Heather's Hectic Weekend Pt. 01

'Girl-on-girl is such fun,' the Asian girl said, her voice almost a sigh. 'I can't believe you let me string you along so long.'

'Neither can I. I . . . Hang on, that's my phone.'

'I thought it was Monty Python's,' Naz sniggered.

'It's The Liberty Bell,' said Heather, 'a march by Sousa. It's terribly important in American history. The Yanks inaugurate presidents to it.'

'Does it end in a sound like a fart?'

'It does on my phone, but not at inaugurations. Er, where are my jeans?'

'You're not answering your phone when we're in bed together.'

'We're on the bed, not in it. And that might be Alex.' Heather jumped up into a sitting position. 'I forgot about him, what with your excessive demands. Where are my jeans?'

'They're probably on the staircase. Heather . . . Hev . . .'

The jeans were indeed on the staircase. It took her a moment to get to them but, fortunately, the caller wasn't for hanging up. She grabbed the mobile out of her pocket, immediately recognizing the ID.

Shit, she flapped, what if it's Spider on Alex's phone!

'Hello,' she said cautiously.

'Hev, it's me, Alex.'

'Thank God for that.' Relief washed over her. Then another emotion hit her. Suddenly she understood those mums who smacked their kids for blindly running out into the road, instinctively punishing them for not getting run-over. 'You'd better have a good excuse for today, Alexander Hart.'

'It's a long story,' he said before starting to sob.

'Hey,' she said, 'I didn't mean to snap. I've been worried about you; that's all.' Heather crossed her fingers behind her back as she spoke. She should have been worried, obviously. Alex was a guy and guys didn't sob without a good reason. Not unless they were Manchester City fans, and City fans had plenty of reasons.

'I'm lost,' said Alex, 'lost and penniless. I need help.'

'Where are you?'

'I don't know. It looks like the middle of nowhere.'

Heather remembered seeing Alex's wallet and guessed that was why he was more penniless than usual. 'I'll get you a cab,' she said. 'All you need to do is work out where I need to send it.'

'I think I'm in the Forest of Bowland, although I haven't seen a tree in a while. As I said, it's the middle of nowhere. I couldn't get a signal until just now. Hold up, there's a crossroads ahead. There might be a signpost.'

Naz had joined her. Naked as the day she was born, she'd sat herself on one of the higher, dry steps. 'What's up?' she mouthed.

Heather held up her hand, not sure how to explain in only a few words.

'There is a signpost,' Alex resumed. 'I'm on a road between Lancaster and Kirkby Lonsdale. The other road is between Gressingham and High Bentham.'

'Which way are you headed?'

'I'm going towards Kirkby Lonsdale. That can't be right, can it? That's in Yorkshire.'

'Us Yorkies get everywhere,' said Heather, 'but it's actually in Cumbria. Never mind that, though, you are going in the wrong direction. You'd be better off heading for Lancaster. No, you'd be better staying where you are. I'll get you that cab.'

'I think I'll get hyperthermia if I stop walking. And I'm a bit of a mess. No self-respecting cabbie would let me in.'

'What's happened to you?'

'I've had a good kicking.'

Heather grimaced then checked the time. Five past eight. 'I know a man who can,' she said. 'Better still, he's a man who will. Turn around and head for Lancaster. And don't change roads. It might take a while, but I'll get Majid to collect you.' She glanced at Naz. 'Can he bring him here?'

Naz nodded.

'Keep on plodding,' Heather advised Alex. 'I'll nip round to the offy and get you medicinal brandy.' She rang off and immediately redialled.

''Ow do, chuck. Need a cab?'

'Hattie, it's me again.'

'I was just thinking about you. This offer of yours . . . is it like a . . . a date?'

'Well, yes, but I . . .'

'You assume a lot, don't you? You have me drinking and dating girls. And me a married woman with kids.'

'Sorry, I didn't mean to . . .'

'Offend? Don't worry, you haven't. And yes, I do fancy making a night of it.'

It took all of Heather's linguistic skills to confirm the tryst without letting on to a patently curious Naz. She then gave Hattie Alex's location, warned he was battered and bruised and asked her to beseech Majid to ride to his rescue.

'That lad won't take much beseeching,' Hattie replied. 'One mention of your name and he'll be off.'

Heather filled Naz in as much as she could on Alex.

'How did he get involved?' Naz's eyes had clouded. 'Spider didn't even know Carrie's name.'

'That's what's been puzzling me. Maybe Alex can tell us. Come on, lass. Let's get ourselves washed and dressed. Then I'll go and stock up on Courvoisier and witch-hazel.'

Chapter Four

(Friday, 26th April 2002)

Majid pulled up outside Naz's shortly after half past nine. Heather, with Naz at her heels, made a dash for the passenger's side door. At first glance Alex didn't look too bad, apart from a bruised eye, bloody nose and split lip.

'You fraud,' she said in greeting. 'I was expecting to see someone who'd just gone fifteen rounds with Apollo Creed.'

'I feel as if I've gone fifteen rounds with Lennox Lewis,' he grumbled. 'And the damage is all under my shirt.'

'He wouldn't let me take him to Casualty,' said Majid, walking around his vehicle. 'He was hobbling when I found him.'

'Is there any chance of a hand out of here?' Alex had swivelled in his seat. His feet had made it onto the pavement but that seemed to be as far as he could get.

Majid hauled him upright and, assisted by Heather, half-carried him indoors. Naz led the way into her lounge and pointed to her settee which was, Heather noted, similar to Rita's, although the old leather was black rather than red-brown.

'That's the closest I have to a hospital bed,' Naz said.

'It'll do fine,' said Alex as they lowered him onto it. 'Thanks, Naz. I owe you big-time.'

Heather frowned at that. She hadn't expected the two to know each other. Then she remembered a half-time conversation some months ago. Alex had been watching their football match, cheering on his sister. It had turned out that some of the players had been watching him spectate. Over slices of orange and lemon tactics were, for once, forgotten. Instead words such as "hot", "beefcake" and "top totty" had been used. Had Naz been deeply involved in that conversation?

Perhaps she had.

'I'll get you a cuppa,' Naz said, 'with three sugars to counteract delayed shock. Would you like brandy in it too?'

'Sounds like a plan.' Alex tried to grin, wincing when his split lip complained.

'What about you, Majid? Fancy a cuppa?'

'No thanks. I need to be off.'

'Not so fast,' said Heather. 'How much do I owe you?'

'Call it a tenner.'

'Get out of here. It's got to be thirty or forty quid. Come on; let's go check your meter.'

Leaving Alex in Naz's care, Heather went outside again with Majid. Quite predictably, Majid glanced in through his wound-down window and said, 'Fair do, call it twenty.'

Heather pushed him aside and had a look for herself. 'I'll call it forty,' she said. 'Come on, get out of the road.'

He followed her back onto the pavement and accepted two twenties.

'Forty quid and a kiss,' she said, smiling.

Majid's eyes widened but he made no move. Heather, unfazed, made the move for him. Before he knew it she'd shoved him up against his own cab and locked their mouths together.

Mmmm, she thought, nice, nice, nice!

Ten minutes was, she reckoned, about par for a first serious kiss. Still pressing her body against his, she asked when he next had a night off.

'Sunday,' he admitted.

'Shall we make it my place at seven? I'll make you one of my special curries.'

'You'll make me a curry?' He laughed. 'You'll order takeaways and pretend they're all your own work. Why don't I come at six and make the curry myself?'

'Keen, eh? I like that in a man.' Heather very deliberately rubbed her groin against his. Majid's willy had been showing interest for a while now. Come to that, so had her clit. A little friendly rubbing was all it took to get her heart pounding.

'Six, then?' he gasped.

'Six then,' she agreed. 'You can make the chapattis and side-salad, I'll do the rest.'

'Okay. Do I need to bring anything? Apart from wine, I mean.'

'You drink wine?'

'Not when I'm working. Otherwise I do wine and beer.'

'I'll have Shiraz and Pinot. If you want to bring something else, feel free. And don't bother bringing condoms. I rarely use them, but I've loads if that's your thing.'

She was still rubbing against him. Her heart was pounding as hard as ever. Another kiss was very much in order.

'Dearie me,' a voice said. 'I should throw a bucket of water over you two.'

Heather stopped kissing and looked over her shoulder. A little old lady had just passed them. Despite her words, she was grinning. 'Give him one for me, love,' she added before scurrying off to catch last orders in the nearby off-licence.

'Let's get in the back,' said Heather.

'What . . .'

'Come on, Majid,' you heard the lady. 'I've got to give you one. And it won't keep until Sunday.'

*****

Naz had never expected to see Alex Hart on her battered old settee. Well, not in a battered condition himself. And it was awful to see him in this state. He was dreamily good-looking and a general object of female lust. Normally he was, anyway. Not that he gave out heaps and heaps of encouragement. He had watched a few matches over the years and joined in a few celebrations. He had not, however, shown any interest in any of the players . . . apart from his own flipping sister.

What a waste!

She handed him his cuppa . . . a whole pint pot of it . . . and asked if he wanted more brandy. He said yes without even testing his brew. Smiling, Naz went back into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle and three glasses. Heather, she was sure, would not say no. Speaking of Heather . . .

Naz had a quick look out of the window, seeing her so-called lover devouring Majid's mouth. It wasn't so much shock and disillusionment as suspicions confirmed. Heather had obviously felt attraction to the taxi driver yesterday; it had been written all over her face. She had also made it plain she didn't do "faithful". It was just a bit disappointing that she could go from her arms to Majid's in . . . what, an hour and a half?

The kind, generous part of Naz's mind suggested Heather was only being friendly. The nasty, spiteful part noted the girl's lower body movement and scoffed.

How much more friendly can she get?

'Not drinking your tea?' Naz said to Alex, over-brightly.

'It hurts my mouth,' he replied miserably.

'Stay right there,' she countered, 'I'll patch you up.'

When she came back in the lounge, carrying a bowl of soapy water and a jumbo pack of cotton wool balls, Alex was gingerly sipping straight brandy from a glass. His pot of laced tea seemed to be totally untouched. 'Believe it or not,' she announced, 'I've got experience in this area; four younger siblings' worth of experience.'

She carefully cleaned his face, using the cotton wool and gentle dabs. Alex's right eye was as good as closed and he flinched when she addressed his nose and mouth. Otherwise he accepted her aid bravely.

'Now for my master-stoke,' she said. This time she returned from the kitchen with a packet of frozen peas and an ice pop. 'These are black-eyed peas,' she said. 'Well, they are for now, anyway. If you hold them against your bruise long enough the swelling will go down. And this ice pop will numb your lips so you can drink your cuppa. There are three or four brandies in there, by the way, so don't just leave it.'

Alex did as she said. He looked a prat, what with a packet of Birds Eye clamped to his head while he sucked on a cola-flavoured frozen snack. But the treatment worked. Well, he still had a shiner but his lips recovered enough for him to finish his tea and a second glass of neat brandy.

'Another cuppa?' she ventured, secretly wondering what on earth Heather was doing. No, cancel that. She was secretly trying not to wonder what Heather was doing.

Alex surprised her by bursting into tears. 'Thank you,' he said woefully. 'Thank you for being so nice.'

As a fully qualified big sister Naz knew when hugs were required. She moved onto the settee, taking a place beside him, and held out her arms. 'Come on, Alex. Cry on my shoulder. Let it all out.'

Alex came to her but missed her shoulder, crying on her tits instead. Naz wasn't unduly concerned. If he didn't mind burying his face in the proximity of erect, bar-belled nipples, then neither did she.

'Shush, shush,' she whispered, stroking his broad, masculine back, feeling not at all maternal. 'Let it all out.'

Chapter Five

(Friday, 26th April 2002)

Naz had come to uni as an eighteen-year-old virgin in a hijab. After a month she'd become a typical student with no hijab, tight blue jeans and even tighter T-shirts. Her parents, the dinosaurs remained (she hoped!) blissfully unaware but she'd already indulged in six of her "seven deadly sins" a goodly while before she arrived. Sex was the one forbidden activity still to be enjoyed . . . not that she hadn't tried kissing and groping.

For that first month she'd lunched almost exclusively in the refectory. Then, one Thursday at twelve, feeling inexplicably contrary, she'd headed for the Union Bar. It had been busier than she'd expected; busier and a lot more fun than the stuffy old refectory, even if she hadn't really known anyone. She'd noticed Heather, but she was deep in conversation with a scary-looking older woman. It would have seemed rude to intrude. The best bet, she'd decided, was to sit and watch the world go by.

Not that it went by for long.

John was the hunkiest guy on Naz's course. Even she, an innocent virgin, had fantasies about John. Sadly, although they were on nodding and smiling terms, he'd shown no interest. Except . . .

Except that afternoon, bound back from the bar, holding three pints in a well-practiced triangle, he'd given her more than a nod and a smile. Okay, he'd given her a nod and a smile for starters, but then he'd stopped in his tracks and stared at her. It had only been briefly, but long enough to be registered.

Bemused, Naz watched him walk on and distribute two of the beers to mates. Then he turned and marched back to her table, taking a seat without waiting to be invited.

'Naz Hussain,' he began in a bantering tone. 'I had you down as an obedient, dutiful Muslim girl.'

She'd grinned at him. 'I struggle with "obedient" and "dutiful".'

'So I see.' He nodded at the table. 'You're drinking alcohol. There's a ciggie smoking away to itself in the ashtray. And oh my God, is that a ham sandwich!'

'Guilty as charged,' she said. 'And I'm not in the least repentant.'

'Isn't it Ramadan as well?'

'Not for another month or so. It is prayer time, but not Ramadan.'

'Do you observe Ramadan?'

'No.'

'And do you fancy another pint?'

'I thought you'd never ask.'

The chatting up had been natural and fun. Somehow they'd "missed" the afternoon's opening lecture, buying alternate rounds instead. Naz had begun to harbour adventurous, sexy thoughts when John went and spoilt it all.

'Grace,' she'd echoed. 'Who's Grace when she's at home?'

'We're sort of seeing each other. Otherwise I'd ask you out.'

Bloody men!

That Thursday booze-up had been in late October. Before she knew it, Naz found herself in the year's last lecture. Nay, she found herself in 1999's last lecture, arguably the last lecture of the millennium. Before it kicked off she was approached by John. John had been affable since their afternoon in the bar. Yes, affable but careful not to be alone with her. Or was she just being paranoid?

'We're off for drinks in the Union afterwards,' he'd said. 'A crowd of us, anyway. Please come along.'

Her nasty, suspicious side guessed Grace had gone home early; that John was after an easy lay. She was, however, in festive spirits herself, and what harm could befall her if others were there?

The crowd turned out to be a dozen course-mates, seven female, five male. The Union Bar was big and normally twelve more customers would have made no difference, especially not at three in the afternoon. But not that day. Never mind festive spirits, there'd been that end-of-term feeling in the air for the last fortnight. Even though the Christmas decorations had been up long enough to look weary, the Union was rocking. Standing in a group of a dozen just wasn't possible.

Naz found herself smiling as, encouraged by others pushing through, their group split from twelve to six, then six sets of two. John ensured he was in her duet. She was a bit flattered by that. He was still probably after the seasonal leg-over, but at least he was consistent.

And hunky as heck!

While he battled his way for refills Naz remembered the numbers game. It was seven versus five. Looking around she soon realized there was no danger of mini boys and girls groups. The other four guys had clearly targeted individual women and were valiantly trying to charm. And the two "spare" females didn't seem to feel excluded. In fact they were all over each other.

'Why are you grinning?'

Naz took a fresh pint from John and grinned even wider. 'Stacey and Debs,' she said. 'I'd never have guessed.' Then, as the girls in question moved under the nearest mistletoe, 'Wow, look at them go!'

'There's a lot of it about,' said John. 'Sometimes I wish I was a girl.'

'Oh for sure; tell that to Grace.'

'Fat chance of that; she's done one on me.'

'Yeah, yeah, and I was born yesterday.'

'No, honestly, Naz. She's run off with another woman.'

Oh, how Naz had hoped that was true! Somehow she'd raised a scornful laugh. 'You're overdoing the lesbian angle, John. It doesn't ring true.'

In response John grabbed one of their male course-mates. 'Michael, tell Naz what happened with Grace.'

Michael's eyes lit up. No way could he have faked it. 'She effed off with Scary Spice,' he said. 'What a lucky bitch!'

Naz's well-sculpted eyebrows lifted beyond her hairline. 'Scary Spice,' she said.

'Well, not the real Scary Spice. She's a student who looks just like her. And I mean just like her.'

'Your enthusiasm is overwhelming,' said John.

Michael laughed. 'It's nothing personal, but given the choice between waking up next to you or her? No wonder Grace jumped ship.'

Alone again, pressed ever closer by the throng, Naz looked into John's eyes. That intimate contact was too much. Her mouth set off without co-ordinating with her brain.

'So now are you going to ask me out?'

Twenty minutes later they were in her bed.

Chapter Six

(Friday 26th April 2002)

For a very first lover Naz couldn't have done better. John was kind, gentle and considerate . . . not qualities she associated with typical men. After nervously stripping each other naked he'd eased her onto the bed and kissed her down there. Licked her down there . . .

Naz had been instantly converted. Her previous, self-inflicted orgasms were insignificant compared to the ones John inspired. Up until that moment she'd thought sex involved a slow build-up and one big cum. John had suddenly, almost effortlessly proved she didn't need "slow" and could cum time after time.

And then he'd fucked her.

She'd heard all the horror stories, naturally; stories about tearing and ripping, bruising and bleeding. It hadn't been like that for her. Trembling, as excited as she'd ever been, she'd watched John get out a condom and roll it onto his cock. Then, as willing as willing could be, she'd allowed penetration.

John had been kind, gentle and considerate at that, too. Or maybe he'd got her aroused beyond reason. Whatever, he'd slid inside her without encountering any obstruction at all. Slid inside her then skilfully, deftly, fucked her and fucked her and fucked her.