by Kerrie Noor
Bunnie looked surprisingly unimpressed.
“Besides,” I said, “I have the days of great man spying to dictate. I mean, I haven’t even started on how I saved the planet—filling the gym with enough men to energize for years.”
I looked at Bunnie. My story had twists and turns all in my favor, and she wasn’t even listening now; she was flicking through her phone, searching for the ferry times while muttering about me “putting her off her sausage.”
“I saved the planet,” I said. “I single-handedly captured every one of Legless’s followers. I tracked them down like a terrier at a rat farm.”
“There is no such thing, ma’am.”
“Well, a terrier at a rabbit thing . . .”
“Everyone,” said Bunnie, “and what about Legless? You never managed to track him.”
“Legless was different,” I said. “He and Beryl had an understanding.”
Bunnie didn’t hear; she was too busy swearing about the lack of internet and how thanks to last night’s “printing incident”—an incident apparently more important than me saving the planet—she couldn’t find the timetable so she could make “connections for things.”
“If only you lot had behaved yourselves,” snapped Bunnie.
THE NIGHT BEFORE, PETE and DJ had tussled over the printer, which had led to an undignified bout of name-calling until Bunnie’s dog jumped in. She had grabbed the off-peak timetables and demolished them with such relish that even I wouldn’t go near her. She spent ten minutes growling like a bear while spitting out bits of paper and soon the floor was covered in specks of wet, limp dots of white.
Pete blamed DJ and Bunnie’s whisky pouring, DJ blamed Pete and Bunnie’s slippery floor, but neither had the balls to blame Itsie. Who, after she finished, had jumped on the top of the printer, refusing to let anyone go near it; she’d even nipped my fingers.
I told Beryl that the incident had little to do with me, and that I wasn’t one of anyone’s lot but more a sort of “one-off heroic figure to be honored, feared, or at least talked about,” but she wasn’t interested until I mentioned Itsie.
“Oh, now you’re blaming her,” huffed Bunnie. “How fickle you all must be on your refined planet.”
I stared at Bunnie. Her mood swings were as easy to understand as the Chinese takeaway menu she had tossed into the back of the limo. I told her so, and she stomped out of the car.
Pete told me that being a “told you so” sort of a person didn’t go down well on Earth and was looking rather smug until I pointed out that he was doing the same thing . . .
Pete then accused me of “rattling Bunnie’s cage,” an unfamiliar expression which, thanks to Bunnie, now pacing outside on her phone, I got the gist of straightaway.
“How long is that friggin Chinese gonna be?” she snapped. “At this rate we’re gonna need to stay the night . . .” Pause. “Oh you have, have you . . .” Bunnie sighed. “Well, if he is like any of your other friends . . .” She rolled her eyes. “Well, free is not the be-all and end-all . . .” Then she let out a full-blown laugh, rattling the beads resting on her chest like jumping beans. “Of course, Donnie darling,” she said. “As you say, boys will be . . .”
I watched Bunnie let out another, more hair-raising laugh and wondered what was so amusing about her Donnie and why she would rather talk on her phone than listen to my heroic deeds. I mean, I had stories that could go on for hours, days. I’m sure, given half the chance, I could amuse, maybe even rattle Bunnie’s beans . . . I mean, how interesting can a man be? But would she give me the chance?
I never said anything; I was beginning to realize that on Earth, saying and thinking were two different things and were best kept that way until all information was gathered, sifted, and—dare I say it—discussed with a robot.
I looked across at my so called Android; he was staring out of the windshield, sipping the remains of a latté with a wistful look. “Never trust a dog that can balance on a printer,” he said, “it’s not natural,” which I thought was rich coming from a robot. He tossed the last of his roll to the seagulls, and we watched as they squawked over the remains.
“It is common here,” he said, “to feed the birds.”
“Really?” I said. “Doesn’t this ‘good-to-go’ food give them indigestion?”
“Only a vindaloo,” said Pete.
The pier flooded with openmouthed gulls, screeching and nipping at each other while moving closer to Bunnie. We watched as one swooped past her head while two tugged over the last of sausage, completely ignoring her foot . . .
“Who the eff threw that?” shouted Bunnie and then went for a kick, skidding on the roll and cursing “Bollocks and pickled eggs.” Pete laughed as she grabbed the rail and caught her balance, and for the first time, I could see why. Then, when Bunnie shouted, “Thought you didn’t find anything funny,” I snorted—a new experience which I hoped to never repeat.
Bunnie then began to shout about “laughing on the other side of a face,” and Pete was just on the verge of explaining when she shouted that the ferry was coming in and where the “so and so” was Donald?
“We’re coming,” Don shouted from the rear of the car park.
And as I watched the others running in the side mirror, I realized my moment had come and gone without making a dent in Bunnie’s armor. She hadn’t asked me one question about my adventures—not the slightest interest—but when Donnie arrived on the scene, she was all over him with “where have you been” questions.
“You nearly missed it,” I said as he jumped into the driver’s seat.
Bunnie jumped in beside him. “Impossible,” she said and caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “Only refined people from refined planets miss things. My Donnie has perfect timing, just like a terrier at a rat farm.”
“What?” Don asked. “There is no such thing.”
“A terrier on a printer,” I said.
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Also by Kerrie Noor
Bellydancing and beyond
Sheryl's Last Stand
The Downfall of a Bellydancer
Standalone
Impressing Bunnie
Watch for more at Kerrie Noor’s site.
About the Author
A few years ago I married into a Bangladesh family often helping in their Indian restaurant on the West Coast of Scotland. Living in a culture so different from my own I began to see stories in outsiders trying to understand. Most of the time I was the only woman and I often wondered about a world without men; before I knew it Planet Hy Man was born, a comedy Sc Fi Rebel Without a Clue being the first in the series.
Read more at Kerrie Noor’s site.
About the Publisher
Kerrie Noor is a self published author, who would like to thank Joanne Penn, Nick Stevenson and Ben Gallery all Indie authors who are generous with their support and provide excellent courses for self publishing Authors. Kerrie is also grateful for the support of Peter Urpeth of Emergents.co.uk,and Creatthinkdo
