Dear Beneficiary (11 page)

‘This is just outrageous, I said to Tracey, who was pacing up and down the twenty square feet or so that was available to her.

‘What the hell do these people think they are doing?' Tracey said, crying and making even more of a mess of her make-up.

I felt for her a bit at this point, particularly as it seemed she had still to notice her missing tooth and the extremely unattractive spike left in its place. Despite the bluff and bluster, and the badly disguised advancing years, she seemed quite vulnerable, if incredibly thick.

‘Well, I may be being a tad pessimistic, but I've a suspicion we've been kidnapped,' I said, aware I might have been stating the obvious, but apparently not.

Tracey wailed at this information, which she clearly hadn't considered. Big sobs left her heaving body, forcing her bosoms to move independently of each other, in different directions. I marvelled at the sight, having only ever had marginal movement in my own 34B bust, even when breastfeeding for the few short weeks I managed it with each of my children – apart from Patrick, who had the habit of biting.

‘Well, there is little point crying, that won't get us anywhere,' I said, while trying to think. I'd already worked out I was probably the only one of the two of us who might be capable of such a function.

‘What about our luggage?' sobbed Tracey. ‘I need my make-up and my sleeping pills.'

‘Sleeping pills? What do you think you will need those for?' I asked. ‘You reckon you can settle down on this infested mattress for a full eight hours?'

Tracey looked around gloomily and acknowledged that the pills weren't maybe as necessary as the make-up.

‘I can't let Baz see me like this. He'll never marry me then!'

I suspected he was unlikely to see her in any state at all and had no intention of marrying her, particularly now he'd fleeced her of five thousand pounds. I wouldn't be so stupid as to be conned by any man into believing they were going to marry me.

‘Where did he say he'd meet you?' I asked, mainly to make conversation rather than out of any real interest. At that point I'd started to worry how the bloody hell I'd got into such a mess. More importantly, how I was going to get out of it.

‘At the airport,' Tracey replied despondently, possibly because she may have finally twigged that particular beau had sailed.

I kept my thoughts about Tracey's stupidity to myself. I could bring them back once I'd found a way out of our predicament.

‘Well, maybe he got held up for some reason and is on his way to find you right now,' I said, as I looked around the shabby quarters for anything that might offer a degree of comfort.

It wasn't so much that we needed somewhere to sit and, God forbid, sleep – we had no idea of our fate – but more pressingly I was concerned about toilet requirements. The more I thought about it the more urgent my requirement became, and so in a bid to distract myself I spent the next hour or so trying to move mattresses and blankets into some kind of makeshift bed. It wasn't easy, and after some puzzling I came to the opinion that the only way we would both be able to get any rest at all would be to share sleeping space. The mattresses and blankets were insufficient to make two separate beds, and so I devised a double arrangement where we could share whatever covers were available.

Sharing a bed with Tracey was a prospect that filled me with absolutely no joy, particularly as she had taken to smiling gap-toothed on every occasion she glanced over at me. I'd only ever shared with Colin and Darius (even my children were banned from such sacred space) so the anticipation of potential embarrassment was excruciating.

I just hoped that Tracey, having given in to her fate and sitting cross-legged on the floor in an apparent daze, wasn't the touchy-feely type likely to make physical contact when least expected.

I settled down onto the bedding arrangement and wondered again what we were supposed to do about toilet requirements. My bladder was stretched full to the point of being painful, and my bowels were clenching in the knowledge they needed imminent emptying.

Despite our repeated hollering and shouting through the door of the shack, no one appeared. There'd been no sign of the men who'd brought us here and no apparent sign of any life at all.

‘I really need a pee,' said Tracey, as if reading my thoughts. ‘I'm just going to have to go in that bowl,' she said, getting up and staggering over to the corner where I'd placed it.

The thought of public ablutions filled me with horror and reminded me of those awful women in the swimming baths who take off their costumes in full view of everyone. It's always the ones with the worst bodies who are prepared to display them: warts, veins, stretch marks and all.

‘Oh, goodness me, we aren't animals! Can't you wait? Human rights law states that we must be treated humanely,' I said, reminding Tracey that there were legal procedures in place for every person on the planet. ‘Someone will have to come and look after our needs soon,' I added, before wondering if we would see anyone other than each other ever again.

It was too late for any pleas of decency. Tracey had dropped her trousers and knickers and was on her way into the crouching position.

I felt my own need for release increasing as I heard Tracey go about her business, and was horrified to think that I might have to do the same thing if I was to get the relief I so desperately sought.

The thoughts flew from my mind when I looked around to see that Tracey was standing above the bowl, holding her knickers forward and shaking her lower self about in a rigorous fashion.

‘No toilet paper,' she grinned, exposing her toothless spike in its full glory. ‘So I'll have to drip dry!'

I was completely taken aback. Not only by the actions but the fact that Tracey had no pubic hair, other than what looked like a thin brown line running down the middle of her mound. I found the sight most peculiar and wondered what sort of problem she had that would cause hair loss in that region. Perhaps she had been dying it the same colour as the hair on her head and it all fell out?

Dismissing the vision I made my way over to the corner. What was sauce for the goose …

‘Out of the way, I need to go,' I said, contemplating my own genital area which was, in comparison, trimmed to prevent overspill and decidedly grey. At least I'm not bald, I thought as I lowered myself into a crouching position before releasing not only my bladder but a huge stool that splashed loudly into the bowl.

‘There's no shaking that off!' laughed Tracey, turning towards the pile of papers that sat neatly on top of the chest.

Tearing off a page from
OK!
magazine, she walked over to me as I struggled to maintain privacy while wobbling about over the now full bowl.

‘Here you are, I use old mags all the time when I forget to buy bog roll. This one's got Kerry Katona on it at her first wedding. Shows how old it is.'

I was mortified. I'd hoped to hang on a bit longer, but nature took its course without so much as a by your leave to my dignity. I cleaned myself as much as I could with the glossy remnants of Ms Katona's nuptials. I couldn't help but pause briefly to note the youthful and misplaced ardour of her husband's face.

Having pulled back my lower clothing as effortlessly as I could under the circumstances, I made my own way to the paper pile, returning to cover the offending bowl with two pages of obituary columns from the
Daily Telegraph
.

I thought this was about as low as I could go, but just as I was feeling myself fall into a pit of despair, the door was unlocked before it flew open and a man dressed in a military guard's uniform marched in with a tray carrying two mugs full of steaming liquid, a bowl of eggs and four oranges.

He was young, about thirty, shorter than the two men from earlier and was wearing full khaki uniform with a massive belt that was too big for him. Where he had pulled it tight around his small waist it had bunched the waistline of his trousers and left a good six inches of belt dangling freely in front. He had a baseball cap that partially covered his eyes, meaning he had to tilt his head up to see in front of him, and red Converse boots, giving away the fact his military status might not be genuine. I thought he looked a little like Darius, but smaller. Much smaller.

‘Here – food,' he grunted as he sniffed the air and looked with disdain in the direction of the bowl.

‘We need to make arrangements for the toilet and access to a telephone,' I said to him as sternly as I could muster. He looked slightly put out by my assertion, which I thought was a good start. He had a large chain attached to his belt loop which held a key ring, but there was only one key, which I suspected was to our quarters.

‘You cannot keep us here and will not keep us here,' I added, moving towards the fake guard with as determined steps as I could, which seemed to unnerve him further. ‘Do you understand me?'

I had the advantage at this point, so glared at him, trying to meet his eyes which had been gradually hidden from sight as his oversized baseball cap, featuring a Manchester United Football Club emblem at the front, fell down his face.

‘Maybe he don't speak English, hun,' said Tracey, who had tried to move towards the door before the guard kicked it closed with his foot and stood in her path.

I thought that was a touch of the pot calling the kettle black, then laughed to myself at the irony of my observation. I continued speaking to the guard whose initial attempts at looking in control were slipping with every word.

‘Now you must tell me why we're here and when you're going to let us go. We cannot tolerate being here any longer and will report your superiors for false imprisonment,' I demanded in my best magisterial voice.

The guard continued to look around the room, sniffing until he found the source of his consternation. Placing the food tray on the floor, the guard walked over to the bowl. He removed the paper and, on witnessing the contents, picked it up and carried it with him as he left the room, closing and locking the door behind him.

‘I'll be back,' he shouted through the door, leaving us wondering if that could be a good thing.

‘Hey, come here now,' I shouted through the door. ‘Where's our luggage? And I want to make a phone call.'

‘And I want clean knickers, fags and my make-up,' said Tracey who was busy inspecting the contents of the mugs. She sniffed cautiously before taking a large gulp – an act she quickly regretted. ‘Yuk, that's disgusting,' she wailed, spitting the contents to the floor. ‘It tastes like pig shit.'

Trust Tracey to moan about everything. I was just fed up that the guard had paid no heed to me. Perhaps if he'd not had to deal with my excrement he might have paid me more respect.

I was hungry, and as I'd no reason to respect my companion's view on cuisine, decided to give the contents of the mug a try. I made a face at the peculiar earthy taste of the concoction, but was determined to show an open-minded appreciation of foreign food, so continued to drink.

‘Well, this is all we've got by the looks of it, so we might as well make the most of it,' I said, as much to convince myself as Tracey, who was sobbing again.

‘This is your bloody fault,' said Tracey, as she sniffed and rubbed her arm across her runny nose. ‘Why did you make me get in that car?'

I couldn't recall making anyone do anything.

‘I thought your boyfriend was going to pick you up. You didn't have to come with me,' I said, thinking her plight could have been worse if she hadn't been with me. I decided to try and keep the peace and find a way out of this mess. ‘Whatever's happened we're here now. Let's see what they've given us.'

I've never actually tasted pig shit but did have to concur with Tracey – the flavour was like nothing I'd experienced before. Turning my back on this new culinary experience for a while, I cracked open the shells of the eggs and was delighted to discover they were still warm and not quite hard boiled – just as I liked them, although I was miffed they hadn't bothered to bring us any salt or a teaspoon.

‘Come on, eat something, Tracey. You have to keep your strength up. The oranges smell divine,' I added, as I pressed the dimpled flesh to my nose, taking in the fresh, fruitful aroma.

Suitably convinced, Tracey joined me as we devoured the eggs and the oranges before turning our attention again to the mugs of whatever it was we'd been given. Neither of us could decide if it was soup, gruel or something completely alien.

‘It's probably a local drink of some kind,' I said in a bid to remain positive. The last thing we needed was to be at each other's throats.

Tracey had settled down a little and had stopped sniffing quite so much. Her nose was bright red while her nostrils shone with untamed snot. Her eyes, still stained from mascara and tear-diluted eyeliner, were swollen and misted. But she seemed, if not cheerful, resigned.

Both of us decided that after our adventures so far, we needed food. In the absence of any alternative we managed to finish the contents of both mugs, silently and with increasing relish as time went on.

‘It ain't that bad really,' said Tracey.

We were both silent for a while. We didn't know the time as neither of us had been wearing a watch, and Tracey usually relied on her phone which had been taken.

‘I'm cold,' I said, as I noticed the room getting dark. Daylight seemed to disappear quickly.

‘Me too, hun,' replied Tracey. ‘And I'm a bit shaky.'

My thoughts were untethered and floating around in my head. My legs were weak, and although they felt heavy the rest of me felt incredibly light. I flopped down on the bed and held my hands tightly together for comfort.

‘That's a bit strange,' I tried to say but my tongue swelled up with every word.

My mind was full of random ideas, none of which I could grab hold of long enough to articulate, even to myself. I came up with solutions to problems I didn't know existed, then quickly forgot them.