THE HUSBAND HUNTERS (28 page)

‘You don’t mind, girls, do you?’ she said, already getting her coat off the back of her chair. ‘We’ve finished the meeting anyway.’ She didn’t even wait for an answer. She put her coat on and Adam put his arm around her, as they walked out the restaurant. Tash was laughing as she saw our faces.

‘I told you he was good-looking,’ she said.

‘Yes, but not that good-looking,’ I said. ‘What the hell is Kaz playing at?’ I asked.

‘She seriously needs her head examined. I wonder if he’s ever donated any sperm,’ said Rach, still gazing wistfully at the door, after Adam and Kaz.

I looked on the computer for the minutes the following day, but they weren’t there. They didn’t even come through in the afternoon. Kaz must have had a seriously late night with Adam, I thought jealously, as I clicked on my email for the millionth time looking for them. It wasn’t until I logged on that night in front of the telly, at home, that they finally popped up.

PROGRESS REPORTS.

* Bee to join the Cheshire Beekeeping Association. It has been professionally predicted that bees are her future and she needs to act on this.

Rach to get her uncle’s beekeeping outfit for Bee, so she doesn’t get stung catching her own bees.

* Tash has volunteered her brother Ben to construct a glass tank, to keep the bees in.

Tash said Ben used to keep stick insects in a tank when he was little, so he could certainly construct one. (I said it would have to have a secure lid on it and no entrance where the bees could get in and out, unlike a normal beehive. I didn’t want any loose bees escaping and flying around my flat.)

* Adam’s lottery fund. Rach suggested that we all chip in and buy Adam a lottery ticket each week. We all thought he was perfect for Kaz – it was only his empty wallet that was proving to be a problem. If Adam wins the lottery, then Kaz will have her dream man.

* Bee to log on to an internet chat room. The girls are adamant about this. They want me to log on to the internet and try and find a date. I protested, saying that it would mean I was a sad nearly-thirty something, who had to resort to finding someone through the internet, who was as desperate as I was.

‘
It means they fall in love with your mind, not what you look like,’ pointed out Rach.

‘
Exactly,’ I had retorted back. ‘It’s accepting you are this hideous monstrosity who is hiding behind a computer screen, as it is the only way you can get anyone to even give you a chance. It would be just my luck to log on and not find a hunky ex-boyfriend, whom I still had feelings for, but one of the balding eighty-year-old midgets.

* Tash is still seeing Rob Beale, but now Hazel has discovered they are seeing each other and has blown her top, so they have decided to try and cool things off for a while. Tash promised us she has been wearing her back protector, but only whilst she has been driving her car, so no-one could see her.

I clicked off the minutes and typed ‘dating online’ on the internet. Lots of sites came up. I looked over at Nick who was studying some images on his screen. I didn’t want him to see what I was doing. Imagine if I started chatting to someone on line, and it turned out to be someone like Nick. I shuddered. Suddenly the eighty-year- old balding midget seemed like an appealing prospect. I sighed – this is what my love life had come to. I was actually contemplating a possible relationship with a sex-starved, randy OAP. I had definitely hit rock bottom.

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I groaned. It was not only a Monday morning, but also the day of the photo shoot, with Nick. I didn’t mind spending the day with him – even though we would invariably end up arguing –but if he started ordering me around during the shoot, like I was some sort of errand girl, then I was off.

The photo shoot was to be held at a National Trust property in the heart of Cheshire, at a hall that was hundreds of years old. Nick picked me up outside my flat at 9 a.m. sharp and we headed off towards the motorway. The sun was shining for once, and Nick had his sunroof open.

‘You look great,’ he said approvingly, taking in my denim miniskirt, black tights and Ugg boots. I rarely wore a skirt to work, but I’d worn it yesterday to go out to lunch with Rach, and I couldn’t be bothered to hang it back up.

‘I wish I could say the same about you,’ I sighed, rolling my eyes heavenwards. Nick had on his eighties’ jacket. ‘One of these days that jacket is going to mysteriously disappear,’ I told him, biting into a cereal bar. I hadn’t had any time for breakfast, as I’d got up so late. ‘It’s going to have had a horrible accident,’ I said, wondering if it would fit through the office paper shredder.

‘This jacket is a classic,’ Nick protested, stroking the front of it lovingly. ‘It’s so battered and comfy; it fits me perfectly – and you can’t say that you’ve ever been out with anyone in anything like it, before.’

‘No, funnily enough, I haven’t,’ I said dryly.

We were photographing some models for a catalogue shoot. Nick had brought along all his equipment and I had to lean my head to the left to avoid being poked in the eye by his tripod.

We drove through some massive, wrought iron gates and along a bumpy, potholed drive.

‘The National Trust should spend some of their money filling in these potholes,’ I grumbled, as I was nearly brained by the tripod. I could see the black and white timbers of the old hall in the distance, and the acres of parkland on either side. ‘What a beautiful place. Wouldn’t it be great to live here?’

‘Yes, but quite spooky, though,’ pointed out Nick. ‘These places are always haunted. You’d wake up to see some apparition floating past the end of the bed, or feel a crushing weight on your chest, as though someone has sat on you.’

I shivered, despite the bright sunlight. ‘That’s true,’ I said. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.

At that moment I noticed a huge brown patch on the road in front of us. It looked like an oil slick, but it was moving slightly. Nick hadn’t noticed. He was looking at a herd of deer on the right hand side amongst some trees.

‘What's that?’ I said, curiously. We were almost on top of the oil slick.

‘Oh! My God! It’s bees,’ Nick shouted. ‘It’s a swarm of bees on the road.’

He swerved the car, but he didn’t manage to avoid it and the bees rose up in an angry black swarm. ‘Quick! Close your window!’ he shouted, frantically trying to wind the sunroof in at the same time as driving as fast as he could down the road.

I looked back. Luckily the swarm weren’t following the car, but several of the bees had flown in through the sunroof. Frantically I batted them away. Oh my God! Suddenly the fortune-teller’s words flashed before my mind. She had seen bees in my future – but it wasn’t that I was going to marry a fabulously successful wealthy beekeeper – it was how I was going to die. I started to scream.

‘Don’t panic,’ screamed back Nick, but he looked down and saw that a bee had landed on his jeans, near a rip at the top of his thigh. We watched in slow motion horror as the bee slithered into the gap by his crotch. Then another landed on his neck, just by his collar.

‘Quick,’ I screamed. ‘They are all over you.’

Nick screeched the car to a halt, and jumped out, hopping on the spot as he pulled down his jeans in a frantic effort to get the bee out before it stung him. He swatted at his thigh, and screeched out in pain as the bee dug its sting in. He brushed the one away from his collar and then looked over at me in the car. I had to laugh. Nick had always boasted about going commando – now he was standing in front of the National Trust property, with his jeans around his ankles, flashing his most private parts to all the models and make-up artists who were waiting in the car park at the front of the hall.

I managed to open the door and swat out the few bees that were still in the car. Nick looked sheepishly at the models, who were all respectively trying not to laugh, pulled his trousers back up, and got back in the car.

‘That’ll teach you to go commando again, in future,’ I said, nearly choking on my laughter. ‘You could have had a really nasty accident.’

‘It was bad enough,’ grumbled Nick, rubbing at the sting on top of his thigh. ‘This is throbbing.’

‘I can’t believe the bees were on the path like that,’ I said, as Nick slowly crunched the car on to the gravel car park. ‘I thought they always lived in a nest.’

‘They can swarm and follow the queen bee, and she must have landed on the path and they all followed her, as we drove up, ‘Nick said.

‘It’s a good job it wasn’t the queen that fell down your trousers – else they would have all followed her there,’ I said, wiping my eyes. I still had the mental image of Nick standing with his trousers around his ankles, while all the models howled with laughter.

Nick started getting his equipment out of the back of the car. I caught the eye of one of the models, a pretty red-haired girl called Amber, and tried not to giggle. Nick still looked red-faced when he turned to face them, with his cameras slung over his shoulders.

‘Right, let’s get started,’ he barked. I groaned inwardly. To make up for being embarrassed, Nick would now be a complete arsehole, throwing his weight around and have me jumping through hoops.

The photo shoot was all going well. Nick had shot two of the models outside on the terrace, with the black and white hall in the background. I had passed him different camera lenses when he asked, and kept leaping forward to alter the big flash umbrella to reflect the light on to the model.

He kept barking the orders to me, and I kept gritting my teeth.

‘Move the umbrella round to the right a little,’ called out Nick. I ran forwards and tripped over the cable, sending the umbrella flying on to the ground.

‘For God’s sake, Bee, can’t you do anything properly,’ snapped Nick, putting his camera down and racing over to pick up the umbrella.

‘I’m sick of you ordering me around,’ I shouted. ‘It was a lousy accident that’s all, and I’m only doing it to help you out. Alter your own stupid umbrella, I’ve had enough.’ I threw my clipboard down and stalked off round the side of the hall and into the gardens.

I was fuming. Who did Nick think he was? This wasn’t even my job. I was only filling in whilst his stupid assistant was on holiday. I sat down on the bench beside the ornamental pond. If only I had driven in my own car today, I could have gone straight home. Now I was stuck with Nick having to drive me back. I heard footsteps behind me, then a hand on my shoulder. Nick sat down on the bench besides me.

‘Bee, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted like that,’ he said.

‘No, you damn well shouldn't,’ I muttered, refusing to look at him.

‘I was a bit stressed that's all. It’s not exactly a good start to a picture shoot, when you turn up with your trousers round your ankles at the entrance,’ he said, giving me a nudge in the ribs. ‘Will you forgive me?’

I turned to look at him – he was grinning.

‘Okay. It wasn’t the best start, so I’ll let you off – but only this once,’ I added warningly. We walked back to the shoot. ‘Is your thigh still hurting?’ I asked.

‘Throbbing,’ admitted Nick. ‘I’ve got a huge red patch there, the size of China, already.’

The rest of the shoot went according to plan. Nick asked me nicely when he wanted things moved and passed to him, instead of barking at me like a dog.

‘It’s a wrap,’ he said, finally at 5 p.m. I breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a long day.

I was packing the tripod away in its green cover and putting it in the back seat of Nick’s car, when he walked up, carrying his enormous camera bag.

‘Do you fancy coming to get something to eat?’ he asked. ‘There’s a great fish and chip shop near here, which does the best grub in Cheshire – my treat – to say sorry for being an arse, earlier.’

‘Okay,’ I said, smiling at him. I was starving, and the thought of fish and chips smothered in salt and vinegar, almost had me drooling. We packed the rest of the photography gear into the car, and then drove carefully down the track again. Luckily, there was no sign of the bees, and fifteen minutes later we pulled up at the chip shop.

‘Don’t say I never spoil you,’ said Nick, coming round to open the car door for me; ‘Chauffeur driven to one of the best restaurants in town.’

We walked into the chip shop. Standing at the counter was a scruffily-dressed man. He had a battered, old trilby hat from which strands of greasy, grey hair were escaping, and a stained, old black blazer. His baggy trousers also had stains on. It looked like he’d had a curry for dinner and tipped half down the front of his trousers. Nick and I looked at each other. I raised my eyebrows.

‘Best restaurant in town, eh?’ I whispered to him. As the man turned round, I nearly gagged at the smell of stale urine. Then something else unspeakable hit my nostrils. I looked again at his trousers. They were hanging down at the back, as if he had something heavy in his pants. I blinked in disbelief.

I saw Nick turn green, too. The man turned and smiled at us, showing great, black gaps in his mouth. Then he shuffled out of the fish and chip shop, clutching his food.