The Bare Necessities Page 3

  The teenager looked up and stopped. In the park, on the swings was his ex-girlfriend, Ellie. The wavy-haired brunette swung gently back and forth, and Jack scanned the park for any sign of Ian, her new boyfriend. He heard the girl shriek and looked back to the swings; Ian had obviously been loitering nearby as he pulled her off the seat and tickled her on her sides as he held her in his arms. Her squeals stopped, and he saw the two lovers move their heads together for a kiss.

  Jack pulled the earphones from his ears and leaned against the wall by the side of the park, watching his ex-girlfriend and ex-friend intently. They kissed, they chased each other, they flirted, and she teased; it could have been Jack and Ellie from six months ago.

  Ellie had not changed much, her playful exuberance and smile was clear for everyone to see, and Jack rubbed his eyes; tears were forming and he had seen enough.

  Jack took a few steps back and walked back down the road, taking the “long way” from the station to his house. He could not bear to see them any longer.

  He muttered and thought as he strode home; just what had he done wrong with Ellie? Why couldn't he move on from her? Every time he thought that he was over their four year relationship breaking down, something would remind him of the coquette, and he would be angry and upset for days.

  He kicked a stone in annoyance at the pavement, and it bounced onto the grass verge. He knew, the real reason he was not over Ellie was because Ellie had not been replaced in his affections. There was a vacuum in his life that had been created when they had split, and he was finding that her painful memory was more than capable of filling the hole her presence had left behind.

  He opened the door to his house and kicked his shoes off with such force they were propelled across the hall and bounced off the wall in the corner of the room, leaving two little marks on the cream wallpaper. He listened for anyone in the house, but the cleaner-cum-house manager was on holiday and the gardener didn't work on Wednesdays. He heard the feint sound of a television in a neighbouring room; it would be his mother.

  Jack walked up the stairs to his bedroom and slammed the door, throwing himself down on his bed and staring at the ceiling. He needed to break free from Ellie; she reminded him of a weekend where he felt angry, isolated and suicidal. A weekend where he wanted to hurt people, and when he cried. A weekend that was, without doubt, the worse weekend of his life.

  He needed to let it out, and for the first time in months picked up his pad to begin writing a song. The lyrics would be violent, hateful, nasty and vindictive, but that's what Jack thought of his ex-girlfriend.

  * * * * *

  Paige sat down in the little pavilion and pulled out a deck of cards from her bag. “I hate the rain,” Claire moaned.

  “It's great,” Paige replied. “OK, if you are wearing clothes, you get wet and cold, but naked in a storm … ahhh, that's magical.” Claire giggled.

  “I've not done naked in a storm,” she replied. “I don't think that I have done half of what you have,” she moaned.

  “We could go and run naked through the trees if you want.” Claire pulled a face and hummed. “We won't get hit by lightning or anything.”

  “Oh, I'm sure we'll get funny looks.”

  Paige snorted and shuffled the deck of cards. “I don't mind. I go home tomorrow.” Claire's face fell a little as Paige reminded her friend about her forthcoming departure; they had spent most of the week with each other. They swam, sunbathed, cooked, played tennis, walked and even sang together. For the first time in years, Paige had found someone she liked on holiday and had the beginnings of a good friendship with the normally reserved Claire.

  “I got four more days,” Claire replied. “But Dad says he wants to go outside the site tomorrow, so we might be going sight-seeing. Not that there is much to see.”

  “Mum and Dad have done that today,” Paige muttered. “Not sure what they plan to see, but there must be something that interests them!” Her eyes lowered to the table in front of them. “So … cards?” Paige asked and held up the deck. Claire groaned and complained that she didn't know any card games, so Paige taught her Poker so well that the teacher lost the first five hands to her student.

  Claire giggled as the rain hammered on the flat roof of the pavilion and both of the girls turned to the window that looked out onto the centre of the camp site and they saw the harassed figure of Hazel run past the window. Paige chortled and walked to the glass front, causing a cold draft to chill the residents as she opened the PVC door and beckoned to her sister.

  She was soaking; her long red hair was dripping wet and her long-sleeved T-shirt was almost see through. “Come in,” Paige ordered and Hazel's eyes narrowed.

  “Where's Mum? Is she back yet?”

  “I thought you were with them,” Paige replied, shrieking as the guttering leaked cold rain onto her naked body. “I've not seen them.”

  Hazel grunted and threw her hands in the air. “Oh for God's sake! She's got my coat in the car.”

  “Well come in, you'll freeze to death out there.”

  Hazel hesitated, but her elder sister glared at her and she relented by stomping into the room and sitting down at the table with Claire. “Hi,” Claire offered and smiled at the angry teenager. “Cards?”

  “Oh, and get those clothes off,” Paige demanded as she sat down. Hazel shook her head and crossed her arms. “You'll freeze to death, you must be freezing. Sitting in wet clothes is silly.”

  “No! I don't want to.”

  “Oh for fuck's sake,” Paige cried and tapped the table. “Stop being so stupid.” She waved her arms in front of her sister. “No-one cares about … them!”

  Hazel clenched her fists and grimaced. “Just leave me alone.”

  “No, you have spoilt this holiday by being so awkward. We only came away together as a family after what you tried to do.”

  “You always bring that up,” Hazel spat and wiped her eyes. “I just don't want to be naked, and it's not because of them.”

  Paige grabbed her sister's wrist and ran her hand up her arm, forcing the wet long-sleeved T-shirt to her elbow. Hazel tried to pull away, but Paige was stronger and showed Claire the wrists of her sister. “Then you can sit like this, 'cause you aren't afraid of showing them.”

  “Are they ...” Claire muttered and looked at the pained face of Paige's sister. “Oh, right.”

  Hazel tore her hand from her elder sister's grasp and pulled her clothing down to cover the fading scars. “Just leave me alone,” she spat and looked at the rain rattling against the window.

  Paige dealt out cards to Claire and her sister, but Hazel refused to play, and Paige's bad luck continued as Claire won the vast majority of the hands dealt. Hazel sat, watching the two girls play and banter, refusing to join in and sulking.

  Paige turned to her sister and begged her to participate, but she refused, and just brooded. “Hey, you two,” the barman shouted as he walked from the bar into the games' area. “I got the karaoke machine plugged in if you want to use it.”

  Claire looked at Paige and smiled. “Sure,” Claire muttered and tapped the table. “Shall we?”

  “Yeah, OK!” Paige cried and jumped up. “I'm fed up with you beating me at cards.” Claire giggled at Paige, who looked at Hazel, and held out her hand. “Come join us, please!”

  Hazel shock her head. “I can't sing,” the young sister muttered. “I can't …”

  “You can,” Paige implored, but Hazel just shook her head, and sat unmoved in her chair as her sister and her sister’s friend gleefully climbed onto the stage to entertain a pavilion full of bored naturists.

  * * * * *

  “These are incredible,” Andre announced as he looked over the small stall in the craft market. “Really incredible. The effort in these … just wow!”

  The scruffy man nodded, but Andre couldn't see any smile as the gentleman's facial hair covered most of his mouth. Andre looked back to the table and looked at the oddly-shaped fruit and vegetables. Each i
tem was intricately carved into a small statue or ornament. He was enchanted by a small pirate boat made from a potato, complete with sails and a mast and handed over £20 for the item.

  The man put the item into a cake box. “Do you have any representation?”

  He froze as he passed the potato to the agent, who took a business card from his wallet. “Representation?”

  “Yeah, I work for Incredible Talents, and the skill involved in these items is incredible. I'd love to represent you; get you doing demonstrations on television, markets, fairs and the like.”

  “Oh,” he muttered gruffly. “You're not a lawyer?”

  “No,” Andre replied, a little surprised at the question. “No I am not a lawyer. Do I look like one?”

  The scruffy artist grunted and sniffed. “Nah, I dain't need yer help,” he told him.

  “But this is very unique. Who would have thought you could make Big Ben out of a parsnip or Wayne Rooney out of a turnip. It's brilliant and …”

  “I don't need ya help,” the artist barked, and Andre backed away. “You legal types are all the same aren't you?” He picked up an uncarved potato from behind his display and threw it towards the retreating man. He flinched as the root vegetable arced in the air and landed with a thud on his arm.

  “Ow!”

  “Get out of here!” Andre turned to see dozens of people watching the unfolding scene and chatter broke out in hushed whispers.

  “Don't mind ole Jake,” a gruff man told Andre as the confused agent walked past his stall. “He's always tetchy when he's in court the next day.”

  “Court?”

  “Yeah, flashing. Dirty bastard was up at the girls' school.”

  “Right,” Andre muttered. “Cheers.” He turned and looked at the man, sitting behind his stall, and glanced at the soaps on display.

  “What did you want with him?”

  “Nothin' now,” Andre muttered and held out a bar of eucalyptus soap. “Not with that sort of record!”

  * * * * *

  Jack sat down at the dining table and looked across at his parents. “We said that a gap year would be a bad idea,” they reminded him. “We told you nine months ago when you skipped on your University application.”

  “That was Ellie,” he moaned, thinking briefly of his ex-girlfriend. “It's not my fault she's in the year below, and she wanted us to go to Uni together.”

  His father tapped his fingers. “You're a Rees-Montague, man. Little bit of fluff would've waited. Told you to put your foot down.” Jack shrugged and looked at the bulging veins in his father's face. The father took a sip of his whisky and rubbed his chin.

  “We don't want you moping around the house all day for a year,” his mother told him. “Or going to those ghastly places in the third world to do, what they call, charity work.”

  “Absolutely,” his father boomed. “Not going to Africa, or South America. Or Croydon.” He laughed at his own joke as Jack sat unmoved.

  “Well I was sort of planning to get a job,” he told his parents. “Just to earn a bit of money and, you know.” He shrugged. “I haven't thought about where, just get my exams out the way.”

  “Well, it's a bloody good job that I have, isn't it? You can work at the factory for the year.”

  Jack gulped and stammered. “I'm … ummm … I'm … well, I'm not sure …”

  “Nonsense,” his father shouted. “It'll be partly yours one day. Best to see how it all works. You can work under me, and we'll have you being useful in no time.”

  “It wasn't the sort of work I was hoping to do. I got some part-time …”

  “Nonsense! Some 7am starts and 9pm finishes'll do you good,” his father interrupted, ignoring the reticence of his son.

  “I think it's a great idea,” the voice of his mother exclaimed. “I think it will do you good.”

  “Proper days work,” his father added. “When you finish those exams of yours, we'll get you started.”

  “But …”

  “No buts,” his father shouted over the top of his son. “All those things you've had, the driving lessons, the recording studio above the garage, the £2,000 bike you don't use, the car, the … everything. They all had to be paid for. You can learn how hard it is to earn those sums so maybe you might appreciate them a bit more.”

  “Yeah I know, but …”

  His father glared at him, and Jack trailed off; it was pointless to argue.

  Chapter IV

  “All packed?”

  “Yeah, sort of,” Paige muttered and sat in the field with the sausage sandwiches her parents had prepared. Claire took a crisp from Paige's packet and took a sip of her own can of fizzy cola. “Dad would quite like the tents to dry a bit before packing them but apart from that we're done. It's easier if you can get a villa,” Paige teased. “But we aren't all upper middle-class like you.”

  “Err … not fair!”

  “Yeah, I know,” Paige added with a grin. “We booked late, 'cause of Hazel.” Claire said nothing but Paige tapped her fingers together as she thought. “You know, no-one's ever really talked to me about it.” She looked at her friend who was listening intently. “My friends at home never wanted to talk much about it. She got counselling and Mum and Dad doted over her, but no-one cared about me.” Paige took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes. “I found her, in a pool of blood in the kitchen. I had left my homework on the worktop and went back to get it and she was there, lifeless. I think she hates me for stopping her, from doing it.”

  Claire said nothing as she thought for a few moments before swallowing and muttering. “I can't imagine she would hate you, surely?”

  “Oh I don't know. She just can't get happy. She won't join in anything at all, refuses to go to school half the time and Mum won't let her stay at home alone. It's causing all sorts of fights. She has a CPN, but she's really struggling, and she won't talk to me or anyone. She just shuts herself in our room and can't accept any help.” Paige took a gulp of her drink and snorted. “I mean, we used to talk all the time. We share a bedroom, but I can't go in when she is in there and ... well I am her big sister, and she used to bring me all her problems. If it was boys in her class pulling her hair when she was five, or being bullied 'cause she was ginger or whatever, I was there for her. She came to me when she lost her cherry at thirteen and not Mum. But in the last year, she's just isolated herself from everyone. And then tries to end her own life, I mean, how does that make me feel?”

  Claire listened as Paige listed her concerns and worries about her younger sister, and offered her a tissue as the red-headed firebrand sobbed. “It's not easy,” Claire told her. “But I guess she knows how much you love her by all the effort you make.”

  “She just thinks I am getting at her, but I'm not. I just want her to smile and be happy, and if she can't do that, talk to me. But I can't get her to do anything,” Paige moaned and saw the chubby figure of her brother running up the hill. “Anything would be good. Just any sort of smile, but she won't.” She wiped her eyes, but Jeremy pulled up as he reached the steepest part of the incline.

  “Mum says ten minutes,” he panted as he got within 30 metres of his sister and she acknowledged him with a wave.

  “Sure,” Paige shouted and turned back to her friend. “You said you lived in South London.”

  “Yeah,” Claire replied. “Little place called Purley, it's …”

  “It's in Croydon,” Paige finished for her. “I know Purley. I live in Selhurst. It's not the posh end of the town.”

  Claire chortled. “When will you believe that I am not upper-class. My mum works for someone who is, but we are just a normal family.”

  “Yeah?” Paige teased. “Four bedroom detached?”

  “Three bedroom terraced,” Claire replied sanctimoniously, and Paige shrugged.

  “We live in a three bedroom flat above a shop.” Claire shrugged, and Paige just ran her hands through her red hair. “And I bet during the riots last year they didn't try and set fire to your hou
se.”

  “No,” Claire muttered and Paige packed up the litter from their small picnic into a bag. “But I wouldn't mind meetin' up and just chilling or whatever. Especially as we live so local.”

  “Yeah,” Paige said instantly and two girls swapped numbers and addresses.

  * * * * *

  “It's all about sex,” Greg cried as he stretched out in his leather chair. He reached for his latte and leant back only to find the takeaway cup leaked over his tie when tilted at such an angle.

  Andre smiled to himself as his uncle frantically righted himself and then fell off his chair as the scorching hot liquid scolded him through his white shirt. “Pardon?”

  “Sex. Life is sex. We need more of it.”

  Andre looked at the floor and looked at his uncle wiping his shirt with a tissue. “More of it?”

  “Yeah, we need more sex. In here. Blow some cobwebs out. Someone to get the pulse racing.”

  “Right,” Andre said with a surprised frown.

  “We have a prostitute coming to see us.”

  Andre squirmed. “Pardon?”

  “A whore. A girl who'll screw for cash,” Greg said with a glint in his eye. “A lady of the night, y'know?”

  “Yeah, I know what a prostitute is. And I know I'm 25, but I am not comfortable with … it. With being with a prostitute.”

  His uncle scowled. “Hey, it's just business. It's just a professional trade. We're not here to pass judgement. It's just a business transaction, but I think it's what we need!”

  “No? Right, well, ummm, well it sounds all very …”

  “What?”

  “Sordid.” Andre sniffed and sighed. “I'm not sure I want to get involved with a … woman like that.” His eyes narrowed and he tapped the desk. “I don't think it's right.”

  Greg snorted. “Pah! The media are always crying out for a call girl to talk dirty on breakfast television. After Belle and Miss S and all that bollocks, prostitution has never been so fashionable.”

  “Oh, so it's representing a umm … well a lady like that.”

  “Yes,” Greg snapped. “What did you think?” Andre muttered incoherently, and his uncle just snorted. “You said 'think outside the box' and those people you tried to go for didn't end up with a signed contract. It's something a bit different, that's all.”

  “No,” Andre muttered. “But won't that make us pimps?”