The Girl at the Bus-Stop (32 page)

‘I know, but I’m glad you brought me here,’ she said, taking his hand, ‘I’d always wanted to see where Reuben Rudge lived. Plus it was fantastic seeing all my old friends, and the familiar places in town.’

‘You sound homesick.’

‘I suppose I am a little bit,’ she replied sadly, ‘I’ve lived here all my life, and just about everyone I grew up with is still around.’

‘I had no idea,’ said Rudge, ‘I took it for granted that just because I wanted to get away, you must have felt the same.’

‘Don’t you miss your friends, Reuben?’

‘I haven’t got any.’ he said.

‘You must have, surely. What about mates at work?

‘I didn’t have any.’

‘What about old school friends?’

‘None whatsoever,’ he replied looking glum, ‘I did join
Friends Reunited
when it first started up, but no-one tried to contact me.’

‘What about other people, mates in the local pub?’

‘I never go to the pub.’

 
‘You sad git.’

‘That’s me,’ said Rudge, nodding in agreement, ‘but ever since I’ve been married, the main problem has been my wife. I’ve known people with
Tourettes
with more social skills than Mrs Rudge
, so even if I did have any mates they’d probably have run a mile after meeting her.’

‘That’s terrible,’ said Becky, ‘everyone needs friends.’

‘We had a few barbecues just after we moved here, and invited all the neighbours. Instead of joining in the fun and getting to know people, she just grabbed two platefuls of food and went inside to watch
Emmerdale.
’

‘Even so, it shouldn’t have stopped you from making friends of your own.’

‘Well, to be honest I’ve always felt a bit ashamed of myself.’ he said, ‘Most people I knew years ago had proper careers, a decent salary, promotions , nice families and stuff.’

‘Not everybody,’ said Becky, ‘it’s enough of an achievement these days just to have a job, any job.’

‘It was different when I started in full-time employment. Young people used to try and progress up the ladder as quickly as possible.’

‘But not you, obviously,’ she said, ‘and, sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound unkind.’

‘That’s okay,’ he replied, ‘I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve always remained on the bottom rung, clinging on for dear life. I was never interested in all that normal work stuff, all I’ve ever wanted to do since I was a kid was to write sci-fi stories.’

‘It’s all changed now though, Reuben,’ Becky said, plonking a kiss on his cheek, ‘you’re wealthy, successful and you’ve got me.’

‘The last bit means the world to me, but as for the rest of it, well, it’s all a bit phoney really.
 
I wrote the first book but couldn’t tell anyone it was me, and then you wrote the sequel and couldn’t tell anyone it was you, as in Becky Waters. So all in all we’ve got nothing to show for it except a big pile of money, and some celebrity acquaintances that we can’t stand the sight of.’

‘What about
Starfish
?’ said Becky, ‘Don’t you think that getting a children’s charity up and running is an achievement?’

‘Yes, but I don’t want any recognition for it, it wouldn’t be right.’ said Rudge, ‘The money we’re putting in isn’t really ours anyway.’

‘Some of it will be,’ she said, ‘but what you’re really trying to tell me is that you feel unfulfilled. You crave recognition for something you’ve done, for which you feel justly proud.’

‘Yes.’

‘But obviously not for writing a bestselling smutty sex novel.’

‘No.’

‘So in other words you just want to show off, don’t you?’ she said punching his arm, ‘So that all the David Bansteads in this world will know that Reuben Rudge isn’t just a humble clerk with no ambition, he’s a well respected author with fame and wealth by the bucket load.’

‘Yes.’

‘Come on let’s go inside, I’m getting cold,’ she replied, ‘I’ve got something to show you in a minute, and no, it’s not underneath this towel.

Whilst Becky went upstairs for a shower, Rudge made some toast and fresh tea and sat at the breakfast bar looking out at the garden. A few minutes later Becky breezed into the kitchen naked, with a towel on her head. She dropped an envelope on to the counter in front of him, and started to dry her hair.

‘This came for me the other day,’ she said matter-of-factly, ‘I was going to save the surprise until we got back to London. But I think now would seem a more appropriate time.’

‘You look gorgeous,’ he said, eyeing her up and down.

‘Well don’t get any ideas until you’ve read the letter,’ she said teasingly, ‘then I shall expect a suitable expression of thanks in the form of gratuitous sex over the breakfast bar. Or you can ravish me on the living room sofa, or even shag me senseless out in your rickety old shed, or better still, all three places.’

Rudge looked at the envelope and recognised the smudged ‘Inter-Planetary’ franking mark he’d noticed when it had first arrived at the apartment. He pulled out the letter and unfolded it slowly and started reading. The expression on his face slowly changed from one of vague curiosity to overwhelming joy.

‘They want to publish
Wife on Mars
,’ he said, ‘I don’t believe it, how on earth did you manage it?’

‘Easy,’ she said putting her arms around his waist, ‘after I’d finished
Starstruck,
I proof-read
Wife on Mars
and did a bit of editing on your manuscript. I gave a copy to my new devoted admirer, Nikki Blandford, and she took it over to someone she knows at Inter-Planetary Publishing.’

‘My goodness, but why is it addressed to you?’

‘I wanted it to be a surprise, so I put Rebecca Waters as your representative’s name, and close friend of the famous Raspberry Caine. It’s amazing what doors fly open when you’re a published writer.’

‘That’s fantastic, Becky,’ he said, his smile fading, ‘but are they just publishing it because of you, I mean, because you are Raspberry Caine?’

‘If you’d read it properly,’ she said, picking up the letter, ‘they really like the manuscript and say that ‘your
approach to sci-fi is refreshing for its originality and humanity
’, so there you go.’

‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘I suppose your undying gratitude would be a good start,’ she said, taking a sip of her tea, ‘especially as I’ve had to reward Nikki Blandford for the favour and be nice to her.’

‘What do you mean, reward her?’

‘She wanted me to go over to her place and, you know.’

‘You’re not going to sleep with her, are you?’ said Rudge, turning to face her.

‘No, of course not,’ she snapped, ‘but she did want a good hard spanking from me.’

‘My goodness,’ said Rudge, ‘and you agreed to do that just to help get my work published.’

 
‘Nikki Blandford’s been a thorn in our sides ever since we started this Raspberry Caine lark,’ said Becky with a frown, ‘and nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to slap her senseless. It’s just a shame that she’d enjoy every moment of it.’

‘So what are you going to do?’ said Rudge, looking worried.

‘Do I detect a hint of jealousy in my Reuben’s voice?’ she said, running her fingers through his hair.

‘Yes,’ he replied, looking glum, ‘and if I wasn’t jealous you’d probably think I didn’t care.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s all been taken care of,’ she said, ‘thanks to Gale Buckingham, Juliet Cabot and her lezzer partner.’

‘What have they got to do with anything?’

‘I told them about Nikki, and Juliet got in touch with her. As we speak, Ms Blandford is spending the weekend with the three of them at Gale’s house in Eton Place.’

‘Good for her,’ said Rudge, ‘I’m just glad you didn’t have to get involved in that sort of thing.’

‘I thought you fancied Nikki?’ Becky said, before running the tip of her tongue along Rudge’s earlobe.

‘No, you said you thought she fancied me, but I can’t stand the woman,’ said Rudge, ‘and had you indulged her in her fantasy, the repercussions could have been devastating. She’s such a conniving bitch she’d probably have sold her story to the Sunday newspapers, ‘How Raspberry Caned Me’, or some such twaddle.’

‘Well I didn’t, and so she won’t,’ she said, ‘and now that we’ve sorted that problem out, put that toast down and get naked. We’ll start in here and work our way around the house. ’

At half past three Becky awoke to the sound of the door bell. She stood up and bashed her head on the low sloping ceiling, before crawling from the cupboard under the stairs and into the hall. Rudge was still asleep, his arm draped around the bag of the overturned vacuum cleaner, and his feet trapped in the mechanism of the ironing board.

Becky trotted upstairs to one of the front bedrooms, and looked out of the corner of the window. Standing below in front of the porch door she saw a rather large formidable looking woman, with two suitcases on the ground alongside her. Becky crept back down into the hall and tried to rouse Rudge from his slumber.

‘Reuben, wake up,’ she whispered, shaking him, ‘I think your wife is here.’

As soon as he heard the words ‘your’ and ‘wife’, Rudge sat up, and winced in pain as the ironing board leg mechanism slammed closed on his bare toes.

‘Help me get this bloody thing off my foot, Becky,’ he screamed, ‘it’s like a fucking bear trap.’

After a few moments of metallic clunking Rudge was free. As he crawled from the cupboard, the door bell sounded again.

‘What are we going to do, Becky?’ he whispered.

‘Let’s just pretend we’re not in.’ suggested Becky.

‘She’s bound to know someone’s in,’ he replied, ‘I think the whole street must have heard me trying to escape from that sodding ironing board.’

‘Okay,’ said Becky, ‘I’ll go and hide somewhere, and you can put my towel round your waist and answer the door. You can always say you were in the bath or something.’

‘What about your car?
 
She’ll go bananas if she thinks it’s mine.’

‘I put it away in the garage before we went out last night,’ she replied, ‘I didn’t want to risk getting it stolen or vandalised.’

‘That’s something at least,’ said Rudge.