Margaret sniggered as Mary took a bite of what looked like faggots and peas. The look of eager anticipation on her face changed to one of horror, and she looked over in Margaret's direction.
"What have you put on my bloody food, you little horror?" she said, and reaching for a hairbrush off the shelf she threw it at Margaret. Margaret ducked, and it crashed into the door, chipping out a lump of varnish before it fell down on the lino. There would probably have been murder done had not Mrs Needmore come in at that precise moment with a towel draped round her ample figure.
"Here, I asked you to keep an eye on these two, not bloody join in. What's going on?" she said, stooping to retrieve the brush and losing the towel in the process.
Lillian's eyes nearly came out of her head as she watched her go over to the fireplace and bend over to put the towel to air. She'd never seen anyone naked before. Her mother's body and her father's for that matter, had always been a closely guarded secret. Doors were locked in their house when clothes were removed, and she didn't know where to look at this precise moment.
"Good job we're all girls together," Mrs Needmore chuckled, reaching out for her knickers and vest off the polished brass rail.
Her breasts were pendulous and heavy, drooping down over the flab of her stomach. Her legs were like carrots, Lillian thought, fat at the top with ridges of fat which quivered when she laughed, and as for her bottom, well!...She was cramming it now into voluminous white knickers. Lillian looked, and looked again. She had hair...Down there between her legs! That wasn't normal surely? She hadn't got any!
"What's up with your dinner, Mary? You usually love my faggots." Mrs Needmore said.
"That's what the row was about when you came in. That sod of a daughter of yours has put washing powder or something on it... Tastes horrible...Honest to God, you're gonna have to do something about her or I'm leaving...I mean it! She's out of control. What she needs is a bloody good hiding."
SILLY LILY By Patricia Harper Copyright 2006
Visit my Storefront on http://www.lulu.com/patriciaharper
Monday, 15 January 2007
Tuesday, 9 January 2007
GUILT TRIP By Patricia Harper
"Sit down for a minute, and I'll tell you a bit about your boss," Jane offered, and drew up a chair for Susan to sit on where she joined the rest.
Mark was tight, she said, "as a duck's arse." You had to make sure he paid his turn for the drinks, and fetched them. He always forgot birthday cards, and was conveniently somewhere else when collections came round. If there was a gathering at the pub he always got there last after he'd been to the loo, or gone on the scenic route, so that the drinks were in by the time he arrived. He never sent Christmas cards or holiday postcards, and on the one Christmas he'd bought Nichola and Kate a surprise present, they discovered the chocolates he'd bought them were way past the sell by date. They'd sat there, after he'd made his magnificent gesture and gone home on his bike, with tears of laughter running down their cheeks, as they played "chicken" over who was going to eat one first. Turned out in the end there was nothing wrong with them anyway, but it went down on record in the office history. They could have gone on forever, it seemed, with stories about Mark. It was amazing that people seemed to bear him no ill will, and Susan thought he had an air of eccentricity about him. Apparently he was infuriating if you wanted him to defend you in any way. He just caved in, and couldn't be "arsed", and she wondered if this had anything to do with the health worries, not wanting to raise his voice or his blood pressure? He put his head round the door just then, and came in to put a letter in the post basket, and nodded in Susan's direction.
"You do still work here then?" he laughed, looking pointedly at his watch, and Susan replaced her chair and went back out with him to their office.
"Sorry about that," she forced herself to say, not used to having to answer to anyone else.
GUILT TRIP Copyright 2006 Patricia Harper
Visit my storefront on Lulu at www.lulu.com/patriciaharper
Mark was tight, she said, "as a duck's arse." You had to make sure he paid his turn for the drinks, and fetched them. He always forgot birthday cards, and was conveniently somewhere else when collections came round. If there was a gathering at the pub he always got there last after he'd been to the loo, or gone on the scenic route, so that the drinks were in by the time he arrived. He never sent Christmas cards or holiday postcards, and on the one Christmas he'd bought Nichola and Kate a surprise present, they discovered the chocolates he'd bought them were way past the sell by date. They'd sat there, after he'd made his magnificent gesture and gone home on his bike, with tears of laughter running down their cheeks, as they played "chicken" over who was going to eat one first. Turned out in the end there was nothing wrong with them anyway, but it went down on record in the office history. They could have gone on forever, it seemed, with stories about Mark. It was amazing that people seemed to bear him no ill will, and Susan thought he had an air of eccentricity about him. Apparently he was infuriating if you wanted him to defend you in any way. He just caved in, and couldn't be "arsed", and she wondered if this had anything to do with the health worries, not wanting to raise his voice or his blood pressure? He put his head round the door just then, and came in to put a letter in the post basket, and nodded in Susan's direction.
"You do still work here then?" he laughed, looking pointedly at his watch, and Susan replaced her chair and went back out with him to their office.
"Sorry about that," she forced herself to say, not used to having to answer to anyone else.
GUILT TRIP Copyright 2006 Patricia Harper
Visit my storefront on Lulu at www.lulu.com/patriciaharper
GUILT TRIP By Patricia Harper
"Now what do you suppose she's come in for?...She hardly knows the woman," Elaine said, flicking the cigarette ash off her enormous boobs. "You don't suppose she'd have the nerve to..."
"She's conned a drink off Kate," Mandy said, finishing what Elaine was about to say.
"Cheeky sod! She never put a penny to her collection. I'd never have the nerve, would you? I hope she goes soon. She's spoilt the atmosphere in here. Just look at the state of her!"
Susan Clayfield's legs looked as if they were trying to escape through enormous holes in her black fishnet tights. She was leaning over the bar talking to Kate, who being a nice sort of person, listened through a booze fuelled haze, trying to make sense of what she was saying. The party was breaking up now, as some had to be back at their desks, and when Kate made a move to join her friends to open her presents, Susan Clayfield tagged along and sat down beside her. There was a definite sense of anger at this intrusion because she was management, and you were rude to management at your peril. Sure you could do it, if you didn't mind the many ways in which a boss could make your life hell, and were willing to forget further improvement within the company.
GUILT TRIP Copyright 2006 Patricia Harper
Visit my storefront at Lulu
www.lulu.com/patriciaharper
"She's conned a drink off Kate," Mandy said, finishing what Elaine was about to say.
"Cheeky sod! She never put a penny to her collection. I'd never have the nerve, would you? I hope she goes soon. She's spoilt the atmosphere in here. Just look at the state of her!"
Susan Clayfield's legs looked as if they were trying to escape through enormous holes in her black fishnet tights. She was leaning over the bar talking to Kate, who being a nice sort of person, listened through a booze fuelled haze, trying to make sense of what she was saying. The party was breaking up now, as some had to be back at their desks, and when Kate made a move to join her friends to open her presents, Susan Clayfield tagged along and sat down beside her. There was a definite sense of anger at this intrusion because she was management, and you were rude to management at your peril. Sure you could do it, if you didn't mind the many ways in which a boss could make your life hell, and were willing to forget further improvement within the company.
GUILT TRIP Copyright 2006 Patricia Harper
Visit my storefront at Lulu
www.lulu.com/patriciaharper
Saturday, 6 January 2007
GUILT TRIP By Patricia Harper
Someone was ringing the bell, and she didn't want to go and see who it was. She just wanted to hide at that moment. Painfully, she hopped along the cold floor of the hall and peered nervously round the front door.
It was Mark, and it was hard to say who was the more surprised of the two as they faced each other across the step, he with a battered and bloody face, clutching what looked remarkably like a bunch of flowers behind his back, and she in a state of undress with all blood down the front of her nightie.
"Time of the month?" he said finally, thinking he had her sussed.
"No," she said indignantly. "The cat's annoyed because I'm out of food. She scratched me."
"That's serious," he said.
"The wound?"
"No, being out of food for the cat. Are you going to ask me in, or what?"
"I suppose so," she sighed, reluctant, but he was her boss after all."
"These are for you," he said, handing her a bunch of droopy unwrapped flowers.
"Have you robbed a grave?" she said, embarrassed, knowing it was unlikely that he'd bought them.
"There's grattitude for you! They're off me' allotment. Have you got a vase?"
"No, I never buy flowers. They're a waste of money when there's people starving."
"Of course, I forgot your charities. Well these cost you nothing, and fortunately you can't send them to Africa, so enjoy them! Look at the colours, and just be glad that right at this moment.. I was going to say you knew where your next meal was coming from, but maybe you don't ...What a bloody mess," he said, looking round the room.
"Which are my sentiments exactly. How did you get in that state?" she said, wincing at the dried blood on his lower lip, the half closed eye and the swollen nose. The bruises were beginning to come out already.
GUILT TRIP Copyright 2006 Patricia Harper UK Author.
Visit my storefront at
www.lulu.com/patriciaharper
It was Mark, and it was hard to say who was the more surprised of the two as they faced each other across the step, he with a battered and bloody face, clutching what looked remarkably like a bunch of flowers behind his back, and she in a state of undress with all blood down the front of her nightie.
"Time of the month?" he said finally, thinking he had her sussed.
"No," she said indignantly. "The cat's annoyed because I'm out of food. She scratched me."
"That's serious," he said.
"The wound?"
"No, being out of food for the cat. Are you going to ask me in, or what?"
"I suppose so," she sighed, reluctant, but he was her boss after all."
"These are for you," he said, handing her a bunch of droopy unwrapped flowers.
"Have you robbed a grave?" she said, embarrassed, knowing it was unlikely that he'd bought them.
"There's grattitude for you! They're off me' allotment. Have you got a vase?"
"No, I never buy flowers. They're a waste of money when there's people starving."
"Of course, I forgot your charities. Well these cost you nothing, and fortunately you can't send them to Africa, so enjoy them! Look at the colours, and just be glad that right at this moment.. I was going to say you knew where your next meal was coming from, but maybe you don't ...What a bloody mess," he said, looking round the room.
"Which are my sentiments exactly. How did you get in that state?" she said, wincing at the dried blood on his lower lip, the half closed eye and the swollen nose. The bruises were beginning to come out already.
GUILT TRIP Copyright 2006 Patricia Harper UK Author.
Visit my storefront at
www.lulu.com/patriciaharper
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