,” she introduces as she holds out her hand.
“Daisy,” I offer with a smile.
“Are you staying at the Horse and Hound?” Noticing my confusion, she tips her head towards the pub. “The pub. Are you staying there? I presume you’re one of the film crew.”
“Film crew?” I shake my head. “No. I’m staying at Haversham Cottage.”
Her eyes widen in surprise but she appears pleased with my answer. “Oh, right. Sorry. We’ve been overr
un with actors, film cameras, directors, producers. You name it, they’re all here.”
“A movie is being filmed here?”
She nods, linking her arm through mine as though we’re suddenly best friends, but she grabs the handle of my case and starts to direct me towards the path leading away from the square.
“To be honest, they’re already driving everyone nuts. They’re all so far up their own arses they could perform their own endoscopy.”
What a lovely thought.
“I’m surprised you’re staying in the Haversham cottage. I must say, Mrs Haversham can be quite particular who she rents out to. In fact, it’s almost always empty.”
“Doesn’t she ever visit?”
Sam shakes her head. “Not really. No one goes up that way now because no one lives there. Even the stray dogs don’t go up there to urinate it’s so deserted.”
I’m seriously starting to regret this. Now all I can envision is a cold, damp cottage with a six-inch layer of dust on everything and mouldy dog faeces littering the front lawn.
“So,” Sam continues. I’m beginning to wonder if she ever comes up for air. “You here by yourself?”
“Yeah,” I answer carefully. Although Sam seems nice and very friendly, I’m quite wary of people who jump head in and talk so rapidly.
“Oh. You here for long?”
She must work for the government, or maybe a lawyer. She’s unremitting with the rapid fire questions and my head is starting to spin a little.
“Just a few weeks.”
“Ah, lovely. So, what are your plans while you’re here?”
“Just… uhh, relax, really. Read.”
“Read,” she repeats slowly. “Right.”
Are they so isolated out here that they’ve never heard of books?
“Well, I hope you’ll come down to the village once in a while. Wouldn’t want you decaying up here all by yourself. No one would find your dead body for months.”
The Bunk Up (The Village People Book 1) Page 3
