Blokebusters Read online

“But I’m only doing it for money.” It didn’t come out right.

  “Oh well. That’s all right then. Sorry I’m so unreasonable.” It was the nearest she’d heard him get to shouting.

  “Matt. What’s this about?” She tried to stroke his hair but he shrugged her hand away.

  “I want Blokebusters to shut – I’ve had enough.”

  “But why now? When we’re starting to make it work?” If only she could see his face and touch him she knew she could convince him.

  “I’m jealous. There, I’ve said it. I’ve never been jealous of anyone before but I’m jealous of all these men. They all seem to attract women and… oh, I don’t know.”

  She stroked his hair and he didn’t resist this time.

  “Matt, you have nothing to be jealous about. The only snog I’ve ever had at this job was tonight – and that was Fi.”

  He grudgingly laughed as she related the evening’s events to him and she detected a softening in his opinion. She leant over and switched on a lamp. He’d been crying, something she’d never seen before.

  “Oh Matt.” She hugged him close to her and his hand slid under her robe.

  “It was that job last night,” he said after a few minutes’ silence. “The one where his wife and me were in the car outside.” Georgia nodded, it was one of her quickest jobs yet; the Rabbit took one look at her and propositioned her. She hadn’t even taken her coat off. It was the easiest £200 she’d ever made. Matt stroked her leg, idly drawing figure of eights with his index finger.

  “His wife was a lovely woman. And she was all upset over that excuse for a man who wasn’t fit to clean her shoes. She said something to me – she meant it as a compliment – she said, ‘You’re so nice and sweet, I wish I was married to a man like you’.”

  “And that upset you?”

  “It’s what all the women say. But they don’t mean it. You know they’ll hook up with some other rotter whilst bleating they want a nice guy. Nice guys don’t get anywhere in life.” He realised his mistake, “OK, I got lucky. I’m still not sure how but I did. ‘Nice’ has to be just about the most offensive way to describe a man. Is that how you see me?”

  “No,” Georgia spoke slowly, “I see you as a dangerous, seductive, frightening, super bad bastard.”

  He smiled but tried to contain it.

  “Y’see when you put it like that it sounds stupid.”

  She flung her arms around him and nuzzled her face into his shoulder.

  “You are the most exciting man I’ve ever met. Honestly. Will that do? I don’t think I’d be happy sleeping next to someone I truly believed to be dangerous. I like knowing you won’t slit my throat in the night.” She giggled. “Nice is a very underrated quality.”

  He squeezed her shoulder and let out a sigh.

  “Maybe I’m having a mid-life crisis early.”

  “You’re not going to run off with a younger woman are you? Some airhead who’s all hair dye and silicon?”

  His face relaxed into the comfortable smile she adored, where little lines spread out from around his eyes.

  “You know the only silicon I’m interested in is the sort in my computer.”

  Georgia peeled a ginger hair off his t-shirt.

  “Really? Whom did this come off?”

  Matt pointed to the armchair where Gyp, shunning his own bed, was stretched out asleep.

  “We must’ve been psychic when we picked an orange suite – must’ve known that little fur ball would be turning up.” Georgia smiled; Gyp had become so fluffy you had to study him to see where his head was. “How’s the greenhouse?”

  “Superb.”

  Her fingers circled a nipple through his t-shirt.

  “You don’t really want Blokebusters to shut do you?”

  He pondered his answer before speaking.

  “No – I’m not particularly proud of my motives for saying it but no, I don’t want it to shut.” He paused as if embarrassed to continue. “But I don’t want to lose you. When you go back to work I won’t see you during the day, then if you go out for Blokebusters in the evening when do I ever get to spend time with you? I don’t want us to grow apart.”

  “I’ll talk to Fi. We could take other women on. The number of clients seems to have exploded – I’m sure we can afford some staff.”

  “That would be a start.” He kissed her temple. “Let’s go to bed.”

  *

  The next day was one of Matt’s most favourite in the calendar. The local garden centre launched its vegetable seeds and plants for the year. Seed potatoes always sold out quickly so Matt was up early, making sure he’d be there when the doors opened. In truth, they didn’t sell out that quickly but over the years Matt had realised all the dedicated vegetable growers got there at that time and he liked mixing amongst them. Last year a man with no teeth told him the secrets of growing leeks and Matt hoped he’d survived the year and would be there again. Now he had a greenhouse he could start his vegetable growing early, raising plants under glass until the coldest of the frost had passed. Matt banned Georgia from attending as she always tried to divert his attention to the shrubs and flowers. It had taken quite a few years of effort on Georgia’s part to achieve this but she was nothing if not tenacious.

  Consequently, it was Georgia who called the client to update her on Ben the Rabbit’s behaviour during the previous night.

  “Hello, this is Blokebusters calling to update you.”

  “Who are you?” The client sounded surprised.

  “You are Jenny McIntyre?” Georgia berated herself; she shouldn’t have mentioned Blokebusters until she was sure it was the right woman.

  “Yes. And I’m expecting a Blokebusters caller – I was hoping for Larry. Larry’s great. So funny – understands women completely. Pity he’s gay.”

  “Larry’s… got a day off.” Georgia was puzzled. Who the hell was Larry? Had Matt been pulling some sort of stunt and letting someone else handle the calls? She pondered it as she related Ben’s actions.

  Mid morning she heard the car pull up outside the house and watched from the living room window as Matt leapt out of the car and opened the boot. Georgia knew she could get away with staring out of the window as long as she didn’t lean against the net curtain; doing that made the snooper look like the Turin Shroud. He carried a large box around the side of the house to the garden and then sprinted back for a second. She grinned at the excitement oozing out from every pore of his body. Gyp jumped onto the windowsill, carefully picking his way between the pots, shedding ginger fluff all over the earth.

  “What’s your daddy been buying?” Georgia whispered, picking Gyp up and cuddling him.

  Matt locked the car boot and she imagined all the muscles in his back wriggling about under his sweatshirt; the thought made her stomach tighten. Gyp shifted in her arms so she let him down on the carpet. Matt burst through the door, his face pink and happy.

  “I’ve got chitted tubers!”

  “Shall I book you a doctor’s appointment?”

  “Ha ha. Potatoes. Chitted tubers. I can plant some varieties up now in the greenhouse – the Lady Christ and Swifts. Other varieties need to wait a month or so – I can keep them in my shed.”

  “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Georgia – you won’t believe the seeds and tubers I’ve got – we’re going to eat like kings!”

  “Fantastic.” She was well aware that any other answer would be incorrect.

  “And I got a drill – they had a half-price sale on power tools. It’s a very important moment in a man’s life when he finally owns a decent drill – it’s like a coming of age, a rite of passage.”

  “If you say so.” She shook her head in bemusement. In some ways Matt could be so young, and then in others he seemed like a retired old man. Still, he seemed happy. “Who’s Larry?”

  “Larry?” He blinked at her, his open, kindly face concentrating on her rather than hanging his jacket up, although he managed to
do both.

  “Hmm. Apparently the client I called back this morning was expecting Larry. He sounds a bit of a wow.”

  Matt smirked.

  “Sit down. Allow me to explain.”

  Chapter twelve

  Matt put a plate piled with buttered toast down in front of Georgia at the breakfast bar.

  “You spoil me,” she said, helping herself to a piece of toast, the aroma of melted butter calling to her like sirens luring sailors to their doom on the rocks. Matt was a generous butterer. He put a mug of tea down for her, twisting the mug until the handle faced her.

  “You love it. Some women are made to be spoiled.” He took a large bite of toast and she watched as his cheeks hollowed and bulged with his slow, methodical chewing. His jaw line was clean and strong and all the muscles at the back of his jaw were prominent. She found it very sexy.

  “You’ve got crumbs.” She wiped his lip and he jabbed at her finger with his tongue.

  “So – you’re gonna call Fi today about taking on extra Carrots?”

  “Yeah, as soon as I get a chance. I’m expecting a busy day – you know what the first day back after the holidays is like.”

  “And you’ve got your Rabbit tonight?”

  “I’ll be straight home afterwards,” she said pre-empting further discussion.

  “I’ll walk you to the station. I can buy a paper.”

  He only let her take her briefcase from him as they parted. He watched her cross the bridge to her platform; it felt like a lifetime ago that he used to travel in with her and work at a sensible job, for a sensible company. He went back to the ticket office, buying his newspaper and his chocolate for the day. On arriving home he gave Gyp some breakfast and watched as he tucked in.

  “Chip off the old block, aren’t you?” Having Gyp around meant he didn’t feel so lonely when Georgia was out. It was another living presence. When Gyp had finished Matt washed his dish, then picked Gyp up, carefully so as not to squeeze his full tummy. “You’re a good boy. Your daddy loves you.” He kissed him on the silky patch of fur on the top of his head between his ears. Gyp squeaked and purred.

  Waiting for his computer to boot up, Matt opened his Mars bar and ate half of it with one bite, rueing the demise of the Mars bars of his youth that were harder and chewier. He stopped chewing as he read the first email in the Blokebusters’ inbox:

  Message for the organisers of Blokebusters.

  My name is Marisa Smith and I am a journalist for the London Evening Standard. I would desperately like to speak to you and write a feature on your service. My sister used you just before Christmas and told me that she was impressed with the quality and efficiency of the service. She said she’d dealt with a really sweet man called Larry – perhaps Larry could meet me for an interview?

  I have to confess your business concept interests me and I’m sure it would make a great feature for the paper – plus of course you would get tremendous free publicity as your website address would appear prominently throughout the article.

  Please contact me in any of the following ways:

  She seemed keen; she’d provided her mobile number, desk number, home number, email address, and fax number. Matt hadn’t realised people still used faxes. The London Evening Standard. Jesus. He ran a hand over his face. London’s premier evening newspaper wanted to do a feature on them – the publicity they’d get from it! But also their anonymity and the surprise element would be diminished. Rabbits never dreamt they were being set up. If they read a feature about the business they might. He ate the rest of his Mars bar deep in contemplation. A good write-up could lead to an explosion in clients. If he deleted the email Georgia would never know. The more successful the business became the harder it would be for her to walk away from it; he’d noticed the entrepreneurial gleam in her eye. She was a wannabe tycoon. His cursor hovered over the ‘delete message’ option. If the business expanded she’d never want to start a family, she’d always be too busy. It would be such a waste – she’d make a great mother. He tugged at his lower lip, then clicked ‘delete’ quickly opening the next message to fill the newly cleared screen. It took him an hour to work his way through the new questionnaires submitted and allocate them between Georgia and Fiona. If the client requested an attractive but not stunning woman he tactfully deleted the comment from the questionnaire before printing it off and allocating it to Fiona.

  *

  Georgia spent the first hour back at work trawling though her emails and making sure all the staff allocated to her clients knew what they were meant to be doing and when. By 11 am, all the calmness and serenity she’d acquired over the holiday had evaporated. Two weeks’ relaxation undone in two hours. She called Fiona.

  “Fi, we need to seriously consider taking on more women to act as Carrots.”

  “Why? I don’t mind the number of clients I’ve got – I like it when I get more than one in an evening, I feel especially naughty.”

  “I mind. Or more specifically Matt does. We need him to be happy. The business couldn’t survive without him doing all the organising during the day. He wants me to cut down. We need to respect him.”

  “I know Emily would be keen. I could sound her out. But we’d need to work out what we’d pay and we’d have to train her.”

  “She probably won’t need to buy any outfits – I can well imagine the sleazy items in her underwear drawer,” Georgia giggled. The room got darker and she noticed Jeff standing blocking her light in the doorway. He would have to appear when she was talking about underwear. “Fi, gotta go. Something unpleasant’s just appeared.”

  “Happy New Year Georgia,” Jeff said. “I enjoyed seeing Matt at the Christmas party.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “How’s his Internet business? I asked but he seemed evasive.”

  “He’s doing just fine, thank you for asking.”

  “Did he get you something nice for Christmas?”

  “Yes he did. What did you get your wife? I don’t recall seeing her at the party.”

  “No.” Jeff pushed her door closed and stared at the floor. “She’s left me. We’re getting divorced.”

  Georgia paused, waiting for the lewd punch line but there wasn’t one.

  “Straight up?”

  “Yeah.” He blinked back tears.

  “Oh God. I’m sorry. Jeff – honest, I’m really sorry. I had no idea.”

  “I haven’t exactly advertised it.” Humility suited him; he seemed almost human.

  “When did all this happen?” Georgia asked, feeling compassion for him for the first time. Suppose she’d been horrible to him when he was feeling awful? Why didn’t she make more of an effort to control her mouth?

  “Early December.”

  “I don’t want to sound nosy – but what was the problem? If you don’t mind discussing it.”

  He sat on the edge of her desk and, for once, she didn’t wheel her chair away from him.

  “Infidelity.” His face contorted at saying the word out loud.

  “Oh. That must hurt. Is she still with him?”

  “Who? Oh, no. It was me. She caught me nobbing a barmaid in the alleyway behind our local. One crap shag with a barmaid and she says it’s over – three years of marriage meant nothing to her. I can’t believe she has such little respect for our vows.”

  Georgia’s mouth hung open. She had actually felt sorry for him.

  “Get out of my office now.”

  “I thought we were having a nice touchy-feely conversation.”

  “Get out.”

  “Yeah – that’s it. Bloody women, stick together. It’s always the bloke’s fault. You make me sick.” He grudgingly departed.

  *

  By late morning, guilt pressed heavily on Matt’s mind. Every time he went into the inbox the ‘deleted items’ folder glared at him like a victim at a police line-up. He leant back in his chair and opened the bar of Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut from his Christmas selection tray, the selection tray Georgia bought him b
ecause she tried to recreate all the childhood Christmases he’d missed. She loved him. And he repaid her by burying the message that could boost their business no end. The square of chocolate sat on his tongue but his mouth was too dry with remorse to melt it. He moved his cursor over the screen and retrieved the message; instantly his mouth refilled with saliva. Re-reading the email his hand hovered over the phone receiver to call Georgia. It was her first day back at work. She’d be busy. It could keep till she got home.

  Georgia sat at her desk tapping out the rhythm of ‘Beyond The Sea’ with a pencil on her hole punch. It was early evening and her mind had already left the office and gone into the bar to tempt her Rabbit. His photo was similar to a man she’d tempted (successfully) in November but the name was different. The Rabbit in November had been good fun, easily the most appealing man so far. He’d had a brain and made her laugh. She wondered if they were related; perhaps a cheating gene ran through families. The thought of their family get-togethers made her smile – stepbrothers and sisters, second or third husbands and wives. It would be very complicated. You’d never quite know whom you’d meet there. You certainly wouldn’t buy Christmas or anniversary presents too far in advance or, if you did, you wouldn’t write the gift tags. She closed her office door and surreptitiously took out the client’s questionnaire from her bag. Dan Goldstein was from Manhattan but worked in London. The client wasn’t keen on detail – she suspected he’d had affairs but didn’t say how many. Georgia scanned the details twice: they didn’t even reveal whether he was a husband or a boyfriend. It wasn’t much to work with. He liked intelligent, sexy, confident girls who could seduce him with words and wit rather than physical methods. He scored points with Georgia for that as it meant she could go from work as she was. The other man who’d looked like him was turned on by a slightly trashier look. Apparently he would be in the bar, on his own, probably with a bottle of Budweiser, doing The Times’ crossword. Matt did the same crossword, or tried to; he’d sit with it for ages and when she’d look how far he’d got there were only six or so clues completed and none of them cross-validated.