by John Harding
“All packed?”
“Yeah, sort of,” Paige muttered and sat in the field with the sausage sandwiches her parents had prepared. Claire took a crisp from Paige's packet and took a sip of her own can of fizzy cola. “Dad would quite like the tents to dry a bit before packing them but apart from that we're done. It's easier if you can get a villa,” Paige teased. “But we aren't all upper middle-class like you.”
“Err … not fair!”
“Yeah, I know,” Paige added with a grin. “We booked late, 'cause of Hazel.” Claire said nothing but Paige tapped her fingers together as she thought. “You know, no-one's ever really talked to me about it.” She looked at her friend who was listening intently. “My friends at home never wanted to talk much about it. She got counselling and Mum and Dad doted over her, but no-one cared about me.” Paige took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes. “I found her, in a pool of blood in the kitchen. I had left my homework on the worktop and went back to get it and she was there, lifeless. I think she hates me for stopping her, from doing it.”
Claire said nothing as she thought for a few moments before swallowing and muttering. “I can't imagine she would hate you, surely?”
“Oh I don't know. She just can't get happy. She won't join in anything at all, refuses to go to school half the time and Mum won't let her stay at home alone. It's causing all sorts of fights. She has a CPN, but she's really struggling, and she won't talk to me or anyone. She just shuts herself in our room and can't accept any help.” Paige took a gulp of her drink and snorted. “I mean, we used to talk all the time. We share a bedroom, but I can't go in when she is in there and ... well I am her big sister, and she used to bring me all her problems. If it was boys in her class pulling her hair when she was five, or being bullied 'cause she was ginger or whatever, I was there for her. She came to me when she lost her cherry at thirteen and not Mum. But in the last year, she's just isolated herself from everyone. And then tries to end her own life, I mean, how does that make me feel?”
Claire listened as Paige listed her concerns and worries about her younger sister, and offered her a tissue as the red-headed firebrand sobbed. “It's not easy,” Claire told her. “But I guess she knows how much you love her by all the effort you make.”
“She just thinks I am getting at her, but I'm not. I just want her to smile and be happy, and if she can't do that, talk to me. But I can't get her to do anything,” Paige moaned and saw the chubby figure of her brother running up the hill. “Anything would be good. Just any sort of smile, but she won't.” She wiped her eyes, but Jeremy pulled up as he reached the steepest part of the incline.
“Mum says ten minutes,” he panted as he got within 30 metres of his sister and she acknowledged him with a wave.
“Sure,” Paige shouted and turned back to her friend. “You said you lived in South London.”
“Yeah,” Claire replied. “Little place called Purley, it's …”
“It's in Croydon,” Paige finished for her. “I know Purley. I live in Selhurst. It's not the posh end of the town.”
Claire chortled. “When will you believe that I am not upper-class. My mum works for someone who is, but we are just a normal family.”
“Yeah?” Paige teased. “Four bedroom detached?”
“Three bedroom terraced,” Claire replied sanctimoniously, and Paige shrugged.
“We live in a three bedroom flat above a shop.” Claire shrugged, and Paige just ran her hands through her red hair. “And I bet during the riots last year they didn't try and set fire to your house.”
“No,” Claire muttered and Paige packed up the litter from their small picnic into a bag. “But I wouldn't mind meetin' up and just chilling or whatever. Especially as we live so local.”
“Yeah,” Paige said instantly and two girls swapped numbers and addresses.
* * * * *
“It's all about sex,” Greg cried as he stretched out in his leather chair. He reached for his latte and leant back only to find the takeaway cup leaked over his tie when tilted at such an angle.
Andre smiled to himself as his uncle frantically righted himself and then fell off his chair as the scorching hot liquid scolded him through his white shirt. “Pardon?”
“Sex. Life is sex. We need more of it.”
Andre looked at the floor and looked at his uncle wiping his shirt with a tissue. “More of it?”
“Yeah, we need more sex. In here. Blow some cobwebs out. Someone to get the pulse racing.”
“Right,” Andre said with a surprised frown.
“We have a prostitute coming to see us.”
Andre squirmed. “Pardon?”
“A whore. A girl who'll screw for cash,” Greg said with a glint in his eye. “A lady of the night, y'know?”
“Yeah, I know what a prostitute is. And I know I'm 25, but I am not comfortable with … it. With being with a prostitute.”
His uncle scowled. “Hey, it's just business. It's just a professional trade. We're not here to pass judgement. It's just a business transaction, but I think it's what we need!”
“No? Right, well, ummm, well it sounds all very …”
“What?”
“Sordid.” Andre sniffed and sighed. “I'm not sure I want to get involved with a … woman like that.” His eyes narrowed and he tapped the desk. “I don't think it's right.”
Greg snorted. “Pah! The media are always crying out for a call girl to talk dirty on breakfast television. After Belle and Miss S and all that bollocks, prostitution has never been so fashionable.”
“Oh, so it's representing a umm … well a lady like that.”
“Yes,” Greg snapped. “What did you think?” Andre muttered incoherently, and his uncle just snorted. “You said 'think outside the box' and those people you tried to go for didn't end up with a signed contract. It's something a bit different, that's all.”
“No,” Andre muttered. “But won't that make us pimps?”
Greg shook his head. “Nonsense. I don't get a cut of her daily activity, just her media work. And there will be lots of that, I want to make her into an icon.” Andre smiled as his uncle gestured with his hands and he scratched his head. “I want more sex in our new clients. So when you go lookin', look for sex. Right?”
“Sex?”
“Yeah, front cover of FHM material. I want sex, nudity, whoring, filth. You got that?”
“Right,” Andre muttered.
“I mean it, I want sex. The British love sex and if there is anything that will get us clients it's filth. Pure filth. Remember that!”
* * * * *
Claire wiped her hands on the dirty towel she had by her side and looked over the flowerbed. The gardener was to her right, still planting little seedlings on a different bank of flowers as she spoke. “Sam, does this bed need any more?”
The elderly man stumbled to his feet and groaned as his joints creaked. “No,” he muttered and flashed a smile to his temporary assistant. “Any more and it'll be too crowded.”
Claire swung her legs around her body and came to sit next to the aged man. “I'll help you with this last bed, then,” Claire promised and picked up her hand trowel.
She had spent all day helping the good-natured gardener plant over a thousand seedlings in the flowerbeds around the swimming pool and in the garden of the five bedroom mansion. Claire had helped the experienced man before with his “big projects” and was always keen to earn a little money when work was offered.
Her mother – the house manager and cleaner – walked up to her as they started on the last flowerbed. “I've got to nip to the shops and see Beryl. You done in two hours?”
“Yeah, Teri. We'll be done,” Sam promised. He coughed and nursed his knees. “We'll prob'ly be done in an hour.”
“Call me when you're finished,” Teri demanded. “And I'll swing by. Or else I'll come back and wait for you in the road when I've done all my jobs!”
“OK,” Claire muttered. “Can you get me some orange juice please? With the b
its in. I want a drinky later,” she asked. Her mother smiled, and Claire returned to her flowerbed.
It took a further 45 minutes to plant all the flowers in the right pattern and then a further 15 minutes to water them and pack their gardening tools away in the small shed. Claire looked towards the house; the family had always been particularly keen for their staff not to “linger” and if she had finished work she was expected to leave the premises, but her mother wouldn't be back for another hour, and Claire swore when she realised she had left her mobile phone in the family car.
She hovered at the end of the garden as Sam locked his shed and thanked her for her help. “We'll call it three-thirty,” Sam told her adding 20 minutes to the time. “I'll get Paul to sort out the cheque when I see him tomorrow. He'll give it to your mother.”
“Cheers,” Claire muttered and watched as he ambled across the garden to deposit the keys in the kitchen. She wiped her hands on her old clothes and walked towards the garden gate.
“Boo!” A voice cried as she ambled down the garden, looking at the new flowerbeds and giant plants that were dotted around the back of the house; it was beautiful, but she also knew how much it cost the family to maintain.
Claire flinched and saw the smiling face of the eldest child looking at her from the other side of a bush. “You scared the life out of me,” she moaned, and Jack held up a book.
“Just doing revision. It's a nice spot, look.” Claire looked around the bush to see a sheltered patch of grass, and smiled.
“Lovely,” she told him, not quite sure what to say but the young man smiled back at her with a cheeky expression.
“Claire, isn't it?”
“Yes, how do you know?”
“I have spoken to you before, don't you remember?”
He looked a little hurt at the suggestion that Claire might not and she licked her lips. “Yes,” she lied. “But I didn't think you would remember my name.” He rubbed his nose as she frantically tried to recall his name. “You doing anything other than revision, James?”
“Jack,” he said a little coldly and shrugged. “Mum and Dad are out, sister's gone to the Med with her friends; thought I might take a swim.”
“Well I need to get cleaned up and then I'm …”
“You could join me in the pool if you want,” he offered. “I know your Mum's not back for another hour unless you ring her. But you haven't.”
“How?”
“I can hear,” he said in an annoyed tone. “I've heard everything that's gone on in the garden. So, come join me in the pool.”
Claire hummed. “I haven't got a swimming costume. Or a towel.”
“I could lend you one,” Jack offered. “The towel I mean. And people do swim without a costume on. I mean, they do it on the continent I've heard, so … I'll take that look as a 'no' then.”
“No,” she told him. “I don't think your parents would be too impressed if I started stripping in your garden.” Jack's eyes narrowed, and he bit his lip.
“OK. Well I just wanted a break that's all,” he moaned. “I've been at the revision since nine and just need to stop for an hour.” He looked at Claire averting her eyes, and offered her an “ice-cold drink” that she tentatively accepted. “Take a seat,” he offered, gesturing towards the patch of grass he had made his own for the day.
Claire laughed when he brought out a jug of fruit-laden brown liquid and two glasses, pouring his female friend a drink that had almost as much fruit as liquid in it. “Wow! Is this … actually what is this?”
“Pimms and Lemonade,” Jack told her, and she coughed when she took a mouthful. “Is there too much fruit?”
“There's too much Pimms,” she replied, and he shrugged. “Is this all Pimms?”
“I've not made it before, normally it's made for us. I did put the whole bottle in, is that right? We got loads of bottles, I don't know!”
Claire took another gulp, the cold liquid was heavenly in her dry throat, but it was exceedingly alcoholic and she blinked as she adjusted to it. “I guess a bit less next time,” she replied and settled herself on the lawn next to Jack. As much as she was keen not to drink too much, the “cocktail” that Jack had provided was moreish, and she was thirsty.
He talked, and Claire listened; Claire soon realised that he was in need of a confidante and she allowed him to talk about his break-up months previous and how that was still making him feel, as well as the offer his father had made about him joining the family firm. He talked passionately about his rugby, and then about his music with Claire proudly announcing that she won a karaoke contest on her short holiday.
“Do you want some more?” Jack offered as he held up the empty jug, but Claire shook her head; she was already fairly tipsy and knew that her mother must be coming back to the house soon. “Yes?”
“No.”
“Does that pool look more tempting now you've had a drink and a rest?”
“That pool does look nice,” Claire admitted. “But I am not swimming naked, no matter how hard you try and get me to take my clothes off.” He sniffed. “But go ahead and swim, I'm not stopping you.”
Jack sighed and took the empty glasses back to the kitchen, before returning with two towels and a set of swimming trunks. Claire averted her eyes as he changed behind the bush, although she appreciated his toned torso as they walked down the garden to the thirty-foot pool to sit by the side of the water.
Jack splashed her, and she flicked water back at him. “It's lovely and refreshing,” he boasted, and she groaned. She swayed slightly and burped; the Pimms and Lemonade had been strong, and she had drunk it too quickly. “It's …” Jack dived under the water and swam along the bottom of the pool before resurfacing. He looked at her with pleading eyes and she groaned.
“I am not being naked and you staying clothed,” she replied. “It would be … improper.” Jack's eyes twinkled and he “solved the problem” by removing his swimming trunks and throwing them at Claire. Claire caught the wet swimwear and held them up. “You must be drunk to be flashing a virtual stranger,” she teased and licked her lips. “Maybe I should walk away from the pool now.” His eyes widened, and she scratched her head.
“I’d rather you joined me,” he begged and blew her a kiss with a cheeky grin. “I’ll not look!”
Claire shook her head. “I must have had too many,” she moaned. Claire pulled the top of her T-shirt over her head and told Jack to turn around so he couldn't see her, which he reluctantly did. Claire unclipped her pink bra and unbuttoned her jeans when she heard a cry and spun around to see the immaculately-dressed figure of Anne Rees-Montague striding across her lawn. The snarling woman removed her sunglasses and glared at the naked Jack and topless Claire.
“What are you doing near my pool?” She thundered as Claire put her hands over her breasts. “Get dressed, little girl,” she ordered and flicked her hand towards the embarrassed young lady, who frantically re-attired herself. “And you,” she spat at her son. “I think you can do a little better than the cleaner's daughter.”
Claire's cheeks burned. “We weren't,” she started and passed Jack his swimming trunks. “We …”
“I know exactly what you were doing, trying to get your claws into my son. He's too good for you, now, scram!”
A bemused Claire looked at the woman before running towards the front of the house; she felt like a naughty school kid.
* * * * *
“Andre,” the suited gentleman said and held out his hand to shake the fingers of the leather-clad woman. She snorted and sat back on her “seat”: a gentleman kneeling down on all fours and she put her feet on another. He hesitated as she took a long draw of her cigarette and tapped her stick of tobacco into an ashtray held by another naked man. “We spoke on the 'phone.”
“Yeah,” she muttered and eyed the man hovering a few feet away. “Pull up a chair.” Andre looked around the room, to see some sort of seat, and the “Mistress of Hades” clicked her fingers. The young gentleman put the ashtray down
and knelt on all fours in front of Andre.
Andre squeaked; this was not what he expected, and he saw the whip marks and scars on the body of the man on the floor. “I'm fine,” he muttered.
“Suit ya self,” she snapped and coughed. “So … what do you want?”
“I'm here to introduce myself, and my employer to you. I work for Incredible Talents and we are interested in representing you.”
“Representing me?” The dominatrix snorted and dug her heels into the kneeling man by her feet. “Why the hell do I want a bloody manager?” She blew smoke at him and Andre shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Ahh yeah, so I can give them half my profits to you for doing sod all.”
“We take eight percent, but that is negotiable and …”
