Cake part 4

For audio click here 
For part one click here, part two here and part three here
James tapped on the window and waited. He rocked from heel to toe and prepared his excuse if anyone else answered the door. But excuses were not needed. Chloe opened the door and immediately threw herself into his arms. 
“I thought you weren’t going to come back,” she said, between kisses and sobs. 
“I couldn’t resist your eggs,” he said. 
She punched his chest and then kissed him again. 
“You need a shower.” 
“I need two,” he replied. 
She led him through the house and up the stairs into the bathroom. “I’ll get you a towel.” By the time she came back, he was naked. 
“Nice,” she smiled and touched his chest. 
The water felt like champagne for the skin. He washed and scrubbed and washed again until he felt as clean as a baby. Then he smothered himself in soap again. They chatted as best they could as he cleansed himself.  
“You coming in?” he said, but there was no reply. James froze, was this a trap? He listened for signs of life. Then, he rinsed and stepped out of the shower. Shit, his clothes were gone. He dried himself, wrapped the towel around him and tiptoed through the house. It was still, the sunbeams making dust float over the landing.  He was sure he was going to be ambushed by English’s men at any moment. He pushed open a door and peered in. There was Chloe lying on the bed, naked.
“Wow,” he said.  
James felt like a traveller returning home as he explored the unfamiliar familiarity of Chloe’s body. He was back where he belonged.  
“Wow,” she said. 

“What did you do with my clothes?” James asked, once he had got his breath back. 
“I put them in the washing machine, they should be dry in twenty minutes.” 
“Thank you,” James kissed Chloe’s forehead. “So, you’re married to old Eddie English?”
Chloe looked at him. “How do you know?” 
“I have my sources.” 
“Have you been spying on me?” Chloe sat up in bed. 
“No, don’t be daft,” James said. 
Chloe reached for her gown and got out of bed. 
“What happened to the feisty, little leftie,” James asked. 
“What was I supposed to do? You know how it is for women, we’ve got three options, trophy wife, prostitute or production line,” she walked across to the window and picked up her electronic cigarette, smoke billowed around her. She forced a smile. “Eddie was lovely back then, all roses and promises. We fell in love. And he’s not the monster the press have him to be. He’s doing his job. He’s got two options too, do what he’s told or else.”
James scratched his chin and listened.
“But he wasn’t even a fascist back then, he was just lovely, romantic Eddie.” 
James laughed at the thought it.
“Fuck you, James. We all knew how things would go. He offered me security. What was I meant to do, wait for you?  I made a choice. I live with it.” 
“Come here,’ James said. Chloe turned around, a tear dropped on the carpet. 
“Your clothes will be dry.”
“Chloe?” But she was gone.  When she came back with an armful of clothes, James took her in his arms her and kissed her. “I hate you,” she said. 
“You don’t,” he said, as he was getting dressed. 
“I do, now get out of here and don’t come back.”
James tried to kiss her but she pulled away. 

for part five click here 

Cake Part 3

For audio click here 
For part one click here and part two here

James watched the car pull in and the man get out. He was tall and elegant, a dark suit cut just so. He took his briefcase from the back seat, touched the door and watched it close by itself. Then, he fished a key out of his trouser pocket and let himself into the house, to be greeted by his beautiful wife. No wonder he looked smug.

James’s calculations had been right. Chloe was married to Edward English, star of the show trials two years back. English by name English by nature the patriotic press had announced. Evil Eddie the Samizdat call him. The bastard had smiled as he handed down the death sentence for four innocent journalists accused of the Westminster bombing attacks.  The sick bastard had turned to the camera and said.

“Let that be a lesson to any of you planning any further resistance.”

James thought of Pete and Kirsty, Chris and Emily, the looks on the faces as they were led away from that court. Could he have saved their bacon? He shook his head, it wasn’t worth going over old ground. Since then English had been on TV every second day; clarifying the legal position of new governmental decrees, or discussing why the death penalty was a legitimate tool of government or just taking part in brainless game shows. He was a worm.

James looked around. He was surprised by the lack of security. Eddie English was in every top five ‘wanted’ list James had ever seen, but no one had ever got close. Like all government officials, their home addresses were a top secret but James would have expected security cameras and fences at the very least. Man, he’d broken in as easy as Larry yesterday.

He thought of Chloe. How on earth could she love him? He felt a pain in his frontal lobe as he thought about the two of them together. How could she?

“I wish I was a lesbian,” he mumbled to himself. That was what she said when they’d first made love. She’d argued it would make it easier to be a feminist if she didn’t love men so much. And that was Chloe in a nutshell.

They’d met in uni.  The blonde girl with glasses and DM boots. James had hated her for two years. She managed to hijack every question any lecturer asked with his femo-communist slant on life. James was left of centre, but she had made him want to vote UKIP.  Also, she was dating that idiot Steve. The most boring man on earth but she like it that way, it meant she could walk all over him. Then there was that fateful night when James had gone to the Duke expecting his friends to be there but the only person around was Chloe crying and drinking gin. Steve had left her, she’d sobbed, just announced he was seeing some girl in the geography department. Geography!

James didn’t know what to do. He didn’t really want to sit with a sobbing woman all night but he could hardly walk away. So, he stayed, and now for the first time since then, he wished he had walked away. 

Part four click here and part five here

Poetry Friday 49

Poetry Friday 49

For audio click here

A poetry Friday Topical Poet mash up this week.

I wrote this before the election result last night when I feared that Labour would be smashed into smithereens. Thankfully that didn’t happen.  Labour’s slogan was For the Many not the Few. I subverted that and came up with this

For the Few not the Many.
For the few
Not the many
I want it all
Won't give you any.
I won't pay tax
On what I earn.
Won't contribute
For your kids to learn.
Don't want to give
For your health care
And your mum was right,
Life's not fair.
But don't you dare
Phone in sick,
I'll sling you out
Double quick.
human rights?
That's a joke,
All your freedoms
Up in smoke.
Vote for us,
Tick our boxes
Will bring back shooting
And hunting foxes.
For the few
Not the many
We want it all
Won't give you any. 

Hope you enjoyed these poems, more next week. Have a good week.

Cake Part 2

For audio click here 
For part one click here 
James tapped the window and waited. He automatically went to adjust his tie, despite not having worn one for the best part of ten years. He rocked from his toes to heels and ran his fingers through his beard. The door creaked open. 
“Come in,” Chloe said, her smile taking James back to his teens. James hesitated, and then slipped into the warm kitchen. 
“Sit down,” she pointed at the kitchen table and went to the kettle. “Tea?”
James nodded. He watched her busy herself with mugs and teapot. She was squeezed into a pair of jeans and wore a loose white blouse that revealed her bra strap.
“You ate my birthday cake,” Chloe said. 
“Sorry,” James mumbled. 
“Don’t worry, you did me a favour, it all goes here,” she slapped her right hip. 
“You look great,” James said. 
“You don’t,” Chloe laughed, and put the mugs on the table. 
James ran a hand through his beard. “Yes, it’s tough being dead.”
“You want eggs?”
“I’d love some,” James said. 
“Oh, and I got a new bottle of Appletiser,” Chloe said. James noticed she had make-up on. 
“So, you’ve done well for yourself,” he said. 
“What because I can afford Appletiser?”
“No, because of all this.” he opened his arms. 
“I married well.”
“I thought you were going to be the best feminist lawyer in the world.”
“Ha, times change Jimmy,” she cracked an egg into the pan. 
“Kids?” he asked.
“Two girls, you?”
Jimmy shook his head. “Yes, but…” 
“I understand,” Chloe said. She tended the pan. “Here,” she put two fried eggs, over easy on a plate in front of him. 
“Thanks,” he picked up his fork.  “Oh, this is yours?” he took a crumpled twenty-pound note out of his pocket. 
“Oh, you took it, did you?” she smiled. “I had a huge row with Edward over that. 
“Sorry.” 
“It’s okay, keep it, I managed to convince him he hadn’t given me any money,”
“What did you tell the police?”
“What?”
“Yesterday.” 
“Oh, yeah. I told them, I was imagining things, they had a quick look around and then left.”
“They were here quickly.”
“Yeah, my husband works for the government.”
James tried to keep a straight face. He shovelled some eggs into his mouth and started to compute. Edward? Edward? Works for the government? He drew up a short list of possibilities. 
“So, come on, tell me, what happened to you?” Chloe asked.
“I was declared missing presumed dead after the Westminster bombing. I decided it was expedient to let people believe that was true.” 
“Why?”
“I’d had enough. So, I’ve lived rough ever since then.” It was true, but not quite the whole truth.
Chloe stared at him for a moment. Her eyes still as bright as the day they’d first kissed at the back of the science lab. 
“Penny for them?” James said. 
“I was just remembering you alive,” Chloe said and stood up and cleared away the plates. 
“I’m sorry for…” James said, and tried to grab her arm. 
“You should go,” she put the plate in the dishwasher. 
“Yes,” James stood up. “Thanks for the eggs.” 
Chloe stepped forward and kissed him hard on the lips, pushing herself into his body. James could smell her perfume, it was still the same scent after all these years. He held her face and felt the tears.  
“Go,” she said. 
He went. 

For part three click here and part four click here

Cake part 1

For audio click here 
Appletiser and cake, not exactly the breakfast of champions, but beggars can't be choosers. A splodge of cream plopped onto the counter as he scooped the cake into his mouth with his fingers. He glugged down the drink straight from the bottle, leaving a creamy mark around the rim. After a loud belch, he took another long chug at the bottle. When he'd finished his feast, he checked the cupboards for something he could take with him. Tins of soup and dried pasta were not much help, so he slid a bar of cooking chocolate into his pocket, rinsed out the Appletiser bottle and filled it with water and then clicked the kettle on. The drawers were even less helpful. He'd hoped to find some money or something he could sell, but there was just bills, letters from school and out of date discount coupons. The water bubbled in the kettle, he made himself a cup of tea. 
The living room was the kind of place where you had to put mugs on a coaster and food and shoes were strictly forbidden. He put his mug down on the bare wooden coffee table. 
“Bingo,” he said and plucked the twenty-pound note from the sideboard and slipped it into his pocket. “Very nice,” he said to himself. 
 The sun peeped through the clouds throwing a sunbeam across the room. It was a nice place, He could imagine living here, with a beautiful trophy wife who insisted on ironing his shirts and cooking his meals no matter how much he protested. 
It's a woman's job, she'd say, smiling a smile that would promise a treasure trove of naughtiness later in the day. 
Bowels! He found the downstairs toilet and sat down. Wow, Andrex double quilted, such luxury. He flushed, washed his hands and face and unlocked the bathroom door.
“Who's there?” The voice was weak, female, the trophy wife. 
He knew he should run. Get out of there, but he stood in the hall waiting. 
“Who's there?”
He heard the stairs creak. 
“I've called the police!” 
Another creak. 
“They're on their way”. 
He still didn't run. There was something about that voice, something kept him glued to the spot.
“I've got a gun,” she said. 
Two more stairs creaked and then she appeared, tall, bleach-blonde hair, bottle-tanned body, a pistol in her hand. She was the trophy wife he'd dreamed of, literally.
“Chloe?” he said.
She looked at him, her eyes peeling off the layers of grime and facial hair and gradually recognising her intruder. 
“James? What the hell happened to you?” 
“Long story,” he said. He regretted putting his mug down without a coaster now. “You look great.” She looked older, but she would always look great in his eyes.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just getting some breakfast? Can you put that down?” 
“Don't worry, it's a toy,” she laid the gun on the telephone table. “How did you know it was my place?”
“I didn't, it was random.” 
“Wow,” she stared at him, “it's been, what?”
“Fifteen years,” James said a little too quickly.
“Fifteen years, I thought you were dead.”
“I am, officially.” 
A car pulled up outside. 
“The police,” Chloe said. “Go, out the back, quick.” 
She led him to the back door. 
“Thanks,” James said. 
“Come back tomorrow, we’ll chat.” the doorbell rang. “I'll fix you some eggs.”

For part two click here and part three click here