A Little of Chantelle Rose Read online

  “By the way,” she continued, “I saw you in the film last night at the cinema…”

  “And…”

  “And you looked a right slapper.” She doubled over with laughter at the look of dismay on my face.

  I threw a pillow at her that I'd snatched up from her bed. She’s got one of those huge plush en-suite bathroom-bedrooms. The only downbeat point is that the room is in her parents’ place – well, mansion really – where she still lives. Tammy’s family are loaded, and the only reason she doesn’t move out is because with the live-in maid, she gets out of cooking and having to do her own laundry.

  “Let’s do something fun this weekend,” she suggested. “I’ve still got some Rural Inn vouchers to use up. We could get out into the country and have a real girly weekend like we used to. You know, midnight feasts, make-over sessions… And I’ll let you drive.”

  This was her ultimate selling point. Tammy, for her twenty-first birthday, was given, tied up with a big pink bow, a real sleek Jaguar. One of those really flashy cars, which aren’t actually of any practical use whatsoever, because the only thing they’re made for is to reach 180 miles per hour in the blink of an eye. But, of course, if you do get to that breakneck speed you get fined big-time by those hidden speed cameras which seem to be everywhere. Why these cars are made is beyond me. To show off, I guess. I always thought I'd get a big monster van if I had the money, one I could live in if things got really rough. But the idea of being able to sit behind the wheel of Tammy’s fab electric blue Jag, knowing I could outrun any chauvinistic male driver I came across on the road (which is daily becoming the front-line between the battle of the sexes), was just too great an opportunity to let slip.

  So, of course, I agreed.

  Speeding out of town in the blue Jag and into the countryside, I did put my foot down just a couple of times simply to piss off a number of executive macho men. Before we knew it Tammy and I had reached our rural destination, a quaint little cottage. But what had happened to the supposed Rural Inn? There was a big For Sale sign up outside, I noticed, as we walked up the crazy-paved garden path that led to the front door.

  Wow! That front garden was a real dream garden. To the right of the crazy-paved path was a large oak tree that branched out sheltering a quaint wooden love seat that swung ever so slightly in the gentle breeze. There were roses all around the perimeter of the garden, of every shade of pink, orange, red and yellow. I imagined fairies sheltered in the tall grass as they hopped from one bluebell to the next on their way around. The air was rich with lavender and rose. There was a carpet of lush green grass all around what had just become the cottage of my dreams. And … Snap out of it. What with fairies and all, I was in danger of turning into a real sentimental old daydreamer.

  “If I won the lottery I’d buy this place,” I admitted out loud, though more to myself than to Tammy.

  “Bit of a country lass, are we?” she remarked, eyeing me as if I was some kind of freak. Tammy could never live without her city comforts, but for me it would've been a dream come true. If I were to leave Tammy just 50 metres from this garden path she would manage to get lost for sure. On the other hand, place her in the middle of any city in the world and she would find her way around by instinct, following scents of Chanel, fine leather and exquisite cuisine, until she made her way home with a mountain of shopping bags and luggage.

  I knocked hard on the solid oak door and thought that we'd somehow got the wrong place as the knock echoed around the obviously empty house.

  “Good afternoon ladies,” called out a loud masculine voice from the front of the driveway. Tammy jumped. We'd both been caught off guard, but Tammy, who can be a bit over the top at times, grabbed hold of me like a frightened three-year-old. We both turned and Tammy let out a small gasp and further tightened her grip in my hand.

  Before us was Mr Diet Coke. He honestly did look like one of those male models used in the sexy, steamy diet coke TV adds. You know, the one that has the guy naked to the waist, pausing over his labouring job as six or seven executive women practically fall out of a window in a high-rise office block just to get a glimpse of him.

  I didn’t realise men as good-looking as this existed in the real world. Having said that, there was something about him that looked familiar, though I just couldn’t put my finger on it. I was sure I’d seen his face somewhere before. I lowered my eyes as subtlety as possible to take in his six-pack, which seemed as if it had been tattooed on his exposed hair-free chest, which glistened slightly with perspiration. He had a three-day stubble on a strong but nicely-set jaw. His dark locks flopped onto his face in a charmingly boyish gesture, and even from where I was standing – at the other end of the garden from where he sat poised on a huge and high-spirited black stallion – I could see he had clear sky-blue eyes.

  I was suddenly aware that Tammy was still holding my hand, or rather, squeezing the blood out of it, and under my breath, for her ears only, I hissed sharply, “Let go. He’ll think we’re a right pair of dykes.” Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course. Nevertheless, at this precise moment I didn’t want Mr Sex to think I was a raving lesbian.

  I could feel his piercing blue eyes stare at me as I untangled my hand from Tammy’s.

  “May I help you?” he continued, as his horse starting nervously pawing at the soft earth below its feet, looking like it was going to charge right at me. I reminded myself, as I tried to keep calm, that as far as I knew, it was bulls that charge. In a voice that sounded really cool and blasé (as if, despite being totally lost and looking at the best-looking guy I'd ever seen, I was totally in control), I said, “We’re looking for the Rural Inn and thought that this was it. Maybe you could guide us in the right direction?” In fact, I added to myself, you could probably guide me anywhere.

  "I thought so,” Mr Diet Coke answered. For a split second I assumed he'd read my mind, and slated him as a cocky big-headed idiot. I immediately retracted this thought as he continued, “Most people stop here thinking that this is the rural accommodation, when, in fact, it’s still another ten miles down this country lane. You can’t get lost. It’s straight on. Four miles before you reach it you’ll come across a crossroads with a sign to a nature reserve to the right, and on the left is a track that leads to the river."

  “Oh thank you,” Tammy called out, all husky-voiced, as she scooted up the garden path in an attempt to get a better look at the tall dark stranger. I inwardly condemned her un-cool approach.

  “I’m Tammy,” she cooed. “And she’s Chantelle,” she added, with a nod of her head in my direction.

  “I’m Robbie,” he answered in a smooth, seductive voice as he looked straight at me. I felt like melting on the spot.

  “Enjoy your stay in the area,” he added, before he kicked the black stallion and in a flash was gone in a hair-raising gallop down the country lane. Tammy and I were left weak at the knees.

  “Was he lush or what?” Tammy blurted out as soon as Robbie was out of sight.

  “Not bad.” I said trying to sound cool, calm and collected.

  “Not bad?” she mimicked. “Just look at you! You’re all red and flustered.”

  I’m not am I? I panicked, all sense of composure and calmness lost as I rushed towards the car door mirror to view my reflection.

  “He was giving you the real Give it to me baby look before he galloped off into the horizon.” Tammy smirked.

  “No he wasn’t,” I said, well aware that I was glowing bright pink. “He was giving me the She looks like that slapper from the gangster film look.”

  “Why, missy,” Tammy observed archly, “I do believe you’ve fallen in love at first sight.”

  “Give over,” I groaned as I handed her the car keys. “I’ll let you drive the last ten miles,” I added, in an attempt to change the conversation. Though the reality was that, for some reason, I didn’t want Robbie to think I owned this really expensive, totally unpractical blue Jag – a complete misfit with country living. T
he likelihood of seeing him again was minimal, but just in case….

  As Tammy continued the drive down the country lane I found myself feeling ridiculously happy, which was why, when we arrived at the crossroads and Tammy suggested driving down to the riverbank for a better look, I agreed. At any other time I would have told her she was crazy to drive her precious blue Jag down a muddy track just to go check out some random river. But I was miles away; I was letting my imagination run wild with thoughts of how Robbie would call at the Rural Inn for me the following morning astride his black stallion and ask me if I’d like to go riding with him out into the woods…

  So by the time I was brought back to reality it was to realise that not only had we arrived at the river bank, but that Tammy had managed to get her lovely sleek electric blue Jag – and us – stuck in the mud.

  This, believe me, was not hilariously funny. The Jag, which being a sports car is low to start with, visibly started sinking. When I finally got my act together to get out of the car, it was to find that the doors were jammed shut, the mud having crept right up the sides of the vehicle.

  Quickly I pressed the button to open the window and started to squeeze myself through the window frame. Tammy gave me a huge shove on my behind to help me through. Miraculously I made it outside and onto my feet, which required some bodily contortion to avoid landing head first into the mud. I squelched to the front part of the vehicle.

  “Put it in reverse,” I called out, thinking we still had a chance of shifting the Jag out of the mud pit before it was completely swallowed up. Tammy obediently crunched into reverse gear and put her foot down to rev the car out. Wheels started spinning and mud sprayed everywhere as I pushed with all my might (which is not much) on the front bonnet. But it didn’t take an Einstein to calculate that the electric blue Jag wasn’t going anywhere. It was completely stuck in the mud and not quite so blue anymore. Meanwhile, Tammy had gone as white as a ghost at the probable thought that her dad would've freaked out if he could've seen us – and that she was on the verge of facing the consequential humiliation of being grounded at the grand old age of twenty-four.

  Dusk seemed to be closing in thick and fast and it became obvious that we'd have to walk the remaining four miles of our journey to fetch help. And, as can only happen in a typical British summer, a thunderstorm broke and it started pelting down.

  Tammy at this point had managed to get herself stuck in the window of the driver’s seat in her attempt to escape the drowning car. I slopped my way over to her, amazed that my chic and flimsy flip-flops from Selfridges actually remained on my feet instead of being sucked into the mud. Having reached Tammy I grabbed hold of her hands and yanked hard as she wriggled her way out of the car. With one last heave she popped out like a champagne cork, all nine stone of her, and she collapsed on top of me in the brown, sticky mud.

  Tammy’s face was right above mine. It was lucky really that she hadn’t head- butted me. I could hardly breathe, having already been totally winded by the fall.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

  The familiar masculine voice sent me cringing. It was Robbie, and I truly wished I was anywhere else on earth at that moment. Now he must surely think we're a pair of dykes frolicking around in the mud together.

  In a flash he'd dismounted his stallion and was helping Tammy to her feet.

  “I thought I told you to keep straight on.”

  “I know, I know," I could hear Tammy saying. “But I just wanted to drive down to the river bank to take a look.”

  Robbie then reached down for me and took my hands in a strong firm grip as he effortlessly got me to my feet. Humiliated, I could see that he could hardly suppress his laughter; his sparkling blue eyes twinkled with mirth as they looked me up and down. Moreover, I could tell what was going through his head: Typical bloody female drivers. Which is just so untrue. I wanted to say I’m a good, sensible driver and would never have let Tammy venture down this mud track if I hadn’t been mooning after you. But I was just too embarrassed to even say “Thank you.”

  “You girls remain here and I’ll go and fetch some help. Try to keep out of the rain or you’ll catch your death of cold.”

  Yes dad! almost slipped from my lips, and I had to bite my tongue to stop the words coming out. In any case he was way too sexy to be my dad. Up close I calculated he must have been in his early thirties, seven or so years older than me. He must have thought I’d just hit my teens or something, going on the rather immature first impression I was giving him. But like two obedient kids, Tammy and I nodded our heads in meek agreement, and in a flash Robbie was gone, the only sound being the clattering of hooves in the distance mingled with the pitter-patter of falling rain.

  Tammy took hold of my hand and squeezed it as she turned to me. “Sorry to get you into this mess.”

  As I turned to face her with a casual “Don’t worry,” she let out a loud gasp.

  What? What’s wrong? Is my nose bleeding? I panicked as I instinctively reached up to check that my nose wasn’t spurting blood and peered towards the dirty car window to see if I could see my reflection there. Then it was my turn to let out a cry of horror. All I could see were my bright honey-coloured eyes staring back out of a mud-covered face. I looked like I’d gone real nuts with an organic mud facemask and had applied it all over my face and right into my hair, which was plastered down with big globules of stinking muck. I took in a deep breath from the shock horror of seeing my reflection, and realised, on taking that deep breath, that the mud was really pongy – somewhere between whiffy pond water and seaweed.

  “Just great,” I exclaimed, “I’ve just gone and met the guy of my dreams, and I look like this! Shit!”

  Tammy grinned. “I knew you thought he was lush.”

  At least an hour had passed and it was deathly dark in the middle of the woods in No-Man’s-Land. The rain, at least, had petered out.

  “What if he’s not coming back?” whimpered Tammy, obviously worried that we'd been left for good in this creepy wood next to a stinking pond and would have to sleep the night squeezed into the Jag – and that was if we could get back in. I didn’t think that Tammy had ever slept in anything so small; her nursery cot had probably been more spacious than the Jag. Not that the idea of trying to get back into the drowning car was a wise one. Being buried alive was not the most astute plan.

  “Don’t worry,” I responded, trying to remain calm for both of us. “He’ll be back. And he’ll have one of those digital cameras to film us, and YouTube it around the globe. He’s got money to win out of this. Oh yes, he’ll be back.”

  Then, right on cue, I could just make out the throttle of a tractor somewhere further up the lane, heading in our direction. The lights of the tractor were soon upon us.

  I'd tried to remove as much mud from my hair and face as possible, though with little success, so I hid behind Tammy and out of the glare of the tractor lights as it approached, thankful that it was really dark and that I could blend slightly into the shadows.

  Robbie hopped down from the tractor cab with the grace of a ballet dancer (those looks and grace, plus my luck, probably meant that he was gay!) as the driver hauled the tractor to a stop.

  “Doing a bit of rally driving, were we, ladies?” he called.

  I had to clamp my mouth shut in order to stifle a smart comeback. I realised that this was our only chance of getting the Jag out of the mud, and I was wise enough not to be rude and have our Good Samaritan turn on his heel and leave us in the dark again.

  Tammy’s upper-class education came shining through, as it always does in moments of crisis. She rushed forward to greet the tractor driver, eyelids fluttering and head-to-toe grace and good manners.

  “Oh, thank you so much for going out of your way to help us out of this mess. I couldn’t be more thankful. You’re real gentlemen, both of you,” she added, directing her fluttering eyes now at Robbie, voice huskily pitiful as she blushed in modesty. I wondered how she put on this big ul
tra-feminine act. She was like a reincarnation of Scarlett O’Hara.

  “I’m Tammy,” she continued as she delicately offered her hand to the driver.

  “Ray,” the driver said as he jumped down from the tractor. Taking Tammy’s hand in his, he bowed slightly.

  She's got him round her little finger already, I thought.

  “And you must be Chantelle,” Ray added as he looked in my direction. I winced. God! I'm going to be known in these parts as the girl who took a mud bath down by the river.

  Robbie and Ray fastened the Jag to the tractor and hauled it out of the mud. To everyone’s amazement the car actually started – a huge credit to the Jaguar engineers – although it was filthy, wet and really reeked; not quite like the Great Stink, but almost. We made it, thankfully, to the Rural Inn without further incident. Robbie and Ray followed behind.

  Why did I keep on thinking of Dixie and Trixie? Weren’t they the two cartoon characters under suspicion of being gay? Or was that Noddy and Big-Ears? Or maybe I was just getting confused with one of the TellyTubbies.

  “I think they’re gay,” I observed out loud to Tammy.

  “You think any good-looking guy is gay.”

  “That’s probably because they usually are.”

  “Ok, let’s bet on it. I bet fifty quid that they’re not gay.”

  At this time fifty quid was a lot of cash for me to lose. But what the hell, we were only in the area for a couple of days, and neither of us were going to be able to prove anything either way. So I held out my hand, which Tammy took in hers, sealing our little gamble.

  As soon as we reached the Rural Inn, which was quaint but not as beautiful as the dream cottage we'd come across earlier in the afternoon, I rushed inside avoiding the startled (not to say horrified) looks of the reception team. When I made it to the room Tammy and I were to share for the weekend I dived into the power-shower to scrub off all the dry and cracked mud that encrusted every part of my body. Brown rivulets rolled down my skin and it was a good while before the water ran clear. Finally cleaned up I wrapped around me the one and only towel, minuscule I might add, and stepped out into the bedroom, making a mental note to complain to reception that one tiny towel just wasn’t good enough. And there by the door to the room, which was wide open, was Tammy, once again doing her Scarlett O’Hara impression.