by Lynda Renham
‘We’re looking better aren’t we?’ he says with a smile.
You certainly are. I swear my ovaries are ovulating at nine to the dozen. If ever there was a perfect daddy specimen, he surely has to be it. I can’t speak. He must think I’m a dumb mute. I hope he hasn’t noticed my chubby backside.
‘Shall we get wider?’ he asks, moving to the next room.
I spy some dark hairs just above the top button of his shirt. My loins are having a party, my inner goddess is whispering ‘ice cube’ and my breasts are tingling like no tomorrow. I’ll orgasm right here, right now, in front of all these mirrors. Incredibly hot and sexy but not advised. I’m blushing so much I feel sure I’m going to spontaneously combust. He is about to speak when two men enter and the ghoulish voice repeats,
‘Welcome to the House of Mirrors.’
‘The car is here Mr Morgan,’ says one.
Oh my God. It really is him, and all I’ve done is drool like a lovesick dog. I’m surprised I’m not panting like a bitch on heat. This is ridiculous. Anastasia Steele has nothing on me.
‘Already?’ he questions. ‘What’s the time?’
‘It’s ten fifteen sir. Your plane is ready to leave.’
‘Right,’ he says.
I spin around to get one last look at him. He gives me a smile and my legs tremble. His warm hazel eyes look at me for a second and then he runs his hands through his gorgeous thick brown hair before saying,
‘Have a good evening,’ and then is gone. I’m left staring at a wide vision of myself.
‘Welcome to the House of Mirrors,’ says the voice as more people enter. I move along to the next room which is full of fragmented images of me. This room must know how I’m feeling. I can’t believe it. It just doesn’t seem possible. What were the chances of me meeting Ark Morgan? I freeze as Great Zehilda’s words come back to me; Love is coming your way from an unexpected quarter.
Well, you can’t get more unexpected than the House of Mirrors can you? Ark Morgan is my true love? Well I’ll be buggered. Well, if he’s anything like Christian Grey I may well be.
Chapter Five
‘Oh, please, I beg you …’
God, he’s driving me insane.
‘How lovely is this?’ he whispers.
It would be sweet agonising pleasure, if it wasn’t so torturous. I feel like my nipples have frostbite. Can that happen? Can you get frostbite in your nipples from too much ice cubing?
‘Do you want to come Miss Brown?’ he whispers.
His fingers are trailing dangerously close and I arch my body upwards. I’m panting so loudly. Nothing else matters except his commanding voice. Although I can’t deny my feet are getting pins and needles from the leg clamps but I don’t want to complain. I daren’t complain.
‘Shall I take you?’
‘Oh please …’ I beg, staring back into his warm sensual eyes.
I’ll have frostbite for sure, not to mention deep vein thrombosis if he doesn’t soon.
‘How many times do I have to warn you about that?’
Did I bite my lip?
‘I’m sorry, Ark,’ I say, panting even harder.
I’m suddenly thrown off the bed and fall with a thump to the floor.
‘That was out of order,’ he yells, but his voice is deeper. ‘How many times have I warned you?’
I’m brought out of my fantasy to find myself on the ground with the guy from the rifle range standing over me, except now he’s half naked.
‘Is the lady all right?’ someone yells. ‘How the hell did she get there?’
I look around to see where there actually is and realise I’m lying on the ground at the edge of a boxing ring. A strong hand lifts me to my feet.
‘Hey, I’m really sorry about that,’ he says. ‘You shouldn’t really be here, you know?’
He has a half-smile on his face and a small cut on his lip. I gaze at his bare-chested torso and quickly lower my eyes to his blue shorts and then look up again to where the shouting is coming from. A man looks at us from a platform where a crowd of people surrounding it are staring at me curiously.
‘Let’s go, round six, or I’m stopping the fight,’ yells the man.
I stare flabbergasted. Six? Oh this is ridiculous. I’m letting this psychic thing get to me. But The Great Zehilda did mention the number six didn’t she?
‘Are you okay? I’d really like to get back. I think I’m winning this one,’ asks the dish, with a wink.
I realise now that in my dazed state I must have wandered from the House of Mirrors through the cordon and back out into the Fun Palace. I got knocked over when the boxer got thrown from the ring. I can’t blame him I suppose. I really shouldn’t be here, but he does seem rather arrogant if he thinks he’s winning, especially considering he just got knocked out of the ring.
‘Do you think you should?’ I ask. ‘It looks a bit dangerous.’
‘It’s just fun. I’ve fought worse than him. I’ve got twenty quid on this. Hey, you can be my lucky mascot. Come on, let’s get you to a safe place to watch the fight.’ He grabs my hand and pulls me to the crowded ringside. ‘I’m Sam Lockwood,’ he says, shaking my hand, ‘very pleased to meet you.’
‘I really don’t think …’ I begin, while discreetly wiping the sweat off my hand.
‘I only need a few minutes,’ he says, giving me a broad smile.
‘Well …’
‘Great.’
Before I can say another word he has jumped back into the ring. Oh God, I can’t watch this. He turns to give me a wave and is punched on the chin to the groans of the crowd. I wince. Some lucky mascot I am. The crowd roar as Sam Lockwood throws a punch and his opponent staggers. Sam gives me the thumbs up before taking a punch to the jaw. The guy is mad. I find myself willing him to win and join in with the shouting crowd.
‘What’s going on?’ yells Hal as she pushes through the throng. ‘We wondered what happened to you.’
‘That dark-haired one is a bit of alright,’ says Sylvie. ‘Have you put on a bet?’
‘I’m his lucky mascot,’ I say proudly. ‘His name’s Sam.’
‘Blimey, can’t leave you alone for five minutes can we?’ laughs Hal.
‘It’s not like that,’ I say.
‘Isn’t he the guy from the rifle range?’ asks Sylvie.
‘Ouch,’ says Hal.
I look up to see Sam being cornered and the other boxer throwing punch after punch.
‘Oh dear,’ I say, ‘so much for being his lucky mascot’.
‘Knock him out,’ shouts a man beside us.
‘Come on Sam,’ screams Sylvie. ‘Jesus wept, he’s taking a bit of a pounding isn’t he?’
He smiles at us and ducks under the other man’s arm. I can barely look. As his lucky mascot I feel sort of responsible.
There’s a roar as the bell goes and Sam gives me a cheeky grin as they total up the points.
‘He fancies you,’ says Hal.
‘Don’t be mental,’ says Sylvie. ‘She’s in a relationship.’
‘Yes,’ I agree.
There are shouts from the crowd as they wait for the result.
‘Winner on points is …’ barks the referee as the crowd hold their breath. ‘Joe Cooper: 180, Sam Lockwood: 200.’
The crowd roar and I am lifted in the air and spun around, feeling Sam’s sweaty torso through my Zara dress and then his warm lips on mine. My body tingles from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. It’s like someone has cast a spell on me. I’ve heard the saying the earth moved but my God, it really feels like it does when Sam Lockwood kisses me. He pulls back and looks into my eyes. He looks as shaken as me.
‘Wow,’ he says, taking a step back.
I know exactly what he means.
‘Ooh,’ I hear Hal and Sylvie chorus.
‘You do know she’s already taken?’ says Sylvie. ‘She’s got a bloke.’
I look at him dumbly.
‘I said you were my lucky mascot,’ he grins, wiping
at a cut above his eyebrow.
‘You were very good,’ says Sylvie, fluttering her eyelashes.
‘Thanks,’ he smiles, catching a jacket someone throws at him.
‘He’s a bit posh isn’t he?’ whispers Hal.
‘You’re not from round here are you?’ says Sylvie attempting a posh voice but sounding like she’s had a minor stroke.
‘Chelsea,’ he grins, ‘not miles away.’
Miles apart from us lot though. My mind wanders to Ark Morgan and I fight the flutter in my stomach. If the psychic is right, then Ark Morgan could be my true love. But I’m with Darren so how’s that going to work? Stupid psychics, what do they know?
‘I’m Sylvie, and this is Hal. It’s her last night as a single woman, and this is Roxie.’
‘Roxie,’ says Sam, raising his eyebrows. ‘Let’s take a selfie, me and my lucky mascot.’
He pulls an iPhone from his jacket pocket.
‘Well, I really don’t …’ I begin.
He throws his arm around me and pulls me close towards him. I force a smile and try to ignore the warmth of his body pressing against me.
‘So where is this chap of yours?’ he asks, releasing me.
Good question.
‘He was going bowling with our friends and then I expect he’ll watch the Gunners on the pub telly.’
‘The Gunners?’ he asks, looking puzzled.
‘The Gunners, you know, Arsenal football team? He’s a big supporter.’
He nods.
‘I don’t know much about football I’m afraid. I’m a rugby man myself.’
Sylvie tucks her arm into mine.
‘We should get going. It was nice meeting you, wasn’t it Roxie?’ she says, nudging me.
‘See you Roxie,’ he calls.
‘Ooh a rugby man,’ says Sylvie. ‘I bet he’s good in bed.’
‘Roxie’s into tantric sex, so he’ll suit her,’ laughs Hal.
‘I’m not into it. My mum just gives me books,’ I say hotly.
‘Your mum?’ says Sylvie aghast.
Ever wished you’d never started something?
‘He’s too posh anyway,’ I say.
‘To the pub,’ Hal declares. ‘Lisa and Martine will be waiting. Let’s get this show on the road.’
Chapter Six
The pub is crowded, hot and noisy. Don’t you just hate pubs on a Saturday night? Martine is waving at us and I cringe when I see Lisa sitting beside her, sipping her drink through a penis-shaped straw. What is it about girlie nights, weddings and penises?
‘You go over,’ says Sylvie, giving Hal a shove. ‘Roxie and I will get the drinks.’
We push our way through the throng to the bar and I feel perspiration run between my breasts.
‘All right girls, ready for your do are you?’ asks the barman.
‘Yep, it’s all going well,’ smiles Sylvie. ‘Can we have two bottles of Prosecco, two Malibu and Coke and three Smirnoff Ice Raspberry Twist flavour, and a bottle of lemonade? Hal’s not drinking. She says she doesn’t want a hangover tomorrow.’
I can’t see Hal lasting a whole night on lemonade.
‘What time is the fun beginning?’ he sighs. ‘Those bleeding smoke machines set the alarms off.’
I feel my stomach churn.
‘Sylv, you haven’t?’ I groan.
‘Of course. It wouldn’t be the same without a stripper would it? Besides, I meant to do it for the hen weekend but I couldn’t get him booked.’
‘Well, that’s put me off my nachos,’ I say, taking the food menu and a tray of drinks, and reluctantly heading to our table. There’s nothing worse than seeing some bloke parading his meat and two veg is there?
‘Look what we’ve got,’ screams Lisa, holding up bunny ears and nearly perforating one of mine. She sticks a penis straw into my drink before I can stop her. Hal is now wearing an ‘L’ plate sash, a bunny tail and her bunny ears. It looks like we’re escapees from Watership Down. If Ark Morgan walks in now I’d have to dive under the table, or should I say hop. Sylvie pops open the Prosecco and I down a glass before donning my bunny ears. We’ve downed two more drinks, ordered our food when the music stops and Satisfaction blares at full volume, along with so much smoke that it’s impossible to see the bar. A fireman rushes into the pub. For a second I wonder if he is the real thing but then he pulls a giggling Hal into the middle of the room and plonks his helmet on her head, and thrusts his Russell Love Muscle in her face … Well, if she will get married. I’m never getting married. I don’t want some dipstick gyrating his rope and tackle in front of me thank you very much. I suppose I should be grateful. Hal could have organised a spa weekend. I don’t do sitting around in dressing gowns reading about celebs all day any more than I do strippers. I sip my Malibu and Coke through my penis straw in an attempt to feel pleasantly faraway and unreal. By the time the fireman is down to his underpants, the smoke has cleared and we can see everything. He isn’t in great shape I have to say. We all have to pose in our bunny ears and hold up our penis straws for Lisa to snap with her phone. I suppose the pics will be on Facebook before we’ve even left the pub. I must remember to unfriend my mum before she gets a chance to see them.
‘This is why you end up with men like Darren,’ she’ll say.
I suppose she’s not far wrong. Lisa screams into my other ear as the fireman lifts Hal onto a bar stall and looks about to mount her. All we can see is his thrusting wobbly bottom. It’s gross. Hal looks decidedly uncomfortable and I find myself wishing the smoke alarm would go off. Then it’s over. The fireman offers to dance with any one of us lovely ladies. After an uncomfortable silence he clambers back into his plastic fireman’s uniform, accepts his payment from Sylvie and leaves.
I lean across the table to grab a handful of peanuts when my eye catches the plasma TV screen where a small crowd have gathered to watch the lottery draw. I lean forward as the first ball rolls down. It tumbles out and to my utter amazement number ‘4’ pops up. Number ‘4’ was for the number of years I’ve worked for Ark Morgan. I’ve never ever had a lottery number come up. I can’t believe it.
‘Oh my God,’ I whisper, as number ‘3’ rolls out. That’s ‘3’ for the three pounds. My hands go clammy and I struggle to swallow.
‘You okay Rox?’ asks Sylvie. ‘You’ve gone a funny colour.’
Okay, it’s only two numbers. It’s not like I’ve won the jackpot is it? But still, two numbers in a row, what are the statistics for that happening? I grab the table to stop myself sliding to the floor when ‘1’ rolls out. My head spins, and my throat is so dry that I down half a glass of Prosecco. I must have won a tenner at least.
‘You must be thirsty,’ says Hal. ‘Our food should be here soon.’
Their voices seem distant. I picture The Great Zehilda with her ample bosom saying I see wealth as number ‘49’ pops out, that’s my lucky Fifty Shades number. I can’t breathe. That’s about right isn’t it? I’ll win the lottery, die from shock and Darren will blow the lot.
‘Here’s your nachos,’ says Sylvie, plonking a plate in front of me.
I nod and throw back the rest of the Prosecco. I only need two more numbers to win the sodding jackpot. I’m in a trance as the number ‘30’ rolls out and although I hear Sylvie and Hal speaking it’s like they are a million miles away. I don’t believe it. I’ve got five numbers. Everything seems to move in slow motion as the next ball tumbles down. It moves painfully slowly and it’s all I can do to breathe. All I can hear is my heart beating against my chest. The ball continues its slow descent and then there it is number ‘2’. I don’t believe it. That was my lucky two bald tyres. Why did I listen to Mrs Patel? Why was I persuaded to put her stupid number six down? If I’d kept to number ‘2’, I would have won the bloody jackpot. Why can’t I say no? I’m about to turn to my nachos when I see the bonus ball land. I stare at it, numb with shock. Number ‘6’, holy shit. I feel a tingle down my spine and I assure you it has nothing to do with my liver. I’ve got five num
bers with the bonus ball. I’ve only gone and won the bloody lottery.
Chapter Seven
The rest of Hal’s party went by in a blur. I couldn’t stop thinking about those lottery balls. I arrive home to be greeted by Darren’s snoring. I close the door softly, remove my shoes and tiptoe in stockinged feet to the bathroom. I step over Darren’s towel which is strewn across the floor along with his socks and pants and sit fully dressed on the toilet seat. My head spins from the alcohol and my stomach churns uncomfortably from a kebab we had on the way home. I drop my head to my knees and wait for the nausea that washes over me to pass. I can’t believe I won the lottery and I most certainly can’t believe I saw Ark Morgan in the House of Mirrors. It’s all too ridiculous. I pull my phone from my bag and see it is 3 a.m. I peel off my dress and tiptoe to the bedroom where Darren is still snoring loudly. He’s obviously had a skinful too. What’s new? Darren has a skinful every Saturday night. At least I only spend on special occasions. No wonder we don’t have any money. Then again, if I have won the lottery … I slide beneath the sheets and close my eyes. How do I tell Darren? More to the point do I tell Darren? His words echo in my head,
‘We’ll be off to Ibiza to party Babe with all our mates until the money runs out.’
That’s Darren all right. Money burns a hole in his pocket. He just has to spend it. He doesn’t know the meaning of saving money. It might as well be a foreign language to him. He blew his Christmas bonus on the latest iPhone. I wouldn’t mind but he still hasn’t worked out how to use the damn thing. Thankfully I’d already bought the Christmas presents. The whole holiday we lived off Mum’s turkey leftovers and bread and cheese. If I tell Darren we’ve won the lottery he will blow the whole lot in a matter of months. But he is my partner, so I really should tell him. I lie and watch the room spin. I can’t believe what happened tonight. It was unreal. First bumping into Ark Morgan in the House of Mirrors and then winning the lottery, it all seems too good to be true. I’m still gutted I didn’t win the jackpot though and swear I will never be able to look at a packet of Bombay Mix again without remembering how I was almost a millionairess. Nevertheless, I must have won a lot. I didn’t say anything to the others, partly because I really can’t believe I’ve won. Anyway, it was Hal’s night and I didn’t want to steal her thunder. I close my eyes and try to sleep but my head is spinning so much it is almost impossible. I remember the programme Empire Magnets and creep out of bed. I settle myself on the couch and scan the recorded programmes. It’s there. I feel my heart beat just a little faster. I click into it and there is Ark Morgan looking painfully handsome: it hurts to look at him. I lean forward, so I can drool and suddenly find myself looking at the bloody Arsenal instead. What the …? I swear Darren’s days are numbered. How could he bugger up a simple thing like a recording? What’s the point of this fancy telly that we can’t even afford, if I can’t watch one hour of Ark Morgan? It’s all I can do not to burst into tears. I angrily switch it off but not before deleting the Arsenal match. I sneak back into bed and turn onto my side but Darren’s snoring seems to shake the bed. I turn over again and am just beginning to feel drowsy when Darren’s phone bleeps. I snap my eyes open. It’s no good, I can’t sleep. I slide from the bed and sway to the loo, managing to stub my toe on the bloody telescope in the process. I swear I’ll chuck this thing through the window one day. It’s not like he’s bloody Patrick Moore is it? Darren groans, turns over and continues snoring. I bet he doesn’t know one planet from the other. The phone bleeps again and I curse. I fumble with the buttons to turn it off but find myself staring at the two text messages.
