Ed ‘Conspiracy Freak’ Spinnaker muffled a snicker as he gripped the duvet. The woman beside him lay sleeping, the fug of alcohol, sweaty sex, and curried cauliflower hanging above them both.
He’d spotted her on the tiny dancefloor of the rammed pub, talking to a fat blonde in a crop top and leggings. Through the lens of eight pints, she’d looked attractive, a ‘fit bird’, and Fat Kev had agreed she was a goer and that he wouldn’t kick her out of bed.
Fat chance! Ed had thought and made a beeline for her once he’d bought four bottles of beer at the bar – one for himself, one for her, and one each to placate her fat mate and Fat Kev.
She’d been surprisingly easy to reel in; a few beery inuendoes and the promise of breakfast from what he could remember. Now she lay beside him in his bed, smearing his pillows with streaks of orangey-brown makeup, letting out snorts and farts as though they’d been married a decade, far less attractive than she had been last night. And nothing compared to Bonnie. Nothing!
He let out a low groan; regret and self-loathing curdling an already queasy belly. One day he’d wake and not remember her, not feel the pain of her absence. Until then, beer and women like Sarah – was it Sarah? – would dull the unbearable ache.
Mid-morning light filled the room, streaming in through curtains only partially closed. He considered Sarah - Sally? - for a moment. She wasn’t too bad looking although in the sober light of day her schnoz was a little too hooky and her chin a little too witch-like to be considered pretty. Worse, the black hair that had fallen so tantalizingly over her shoulder in glossy curls last night, had morphed into a badly dyed bird’s nest of black tangles, outgrown mousey roots, and glued hair extensions. Her face hadn’t fared too well overnight either and now one fake lash had attached itself to the fabric of his pillow whilst the other had been crushed against her cheek as she slept. It stuck out from her face at an angle like a hairy black caterpillar rearing against a predator.
She gave another snort and twisted to face him. Ignoring the sour breath rising between them, he snickered, pulled the duvet over her head, then let out a long, sonorous, and satisfying fart of his own. He knew, without needing to smell it after a night on the lash, that its stench was rank.
Alerted by being pinned down by the duvet, the woman began to buck then squeal. Keeping his nerve, Ed held it down over her for a silent count of ten then released the cover.
“You fucking weirdo!” she screeched as she gasped for air and launched herself from the bed.
Not the reaction he was expecting! “Calm down, love!”
“Calm down! You were trying to suffocate me.”
“It was a just a joke. You were farting. I thought I’d return the favour.”
She stared at him with disbelieving eyes.
“You did. It stank. I was returning the favour. It’s a dutch oven.”
She glared at him then narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know you well enough for that kind of joke!” Her voice was scathing, her sneer malicious.
“Don’t know me well enough!” he countered. “Love, I’ve seen every inch of every orifice. Every orifice!”
She threw him a scowl. “Whatever!” With an irritated huff she scanned the room. “Where’s my clothes?”
“In the kitchen,” he replied, all trace of humour gone. “Where you left them.”
The woman muttered something unintelligible as she turned from him with a sour pout and then marched away, disappearing through the bedroom door with a wobble of her cellulite covered thighs and buttocks. Ed allowed a disgruntled but relieved groan to escape his lips, glad when her flabby form disappeared from view. What had he been thinking of!
Thinking with more like!
Too much booze. Never again!
With a huff, he fell back against his pillow, reached for his mobile from the bedside table, and slid a finger across the screen. Bonnie’s eyes stared directly into his and the pain that constantly churned at his core gave his heart a determined squeeze. Noise from the kitchen was an unwelcome reminder of the interloper - Sarah/Sally/Sasha? Did her name even begin with an ‘S’? – her disgruntled mutterings an intrusion into thoughts that were now suffused with Bonnie. Not thoughts. No. It went deeper than that. His soul scraped at her loss.
“I’m off!”
The woman’s disagreeable voice scratched his ear drums. Bonnie gazed at him with loving eyes, her laughing face filled with happiness. He remembered the moment he’d taken the photo with intense clarity, a day at the beach during their first holiday. Bonnie would never grate on his nerves, not even after a thousand years, not like the bint in the kitchen whose grating voice was instantly annoying. In that moment he knew; life without Bonnie would be an endless torture of yearning and that if he had to crawl on his knees from one end of England to the other, even up to Scotland, then he’d do it to win her back.
He listened without awareness as the rejected woman clacked down the hallway towards the apartment’s front door.
“I’ll see myself out then!” she shouted with an edge of challenge.
“Alright. Alright,” he muttered, the wheedling anger of her voice finally breaking into his thoughts. It really would be bad manners not to see her to the door, after all, they had been intimate … His belly rolled with queasy sickness. Far too much booze, he thought, that and the overwhelming sense of guilt at sharing himself with a woman that wasn’t Bonnie. Never again!
Until the next time. No wonder she left.
Disgust crawled over him, thick and greasy. There won’t be a next time!
Sure.
“Right!” the woman shouted. “I’m leaving.”
He threw the duvet from his legs. “Hang on, Sarah!” he called, “I’m coming.”
Silence followed and then the front door opened. “It’s Serena!” she shouted, outrage lacing her voice, “Serena, you twat!”
The door slammed shut and Ed watched as the dark blur of her figure faded to nothing beyond the privacy glass.
“That’s that, then,” he muttered, the absence of her grating presence a relief.
Naked, phone clutched in his hand, he padded through to the kitchen, filled the kettle, then sat at the table, his gaze fixed on the screen where Bonnie’s face smiled back at him.
Minutes passed as he mulled over his options whilst the water grew hot.
Flowers? A grovelling apology?
He shook his head. No, not enough.
Flowers, chocolate, and a grovelling apology?
Could work.
A protestation of undying love and a proposal of marriage …
“That’s it!” he shouted as the kettle came to the boil, steam filling the tiny kitchen. He would ask Bonnie to marry him. That’s what she really wanted, and she was the one and only, he knew that now. She’d said he was a commitment-phobe and that he’d deliberately slept with Trisha to ruin their relationship, to force her to dump him, so it wasn’t really his fault—he hadn’t been ready, but he was now.
And Trisha had chased him, hounded him for months, and he’d finally given in, and what man, who wasn’t really committed, could resist that?
None.
But I’m committed now, Ed thought. “If you come back, I’ll never cheat on you again,” he said with determination whilst staring at her image. “Never!”
He’d tell her. He’d explain that she was right—he’d shagged Trisha because he wasn’t ready to settle down but that now he was. If she wanted kids that was fine, he would give her kids. If she wanted a house, he would buy one. His heart palpitated, excitement flooding his veins as the epiphany of awareness flooded his senses. He would tell her today. She would be at work. He’d buy flowers and chocolates and give a grovelling apology and then get down on one knee. He could see her face now. At first, she’d give him that frown, but as he talked, her eyes would well up with tears and then when he got down on one knee, she’d be shocked and then squeal with delight and sob ‘Yes!’
Ed’s heart beat a little faster.
A shower, a shit, and a shave, then I’ll be on my way, he thought.
He would explain it all; he loved her and life without her wasn’t worth living and no amount of easy lays would ever replace her …
He stalled for a moment, coming to a sluggish understanding that it would be politic to leave out the bit about the easy lays.
Steam evaporated above his head as he pressed his thumb against the screen to unlock the phone, impatient to contact Bonnie, mulling over whether to arrange a meeting or just surprise her.
Surprise her, she can’t say no that way.
Ok.
As he began to scroll through his socials searching for her profile, the phone beeped, and a message flashed across his screen, a reminder from his diary. ‘Jake Milward’ the screen read.
“Jake Milward?” he murmured, the reason for the reminder momentarily forgotten. He clicked the app’s icon, retrieving the note. ‘Tip off from Jake Milward’, it read. ‘If not returned by Wednesday latest, investigate.’
“Jesus! Yes.” He remembered now. Fat Jake—the nurse that worked at the psycho hospital. He’d come to him with a crazy conspiracy theory about some messed up animal experiments up in Northumberland. Something about a scientist and the deep state drugging him to the eyeballs to keep him quiet. With Bonnie momentarily forgotten, Ed checked through his messages. The last one from Jake had been three days ago and confirmed that he’d reached the location and was about to go in. ‘If you don’t hear from me by Wednesday, you know what to do,’ was his final cryptic message.
CHAPTER THREE COMING SOON …