shacked up with Lucas Sherringham, apparently in a penthouse flat somewhere in Docklands, with nothing to do but sip champagne and nibble chocolates. Apparently sheâd been there all weekend, and he, in her words, was a âwonderfully sensitive and mature loverâ.
I was brooding over it all the way to Tilbury. Itâs so easy; flirt and flatter and fuck and in no time youâve netted yourself a rich man and you no longer have to worry. Lots of girls did it, and more tried. It made sense too, logically, but I knew I could never do it, not me, not Lucy Doyle. I need to want a man, and Iâd rather havehad Keith than Lucas Sherringham, with all his penthouses and champagne and cars, but I knew I wouldnât do it. I was too proud, or too stubborn, or too stupid.
The Tilbury job had to be the dullest ever invented. I was in a huge warehouse, and when I say huge, I mean huge. From the outside it looked like an aircraft hanger. Inside it was almost completely occupied by row upon row of gigantic metal shelves, and every one of them stacked with crates, cases, boxes and packages. Lucyâs job? Label the fuckers.
With every lorry that came in, and there were plenty, I had to check exactly what was in each case, feed the information into a program, print out the labels and stick them on the correct boxes. It wasnât difficult, but it was endless. To make it worse, my manageress, Mrs Henshaw, could have given Mrs Tench lessons. She never gave me a momentâs peace, and even bawled me out for spending a few minutes chatting to one of the forklift operators.
It was the same all week â up at seven, over an hour to get to work, running around like a blue-arsed fly all day, an hour to get back home, and sinking exhausted into bed. It wasnât even well paid, at eight pounds an hour. Other than swapping endless texts and calls with Bobbie and Sophie, only three things came up to break the monotony: Niall, Todd and Keith.
Niall I expected. After all, my mum now seemed to think he was my fiancé, and even Ryan was all right with it. He came round on the Tuesday, by which time I was more than glad of his company. I liked the comfort of being held in his arms and slowly fucked in the back of his car after being filled up with Powers and Beamish. It left me wrecked the next day, but it was worth it.
Todd was far more of a surprise. Iâd had no idea what had happened to him after Iâd been booted out of theParochial House, and was even wondering if heâd been sacked. He hadnât, because Father Jessop was a hypocritical old bastard, but he had enjoyed his blow-job, and he wanted more. I gave in, after just a little hesitation, taking him into Willesden Lane cemetery to have his cock sucked and let him finger me.
Keith I sort of expected, but had hoped he would have the common sense to realise that while I hadnât been as big a bitch to him as Bobbie or Sophie, that didnât mean I was interested in him. Unfortunately, he didnât seem to have any common sense at all, and was bombarding me with texts â first to thank me, presumably because I hadnât left him to be buggered by bears. Then came the request for a date, which arrived as I was kneeling in the shade of a big yew tree, about to unzip Todd Byrneâs trousers. I declined as soon as Iâd done my business.
Todd was on Thursday. Friday night I was meeting the girls after work, Tina and Leanne, at Charlieâs in the West End. It was a riot, getting completely pissed and staggering drunkenly along the embankment in a line, Bobbie, Sophie and I, with the two new girls who were at Emblem with them. A group of lads tagged onto us outside Temple station, passing rude compliments and offering us swigs from their cans of lager. I took one, and drained what was left in it, causing complaints as I handed the empty can back.
âHey, you greedy cow,â one complained. âSheâs only gone and drunk the
I was brooding over it all the way to Tilbury. Itâs so easy; flirt and flatter and fuck and in no time youâve netted yourself a rich man and you no longer have to worry. Lots of girls did it, and more tried. It made sense too, logically, but I knew I could never do it, not me, not Lucy Doyle. I need to want a man, and Iâd rather havehad Keith than Lucas Sherringham, with all his penthouses and champagne and cars, but I knew I wouldnât do it. I was too proud, or too stubborn, or too stupid.
The Tilbury job had to be the dullest ever invented. I was in a huge warehouse, and when I say huge, I mean huge. From the outside it looked like an aircraft hanger. Inside it was almost completely occupied by row upon row of gigantic metal shelves, and every one of them stacked with crates, cases, boxes and packages. Lucyâs job? Label the fuckers.
With every lorry that came in, and there were plenty, I had to check exactly what was in each case, feed the information into a program, print out the labels and stick them on the correct boxes. It wasnât difficult, but it was endless. To make it worse, my manageress, Mrs Henshaw, could have given Mrs Tench lessons. She never gave me a momentâs peace, and even bawled me out for spending a few minutes chatting to one of the forklift operators.
It was the same all week â up at seven, over an hour to get to work, running around like a blue-arsed fly all day, an hour to get back home, and sinking exhausted into bed. It wasnât even well paid, at eight pounds an hour. Other than swapping endless texts and calls with Bobbie and Sophie, only three things came up to break the monotony: Niall, Todd and Keith.
Niall I expected. After all, my mum now seemed to think he was my fiancé, and even Ryan was all right with it. He came round on the Tuesday, by which time I was more than glad of his company. I liked the comfort of being held in his arms and slowly fucked in the back of his car after being filled up with Powers and Beamish. It left me wrecked the next day, but it was worth it.
Todd was far more of a surprise. Iâd had no idea what had happened to him after Iâd been booted out of theParochial House, and was even wondering if heâd been sacked. He hadnât, because Father Jessop was a hypocritical old bastard, but he had enjoyed his blow-job, and he wanted more. I gave in, after just a little hesitation, taking him into Willesden Lane cemetery to have his cock sucked and let him finger me.
Keith I sort of expected, but had hoped he would have the common sense to realise that while I hadnât been as big a bitch to him as Bobbie or Sophie, that didnât mean I was interested in him. Unfortunately, he didnât seem to have any common sense at all, and was bombarding me with texts â first to thank me, presumably because I hadnât left him to be buggered by bears. Then came the request for a date, which arrived as I was kneeling in the shade of a big yew tree, about to unzip Todd Byrneâs trousers. I declined as soon as Iâd done my business.
Todd was on Thursday. Friday night I was meeting the girls after work, Tina and Leanne, at Charlieâs in the West End. It was a riot, getting completely pissed and staggering drunkenly along the embankment in a line, Bobbie, Sophie and I, with the two new girls who were at Emblem with them. A group of lads tagged onto us outside Temple station, passing rude compliments and offering us swigs from their cans of lager. I took one, and drained what was left in it, causing complaints as I handed the empty can back.
âHey, you greedy cow,â one complained. âSheâs only gone and drunk the
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