I close the door and my back sinks against it, and I sigh dreamily. Did a Hollywood actor really congratulate me on my acting? Then take me out on a date? Snog me? Ask me out on another date and congratulate me on my acting again? I must be fucking dreaming.
“Have you quite finished now? Can I go to bed? Or is the next ride due soon?”
I open one eye. I can’t be bothered to open them both. “What’s eating you?”
“Well, it’s definitely not you,” Frazer barks at me. “By the way, Troy’s an actor, remember. He certainly had you fooled. Believing you’re a great actress. Fucking hell. I reckon they called your character Lavinia, as it was short for lav - i.e. a toilet, because your performance was shit.”
Both of my eyes snap open, and my mouth joins in. I’m speechless. And hurt. Before me, even still a little bit drunk I see the spoilt Frazer the small village speaks of.
Pulling my shoulders straight, I walk towards the bottom of the stairs, each of my steps matching the slow thud of my heart.
“Daisy, I –”
“No.” I hold my hand up, cutting him off. “You were right. You truly are a cunt.”
Frazer doesn’t follow me up. And although I try and muffle my sobs from him, I don’t even care if he can hear me. I should have known he’d work out to be an ass. Yet, I can’t stop the little voices in the back of my head that tell me it’s all my own fault.
Chapter Eighteen
Frazer
It’s six am and I’m on the sofa nursing an aching back and a guilty conscience.
I have royally fucked up.
Daisy has become a good mate in the small time I’ve known her, and I berate myself. Why was I so damn rude to her last night? It was like I’d purposely been on a mission to hurt her, really dig deep inside her and punish her for bringing another bloke back. Yet I couldn’t work out why.
My conscience niggles me to admit the reason for my behaviour, but I refuse to go there. We made an agreement, we can see other people. I need to go shag Tiffany and maybe try and have a crack at Ellie. I stare down at my cock. There’s not a flicker of enthusiasm.
Shall we shag Daisy? I ask it. Fucking hell, it’s like a balloon being pumped up. Betraying bastard.
I stare at the half painted walls and an idea comes to mind.
***
Daisy stomps down the stairs, her tits and wild curls bouncing everywhere, and a pout to her perfect lips. My dick stirs again as I recall those silky lips slowly sliding right down the length of my cock.
“What’s all the fucking noise?” she mumbles, dragging me out of the happy memory. “Why are you being such a twa… Oh!” Her gaze looks around the room before her eyes come to rest on mine.
“I’m fucking sorry, Daise. I was just knackered and took it out on you.” Liar, liar, pants on fire pops in my subconscious, who I’m seriously getting sick of listening to. It’s like having multiple personalities at the moment. “So to make amends, and you don’t have to forgive me, I thought I’d help you get the cottage sorted.”
Daisy stands with her hands on her hips. She’s wearing a pair of cute red cut offs and a black and white spotty tee-shirt. “Well, I’m going out for coffee with Sam.” She flicks her hair. “I’ll have a think about whether or not I’m speaking to you when I get back.”
“You are speaking to me. Right now,” I tease.
She flips me off and leaves the cottage, slamming the door behind her.
I work for hours, only stopping for drinks and to eat a quick sandwich. By the late afternoon, my arm feels like it’s going to fall off, but it’s done. I stand and peruse the walls, ceiling and skirting boards, looking for runs or bits I may have missed. It’s perfect, and if I’m honest with myself, it looks pretty damn good.
I strip out of my painting clothes, leaving them on the floor and have a lovely long shower. Thank goodness Henry mended the boiler.
After that, still aching from head to toe, I climb in under the duvet and try and catch up with the sleep I didn’t manage on that uncomfortable sofa.
***
“Fuck. Ow. Fuckity-fucking-fuck. Stupid wanker.”
I turn over and cast an ear in the direction of downstairs where I can hear Daisy swearing. I try and work out if it’s practice swearing at her ex-boyfriend again.
“Just leave your fucking clothes in the middle of the floor to fall over. Don’t worry about tidying up the dust rags, so when I trip up I get covered in bloody paint. I’ve always wanted to look like a flock of birds had a shitting contest over me! It better wash out of my trousers, ass-wipe.”
Oh God. She means me.
I pull on some old joggers and head downstairs.
“Sorry again, Daise. I’ll clean everything up now. I threw myself in the shower and then slept.”
“Why are you doing my painting anyway? That’s my project. Get your own fucking hobbies.”
What the fuck? Don’t lose your temper. Don’t lose your temper, Frazer.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I yell. “I’ve spent all day painting the downstairs for you.”
“And did I ask you to, Frazer?” Daisy’s narrowed eyes fix on mine. She pronounces my name slowly, like I might not understand it. Fraz-er.
“No, but-”
Her hand comes up. Stop. “Exactly. So, are you thinking I should thank you for, a, doing my task, and b, leaving your crap out for me to fall over?
I daren’t talk. My subconscious, who I should have been listening to all along, has deserted me. Come back, you twat. What do I do? All I know is when a woman starts either counting or alphabetising, there’s a lot more argument waiting in them and you need to protect yourself - and usually your meat and two veg.
So I do the only thing I know how to do. Be Frazer the charmer and hope for the best.
I throw myself at her feet.
She looks at me like I’m an unexploded ticking bomb.
“Daisy.” I grab hold of her hand. “I’m sorry. I acted like a complete knob last night and so to make up for it I decided to spend the day painting. I realise I didn’t think any of my actions through and now I’ve cocked up again by completing the task you were enjoying. Please can we call a truce? If you let me tidy up and make you a cup of tea I promise we’ll sit on the sofa and discuss your project, and when I know what your plans are, I’ll leave you alone to get on with them, or help.” I take my hand off hers and raise both my hands up. “Whatever you like.”
Daisy bites on her lip and stares at me, unblinking. “Fine. I’m going to get changed. Let me know when I can come back down. I’ll be reading.”
With that she flounces up the stairs. How can I have done all this work and still be the bad guy?
“Daisy. Room’s clear,” I shout up the stairs. “Come and tell me if the furniture needs moving.”
I’ve left the furniture in the middle of the room. I’ve opened the windows and front door to let the paint smell waft away, and the kettle is on.
Daisy comes downstairs. This time she’s got a cute floral dress on. It shows all her shapely calves. Fuck me, if I don’t want to lie on the floor and look up that skirt.
I finish making her cup of tea and hand it to her. “Daisy. Please can we be friends again?”
“I suppose so.”
“Thank God. So where do you want this furniture?”
Daisy looks at it, lips pursing. What the fuck’s up now?
“Do you think your mum would be cross if I bought some new stuff? Only I nipped in India’s store today and there are some lovely cheap pieces.”
I have to breathe deeply to stop myself from getting annoyed at her bringing up my mother. She probably knows her better than I do. “I don’t know, Daisy. They could be sentimental items.”
Daisy looks at the old sofa and dining table. “I really doubt it. I’m going to give her a ring.”
“Please don’t tell her I’m here, Daisy,” I plead.
Daisy’s brow crumples. “Why?”
“She doesn’t
know I sometimes stay here and that’s the way I like it.”
She exhales. “You’re going to have to tell me more about your relationship with your mum. I don’t like being part of subterfuge. I’m going to ring her now. I’ll do it upstairs and when I come back down it’s time for you to talk.”
Damn.
Not five minutes later she’s back downstairs. “Your mum says I can replace anything. In fact she sounded made up by the fact I wanted to make it more homely. Her words were, ‘Daisy, if you are settling in Beydon, that’s marvellous. Do what you like to the interior.’ She really is a sweet woman, you know?”
“Daisy, she’s not your mother. Maybe you’d feel differently then.”
“So tell me.”
We put the furniture in place. Daisy tells me she’s going to replace the sofa with a sofa bed. This makes perfect sense, yet I get the feeling that she’s somehow drawing a line under the bunk-up arrangement. When I messed up last night, it looks like I messed up badly.
***
Oh God. Daisy is on the sofa, knees curled under herself, her body half turned towards me. This is serious ‘I’m listening’ mode.
“Tell me about your childhood. From the beginning,” she commands. I’d tell any other woman who demanded that from me to piss off. My family history is private. Yet there’s something about Daisy that makes me tell all. Maybe she’s a witch?
“My father told me my mother was dead.”
Daisy’s mouth drops open. I want to shove my cock in it but I guess I best carry on.
“So when I’m old enough to be more aware of what’s going on around me I get used to us having a ‘holiday’ in Beydon. Everyone fusses around me and none more so than Mrs Haversham, a sweet woman who’s always buying me lots of presents.”
“You didn’t know she was your mum?” Daisy twirls a curl of her hair, the action mesmerising me for a moment.
“No. She told me to call her Hazel. I asked if I could call her Auntie Hazel but she said no as she wasn’t my auntie. It didn’t feel right; I’d been brought up by my father to be respectful of my elders so I carried on calling her Mrs Haversham.”
“Hazel Haversham,” says Daisy. “All this time dealing with her in the Post Office and I never saw anything with her real name.” She sees my face. “Oops, sorry. Carry on.”
“So of course, by the time I get to being thirteen, I’m fucking bored of going to Beydon. There’s nothing here for a teenager. I wanted to be home in London. But Dad insisted. My dad was born in Beydon and moved out to London with me after I was born. His family had either moved away or, like my grandparents, had passed on, so I loved the attention of everyone when I was younger and visited. But at thirteen the local’s nosiness had started to get on my nerves. One night I’d been asked one question too many about what I was going to do when I was older or did I have a girlfriend yet. I went back to the house we’d rented to ask my dad if we could go home.”
I pause. It’ll be the first time I’ve said these words out loud.
“They were too busy to hear my key in the door. When I walked upstairs there they were… together.” For a moment I’m back there, in the embarrassing horror of seeing my father naked with a woman I’d known for years. A shiver races through me. “If it wasn’t embarrassing enough, my father asked me to wait downstairs for a while, and then they told me she was my mother.”
“Oh my God, Frazer.” Daisy’s face has paled, the smattering of freckles on her nose standing proudly.
“I went apeshit. Proper teenage meltdown. My mother was asked to leave and my father drove us back home after I threatened to run away.”
“Did he tell you how they’d met? Why they’d not told you she was your mother?”
“He said she was married and that they were in love but she couldn’t leave her husband. That she had another child.” I try and fight the tears I can feel rising. I’ve never sobbed about that bitch and I’m not going to start now. “She chose her husband and her other son. I refused to ever come back to Beydon. She told my father she would only visit Beydon on a set four weeks of the year and he could feel free to visit the rest of the time without having to worry that we’d bump into her. She said the cottage would be mine when she passed on. A few years ago I decided to come and stay down here when I was skint. It’s not very often but it’s nice to escape sometimes. Because I was older, I was wise enough to not answer the local’s nosy questions. So that’s it really. I think I’ll get a beer.” I divert quickly when I feel the flood of embarrassment heat my cheeks. “Do you want one?”
“No, thanks. Bit early for me. Jesus, Frazer. What a mess.”
I walk over to the fridge to extract a beer. It gives me a few minutes breathing space before Daisy’s upcoming barrage of questions. The cool beer hits my throat and I savour the flavour.
She watches me closely when I slowly return to the sofa. “So she doesn’t think you come here, hence why she very kindly offered the place to me for a few weeks.”
“I guess so. Though one of those nosy fuckers must tell her I visit from time to time.”
“So why do you come here?”
“No rent to pay.”
“Are you sure that’s the only reason?”
My jaw sets. “Yes, Daisy. That’s the only reason.”
She nods and looks away.
Is that the only reason? Stupid fucking subconscious is back.
Chapter Nineteen
Daisy
Over the next few days Frazer and I are a little distant from each other. I don’t want to pry more into his background, but our chat seems to have unsettled him a bit. What we do get up to, however, is the continuation of the cottage makeover. We both throw ourselves into the task with enthusiasm and I get a real kick out of seeing India’s pre-loved furniture in the house. Our new sofa bed - ours? Where did that come from? - is the only new item, but I managed to get Frazer to agree to a duck egg blue coloured one with flowers and birds on.
I replaced the small bookshelf with a larger wooden unit, lovingly painted in a pastel green and rubbed to get that vintage worn look. It has shelves at the top for books and two cupboard doors underneath where I’ve stored a new duvet and pillows for Frazer’s use in the evening.
Since our falling out, Frazer has taken to sleeping on the sofa. I’m not sure how I feel about that, but with the distance between us right now I don’t feel I can ask him for a shag.
The bathroom and the main bedroom have had a lick of paint too, and I’ve hung some new curtains at the bedroom window. At least the bedroom windows and walls have seen some action.
I’m not getting anywhere with Troy, either. They’re filming his main scenes and he’s on set all the time, morning ‘til night.
So all in all I’m actually looking forward to the dance at the village hall tonight and my date with Jimmy. It dawns on me that I made the date with him because I felt sorry for him, but actually I have the same luck with fellas as he does with ladies, and at least he has a six-pack going for him.
I decide to have a pamper day and go all out to look as good as I can for Jimmy, who has insisted on coming to pick me up, even though it’s only a short walk. Actually, I think to myself, that short walk in heels isn’t such a good idea - thank God Jimmy has brains. Wow. See, my date has brains and a six-pack. I just need him to not hunch over and maybe cut his hair...
I’m hovering around the door, waiting, when Frazer comes into the room. I take a sharp intake of breath as he steals it away.
He’s dressed in dark black trousers that hug every single contour of his deliciously firm legs, and a grey shirt that hangs outside his trousers. He’s left just the top button undone and I can see a sprinkling of his dark chest hair. His chin is cleanly shaven and his thick hair is styled perfectly.
All of a sudden I don’t want to date Jimmy tonight. I don’t want to leave the cottage at all.
Frazer is standing in front of me, his eyes roaming my body. He takes a step closer to me and...
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I point to the door. “That will be my date for the dance.”
“You’d better answer it then. I’ll get out of the way.”
With that Frazer turns and dashes back upstairs.
I answer the door and take a step backwards. Jimmy’s hair is neatly cut. He’s wearing a white shirt (tucked in), a tie and dark grey jeans. His shirt is tight enough to highlight his definition. He’s also standing tall. I’m going to have a bad neck.
“Your carriage awaits, Madam.”
I turn my gaze away from him in the direction of his pointing hand. Just down the lane is a horse and carriage!
“Oh my God, Jimmy. I feel like Cinderella.”
“Your first village dance should be special and if you’re only here a couple of weeks, even more reason.”
“Thank you, Jimmy.”
“No. Thank you.” He lifts my hand and kisses it. “For making me realise I can rise above the village idiot’s stupidity.”
‘You’re definitely rising above,’ I think as I strain my neck to look at him again.
The dance is amazing until the alcohol hits and then everyone seems to go berserk. I’ve been dancing the night away. No-one gets exclusivity at a village dance; you have to keep changing partners. So I’ve danced with Jimmy, Troy and even Frank, though he did feel my ass. The only person I haven’t danced with is Frazer, who has never left the DJ booth and hasn’t looked my way all evening.
Whatever.
The first rumpus comes between Trevor, who’s been serving the drinks, and my mother, who was supposed to be helping.
“Get out,” Trevor yells, just as there’s a pause between songs. We all turn to stare.
“Calm down, Trevor.”
“Calm down? Do you think you could serve someone else a drink instead of yourself?”
The Bunk Up (The Village People Book 1) Page 11
