Chapter 20
‘Where’s Cam?’ I asked Tom next morning when he joined me on the sofa, yawning.
‘Asleep. All tuckered out, poor little chap.’
I smiled. ‘Not surprised. So he didn’t laugh then?’
‘Nope. If anything he seemed quite impressed.’
‘See? Didn’t I say were worrying over nothing.’
He drew himself up. ‘You watch what you’re calling nothing. No way to talk about a love god’s equipment.’
‘All right, that’s enough. Some equipment little sisters don’t need to think about.’ I nodded to four square envelopes on the coffee table. ‘Speaking of, look what came while you were in bed. Models’ advance copies.’
‘The calendars! Did you have a look?’
‘No. I was waiting for moral support.’
‘Why are there four?’
‘One each for me, you, Cameron and Stewart. Jasmine asked if we could bob his over when he’s up.’
‘Well go on then, open one.’
I grimaced. ‘Don’t think I can bear it. You do it.’
‘Hang on, let me fetch Cam first,’ Tom said. ‘This is worth waking him up for.’
Ten minutes later, the pair of them joined me, Cameron in an old dressing gown of Tom’s with his floppy hair adorably rumpled. I smiled when I noticed them holding hands.
‘Morning, Lana,’ Cameron said with a little blush. ‘Hope you didn’t mind me staying over.’
‘Don’t be daft. You know you’re always welcome.’ I shuffled up on the sofa to make room for them both.
Flash was curled in his bed, unconvincingly pretending to be asleep, but his ears pricked when he heard Cameron’s voice. As soon as the lads sat down, he sprang into Cam’s lap to lick his face.
‘You’ve got a friend there,’ I said, laughing. ‘He must sense you’re an animal lover. Flash can smell opportunities to get himself spoilt.’
‘Well, he’s come to the right man.’ Cameron gave him a rough jiggle and the little dog wagged his tail vigorously. ‘I’ll spoil him rotten.’
‘Do you have pets?’
‘No, my mum reckons they’re unhygienic. Me and my sister must’ve wasted half our childhoods begging for something fur-bearing and the best we got was a bloody stick insect. Larry.’
‘You’d better not just like me for my dog, Cam,’ Tom said, slinging an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders.
‘He is a very nice dog.’ Cameron leaned over to give Tom a kiss. ‘But you’re not bad either.’
‘So which of you soppy gits wants to open these calendars?’ I asked.
‘I would but there’s a dog on me,’ Cameron said. ‘I’d hate to disturb him.’
‘Oh, very convenient.’ Tom grabbed one of the envelopes. ‘All right, cowards, I’ll do it. The only person I was worried about seeing me naked has had the worst, the rest of the village is welcome to a perve.’
Cam shook his head. ‘Those lucky bastards.’
‘I know, right?’ Tom ripped across the envelope and yanked out the calendar, covering his eyes with his other hand. ‘So, is it bad?’
‘Depends what you think of Harper Brady in his birthday suit,’ I said.
The cover showed Harper and Stewart appearing to push a bike each up a cobbled hill like they were in a nuddy Hovis bread ad. Both were starkers apart from Stewart’s helmet and Harper’s army cap – a nod to his role in Soar, I assumed – with a bike-mounted water bottle each to protect their modesties. Still, they weren’t leaving much to the imagination. One knock to those bottles…
‘What happened to “tasteful, just a hint of flesh”?’ Cameron asked.
‘We put Deano in charge.’ I snatched the calendar off Tom. ‘Honestly, lads, would you look at them. It’s not natural, that, is it?’
‘What?’ Cameron said.
‘Well, six packs. You’d think they hadn’t even heard of Toblerone. Freakish, I call it.’
‘And yet you’re still staring,’ Tom said.
‘I know, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like I can’t look away.’
He grabbed the calendar back. ‘Give us that, you can perve at Stewart later. We’ve 12 months to get through yet.’ He handed it to Cameron. ‘You do it. It’ll be less traumatic for you.’
Cameron opened it at random and peered tentatively inside, then hastily closed it again.
‘Oh God. It’s Yolanda.’
‘Worse than we thought?’ I said.
‘Let’s just say whoever taught Jasmine Photoshop has a lot to answer for.’ He flung open the calendar and held it up.
‘It’s… very clever,’ Tom said hoarsely when we’d scooped our jaws from our laps.
‘Amazing what computers can do nowadays,’ I mumbled.
‘Would you say there were maybe one or two more flamingoes than there needed to be though?’ Cameron said.
‘The flamingoes aren’t so bad,’ Tom said. ‘The unicorn: maybe a shade too far.’
‘Hey. You remember that panto where she sang Nobody Loves a Fairy When She’s Forty in a glittery tutu while dangling from the Temp roof?’ I asked Tom. ‘Getting a few flashbacks.’
The photo was certainly very… Yolanda. Jasmine had taken Yo-yo’s hair as a starting point and superimposed her on the pinkest of fantasy scenes, rife with flamingoes, rainbows, cherry blossom trees and – for some reason – a unicorn.
Yolanda herself, much as I hated to admit it, looked great in her fairy wings and tiara. She was flashing some cheeky bum and sideboob as she cycled away on a sparkly pink bike, giving a suggestive wink back over her shoulder.
‘Perky, isn’t she?’ I said. ‘Hope I look like that from behind when I’m her age.’
‘Oh God, enough, please,’ Cam said with a groan. ‘She was my sister’s Brownie leader. Come on, who’s next?’
‘Let’s save ourselves till last,’ Tom said. ‘Once we’ve seen what a tit everyone else looks, it’ll soften the blow.’
‘Agreed,’ I said. ‘Find Roger, that should be good for a laugh.’
Cameron flicked through to August and held it up.
‘Bloody hell! He’s not above letting it all hang out,’ Tom said, eyes wide.
Cameron peered round to look. ‘They’ve only got little handlebars, them unicycles, haven’t they?’
Roger was in the green wig that had so suited Harper Brady. Under his facepaint he looked just as stern and pompous as ever, almost like he’d forgotten he was done up as a unicycling sex clown and thought he was chairing a meeting. Jasmine had superimposed him on a big-top scene, where a lion was eyeing his backside quizzically. Underneath was the caption ‘Show us your red nose, Rodge!’
‘Well I don’t think band practice will ever be the same,’ I said after a minute.
‘Or a trip to the circus,’ Cameron said. ‘Just when I’d finally got over my childhood fear of clowns…’
‘You’d better hope he never forgets his baton, Lana,’ Tom said. ‘God knows what he’d whip out to conduct with.’
I shook my head. ‘Upstanding community member Roger Collingwood. Who knew, eh?’
Cam flinched. ‘Please don’t say upstanding member. My eyes are burning.’
‘Hey, sis, you going to have a look at December?’ Tom said with a grin.
‘Who was December again?’
‘Like you don’t remember.’ Tom nudged Cameron. ‘Lana’s got a thing for Stewart McLean.’
‘Yeah, I’d noticed,’ Cam said.
‘I have not!’ I paused. ‘Wait. What do you mean, you’d noticed?’
‘Come on, Lana, everyone’s noticed. You’re always blushing at him.’
‘That is not true. I never blush at him. I’m not even sure I like him half the time.’
‘You fancy him though.’
‘I don’t. Shut up or I’m taking my dog back.’
Tom was peeping into the calendar. ‘So you won’t want to see December then, Lana. Since you don’t fancy him.’
I attempted a casual shrug. ‘I could take it or leave it.’
‘You can see his bum in it.’
Sighing, I held out my hand. ‘Give.’
You could see quite a lot of his bum. Actually you could see quite a lot of all of him. Deano had got him crouching down pretending to pump up a tyre in the snow, one knee raised to hide the essentials but with pretty much everything else on show. I couldn’t help staring at the firm, muscular buttocks; imagining them shifting enticingly under the taut flesh as he cycled…
Oh, and a typical Deano caption to cheapen it. ‘Nice pump action.’
‘So can we take it from the drool all that not fancying Stewart McLean stuff was bollocks then?’ Tom said.
‘I’m not drooling.’
‘Please. If we weren’t here you’d be licking the page.’
‘All right, so I can’t help it,’ I said, still staring. ‘I’m genetically programmed to look at fit hunter-gatherers’ bums. That’s just evolution, it doesn’t mean anything.’
Tom turned to Cameron and raised his eyebrows.
‘Deluded.’
Cameron nodded. ‘Sad really. Poor sexually frustrated Lana.’
‘Right. No more puppy cuddles for you.’ I reached for Flash and half-coaxed, half-dragged him on to my knee. ‘I miss the old days when I only had one knobhead taking the piss out of me in the morning. Just because you two are flush with the glow of having just had it off.’
‘Oh right, take all the romance out of it,’ Tom said. ‘So what’re you going to do about your crush on Stew then?’
‘I don’t know. Ignore it till it goes away, I suppose.’
‘Great job so far.’ He snatched away the calendar I was still transfixed by. ‘Here, give us that. I know how to cure you.’ He flicked through until he found Gerry and Sue, who’d done a joint shoot, and held it up in front of me. ‘There.’
‘Yurgh.’
‘Yurgh indeed,’ he said, leaning round for a look.
It was a gardening scene behind Deano’s bike bush. Gerry had his hairy chest on display and was eyeing his shears with a look of unmitigated disgust, and Sue, arms folded across her humongous bosom, was fixing him with a disapproving stare. I couldn’t tell if the photo had been staged or Deano had just waited till they had a barney. Their record for staying civil stood at just under two minutes.
‘At least he ditched the “cracking bush” caption,’ Tom said.
Cameron squinted at the picture. ‘Yeah, but I’m not sure “get your privets out” is really an improvement.’
‘Sue’s lucky Harper didn’t walk in on her,’ I said. ‘If he’d got a look at those mothers, Gerry would’ve had to fight him off with the shears.’
Cameron raised his eyebrows. ‘Why, did he walk in on you?’
‘Oh God, I don’t want to talk about it. He’s got a thing for my boobs, ok?’
‘Bloody hell, how many men has your sister got on the go?’ Cameron asked Tom.
‘I know. She’ll be challenging Yo-yo for village floozy status soon.’ Tom shot me an evil grin. ‘Go on, Cam, show her July.’
I folded my arms on top of Flash. ‘Why is everyone picking on me?’
‘Keeps your ego in check now you’ve got all these suitors.’ Tom leaned over Cameron’s shoulder to get a look at my shot. ‘Hang on. Weren’t you behind the bike hedge thing, too?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘Well, it’s… gone.’
My eyes widened. ‘Gone? How can it be gone? Give me that.’
I grabbed the calendar off Cameron and stared at my photo.
I don’t know how Jaz had done it, but the boys were right: the cracking bush had disappeared, replaced by a miniature penny farthing.
‘Matches your nice hooters, Lana,’ Cameron said.
I examined the picture more closely. I was in a street, looking faintly startled while Victorian folk milled about, not apparently as shocked by the naked woman in their midst as they would’ve been by an uncovered piano leg. I couldn’t shake the feeling there was something wrong.
‘Hang on,’ I said slowly. ‘Those can’t be my legs through the spokes. Mine were covered by the bush.’ I stared at the boys. ‘Bloody Jasmine! She’s given me new legs!’
‘They’re very nice legs though,’ Cameron said gallantly.
‘Yeah, because they’re not mine!’ I glared at the fake legs. ‘Look at those skinny things. They’d buckle under the weight of my boobs.’
‘Not going to shout at her, are you?’ Tom said.
‘Maybe.’ I jutted my chin. ‘I don’t see why people should go round taking liberties with my limbs. My legs’ve maintained the appropriate distance between my arse and the floor for many years and I have nothing but the greatest respect for them.’
‘I don’t think your legs ought to take it personally, sis. Jaz probably felt she couldn’t get away with using the bike bush twice.’
‘She’s still getting a bollocking. Replacing my legs after I’d shaved them specially.’ A thought suddenly occurred. ‘Hey, how’s Deano’s shoot? It was supposed to be part of his plan for curing Jaz of her crush.’
Tom flicked to the appropriate month and laughed. ‘Ha! Gent and a scholar. I take back everything I ever said about him.’ He shoved the calendar under my nose.
There was no cycling theme this time. Deano was in a room all too familiar, filled with rudely fashioned oak tables heavy on the candles and goblets.
‘The restaurant!’ I laughed too. ‘The devious sod, sneaking in a plug.’
Deano was leaning against Galahad, our suit of armour, as if they were out on a drinking session, a chef’s hat on his head and a skillet on his… well, you know.
I curled my lip. ‘Hope that’s not one of our pans.’
‘Not his special one, is it?’ Tom asked.
‘Katie? No. Maybe he thought it’d be demeaning for her.’
Tom squinted at the photo. ‘I don’t reckon that’s Photoshopped, you know. Him and Jaz took that in the restaurant.’
‘Bloody hell, you’re right! I’m going to have to have words with our staff about getting their cocks out at work.’
‘Hey, one time, ok?’
Cameron raised his eyebrows at Tom. ‘Anything you want to tell me?’
‘I was worried you’d think my bits looked weird so I gave Deano an advance preview.’
‘Oh.’ Cameron gave a bemused shrug. ‘I guess that’s… sweet. Also, bizarre.’
‘That about sums me up.’ Tom turned to me. ‘Bit confused how this is supposed to get Jaz over her crush, Lana.’
‘Deano reckons lovestruck teenage girls’ll baulk at the sight of their adored with everything hanging out. Takes away that certain Je ne sais quoi, you know?’
‘Have I still got that French thing now you’ve seen me with everything hanging out?’ Cameron asked Tom.
‘Dunno. Did you have it before?’
Cam shook his head. ‘I knew you wouldn’t respect me in the morning.’
‘Hey, don’t hold it against me just because I don’t speak French.’ Tom leaned over to give him a kiss. ‘Have that.’
‘Very nice. I wouldn’t mind a bit of breakfast to go with it though.’
‘God. High maintenance or what?’ Tom sighed. ‘Fine, I’ll do fried eggs and sausages when we’ve seen the rest of the calendar.’
‘Not sure I fancy any breakfast,’ I said, my gaze still fixed on a nude Deano. ‘I’ve seen too many of my nearest and dearest bollock naked this morning to work up an appetite. And sausages are right out.’
Tom grinned. ‘You want another look at Mr December’s pump action to take the taste away?’
‘No. I want a look at your boyfriend,’ I said, quickly moving the calendar to one side before he could grab it. ‘February, is it, Cam?’
When we’d checked out their months, it seemed to me Tom and Cam had got off pretty lightly. They were well covered by pump and helmet respectively, and what’s more they had all their own limbs. Tom was blushing so much he looked like a nude red-skinned supervillain, but other than that…
‘How much did you have to bribe Deano for that sort of special treatment?’ I demanded.
Tom shrugged. ‘He always did love me best.’
‘Well, that’s everybody. Suppose it could be worse. You get the breakfast on, Tommy. I’m going to drop Stewart’s round.’
‘Try not to shag him!’ Tom called after me as I grabbed my coat.
***
There was no answer when I rang the bell of McLean’s Machines.
It was after ten, Stew couldn’t be in bed. I tried again. When there was still no answer I fished out my mobile.
‘You in?’ I said when he picked up. ‘I’ve got your calendar.’
‘Yeah, sorry, just been in the shower. I’ll buzz you up.’
I wasn’t sure why I felt nervous as I climbed the stairs to Stewart’s flat. Something about being alone with him after Tom’s jokey comment seemed to be giving me butterflies. I pushed them down with a stern telling-off.
Stewart was in a bathrobe in the living room, towelling his shower-tousled hair.
‘Morning, calendar girl.’
It was a modern, open-plan front room. Tasteful. Lots of moody-looking moorland paintings. And I was definitely looking at the decor. Anyone who accused me of slyly checking out Stewart’s athletic legs – definitely all his own – would have to prove it in a court of law.
‘Nice decor,’ I observed, a touch defensively.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Thought it might be a bit light on the antlers for your tastes. You want a drink?’
‘Coffee, please.’ I took a seat.
‘How did Tom and Cameron’s date go?’ he asked from the kitchen area while he spooned out a couple of coffees.
‘They’ve spent all morning flirting and taking the piss out of me, so I’m thinking well. Definitely an item now.’
Stewart smiled. ‘Glad to hear it, they suit each other. Sugar?’
‘Just milk, thanks.’
‘I’m sensing your brother’s on the shy side when it comes to relationships.’
I laughed. ‘Yeah. Unfortunately I got the gob for both of us.’
‘I’d noticed.’ He handed me a steaming mug and took a seat next to me. ‘You all right, Lana?’
‘Course. Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘You’ve got jiggle-foot, that’s all.’
‘I’ve got what?’
‘Jiggle-foot.’ He nodded to the foot wobbling on the end of my crossed legs. ‘My mum does that when she’s nervous.’
‘I’m not nervous. Why would I be nervous?’
He put his coffee down on the table. ‘Look, are you sure you’re ok?’
I flinched when he twisted to face me. The wet-look hair really did suit him. What was it with Stewart McLean? Whether he was driving me crazy or… well, driving me crazy, he was just the most confusing man.
‘I’m fine,’ I lied. ‘Just got a bit anxious about the calendar. We’re not all as confident in the buff as you.’
Oh, well done, Lana. Move the conversation onto his naked body, that’ll help…
‘What, you think I’m not self-conscious?’
‘Not like me.’ I flicked my gaze over him. ‘It’s all right for you. I bet you could go nude trampolining and nothing would even move.’
He grinned. ‘Some things would.’
I flinched at the visual. This was going to be one of those mornings.
‘Only the bits that’re supposed to,’ I managed at last. ‘Trust me when I say that’s not the case for me.’
His eyes darted down my body, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
‘Doesn’t mean I don’t worry about my bare flesh being scrutinised,’ he said. ‘Suppose I forced myself to deal with the worst of the body anxiety when I realised there was lycra in my future though. That stuff doesn’t forgive, especially when you’ve got a TV camera trained on your backside. You might as well be naked.’
Ugh. Now I had that picture to go with nude trampolining and his nice pump action. God, I needed to get out of there.
‘Right, I’d better get off,’ I said, dumping my still-full mug on the table and standing up.
He frowned. ‘But you’ve barely touched your coffee.’
‘Bit strong for me. Anyway, lots to do before the restaurant opens.’
‘Hey. Before you go.’ He put one hand on my wrist and looked up into my face. ‘I wanted to say well done on all this. I know it’s tough when you’re still grieving.’
‘Oh. Cheers,’ I said, dropping my gaze. ‘It kind of helps actually. You… cry less, I think, when you’ve got something to focus on.’
‘Do you cry a lot?’ he asked quietly.
‘At bedtime. I… I can’t sleep unless I cry at bedtime.’
He stood and took my shoulders in his hands. ‘You know, your dad’d be proud as anything. That calendar shoot took a lot of guts, kid.’
I smiled. ‘He’d go spare, more like. But thanks, Stewart.’
‘Call me Stew. I like it.’ He dipped his head to my level, and before I knew what was happening he’d planted a little kiss on my cheek. Gentle, brief: just the softest touch of his lips.
‘That’s for you,’ he said. ‘You’re a brave lady, Lana Donati. And for what it’s worth, I thought you looked beautiful. Even with the fake legs.’
‘You’ve seen it already?’
‘Yeah, sorry. Yolanda popped in 20 minutes ago to show me her Miss May shoot. Very… flamingoey.’
My face was burning scarlet now, the blush seeming to spread from the place his lips had brushed my cheek. With a mumbled something – a thanks, or a sorry, possibly – I floated in a confused daze back to the restaurant.