Chapter One
Fin
‘If you wouldn’t doit to your grandad in broad daylight, you shouldn’t be doing it to some random in a public carpark, for goodness sakes!’
‘What did I miss?’ I only left the room for a minute—someone needed to replenish the wine supply.
‘I’m trying to explain to madam over there,’ Ivy says, hooking a thumb over her shoulder. ‘That just because it was dark and she’d had a skinful—’
‘I was not drunk!’ Natasha’s protest is accompanied by an indignant scowl.
Ivy swipes the bottle from my hands, her words falling in a tumble as she twists the lid. ‘She says she scored last night and only just stopped herself from... frompleasuringhim in the carpark!’ Gathering the length of her dark hair in one hand, she bends to pour the blood-red liquid into her glass. As she straightens, a flush of discomfort is vivid against her cheeks. ‘Go on, tell her what you just said,’ she demands, passing the bottle on.
Beneath her peroxide mane Natasha’s brows furrow like a couple of caterpillars over a cloud of glittering pixie dust as she takes the proffered bottle with a scowl. I really must talk her into toning down her make-up. Her fake lashes are a bit like tarantula legs and her HD brows? I think she has the IMAX version.
‘I only said Ialmosthad my hand down his pants. I couldn’t help myself. He was a realbilf.’ The rejected bottle bangs against the table, Nat pulling a hipflask from her purse instead.
‘I’ve told you before,’ Ivy counsels, ‘you have to keep your hand on your tuppence for longer than five minutes if you want them to respect you in the morning.’
‘In the morning? He was out on his ear as soon as we were done. It wasn’t respect I needed, just a good seeing to.’ Nat’s shoulders shake with a dirty, sniggering laugh. ‘Anyway, my kitty’s worth more than tuppence. It sparkles. And occasionally queefs rainbows. Whatbilfcould resist that?’
‘That’s quite a picture,’ I respond. ‘And not one I want to imagine, thanks. But you could explain what abilfis, for those of us who don’t speakNatasha.’
She doesn’t answer, instead adding a generous amount of dark liquid to her can of cola as Ivy mutters something about using a glass and a coaster. ‘There’s just something about a man wi’ a beard,’ she eventually replies, pulling her off-the-shoulder t-shirt further... off her shoulder, revealing a neon pink bra-strap.
‘Yeah, there is. Something scruffy.’ Ivy huffs before taking a dainty sip of her wine. ‘Something lazy. Can’t they be bothered to shave? I mean, imagine if women decided not to shave the three p’s for months on end. Do you think we’d be hailed as fashionable?’
‘Don’t ask!’ I almost yell, unfortunately the same second Natasha does.
‘Pits, pins, and, you know,’ Ivy answers, indicating the pertinent areas with pointed thumbs.
‘What? Pits, pins and what?’
‘Youknow.’ A vivid pink streak highlights each of Ivy’s cheeks.
‘Not sure I do.’
‘Your tuppence,’ Ivy whispers, the pink deepening to beet red.
‘That starts with atnot ap,’ responds Nat.
‘Pussy, okay?’ Ivy replies hotly. ‘Pits, pins and there, I said it, pussy! Happy now?’
Nat shrugs while I try not to giggle with perverse pleasure, hearing her utter the word she hates most in the world.
‘But you don’t wax your pus—’ Nat begins, rolling her eyes at Ivy’s stern expression. ‘Okay, how about your lady garden’s more like the Australian outback.’ Ivy frowns, confused. ‘All bush.’
‘You are a poor advertisement for business,’ I agree, unable to bite back my smile.
‘Advertising? I’m hardly likely to be flashing it around. Besides, I wouldn’t let you anywhere near my growler,’ she retorts, pointing her thumb once more at Nat.
‘Thank heavens for small mercies,’ Nat replies. ‘Bushyandgrowly? No ta.’
‘Maybe when I book my intimate waxing course—’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Ivy interjects, cutting me off. ‘You won’t be here long enough to benefit or deal with the upkeep of anyone’s lady bits.’ Leaning over and squeezing my knee, she adds brightly, ‘You’ll be off to better things soon.’
I shrug evasively, mumbling in defence of the intimate waxing course I’ve been considering as adding to my skillset. And as for moving on to better things, I’m not so sure. Sometimes I think I’ll be Ivy’s freeloading roomie forever, living my days out in her tiny box room, sleeping on her crappily sprung daybed.
