The Girl at the Bus-Stop (17 page)

‘What do you mean ‘get into the character’?’ replied Becky.

‘To re-enact chapter fourteen of course, Ms Caine, shall we fix a time?’

‘How about right now?’ replied Becky sounding annoyed.

‘What do you mean?’ Gale replied.

Becky stood up, dropping the envelope on to the bench and grabbing Gale’s hands and hauling her to her feet.
 

‘If you really want to feel like Faye
Dela
-fucking-
haye
, come with me.’

She led Gale into the busy ballroom, holding her hand firmly and almost dragging her to the far end towards the kitchens. In the corridor a Fire Exit door was propped open, and Becky pushed Gale through. Outside was a small, brightly lit courtyard where the rubbish bins and other out of sight items were stored. Becky led Gale over to a stack of wooden pallets where two of the aproned nude waitresses were having a cigarette break.

‘This lady,’ Becky said, ‘is wearing an outfit made from probably the most expensive Italian leather money can buy, the boots alone must be at least two grand’s worth.’

‘What do you want me to do, wear a paper hat?’ one of the young woman said.

Becky ignored the sarcasm and started to unzip Gale’s suit.

‘She wants to do you a swap,’ Becky replied, ‘you can have the suit and the boots for your apron and drinks tray.’

‘Bargain,’ the young woman said happily.

She tossed her cigarette into a metal bucket and quickly removing her tiny lace apron.

‘Can I have yours,’ the other waitress said to Becky, ‘you’re about my size’.

‘No,’ snapped Becky.

Gale started removing her own suit, wriggling to loosen it from her shoulders when she changed her mind and pulled it back on.

‘I don’t know if I can go through with this, Ms Caine.’

‘Of course you can,’ she said kindly, ‘you’re Faye Delahaye.’

Becky crouched down to remove the expensive boots, before standing behind her and yanking the unzipped suit down her back. Gale reluctantly stepped out of the trouser legs and stood still in her scarlet silk bra and panties.

‘Those are Carine Gilson aren’t they?’ the second waitress said excitedly, ‘They must have cost a few quid.’

Gale ignored her and made a show of stamping her feet and shivering.

‘Perhaps, I’d better keep these on, Ms Caine, it’s awfully cold,’ she said nervously.

‘Nonsense,’ replied Becky, ‘come on get them off, I’m sure this young lady will make good use of them.’

The second waitress quickly removed her apron and offered it to Becky.

‘Here, you go,’ she said with a smile.

‘It’s okay, you put it back on,’ Becky replied, ‘you can keep her underwear but she doesn’t need two aprons’

A few minutes later Becky led the masked, almost naked Gale Buckingham into the ballroom carrying a tray of drinks. Gale stopped and bent her knees slightly as the apron started to work loose.

‘Quick, it’s so coming undone,’ she said in a panic, ‘can you tie it tighter this time, Ms Caine?’

A pair of very tall masked Amazonian redheads in fishnet body stockings and calf-length Doc Marten boots approached them, helping themselves to drinks from Gale’s tray. One dipped her finger into the champagne and delicately stroked Gale’s nipple with her finger tip, while her friend poured some of her drink down the other breast. She followed the trickle of champagne with the tip of her tongue down the front of Gale’s body.

Gale let out a sigh and stared up the two women, her mask unable to disguise an expression of both shock and pleasure. As her apron began to slide down her hips she didn’t move a muscle, letting the garment slip down her legs and on to the floor.

‘You’re Gale Buckingham,’ one of the redheads said smiling warmly, ‘I remember you in
Desert Island Dykes
.’

‘She’s always getting mistaken for Gale Buckingham,’ said Becky, ‘actually her name’s Faye Delahaye.’

One of the women put her arm around Gale’s waist, leading her away slowly.

‘We’ll help you serve your drinks, Faye, and then we can have some fun’ she said, ‘but be careful you don’t go spilling any. We all know what happens to naughty clumsy girls, don’t we?’

Her friend smiled at Becky, standing closer to her and resting her fingertips on her forearm.

‘You remind of Lady Gaga,’ she said, ‘I’m a big fan of hers. Perhaps you’d care to come with us, but I must warn you, I like it rough.’

‘Thanks all the same,’ said Becky politely, shrugging her hand away, ‘but I don’t, and I think Faye would prefer you and your friend’s undivided attention.’

The clamping Masterclass was showing no signs of ending any time soon, and Rudge was getting bored. He looked across at Nikki, and it suddenly dawned on him that it wasn’t her partner’s hand she was holding. He could see her wrist moving slowly back and forth as the feathers of the man’s headdress fluttered.
 
Rudge looked away in disgust and quickly made his exit from the enclave.

There was no sign of Becky on the terrace, and he looked out over the balustrade in case she’d gone for a stroll in the garden. He sat down on the bench and lit a cigarette, smiling as he remembered the human coffee table.

‘Where did Lady Penelope go?’ he asked, but there was no reply, ‘Come on tell me you, you, disobedient table you.’

The table remained silent and motionless, and Rudge suddenly reached forward and slapped its buttocks.

‘Thank you,’ said the small voice.

‘Where did she go?’ he demanded.

‘She went off with a lady,’ the table replied.

‘What lady?’

There was no reply until Rudge slapped the buttocks again.

‘Cat Woman.’
 

‘Who was she really?’ Rudge snapped, slapping him again.

‘Gale Buckingham, I remember her in
Desert Island Dykes
,’ the voice said.

‘Good for you, now where did they go?’ said Rudge, slapping him again.

‘No idea,’ the small voice said, ‘but it was about twenty minutes ago.’

Rudge stood up and ground his cigarette end out the ashtray, and a large glowing spark flew from the tip and landed in-between the table’s buttocks.

‘Thank you,’ the voice said in a high pitched tone.

Ten minutes later Rudge was standing by the Mercedes dialling Becky’s mobile number. He could hear it ringing, and looking into the car he could see it lying on the back seat. He ended the call and climbed in beside it, pushing the device across on the seat next to him.

 
‘I don’t know where she’s got to, Harry,’ Rudge said, sounding worried, ‘you may as well switch the engine off she could be ages yet.’

Five minutes later a breathless Becky staggered over to the car, removing her wig and mask.

‘Thank, goodness, I thought you might have gone without me.’

‘No chance,’ said Rudge, moving over to let her in, ‘Home please, Harry, and is there any chance of picking up some fish and chips on the way?’

Becky sank down in the comfortable leather seat, fastened her seatbelt and the car pulled smoothly away. Within minutes she was asleep, her head nestling on Rudge’s shoulder.

 
The next morning Rudge was seated on the balcony recovering from an exhausting session in the gym, sipping Chinese green tea from a glass mug and smoking a cigarette. Becky appeared through the door on her side of the balcony wearing a bath robe and carrying a mug of coffee. She sat down at the table, holding her forehead in one hand.

‘I’m never going to drink champagne again,’ she said, yawning.

‘Of course you’re not,’ Rudge replied with a smile, ‘and if you’re hungry the bad news is that your fish and chips are cold. You were spark out on the way home in the car, so me and Harry had to carry you in.’

‘Which one of you undressed me?’

‘It was me, but only after Harry had left,’ Rudge said, ‘I wasn’t going to at first, but I was worried in case sleeping in that tight leather suit all night cut your circulation off.’

‘Thanks, but you didn’t have to remove my underwear as well.’

‘I didn’t,’ Rudge snapped, ‘you weren’t wearing any.’

‘Oh, shit, that’s right,’ she said, ‘when I tried the
 
suit on after my shower it was such a struggle, so I didn’t think I’d have the time to take it off again just to put my knickers on. I couldn’t face going through all that rigmarole again.’

‘It was like a second skin,’ Rudge replied, ‘I could have peeled a grape wearing boxing gloves easier.’

‘There was no, you know, funny business was there?’

‘Becky, you should know by now,’ he said, ‘me and ‘funny business’ are strange bedfellows.’

‘So you didn’t fancy me as a ‘bedfellow’ then?’

‘Grow up, woman,’ he replied, ‘I’ve been married far too long, and I’ve learned to live without it.’

‘Don’t you make love to your wife?’

Rudge laughed, and stood up looking out across the river and shaking his head.

‘If it’s any of your business, New Year’s Eve 1999 was the last time,’ he said sadly, ‘and that was a disaster. It was just approaching midnight and before we’d even got down to it properly, she threw up over the slippers she’d bought me for Christmas. I knew then that, even on the dawn of a new millennium, life wasn’t going to be any different from in the old one. So I fetched her bucket and a flannel, then went downstairs to watch Jools Holland’s
Hootenanny
on BBC2.’

‘Doesn’t she mind you, you know, not being interested?’

‘Not since she bought a TV for the bedroom,’ he said, ‘ I did try and interrupt her late night viewing a couple of times, but she insisted on leaving it on to watch
Big Brother.
She was holding the remote control in her hand as well, which turned me right off.’

‘That’s so sad, why stay together all this time?’

‘Economic necessity, familiarly, indifference, guilt, total apathy and pure bloody mindedness I expect.’

Becky got up from the table and walked over to him, leaning with her back to the balcony rail..

‘You must still love her, surely?’

‘What do you mean, ‘still’,’ he replied, ‘I’ve never loved her, or rather, I’ve never been in love with her. We got married because it seemed like a good idea at the time. Since then I’ve driven her mad with my futile attempts to become a sci-fi writer, and she’s never shown the slightest interest in anything I say or do.’