Out Late with Friends and Regrets (10 page)

The coloured splinters and spots of light strobing the darkness in great sweeps were just beginning to make Fin’s eyes twitch, when Desiree announced:

“OK, folks,
 
it’s karaoke time! Kickin’ us aff the night, are two delectable divas ah know yir jist gonnae love. Wi’ a crackin’ rendition o’
‘Sisters are daein’ it fer themsels’
– an’ in’t that the truth, gairls, ye dairty wee things – puh-leese pit yer hauns thegither f’ the newsome twosome, Ellie and Fin, YEAHHHH!”

They stumbled towards the dais, laughing and cursing as the applause and catcalls rolled around them, and took the twin mikes.
 
It was Fin’s first karaoke, and she stood grinning into the shifting mass, wondering when to start, until Ellie took hold of her shoulders and turned her round bodily to see the screen.
 
She actually had a powerful voice which could hold a tune, but found even a familiar number could have tricky bits that memory failed to anticipate.
 
However, her small inaccuracies were overcome by sheer, uninhibited enthusiasm not unconnected with alcohol intake, and by Ellie’s impassioned but tuneless bellow.

They left the stage clutching each other and almost incontinent with laughter, and with the audience roaring approval.

If ever a night should last forever, thought Fin with the few unaffected brain cells still functioning, this was it.

The rest of the night could indeed have lasted for ever, for all Fin could remember of it.
 
Blips of colour, snatches of conversation, a particularly abandoned ‘Dancing Queen’… The breathtaking rush of air outside the bar, dazzling patches of reflected orange on parked cars, the sensation of gritty concrete against her chin as she knelt against a low wall, vomiting over it, God knows where… Ellie urging, “Come on, babe, stay with it Fin,” in her ear… A pavement that seemed to heave upwards under her feet…

And now, the feel of cool linen on her naked limbs.
 
She was in bed, a big bed, lying on her back.
 
And alone.
 
Clearly nobody else in the bed, as she gingerly reached for its edges with hands and feet.
 
She risked opening one eye.
 
White ceiling, grey metal light fitting, unlit.
 
She opened the other eye, only to see the ceiling make a slow, anti-clockwise revolution.

“Morning!”

Ellie’s voice.

“It’s OK,” it continued, “you’ve not been violated, I slept on the sofa.”

“Hello, is it me?” enquired Fin, trying to regain focus.

“Yep, ‘fraid so,” replied Ellie, “and if I may say so, you look quite foul.
 
What we both need is a damned good breakfast and a game of squash.”

Fin felt that, on the whole, she would rather curl up cosily in the path of a number seven bus; but nevertheless heroically levered herself into a sitting position, accompanied by an extended, involuntary moan.

“Come on, you great wooss,” urged Ellie, a good deal too heartily, “d’you think you’re the only dyke in the history of the planet to have a hangover?”

“Please, Ellie,” responded Fin limply, “I’ve decided not to bother about being a lesbian after all.
 
I just want my Mummy.”

“Never mind your mother, dear, it’s a hot momma
you
need.
 
You simply don’t appreciate how lucky you are to have me around as your guide and mentor.
 
In the meantime, let’s go play.”

Good grief, she was serious.

“I can’t, I haven’t got any –”
 
A pair of generously-cut shorts landed with admirable accuracy over her head.
 
“ – urf.”

The scent of Italian coffee muttered its way into the bedroom, and with it the continuation of life seemed a reasonable - if still remote - possibility.
 

As Fin sagged at the table in the steel and glass kitchen, Ellie, brisk and efficient, force-fed her two slices of toast and marmalade.
 
Fin just about managed to prevent their prompt return, despite her stomach trying out a few trampoline tricks in slo-mo. Two cups of delightful coffee and half a pint of iced water were persuaded to follow the toast, with some beneficial effect.

Ellie drove them to the university sports complex, and they began a somewhat erratic game of squash. Fin had been an adequate tennis player at school, but soon demonstrated that she had no notion of the technique required for squash, even if she had been feeling less delicate.
 
However, as she began to catch on, and as the nausea miraculously receded, her strokes became harder and more aggressive.
 
By the end of their allocated hour she was even picking up the odd point here and there, despite being totally outclassed by Ellie’s smooth and experienced movements about the court.
 

“Hey, you could actually turn out to be good!” shouted Ellie.

“At what, exactly?” puffed Fin, slamming the ball into a tricky ricochet.

“Squash... of course... maybe... and ladies... for sure...
Gah!
Cop that one, then, girl –
oof,
gotcha-”

“
Wooh!
Take –
that
, right back, teacher-”

Ellie laughed, and sacrificed the next point to go over to Fin and give her a big hug, before an accomplished annihilationof her opponent which left Fin shreiking in pretended dismay.

They finally walked out through the glass door, sweat dripping from brow, nose and hair, and big dark patches showing on Fin’s borrowed camouflage vest.
 
Chests heaving, they grinned at each other; the endorphins had done their stuff.

Ellie led the way to a row of shower cubicles, a plastic curtain across the front of each affording some privacy.
 
It seemed quite natural to stand naked in the big tiled tray under the same frying-pan-sized shower head.
 
Whilst attempting not to seem to stare, Fin risked brief glances which took in the pleasing sight of Ellie’s understated breasts with their dark pointed nipples, and the in-and-out of her waist.
 
The undeniably heavy hips and thighs were complemented by powerful buttocks, rounded and shining under the spray.
 
A voluptua from a Renaissance fountain, if one ignored the skull-cropped hair.

“Look all you like, petal,” said Ellie, pursing her lips and posing with her back against the shower wall, head turned to one side. “I’m perfectly happy to be studied by any chance admirers!”

“Yes, yes, you big showoff, I’m very impressed, and I hereby award you the Order of the Sponge,” said Fin, covering her embarrassment by scooping and directing water from the tray in a giant sploosh over her companion.
 
And now that she had Ellie’s permission, she ventured,“But hey! What’s with the burning bush? You don’t actually get your
hairdresser
to bleach your pubes for you?”

“Surely, you couldn’t be implying that I’m not a natural blonde, by any chance?” demanded Ellie, hand on hip, mons veneris tilted forward challengingly as Fin giggled.
 

“Actually,” she added, “I dye my crowning glory myself with a kit from Boots, which only uses about half of it; and, well, I hate waste.
 
If I do the Golden Fleece as well, it looks more co-ordinated when I’m stripped and ready for action. Never fancied the bald look.”

“Ouch!” commented Fin, thinking of the stinging bleach.

“I’m ve-ry careful, dear.
 
Now turn round, and let me soap your back.”

It was a new and quite delightful experience to be soaped up and down, front and back, over and under, by smooth, sensitive hands which knew the female topography so intimately.
 
Fin returned the compliment, possibly lingering a little longer over all this lovely satin skin than strictly necessary, marvelling at her own lack of self-consciousness as she soaped Ellie’s breasts and between her legs with sensual, exploratory pleasure.

“Oh! Oh!
 
My God!
 
Oh help!
 
It’s a bloody LESBIAN! Stop it!
 
She’s all over me!
 
She’s interfering with me!
 
Ooooh! “ cried Ellie.
 
Fin blushed, hoping to God that the adjacent cubicles were empty; she drew back, knowing that she was being teased, laughing and coughing as the strong jets filled her mouth with water.

They towelled and dressed, Fin’s underwear feeling limp and reluctant as she pulled it over her damp skin.

“I did bring a change of knickers,” she said, “but they’re in my bag at the B&B. Could you possibly give me a lift there, Ellie?”

“Of course! Then I’ll drop you off at the car park, OK?”

Fin retrieved her things, and when Ellie drew up near the NCP, leaned over and kissed her host on the cheek.

“Thank you so much, Ellie. I think this will prove to be the twenty-four hours that changed my life for ever.”

“Know what, kiddo, I think you might be right,” smiled Ellie, as Fin got out.

She sorted out her parking receipt, and Ellie leaned out of the car window.

“I’ll call you – it won’t be for a few days, because I’ve got one hell of a lot of stuff to prepare this week, but I
will
ring, Fin.
 
We’ll get out and meet a few people, OK?”

Fin waved off the departing figure in the black Golf, the golden hair visible through the rear window until traffic interrupted her view.

It was a glorious day, the sun baking the city street, a smell of dust and excitement rising from the pavement.
 
Fin put the soft top down, and made for home, suddenly hungry for lunch.

The urban hinterland gradually gave way to open highway; then winding B roads where the growly roadster’s eagerness had to be reined in, and Fin could appreciate the countryside.
 
As the verges unwound past the little car, the cow-parsley stirred, buttercups flickered and poppies bobbed in the slipstream; and where there were hedgerows, wild honeysuckle billowed blowsily.
 
Life was abundant, rich, and bursting with promise.

She fumbled for the compilation CD which began with the William Tell overture.
 
It was a version that always made her smile; it was taken at such a lick, it always conjured up the pleasing fantasy of a comedy conductor informing his merry men that a mere five minutes remained before last orders at the bar. She turned the volume up. This track did not require refined appreciation.

The raucous music blared across the fields, to Fin’s “Tiddle-um, tiddle-um, tiddle-UM-PUM-PUM” accompaniment, shouted at the top of her voice.
 
Her impromptu performance was almost drowned out by cacophonous competition from the demented orchestra and the car’s engine, but there was no one to be offended but a group of puzzled heifers with green ear tags.

Like most Cantlesham people, Fin tried to patronise locally-owned businesses rather than national chains where possible; but her visit to Preston & Jebb, estate agents, had not been encouraging.
 
The girl in the front office was obviously a model waiting to be discovered.
 
She took brief details, and disappeared into an inner office, returning with the information that Mr. Jebb would be free shortly.
 
She just about remembered to tell Fin to take a seat.
 

“Shortly” proved to be almost ten minutes of the precious lunch break, after which a buzzer indicated Mr. Jebb’s availability.
 
The model-in-waiting indicated the office door, and Fin, noting the fair one’s indifference, went through.
 
Mr Jebb’s was an over-whitened smile she thought she recognised.
 
As she tried to recall where she’d seen him before, he had begun, without preamble, to describe his company’s excellent record in selling even the most difficult of properties. He might be able to fit in a visit to her home this week, and would her husband be in on Thursday evening?