something to do.’
‘Did I ever tell you you have the manners of a warthog?’ she said without looking up.
‘No, but you did tell me once that I was ‘ung like a donkey.’
‘Dung beetle, I think I said.’
‘Oh really?’ Harry manoeuvred himself into a position astride Donna’s lounger.
She snatched the magazine away from the dripping water. ‘Bugger off. You’re getting my Hello all wet.’
He squatted lower over her chest.
‘Zair was a time when zair was more of you I could get wet than your ‘Ello magazine,’ he said in an accent which sounded like Arnold Schwarzenegger playing Inspector Clouseau.
As he spoke the words, he tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his swimming shorts and eased it down slightly to reveal a glimpse of pubic hair. ‘Hee-haw, hee-haw?’ he said, still pretending to be a Frenchman rather than a mule.
Donna looked up at him and slowly removed her sunglasses. She lowered her eyes to his minimally exposed manhood, and a smile began to spread across her face.
Harry followed her gaze. ‘Aha, I see we eff lift-urf.’
She reached up her left hand and lightly caressed his cheek. At the same time, she rolled the magazine into a tight club with her other hand and whacked him in the area which was not quite so soft as before.
This time, Harry wasn’t faking when he rolled sideways onto the floor, clutching at the front of his shorts, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a beached guppy.
Donna replaced her sunglasses and unrolled the magazine. ‘Now stop being annoying and get me another drink… darling.’
‘I suppose… you think… that was… funny,’ said Harry, still gasping to catch his breath.
‘Hmm?’ She flicked over a page of her magazine. ‘What was that, love?’
‘Bloody ‘urt that did.’
‘Oh come here, you big wuss, and I’ll kiss it better.’
In the hope that this might be a genuine offer, Harry forced himself onto his knees and then onto his feet, his hand still firmly between his legs.
‘You all right, Harry?’
It was a male voice, and Harry turned towards it. A well-built man in his late thirties was standing on the veranda of the house, the short sleeves of his Hawaiian shirt rippling gently in the breeze.
‘Yeah yeah, I’m fine, Eddie. Just ‘avin’ a bit of a… laugh. Know what I mean?’
‘Right you are, boss.’
Harry picked up a towel and moved somewhat awkwardly towards the elevated veranda. ‘Something ‘appened?’
‘ Just had a call from MacFarland .’
‘Oh yeah? And?’
‘You’re not going to like this, I’m afraid.’ Eddie shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again.
Harry stopped drying his hair with the towel and lowered it to his side in slow motion. He stared up at Eddie, waiting for him to continue.
‘Seems like there was a bit of a cockup.’
‘What?’ Harry felt his blood pressure beginning to rise.
‘Delia hired some woman to make the pickup apparently, but it was a bloke turned up instead. Then he gave MacFarland the slip.’
‘Oh for f…’
‘He also reckons that the pickup guy didn’t leave anything in the locker.’
‘Reckons? What do you mean “he reckons”?’
‘MacFarland said that Humpty didn’t actually check it, but from the reaction of the—’
‘Christ almighty,’ said Harry, looking up at the clear blue sky. ‘What do I pay these people for?’
The veins in his temples were throbbing like pistons. ‘Where are they now?’ he called over his shoulder as he walked back to his sun lounger and collected his half-smoked cigar from the ashtray.
‘Still at the festival. They’re waiting for your instructions.’
‘Coursh they are,’ said Harry, his teeth clamped around the cigar as he struck a match. ‘Can’t bloody think for themshelves, can they? Useless fucking twats.’
Donna lowered her magazine. ‘What’s up, love?’
He took a deep draw on the cigar and combined a dismissive wave of the hand with extinguishing the
‘Did I ever tell you you have the manners of a warthog?’ she said without looking up.
‘No, but you did tell me once that I was ‘ung like a donkey.’
‘Dung beetle, I think I said.’
‘Oh really?’ Harry manoeuvred himself into a position astride Donna’s lounger.
She snatched the magazine away from the dripping water. ‘Bugger off. You’re getting my Hello all wet.’
He squatted lower over her chest.
‘Zair was a time when zair was more of you I could get wet than your ‘Ello magazine,’ he said in an accent which sounded like Arnold Schwarzenegger playing Inspector Clouseau.
As he spoke the words, he tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his swimming shorts and eased it down slightly to reveal a glimpse of pubic hair. ‘Hee-haw, hee-haw?’ he said, still pretending to be a Frenchman rather than a mule.
Donna looked up at him and slowly removed her sunglasses. She lowered her eyes to his minimally exposed manhood, and a smile began to spread across her face.
Harry followed her gaze. ‘Aha, I see we eff lift-urf.’
She reached up her left hand and lightly caressed his cheek. At the same time, she rolled the magazine into a tight club with her other hand and whacked him in the area which was not quite so soft as before.
This time, Harry wasn’t faking when he rolled sideways onto the floor, clutching at the front of his shorts, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a beached guppy.
Donna replaced her sunglasses and unrolled the magazine. ‘Now stop being annoying and get me another drink… darling.’
‘I suppose… you think… that was… funny,’ said Harry, still gasping to catch his breath.
‘Hmm?’ She flicked over a page of her magazine. ‘What was that, love?’
‘Bloody ‘urt that did.’
‘Oh come here, you big wuss, and I’ll kiss it better.’
In the hope that this might be a genuine offer, Harry forced himself onto his knees and then onto his feet, his hand still firmly between his legs.
‘You all right, Harry?’
It was a male voice, and Harry turned towards it. A well-built man in his late thirties was standing on the veranda of the house, the short sleeves of his Hawaiian shirt rippling gently in the breeze.
‘Yeah yeah, I’m fine, Eddie. Just ‘avin’ a bit of a… laugh. Know what I mean?’
‘Right you are, boss.’
Harry picked up a towel and moved somewhat awkwardly towards the elevated veranda. ‘Something ‘appened?’
‘ Just had a call from MacFarland .’
‘Oh yeah? And?’
‘You’re not going to like this, I’m afraid.’ Eddie shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again.
Harry stopped drying his hair with the towel and lowered it to his side in slow motion. He stared up at Eddie, waiting for him to continue.
‘Seems like there was a bit of a cockup.’
‘What?’ Harry felt his blood pressure beginning to rise.
‘Delia hired some woman to make the pickup apparently, but it was a bloke turned up instead. Then he gave MacFarland the slip.’
‘Oh for f…’
‘He also reckons that the pickup guy didn’t leave anything in the locker.’
‘Reckons? What do you mean “he reckons”?’
‘MacFarland said that Humpty didn’t actually check it, but from the reaction of the—’
‘Christ almighty,’ said Harry, looking up at the clear blue sky. ‘What do I pay these people for?’
The veins in his temples were throbbing like pistons. ‘Where are they now?’ he called over his shoulder as he walked back to his sun lounger and collected his half-smoked cigar from the ashtray.
‘Still at the festival. They’re waiting for your instructions.’
‘Coursh they are,’ said Harry, his teeth clamped around the cigar as he struck a match. ‘Can’t bloody think for themshelves, can they? Useless fucking twats.’
Donna lowered her magazine. ‘What’s up, love?’
He took a deep draw on the cigar and combined a dismissive wave of the hand with extinguishing the
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