The Calendar Game (The Alpha Series Book 2) Read online

  'By the way. Why is my present coming after Christmas? Do you understand the concept of a Christmas present?'

  'You'll forgive me. Right, Athena wants to say hi.'

  She puts her daughter in front of the camera. Large dark eyes peer at me. Then as she always does when she sees me, she bursts into tears, turns and puts her arms out for her mum.

  'Oh dear, baby girl, sshhh, sshhh. I'm going to have to go. I think she's hungry.'

  'Yeah, no probs, speak soon and congratulations. Give Gabe a kiss from me.'

  'I will. Merry Christmas, Ronnie.'

  She turns off.

  Bah fucking humbug. I throw my Michael Bublé CD off the dining table and watch the case smash on the floor.

  Fuck it. I go and microwave the chicken dinner.

  Boxing Day. Thursday 26 December 2013.

  I haven't spoken to Col since yesterday. He's supposed to be coming over for dinner tonight. I need to firm up my plans. I need a bloke's opinion.

  I stick on Skype. Beep. Beep. Come on, pick up.

  'Aunt Ronnieeeee.' A blonde haired, blue eyed, total mini heartthrob stares at me through the screen.

  'Hey Dude.'

  'Merry Christmas.'

  'Same to you squirt. Have you grown again?'

  His hypnotic eyes fix on mine. 'I have, and look at my muscles.' Sam rolls up a sleeve and flexes his arm.

  'Goodness me, the girls will go wild when you're back at school.'

  'I know,' he whispers. 'I'm hoping Sheridan will kiss me.' He puts his hand over his mouth and giggles.

  I see the body of Mike Lucas swing into view. 'How ya doin, Ronnie? I was just checking the little guy's not on a chat-line.'

  'He's a trainee heartbreaker for sure. Hi, Mike. How are you doing?'

  Mike shrugs his shoulders. 'Surviving. Doesn't get any easier. Thanks for doing this.' He points at the screen.

  'It's a pleasure, truly. I've found a new best friend now his Aunt Stella has deserted me.'

  'I'll leave you to it.' He leaves the room.

  Samuel's mother, Isabel, died fifteen months ago. She was Stella's stepsister through marriage. The now eight year old Sam lives with his adopted father, Mike. He's surrounded by close family, including Stella, Gabe and Gabe's mother Maddie. I'd Skyped Stella one night and Sam had come on while she was busy with Athena and that was it; friends for life. I think Sam likes the fact I don't bullshit him. He can say what he likes to me. That is, once his Dad's out of earshot.

  'So, how's things?'

  'I miss my mum, Aunt Ron. Life's a cunt.'

  'Ah, Sam, honey, I don't mind you swearing but that one's a bit, ah, too much.'

  'Why, what does it mean?'

  'It means fanny.'

  'Ass?'

  'Oh God, I forgot you speak the foreign language of the US of A. No, women's bits.'

  'Ewwwww.'

  'So don't say it again.'

  'I won't. What can I say then?'

  'People say life's a bitch.'

  'Okay. Life is a fucking bitch.'

  'Much better Sam.' I wink. 'So, you done that memory box yet?'

  'Yeah, I started it, but then I got upset so Dad put it away for a bit.'

  I could weep for him. I have to turn and take a deep breath. I put my arms around the web camera. He does the same back.

  'Right. I need you Samuel Jacob Gregory.'

  He shuffles forward and crosses his arms and legs.

  'How can I be of assistance, Veronica Chelsea Huntington-Jones?'

  I fill in him on the Christmas Day debacle.

  'Uh, huh.' He nods wisely. 'I could have told Uncle Col that was a baaaad idea. One year my mum wrapped me a little CD in a huge box.' He stretches his arms wide to bursting, puffing his chest out. 'I thought it was a TV and I cried when it wasn't. Did you cry, Aunt Ronnie?'

  'Little bit, after. So what's your advice? Do you think I should forgive him?'

  'If you don't forgive him, will you come and live over here?'

  'No sweetie. Nice try. Though I'm going to visit, I promise.'

  'Cool. Okay, well if I lied I used to be put on the naughty step.'

  'Okay.'

  'How old is he?'

  'Thirty-one.'

  'So he'd have to go there for thirty-one minutes.'

  'Gosh, that's a long time. Is that all?'

  'Then you can go out with him for ice cream, or go to the cinema, but don't let him come for a sleepover.'

  'Kay. I think that will do it. No sleepover.'

  'And send me more British chocolate.'

  'What's that got to do with punishing Col?'

  'Well you'll not be spending money on him so spend it on me.'

  I laugh. 'You're a cheeky bugger.'

  He smiles back. 'I know, but you chicks love it.'

  I shake my head and go to end the call.

  'Thanks once again, Dude. See you later, Terminator.'

  'See you later, Veronica Veruca.' He giggles again.

  'Watch it Dude.'

  Col turns up as previously arranged. No doubt he thought I was just having a Ronnie tantrum and had let me chill my Louboutin boots, but on this occasion he was wrong.

  As he enters the apartment, he kisses me on the cheek and flops down on my sofa as usual. 'Shall we order Chinese? I really fancy some duck spring rolls.'

  I'm sure my mouth is open wide enough to accept King Dong's cock. Col carries on as if the argument never happened.

  'But ..'

  He gets up and takes a leaflet out of my messy, but useful drawer.

  'Col,' I shout, louder than I intended. He stops, looks at me, leaflet in hand. Face guilty.

  'Damn. Not Chinese then? I was hoping you'd got over it by now.'

  'No. Please sit. We need to talk.'

  'Oh for God's sake Ronnie. Just for once can we not have the drama?'

  This is the whole problem though. I am drama. That's who I am. No drama, no Ronnie. I realise that now.

  He throws himself back onto the sofa, runs his hands through his hair. I sit next to him, but he doesn't look at me. He just exhales.

  'Col. I need some time out. Some space.'

  He snaps around to me. 'What? Are you finishing this?'

  'No. It's just—'

  He shakes his head from side to side. 'I don't believe this.'

  'Look, Col. What you've told me has been a huge shock. You are not the person I thought—'

  'Yes, I am. I'm that person but with money.'

  'No, you aren't. You are someone who obviously runs a business, no matter how uninvolved you make yourself out to be. You're also a person who lied to me. I never saw through it once. All the time you cracked on about being poor. All of it… lies.'

  'I can't win with you. Rich or poor. You don't know what you want.'

  I shake my head at him. 'That's right. Finally something we agree on. That's what I've realised. I don't know who I am. I don't know what I want out of life. I've started doing things for myself and I'm changing. How I think about things. How I act. It's all changing. I need time to see who I'm becoming. I want us to start again, Col. That's the only way I can get past what happened.'

  'Start again?'

  'Yes. I want to meet Col Fernsby—the real one. I want to date him. I want to take it slow. I'm going to take the next year to focus on my home, career, friends. It's the year of Ronnie. The new year. I've had so many changes and experiences this last couple of years, I just want to start all over again.'

  Col rubs his brow. 'You're making yourself sound like a project, not a person. Life's not some kind of game, you know.'

  'Isn't it? You seem to have been playing with me. Games worked out very well for my best friend too. In fact, that's exactly what I'm doing this next year. Playing a game. A Calendar Game. Every month I'll set myself a different thing to focus on. Hopefully, by the end of the year, I can turn up in New York for Stella's wedding a confident, well-rounded person.'

  'Stella's getting married?'

&nb
sp; 'Yes. Next Christmas.'

  'Where do I fit into all these plans?' Col says with a sharp tone.

  'Well that's yet to be seen isn't it? My invite will have a plus one. I guess we’ll see how I get along with the real Col Fernsby.'

  'About that.'

  'Yes?'

  'Is now a good time to tell you that although people call me Col, I was christened Thomas?'

  I close my eyes and count to ten. 'You are definitely going on a time-out with no sleepover,' I mumble under my breath.

  'What?'

  'Nothing.'

  The next morning, I pull the curtains open and lie back in my bed, relaxing under the silk Gingerlily Duvet cover. So, a Calendar Game. What can I do each month to make sure I end the year a better person? I lean over and swipe a piece of paper off the floor. I notice it's a utility bill. One giving notice that it needs to be paid. Oh dear. I get a pen off my bedside table and scribble the numbers one to twelve down the back of the page. Okay. I tap the pen against my lip.

  1.Career – I'm doing my gardening course. I've also been helping Col at the coffee shop. Would I want to manage a chain? I need to think about this.

  2.Home – I know for certain I do not want to live in that Penthouse apartment. My memories of this block of apartments aren't great. I may want to move.

  3.Friends – my current total sum of friends is Stella, who's in bloody New York and half the time she's talking to the baby when I ring up, not me. 'What do we think Athena?' Her bloody head's gone soft. I love her and Athena but fuck, just one conversation just with Stella would be good. Secondly I have my eight year old advisor. Maybe I should ring Rebecca? The fact she's my ex-therapist should make her a great friend.

  4.Family, eg parents—oh fucking hell.

  5.Men. That'd be including Col. Then there's the little matter of Harry 'Murdering Bastard' Taylor. Currently enjoying his new role as a Sky Sports Television Presenter and his permanent residence on the tabloid celebrity pages. That man is on my Shit List. No-one tries to kill me and gets away with it.

  6.Fitness – I need a new method of keeping fit now that my sex life is going to slow down. One of the disadvantages of seeing Col less.

  7.Getting rid of unwanted things? Having a clear out?

  8.Appearance? Hair etc? Maybe time to do something about the glossy, blonde locks?

  9.Finances – moving along....

  Hmmm, I'm running out of ideas now. What happens in twelve step detox programmes? Ah, forgiveness. I've a few people I can apologise to, if the injunctions have been lifted.

  11.Charity work – I can use my new found celebrity status, after winning a Pride of Britain award to do good.

  12.The future/Stella's wedding. That one will definitely have to be December's.

  I look back and stare at my messy scribbles. So there we have it. To be done in no particular order—The Calendar Game. Satisfied, I snuggle beneath the covers and go back to sleep. I may not get up again until January the first.

  CHAPTER 2

  January 2014

  Career

  Wednesday 1 January 2014

  I'm starting my New Year with a bang. One thing I'm not prepared to give up during this period of inner change is Col's cock. It's magnificent. Huge and with just the slightest bend to it when erect; it hits all the right spots.

  I helped out at the coffee shop yesterday. Col had a New Year’s Eve celebration in the shop, which was a hit. Last night we were both too shattered to bonk. That's not the case this morning as I turn over in my bed and check out the glory. I reach over and stroke my finger up the length of him, waiting to see how long it takes for him to wake up. A few minutes and Col's eyes flicker open. He looks at me, a hint of hazel peeping out from drooping lids. Nothing else is drooping let me assure you.

  'Good Morning, Miss Jones.'

  'Good Morning, Mr Fernsby. It's time to get up.'

  'Is it now?' He rolls me underneath him and grabs my hands, lifting them above my head.

  'Any special requests?'

  'Espresso.'

  I've started describing sex as coffee. Espresso is a short but strong fuck. Then I like walking into the coffee shop and asking him for these drinks. Sometimes he has to leave one of his staff in charge so he can fulfil my order.

  I feel his hard dick between my legs. He pushes into me, finding me already wet.

  'Oh Miss Jones, you naughty woman.'

  Awash with lust, I lift up my hips as he thrusts hard.

  'Ahhhhhhhh,' I gasp as my body receives what it's craving.

  My eyes connect with his and I bite my lip.

  'That's mine,' he says, lowering his head and biting my lip so hard it bleeds. I clench around him as he licks the spot where the skin has broken.

  'Your lips are mine.' He withdraws and moves down my body. He lowers his mouth over my clit and bites me there as well, but much more gently than he did with my lip. 'Mine.'

  I explode over him. While I'm shuddering from the intense climax he moves over me and thrusts into me again. My walls are pulsing around his length as he pushes hard. My head knocks against the headboard with each thrust. I push my pussy at him with each stroke until I feel him quicken, and then I squeeze myself together, tightly around him.

  'Fuuuucck.' He releases inside me. His cock twitching with aftershocks.

  'I fucking love espresso,' I tell him. 'Now fix me a real one, Barista.'

  I like my kink. I'm not a hearts and flowers, please make love to me girl. I used to frequent a sex club called The Rodeo. It helped me explore my sexual side with no judgement. That's one part of me I don't need to review. I know my body and I know what I like. Col is way okay with my kink. He's not laid back in the bedroom either.

  He brings me a coffee. 'So, New Year’s Day. The beginning of your transformation. What are you starting with?'

  There's a hint of a smile hovering. I'm well aware of his thoughts on my game.

  I flick my hair. 'Hmmm, January.' I blow over the top of my drink. 'I think, New Year, New Career.'

  He clinks his coffee cup against mine.

  'Good luck, Ronnie. I know a top businessman if you need any guidance.'

  I place my cup down. 'The only guiding I need is your dick inside me.'

  My new career can wait. New Year’s Day is a Bonk Holiday.

  Friday 3 January 2014.

  My best friend is an utter twat. My Christmas present has just been delivered—a set of garden implements decorated in crystals. What the fork was she thinking? I know she meant well, but glamour and gardening do not mix, no matter how hard I try. The crystals will ping off the minute I dig earth. I was convinced she'd buy me some shoes. I'd hinted at the Nicholas Kirkwood Saturn Suede Booties enough.

  I walk over to my closet and stare at my shoes. Shoes never let a girl down.

  Christmas and New Year are over now and the UK is beginning to return to normal. This means a mass of people looking miserable as they ditch chocolates for a diet that'll last three days. Col says the first few days after the holidays are the worst for the coffee shop as everyone vows to cut down. He puts together packets of carrot sticks and makes to-go salads until about the second week of January. Then his customers return from Fitness Zombieland asking for shots to wake them the fuck up, and a huge muffin as they remember real life sucks and if you can't eat a nice bun you might as well just top yourself.

  My gardening course starts again on Monday and finishes in July. We're about to start placements where we design projects for real clients. One is a vegetable garden and the other a bedded area. Then we'll be assessed and given our Diplomas if we pass. Most people on the course go on to have successful careers as Garden Designers. I've loved it. I never would have thought I'd like getting my hands dirty. It took a spell in rehab for me to discover my love of green was not restricted to cash alone.

  As I turn back from staring at my shoes, I spot an unopened envelope peering out from under the bed. I hate post. There's almost always some monoto
nous task attached to it. I do my best to ignore it and pick up a book. It niggles at me. With a sigh I reach down from my bed and pick it up. I tear open the envelope and withdraw the letter. I recognise the letterhead straight away. It's from the office of The Pride of Britain Awards. They want to know if I'll help with the promotion of a course in women's safety. Gosh of course I will. For once I'm motivated to action my mail.

  I call and they tell me they want me to appear on Happy Morning. God, I love that show. I'm going to meet Molly and Gil. Amazeballs! Because it took me so long to open the mail, the slot is next Wednesday. They will arrange a car to take me to the studio. Oh, wow. Luckily I only have to attend college Mondays and Thursdays. The rest is online learning until the start of our practical exams.

  I'm going to be on TV.

  I need a new outfit.

  How tall is Molly? I'm only a titch. Will she overshadow me on the screen?

  I open the wardrobe and search out my tallest heels.

  Monday 6 January 2014

  I enter the classroom and nod to my classmates. I hear murmurings of Happy New Year. Jeez are they not over that already? I want to tell them I'm going to be on TV, but my class is full of mean girls who want to be the next Rachel de Thame, and middle aged men who think they're Alan Titchmarsh. There are two guys built like brick shithouses, with really great structure. Alas, I think they're into each other. We all get on fine as classmates, but I haven't bonded with anyone. I really do miss Stella.

  'Right everyone,' says Ginny, our Tutor. She's a ruddy cheeked, redhead, who doesn't look like she's ever met a hairbrush. 'As we head into the final stages of your course, we need to talk placements. We will set up the placement for your vegetable project. However you need to secure a location for the bedding project yourself. Remember, for this piece of coursework you will be asking your client for their ideas and build a design for them. This will take in all the aspects learnt on the course, such as using your colour wheels, and the use of both plants and hard landscaping. With this in mind, we will spend January reviewing the course work to date. If you can secure a location within the next two weeks, then you will be able to start drawing up a design plan to present to your client during February. Any questions?'