Just letting you in now. Head up to the top floor and you’ll see our door.
A buzz sounds out and I hear the main lock click. I push open the heavy oak door and it reveals a Victorian tiled floor and a solid set of oak stairs. The place already gives offhomevibes.
This is a different kind of booking to the others I’ve taken since Cannes. Much more… personal. It has an entirely different feel to it than being in someone’s workshop, or walking past security in an office block. Thisisa home I’m going to. A married couple sharing a special occasion, not just a client out for some regular fun time.
The Harrisons’ front door opens before I knock, and a sweet looking guy in glasses lets me in with a finger over his lips. I nod as I tiptoe past him into his hallway.
So, this must be User 1467.
He’s about six foot tall, his thick stance hugged tight by a patterned blue shirt over dark chinos. His hair is a light chestnut brown, and he’s clean shaven. His dimples are cute when he gives me a conspiratorial smile.
He leans in, and presses his mouth right to my ear.
“Barnaby has no idea whatsoever.” He points to the end of the hallway, and I hear the sound of a TV blaring. “He’s just through there, but here, come with me first. Let’s get ready!”
With that, my client takes my hand and leads me into their kitchen. This place is beautiful with its oak fronted cupboards. They have a cute hanging wall sign that sayshome is where the heart is, but someone has crossed out heart and puthard-onthere instead. Silly humour. I like it. Plus, they have a ceramic cat cookie pot with a bobble headed policeman next to it, waggling his finger. I can tell I’m going to like this pair.
I’m grinning when User 1467 slides out a big chocolate birthday cake from one of the lower cupboards. He’s hidden it behind some cereal boxes.
“You’ve done fantastically well with your appearance,” he whispers. “You look just like Lucy.”
“Glad I could help.”
“You’ll do more than help. You’ll set his fantasies on fire.”
“Pixie boots sure are hot, aren’t they?”
His smile is so cute.
“When they are on a beauty like you. I don’t think they’d suit me quite so much. I wouldn’t make a very convincing Lucy.”
“I dunno about that,” I say. “You could give it a shot.”
His low chuckle is contagious.
“Please don’t suggest it to Barnaby. I don’t want to be giving him a striptease in crushed velvet. That’s what you’re here for.”
User 1467 produces two birthday candles in the shape of a 4 and a 0. He sticks them into the cake and lights them up.
“Ready?” he asks, and I nod as he hands the cake over to me. It’s a quality one. Heavy. The icing looks delicious.
My client checks his watch, and his excitement at his husband’s special day is palpable, written all over his face. At this rate he’ll be more excited than Barnaby.
“Yoo hoooo, coming through!” he shouts when midnight strikes, then gestures me on ahead of him into the hallway.
I join in with User 1467’shappy birthday to yousong, holding the cake in front of me as I walk into their living room and find the treasured Barnaby relaxing on a burgundy leather Chesterfield. He’s in a far brighter shirt than his husband, in a rich brocade of red and gold with bright white trousers. Very flamboyant. His hair is darker, and he has a neatly trimmed beard, and oh wow, how he sits bolt upright at the sight of me. His eyes are wide, eyebrows high, as though he’s seeing a ghost. But I guess he is.
I’m the ghost of Lucy.
He fumbles for the TV remote and flicks the TV off as I approach, both me and his husband still singing happy birthday. User 1467 claps his hands in glee as I present the cake to Barnaby.
“Make a wish, birthday boy!” I say, and Barnaby stares at me, his eyebrows still high in disbelief.
“I, um, wish for a hot goth princess to walk in and offer me a birthday cake!” He looks at his husband. “What the hell, David? What’s going on?”
David. My client’s name is David.
“What do you think is going on?” David laughs. “Thought I’d kick off your special day with a special bang. SURPRISE!”
