The Undead Day Twenty (36 page)

‘Fit,’ Blinky grunts, pulling her left boot off, ‘ha, stupid cunt,’ she tells the boot. ‘Right, this mine then? What’s this? Is this lube? Why have I got lube?’

‘I just said…’ Paula goes to say.

‘And johnnies? Why you giving me rubber johnnies? I’m gay…these wet wipes?’

‘Yes they are,’ Paula says into the surreal environment as Blinky shreds the packet apart and starts cleaning herself.

‘Hot as fuck,’ Blinky tells Charlie as though it’s safe to speak normally as long as she doesn’t actually look at Paula or Marcy. ‘Sweating like a fucker…did you have coffee?’

‘We did yes,’ Charlie says.

‘Did Cookey put a cock on yours?’

‘No,’ Charlie laughs.

‘He put them on Mr Howie’s and the others….funny as fuck…’

‘What was that?’ Paula asks.

‘Nothing, Miss Paula,’ Blinky snaps.

‘I’m only asking,’ Paula says.

‘Don’t know anything, Miss Paula, Sir.’

‘Blinky, I’m not asking you to snitch or anything…I just wondered…’

‘Wasn’t there, Miss Paula. Didn’t see it.’

‘Right, yep okay then,’ Paula says.

‘Maddox is being a right bellend,’ Blinky says, resuming her
private
conversation with Charlie. ‘Won’t stand with us…won’t say anything. Total fuckstick, like…not a team player at all.’

‘It is awkward,’ Charlie remarks.

‘Do I have to put all this shit in my bag, Charlie?’

‘Not the lube, Blinky…or the condoms…or the, okay yes you can put it all in your bag if you want.’

‘I’m done,’ Blinky says, now cleaned, dried, dressed and ready in the space of two minutes. ‘Can I be excused, Miss Paula?’

‘Er yes?’

‘Thank you, Ma’am…fuck you Charles,’ Blinky marches off, digging Mo in the arm for good luck as she goes. ‘Tosser.’

‘Gotta love that girl,’ Paula muses into the void left from the whirling dervish force of nature that was Blinky.
‘Blowers, the others can come up.’

‘Yep, cheers, Paula.’

Blowers releases his radio switch as he steps out wider to see Howie and the others still in the café chatting quietly. He gets Clarence’s attention and motions first to his group then to Clarence.
You going next or us?

Clarence nods at him.
You go next.

‘I’m clean and dry fucktards,’ Blinky says, striding out the doors.

‘You okay here for five?’ Blowers asks her.

‘No I’m scared. Can someone stay with me please,’ Blinky says.

‘Come on,’ Blowers motions for the others to follow him through. Nick and Cookey fall in behind him as Cookey tries to shoulder barge Blinky who laughs and pushes back sending him into Nick who runs forward a step into Blowers. ‘Twats…Maddox, you come up too.’

‘I’m fine,’ Maddox says curtly.

‘Fuck’s sake, Maddox,’ Blowers says, unable to hide the irritation he feels. ‘It’s hot as…’

‘I’ll go after.’

‘You’ll go now. The Boss will go after. This isn’t...’

Maddox shrugs, passive and unbothered. ‘Whatever,’ he falls in behind them. Following to the same destination but not part of them. He becomes aware of Howie, Clarence, Roy and Reginald turning in the café to watch him walk past the windows. The pressure grows. The feeling of isolation and loneliness magnify.

‘Mo Mo!’ Cookey says at seeing the sentry outside the entrance to the shop. ‘You alright mate?’

‘Yeah good,’ Mo says, still wondering what the hell shnure means.

‘Hey,’ Blowers goes in first, nodding at the three women then blanching at the piles of kit on the floor. ‘What’s that?’

‘Charlie! Miss you…’

‘Miss you too, Cookey.’

‘Oh my god…is that lube? Fucking brilliant. And condoms?’ Cookey laughs, looking at the products on the piles.

‘What’s this?’ Nick asks, holding up a set of eye-lash crimpers that resembles a thumb torture device.

‘Blowers, that one is yours,’ Paula says, pointing to a pile. ‘Nick, yours…Cookey, yours is this one…Mo? You come and get changed, sweetie…’

‘Come on, sweetie,’ Nick calls out.

‘Honeybun?’ Blowers calls.

‘Pickle chops?’ Cookey joins in.

‘Maddox,’ Paula says, her tone dropping a discernible notch as she says his name. ‘I guessed your size…there’s more over there if I got it wrong.’

‘Hey sweetie,’ Cookey says as Mo walks in. ‘You okay fluffy pumpkin?’

‘Pack it in,’ Paula says, her voice rising in pleasure at speaking to Cookey.

‘He’s an iccle bunny,’ Nick says, cooing as he leans in to pinch Mo’s cheek.

‘Fuck off,’ Mo laughs, leaning away.

‘You leave my Mo Mo alone,’ Paula says, waggling a finger at Nick.

‘Sorry, Paula,’ Nick says with a grin.

‘Lube,’ Cookey drops down to pick the tube up. ‘It says strawberry…is it flavoured? Oh my god…best day ever…you can actually eat this? Fuck yes! Blowers, try the lube…’

‘Fuck off!’

‘Go on, try it…eat some lube…’

‘You eat it.’

‘I will if you will…Nick, lick the lube…’

‘I’m not licking lube.’

‘Ah go on, Blowers, try it…’

‘We’ll leave you to it,’ Marcy says, laughing at Cookey urging the others to eat lube.

‘Marcy,’ Cookey blurts, ‘you try it…’

‘I’m not eating lube, Cookey.’

‘Ah someone do it…Charlie? You fancy some lube?’

‘Cookey,’ Blowers groans, wincing as he looks away.

‘I already have and it is very nice,’ Charlie says politely, holding a poker face as the three women walk down towards the back of the store.

‘Dick,’ Nick mutters with a chuckle at Cookey’s shocked expression.

‘Charlie? Did you really try the lube?’ Cookey asks.

‘Maybe,’ she calls back, now blocked from view behind the shelves.

‘Wow,’ Cookey mumbles, staring at his tube of lube. ‘Was it nice?’ he shouts.

‘Very nice,’ Charlie shouts back. ‘You can really taste the strawberries’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yes. Try it.’

‘Um…yeah, yeah fuck it…’ Cookey says, twisting the top off.

‘What the fuck you doing?’ Blowers asks, pulling his top off.

‘Trying it,’ Cookey says, staring at the curved plastic plunger at the top of the bottle. He squints at the label then gingerly pushes the plunger down to squeeze a dollop of clear looking gel into his hand. ‘Argh it’s slimey…’

‘It’s lube you idiot,’ Nick says, laughing at him.

‘Smells nice,’ Cookey says, sniffing the gel in his hand.

‘Oh you are fucking gross,’ Blowers says, pulling a face at Cookey moving closer to the pile of goo in his hand. ‘Don’t…Cookey don’t…’

‘What? It’s flavoured…’

‘Yeah but, oh mate don’t…’

‘You can eat it,’ Cookey says, looking up at Blowers as he pokes his tongue out towards the goo.

‘Don’t look at me and lick it you fucking dick…’ Blowers protests.

‘Look at me,’ Cookey says in a mock deep sensual voice. ‘I am licking the lube Simon Blowers…’

‘Argh stop…you dirty fucker…Cookey…fucking stop it…’

‘Mmmmm,’ Cookey says, licking the lube while staring at Blowers. ‘It’s slimey…’

‘Oh you…something wrong with you…’ Blowers grimaces and turns away but can’t help looking back while Nick and Mo laugh in delight.

‘You want the lube Simon Blowers,’ Cookey purrs.

‘Stop that voice…just…oh mate that’s gross…’

Cookey licks the lube. A long languorous lick that brings a big dollop into his mouth with the sensation of oily goo. He gags, yacks and spits with his face screwing up in distaste.

‘You twat,’ Blowers says, bursting out laughing.

‘S’fucking gross,’ Cookey bleats. ‘Argh so gross…Charlie! It’s gross…’

‘Can’t believe you did that,’ Nick says, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

‘Well,’ Cookey says dully, standing up to look down at the dropped tube of lube. ‘I ain’t licking that off your willy, Blowers…’

‘Fuck’s sake, Cookey,’ Blowers groans.

The three women laugh at the sound of Cookey, smiling and shaking heads as they reach an open chiller cabinet filled with bottles, cans, snack food and sealed packets of now mouldy sandwiches.

‘Water?’ Marcy asks at the sound of Cookey gagging.

‘Yeah cheers,’ Paula says.

‘Charles?’ Marcy asks, using the name Blinky called her with a smile.

‘Thank you.’

Natural daylight fills the café and spills down the long aisle into the front of the store. The strength of light wanes over that distance but gives enough illumination for the lads to see what they are doing as they start stripping down and going through their kit. That light finds it harder to reach the back of the store. The display units, shelves and columns all work to block and prevent the spillage of that light which in turn, plunges the rear of the store into a darker area of shadows. Paula, Marcy and Charlie hardly notice it. It’s entirely natural for them to move from light to shadow and they think nothing of it. Instead, they unscrew the lids from the bottles of water and take sips while wearing new dry clothes and with skin freshly cleansed and moisturised. Marcy lowers the bottle as a flash of a strobe effect of light crosses her eyes. She blinks and looks to see the end of the glass fronted perfume counter across the way. That reminds her of her desire to have perfume and so, while sipping, she looks down the row of perfumes on display with her eyes travelling the distance of the cabinet.

Movement catches her eye. She tenses, unsure of what she is seeing then instantly relaxing as she realises it’s the reflection of the lads changing. Almost a mirror quality reflection too.

Paula sees Marcy staring and looks in the same direction to see what she is looking at. She too spots the perfumes and in an absent-minded manner of passing the time, she looks down the cabinet until the same movement catches her eye. A blink and her eyes process what the image she is seeing of the lads near the front changing.

Charlie sees both Marcy and Paula engrossed in staring at something so she shuffles a pace to follow the direction of their eyes to the perfume counter. She focusses to see what’s on display and sips her water. The movement catches her eye. She frowns and looks further down to see the reflected image.

A moment in time is captured in seeing something through reflection rather than directly with the naked eye. And naked they are too. Well almost anyway.

Five young men with lean hard bodies who strip tops off to show flat defined stomachs and shoulders of muscularity and arms shaped just so. Of long legs defined with muscles and strong jaws.

It becomes like something from a soft drinks advert. Soldiers marked with grime and dirt stripped down to underwear as they laugh and joke and use wet wipes to rub those smudges away.

It’s not the lads they watch. It’s not Blowers, Cookey, Nick, Maddox and Mo. The identity of them is removed. The association of knowing them drops away. That none of them linger their eyes on Mo is left unspoken because they don’t speak. They are each removed from the desperation of this time and taken to a place, for a few seconds, where the admiration can be taken without offence or perversion.

What they see is Blowers’ strong arms packed with muscle from the years of boxing that have honed and shaped his biceps and triceps up to his shoulders and formed striations across his chest.

What they see is the bulge of the muscles in Maddox’s defined stomach and the way those muscles bunch and stretch as he stretches and twists to clean himself with the wipes.

They see Cookey’s frame, lean and hard without an ounce of fat showing and the contrast between his light skin tone to that of Maddox. Both defined, both hardened and so different but so similar in shape. That contrast of skin colour mesmerises them for a second, captivating and forgetting where they are and what they are doing.

As one, the three women glance to Nick. Taller than the others and that extra height brings a symmetry to his shape and frame. His wide shoulders just starting to bulk with muscle and so broad too. They take in his arms, chest and stomach and his easy quick smile that flashes as someone makes a joke. Nick
is
the Diet-Coke advert. Paula blinks, Marcy swallows and Charlie sighs all without knowing they do so.

‘She’s a lucky girl,’ Marcy whispers with a voice giving sound to the thoughts in her head of Lilly.

‘She is,’ Paula whispers back, caught in the same thought process.

‘Very,’ Charlie whispers.

The bubble pops. The realisation of voyeurism as Marcy suddenly blushes and turns away. Paula blasts air and looks down to read the label on the bottle of water as Charlie shakes her head and turns on the spot to stare at the range of baby feed bowls.

They start chuckling. Low and embarrassed with glances to each other that set them off more as the laughing becomes louder at the way they caught themselves doing something naughty. Marcy makes a point of leaning to look down at the glass again and adds a sigh that sets the other two off.