The Bonk Squad Page 20

  Meg and Bobbie had agreed beforehand they’d collect up all the first course crockery and cutlery and set the dishwasher going to reduce the amount of clean-up required later. Accordingly, once plates were emptied and knives and forks laid down they wandered around the room gathering the first load together.

  “Need any help dear?” Vi asked, making no move to heave herself out of her armchair.

  “We’re fine,” Meg assured her.

  “Want a hand with anything?” Ian enquired.

  “A man’s place is not in the kitchen,” Nurse Mandy simpered. Her husband’s place never seemed to be in the kitchen, that was for sure.

  “It’s going beautifully, darling,” Eloise assured Meg—not offering to help in the least. After all, it had taken Eloise most of the morning to hull the strawberries, stir in the raspberries and blueberries, and halve and de-pip the juicy imported Californian grapes while she prowled the kitchen getting into her Mrs. Robinson persona.

  She’d tossed her hair, practiced her accent, gone over and over the same few scenes, all the while wondering what the dreary self-important wardrobe mistress would come up with by way of costumes.

  Should she buy a pushup bra? She’d tried Tigger’s on while the girl was out—not that she could fasten it up around her own more fleshy rib-cage—but she saw the intended effect. She’d be able to wear plunging necklines without embarrassment if she could create more cleavage. She’d cut one of the huge grapes almost in half and unfolded it on the chopping board like a miniature pair of breasts, and glared at the voluptuous fruit before snipping, de-pipping and tossing the two halves in with the rest of the fruit. For sure Johnno’s French ‘love interest’ would have big ones. She’d been obsessing about them for days.

  “I’ll take the dessert plates in now there’s room on the table,” Bobbie said to Meg.

  She steered her way past Ben who was squatting by the stereo, and Nurse Mandy who was checking to see if there was any sparkling wine left in the big green bottles. Everyone seemed very cheerful indeed.

  Meg followed with Mandy’s ice-cream and set it beside Vi’s gargantuan trifle and Eloise’s fresh berries.

  Outside, Liz and Romy enjoyed the sun. Meg waved at them to come inside.

  “Ready?” Liz asked.

  “I suppose.”

  “You’ll be fine. You’re not telling them?”

  “As if!”

  “Ian turned out well.”

  Romy nodded her appreciation at the change of subject. “Very hot. Amazing. Who’d have thought?”

  “Not even me until I saw him without his shirt. He has a really good bod. Ripped as hell. I just meant to get him into some decent clothes, and one thing led to another.”

  “So how far?”

  “Huh?”

  “How far has it led?”

  “Romy! Don’t go there.”

  “Just wondering. You seemed…relaxed together.”

  “Not that relaxed. Ian?”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  “Not that strange, girlfriend!”

  They stepped inside, laughing. No-one else at the lunch gained the least suspicion that Romy’s heart had just been broken and her life torn apart.

  “Right, ladies,” Ian called, standing and motioning for silence. The noise subsided with gratifying speed as nearly a dozen pairs of eyes travelled from his short dark hair, down his lean supple body with its delicious golden tan, to his tightly-packed trousers.

  “I can see our dessert’s ready,” he continued with newfound confidence. “We don’t want the ice-cream melting, and I for one can’t wait to dive into Vi’s delicious trifle. So… “ He held aloft the envelope which Bobbie had passed him, and which contained a thank you card and rather more Haroldson’s Garden Center gift vouchers than the group had contributed to. “In appreciation, Meg—for having us in your home every month, and supplying all the tea and coffee and so on.”

  Meg rose from the seat she’d so recently reclaimed, and accepted her gift. “Thank you Ian. Thank you everyone. I love having you here. Apart from anything else, you’re a good excuse to do the dusting now and again.”

  There was general laughter at this. Meg was well known for her relaxed attitude to housekeeping.

  “But hasn’t it been a good year?” she added, finding it easier to face a crowd of people after a few drinks. “Another book out soon for Romy...Mandy and Eloise have both been asked for full manuscripts...Vi’s sold at least half a dozen short stories...and Ian and I are going to get our partials posted before the January meeting. Aren’t we,” she said, staggering slightly. “Liz and Bobbie mus’ be close to that, too?” she queried, trying to stop them from fading in and out of focus.

  Bobbie hung her head. “Um, maybe,” she muttered.

  “Dream on,” Liz snorted. “All these lovers are keeping me too busy.” She gave Ian a nudge in the ribs and just about slid off her chair in a fit of giggles.

  Vi, who had no knowledge of the ‘men-for-Liz’ scheme, pushed herself up from the armchair, took a firm grip on her big silver serving spoon and announced in disapproving tones, “I’ll be Mother.”

  She started to dole out portions of trifle, and the sozzled, far from hungry crowd formed a haphazard queue.

  “Go easy, Vi!” Eloise begged. “Think of the calories.”

  “It’s only once a year,” Vi said, delighted to have diverted everyone’s attention away from Liz and her unseemly exhibition.

  “It’ll be delicious, I’m sure,” Meg said, gazing at the pool of golden liquid seeping out of the sponge-cake layer. “You haven’t skimped on the sherry, I see?”

  “Secret of a good trifle,” Vi agreed.

  Meg turned to Ian and peered up at his newly defined cheekbones. “So how’s your partial now? Satisfied with it yet? Your new s’nopsis was spot-on I thought?”

  Ian smiled down—getting an enjoyable eyeful of her gorgeous breasts from his vantage point. “You’re right, Meg,” he agreed. “It’s time I sent it away. Curtis and Anouska can take their chance in the big bad world. And yours is nearly ready as well?”

  “Close enough.” She lurched against the table edge. “Thank God I’m not driving anywhere,” she added. “Vi’s trifle’s going to finish me off, I think. We’d better make the coffee good and strong.”

  “Everythings’s great,” Ian said. “Mandy’s a bit tiddly. She really got into the fizz. Liz seems to be losing her inhibitions too—if she ever had any. Even Bobbie’s come out of her shell.”

  Meg gazed around at the whirling colors of her friends’ party clothing. Eloise wore red as bright as her bowl of berries. Bobbie’s turquoise top and floral skirt were ocean-fresh. Nurse Mandy had squeezed into peach, with frills; Romy looked misty in soft gray-violet trousers and a paler mauve camisole; Liz had forsaken her ever present jeans for a tiny denim skirt and multi-colored knit top—and Vi was resplendent in an elderly but grand dress of primrose silk. Meg thought her own blue chambray skirt and cream blouse looked ordinary by comparison.

  Ben seemed to have sneaked the music up much louder. The Beatles were now belting out ‘Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts’ Club Band’. Feet tapped and spoons waved as the dessert disappeared.

  How old does he think we are? He’d better not play Herb Alpert...

  CHAPTER 37 – THAR SHE BLOWS

  Part way through the meeting, somewhere between the post-lunch coffee and before the official afternoon tea break, nature started taking its course. Every now and again, one of the writers visited the powder room to trickle away their several glasses of wine, and their tea or coffee.

  The procession of toilet-goers continued in a leisurely fashion until Ian decided it was his turn.

  And, used to living on his own, he pushed the door almost closed behind him, but didn’t quite latch it shut.

  When a rather mellow Liz approached the powder room and presumed it to be unoccupied, she entered to find Ian concentrating on zipping up his none-too-roomy trousers with
his none-too-deft fingers.

  He stared at her in horror. She giggled in return.

  “Ooops, sorry,” she said, checking out a portion of taut belly that hadn’t been on display the day they’d bought the pants.

  “It’s okay. I’m decent.” He hitched his trousers higher.

  “Only just, in those. They do great things for your butt. And it’s a great butt. You should see how you’re being looked at out there.”

  “I know how I’m being looked at.” He stifled a smile, trying not to appear as thrilled as he felt.

  “Are you enjoying it?”

  “What do you think?” Liz was so beautiful he felt she must constantly experience the tingling rush and gratifying warmth and the ‘I-know-you’re-a-little-bit-jealous smugness’ of human admiration.

  “I think you’re loving it.”

  “I think you’re right.” His dreamy eyes pictured an endless line of willing women somewhere in his near future.

  By now Liz leaned against the large wall-hung vanity top. Her tiny skirt had hitched up against its edge, revealing even more of the long legs Ian itched to stroke. Paradise was only inches away. How much self control could a testosterone-stoked man be expected to show in the face of such beauty?

  She looks like a willing woman! The thought grabbed him by the throat and shook him to the soles of his Italian-clad feet. Certainly her eyes were far from forbidding.

  Lust swirled like an intoxicating mist through the air of the small room. He drew a little closer, trousers zipped but still unbuttoned.

  “I feel amazing,” he added. “You’ve rescued me. I should give you a thank you kiss.”

  “Should you?” she teased, leaning back, tilting her head up in invitation. He stepped a fraction nearer so his thighs settled between hers. Sparkling wine, dry red, and an extravagant amount of good sherry swirled though veins and brains. Inhibitions swept away like twigs down a flooded river.

  “You shouldn’t really,” she murmured. Her voice said one thing, but her eyes said quite another.

  Ian gazed at the absolute perfection of her lips. Their seductive invitation. His hands reached toward her thighs...settled there...caressed.

  She gave a tiny gasp—which caused her lips to part a little more.

  Ian groaned, and grabbed. With the steely strength gained from long years of hefting sacks of fertilizer and premium-grade trees and boulders for landscaping, he urged her up so her hips were supported on the edge of the vanity top, then pressed his pelvis and his mouth into her tempting softness, and enjoyed.

  Liz threw her arms around his shoulders for balance.

  “Ian!” she tried to exclaim, but it was unheard and unheeded. They sank deep into a mutually satisfying embrace.

  Which was interrupted a moment or two later when Vi pushed the still-unlatched door open and hit Ian on the afore-mentioned butt.

  He lurched further forward with surprise, and he and Liz were thrust harder onto the vanity-top, which promptly parted company with the wall under their combined weight.

  Liz followed it down to the floor with a shriek of terror, and landed with her bottom neatly contained in the wash-basin.

  Ian’s long limbs scrabbled in all directions in a desperate dance to avoid landing on top of her.

  Behind him, Vi gasped in outrage.

  And then the water burst forth.

  It gushed and squirted and poured from the fractured pipes—in a drenching fountain that had Vi squarely in its sights.

  She stood rooted to the spot, still absorbing the disgusting sight of Ian and Liz apparently coupling in the room next door to all the other writers. Her primrose silk dress turned transparent under the deluge.

  “Turn it off at the mains,” Ian yelled from his cramped position on the floor.

  “Get the fuck off me,” Liz howled.

  “Find some towels for the carpet,” practical Mandy bellowed.

  “Who’s got the camera?” Eloise wondered aloud.

  Ben skidded out to turn off the water, and Meg dived for the linen cupboard. In true Kiwi rugby style, she began tossing a rainbow of towels at Bobbie, who threw them around the hall corner to Romy, who laid them like sandbags at the entrance to the powder room. The carpet was wet, but not as wet as Vi, who still stood frozen to the spot in a shower of spray.

  Her dress clung like an invisible skin, her formidable underwear was now totally on show, her new perm had flattened. Her eyes goggled with shock.

  Happily Ben knew where the outside water connection was. His swift reaction brought results a few seconds later, and the fountain slowed to a trickle and then to a series of disappointed drips.

  Meg arranged a flannelette sheet around poor Vi. It was the most absorbent item left in the linen cupboard, and the best she could do at such short notice.

  “They were at it!” Vi shrieked, whirling around to face her roomful of friends. “At each other like cats! Right in front of my eyes!”

  “Bullshit,” came Liz’s muffled yell from inside the powder room.

  “Absolutely not, Vi,” Ian protested as he staggered to the doorway, T-shirt rucked-up and waistband unbuttoned.

  Vi flapped a hand out from under her sheet and pointed to the evidence. “Like cats,” she insisted again, remembering next door’s Tom demonstrating what to do with a willing Tabby in the garden right outside her sitting-room window the previous week. The noise had even disturbed old Arnold from his habitual doze. They’d stared out the window together in horrid fascination, Arnold yowling with jealousy. Only the fact that no actual plants were being damaged had prevented Vi from taking a broomstick to the furry fornicators.

  “I expected much better of you than this, Ian,” she added. “I suppose that hussy led you on?”

  “Are you all right, Liz?” Ian enquired over his shoulder to the hussy.

  There was a stony silence. “What the hell do you think?” she muttered a few seconds later. “You weigh heaps, Ian. And this basin just about broke my back.”

  Nurse Mandy appointed herself to the afternoon shift, muscled Ian aside and disappeared into the powder room to check on Liz’s injuries.

  Ian did his trousers up and smoothed his T-shirt down while several smirking women made their own assumptions.

  “We might have to adjourn until January, I think,” Meg said, surveying her shattered home.

  CHAPTER 38 – HANKY PANKY SPANKY

  Fifteen minutes later, the dishwasher had still not completed its first load because there was no water. Meg had persuaded Vi to have a lie-down. Mandy and Romy had taken Liz by taxi for an unnecessary x-ray, and the rest of the writers had departed with their half-empty bowls and platters.

  Meg handed Ian a cup of strong tea. As ever, he stirred and stirred until his three sugars had dissolved.

  “Shit,” he said, finally looking at her. “What a mess. We weren’t, of course. Just a bit of a drunken cuddle.”

  “Not my business, Ian,” she said, remembering his unsecured trousers.

  “Totally your business, Meg. We wouldn’t—er—do that here. Not in your home.”

  She shrugged.

  “We wouldn’t do it anywhere,” he protested. “Liz and me? Dream on!”

  “Poor old Vi,” she said, changing the subject.

  “I’ll fix up your bathroom. That goes without saying.”

  “Will it be safe to turn the water on later?”

  “Yes. I’ll see to it when I’ve sobered up a bit.”

  “I’d better get a plumber.”

  “I am a plumber. I was apprenticed after I left college. Only worked at it for six or seven years though before Dad got sick and needed help with the Garden Center.” He drew a deep breath. (Of regret or relief, Meg wondered?) “It’s been handy for the water features. I can install them without having to employ outside help. We specialize. Some of the big country properties commission all sorts of ponds and fountains and waterfalls.”

  “But you never went back to it fulltime?”

 
“It’s a filthy job sometimes. Good money, but I enjoy the plants, and the people.”

  “Well, well,” she said, sipping her coffee, picturing Ian in a different role. Muddy shorts, work-boots, sweaty T-shirt, tool-belt. Quite attractive really.

  “Your vanity’s smashed,” he said. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

  Meg wrinkled her nose. “It was a stupid big thing. I’ve often wondered if there was room for a shower box and a much smaller basin.”

  “A complete second bathroom?”

  “Make good sense, wouldn’t it?”

  He sipped his tea and nodded. “I’ll check it out. Cost a bit though. You’re insured?”

  “For damage by marauding elephants? Yes, I suppose so. I’d better phone them.”

  “Poor old Liz,” he muttered.

  “Poor old Vi,” Meg countered. And then couldn’t resist asking “How about that corset-thingy, then? No wonder she always looks so trim.”

  Ian’s mouth twisted at the memory. “I suppose Mandy’ll phone if Liz is hurt. She looked all right to me. Annoyed, more than anything. She didn’t fall far.”

  “But you fell on top of her?”

  “Managed mostly not to, I think.” He sipped his tea again, buried deep in thought.

  “I’ll get some leaflets,” Meg said to break the lengthening silence. “Shower boxes, basins and so on. The toilet didn’t get hit, did it?”

  Ian set his mug on the kitchen bench and went to check. Meg trailed after him, carrying her coffee with care. Not that a few more spots outside the powder room are going to make the carpet any wetter than it already is.

  “I’ll see if I can get one of those machines you hire,” she said to Ian’s long back. “The ones that suck up spills.”

  “It’s a bit more than a spill, Meg. Ask your insurers to get the proper carpet salvage people onto the job.”

  He bent and inspected the toilet for damage. “No, it didn’t get hit.”

  “God, it is a mess,” she said, padding across the slippery floor and poking at the torn wallboard where the brackets had been wrenched away.