Love's Foolish Punch Read online

  Love’s foolish punch

  by

  S M Mala

  Published by S M Mala

  Copyright © S M Mala 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication is to be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any forms or by any means, including photocopying, recording or any other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher/author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Visit my website: www.smmala.com to see other titles.

  All helpful advice and genuine comments are welcome.

  And if you liked what you read then please review on Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk or Goodreads.com. All positive comments are deeply appreciated.

  Dedicated to all of us who’ve had a rocky ride when it comes to work and love, only to find hope somewhere, out there, when you least expect it.

  Index

  The promoter…

  The match…

  Week one of the engagement – southpaw

  Week two of the engagement – footwork

  Week three of the engagement – blocking

  Week four of the engagement – cross counter

  Week five of the engagement – bob and weave

  Week six of the engagement – slip and turn

  Week seven of the engagement – stance

  Week eight of the engagement – clinch

  Week nine of the engagement – Peek a boo

  Week ten of the engagement – one two combo

  Week eleven of the engagement – Jab

  Week eleven of the engagement – Hook

  Week twelve of the engagement – Upper cut

  Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee…

  Rumble in the jungle…

  Out for the count…

  And the winner is…

  The promoter…

  ‘No, I didn’t get the part.’

  Molly put her hair up into a clip to see Squirrel grin - his nickname was due to the fact everyone thought he was nuts. ‘And I still need money to pay for the new roof and not to mention inside here. I can’t afford ‘Creative Hands’ to do it for me, mind you that owner is a bit of all right.’

  They were sat at the small dining table of her two bedroom, ground floor, garden flat.

  As she was only five foot one, she thought her home spacious. When he came round, being six foot one, he made everything look cramped, even though she had knocked down a few walls and had a large open space with a living room and kitchen combined.

  ‘Maybe one day, aye?’ she sighed.

  ‘Fortune will come knockin’ on your door when you become a famous actress,’ her cousin, real name Bradley, replied in his mock cockney voice. He’d gone to private school but soon decided that it didn’t give him enough street cred to speak nicely. ‘And Sam’s not been in touch? I thought he might have at least made an effort. That ungrateful bastard.’

  ‘My ex-boyfriend has been plastered all over the papers promoting his new film,’ she said, hating to talk about the man who left her. It always made her feel anxious. Squirrel squinted in disapproval. ‘And he’s seeing the woman who starred in the film.’

  ‘Her?’ Squirrel said. ‘Lucky bastard! She’s hot!’ He did a double take. ‘But he’s just shallow to go for the aesthetics when he can have you.’

  Even Molly knew that sounded insincere.

  Sam Price was the man she lived with for six years and on the seventh year, she hoped he’d propose.

  And he did.

  He proposed they broke up because he’d found success in a television series on one of the larger television networks (the same one she had worked on and got sacked from a few weeks previously, funnily enough) and needed ‘space.'

  What he meant was that now he’d made it, Molly wasn’t good enough.

  He’d fooled her into believing they had a future when they had nothing.

  Molly hadn’t seen it coming.

  She’d no idea.

  Nearly two years later it still hurt, and her wound was more intense because her cat, Daisy, died on 6th July, and she knew she missed her pet more.

  Sipping her tea, she looked at her older cousin Bradley Drew. Her dad and his dad were half English and Indian; hence Bradley got the best bits.

  He was slim with very light olive skin, from her uncle marrying a Swedish woman, and a shock of dark curly beautiful silky brown hair.

  The texture of hair that was a genetic tradition for everyone on her father’s side of the family.

  And Molly was envious of his hair colour.

  Because of a DNA mishap, she was born with dark auburn curly hair. People from around the world would say that it was glorious. If she was a pale Gaelic girl, it might have been the case.

  Molly was brown, and it just added to the oddity of her looks.

  Anyone else would have dyed it, but she had an allergy to hair products after swelling up when she was thirteen.

  Her dreaded skin put paid to her ever trying to hide it.

  There had been wild moments of desperation when she used shoe cream on her hair.

  Her mother had just about forgiven her for ruining numerous pillow cases and sheets over the decades.

  Only just.

  And Squirrel had got a clear complexion but life had thrown some freckles on Molly’s face.

  Little brown ones.

  If ever life had been unfair, Molly truly believed Mother Nature was taking the piss with her looks.

  ‘And the voice over work? How’s that going?’ Squirrel asked and smiled, flashing his large white sparkling teeth, courtesy of braces since he was eleven.

  ‘All is fine. I’ve been working on some concepts for children’s programmes and maybe using different puppets.’

  That she knew was an out and out lie because her only focus was ever Bert the Baboon.

  ‘Ever thought that kids work, and you don’t mix.’

  ‘I wasn’t the one who was at fault.’

  ‘I know poppet.’

  ‘Why are you here and starting up polite conversation?’ she asked, eyeing him with deep suspicion. ‘I see you once a week and do your promotional work for you, so something’s up.’

  ‘May I say,’ he said, starting to laugh. ‘The client is very pleased with the recent peanut brittle display. That outfit suits you. It’s your colouring.’

  Molly pulled a fake smile and glared.

  ‘I’m not dressing up as a pistachio. I’ve told you. No green face paint. And don’t even think about me doing that Easter Bunny again. Bloody children were trying to steal my tail.’

  ‘Christmas I’d like you to dress up as a-.’

  ‘I got beaten up by a bunch of four year olds last year when I gave away the candy canes,’ she huffed. ‘Nothing to do with children, do you hear?’

  ‘And you want to work still in children’s television?’ he laughed out.

  Squirrel was a promoter.

  You name it; he promoted it.

  He was oddly very good, but that’s because he had the gift of the gab. At thirty-six, he was two years senior to her and acted like an older brother.

  They were both only children.

  He practically lived at her house since he was a kid, when his mother left them and went back to Sweden. He preferred Molly’s mother’s cooking to his own father’s, microwave all food, mentality.

  And no one complained because Squirrel was a nice kid.

  As an adult, they loved him just as much but he had a few dubious friends that made the family concerned. Molly knew h
e was the type of guy that picked up people as someone with a low immune system would get the flu.

  The stream was constant.

  ‘Molly, I need to ask you for a favour.’

  ‘Absolutely no way!’ she laughed, sitting back in her chair. ‘The peanut thing is bad enough and I just about forgive you for the Nutella sandwich. I’ve got the part-time job, teaching drama to the snotty little stuck up eight year olds in Holland Park and the taxi job.’

  ‘It’s not safe working the shifts you do.’

  ‘It’s only four hours in the evening or early mornings and I get a lift there and back. It's silly as I live only five minutes away. The guys are good fun.’

  ‘Seriously Molly, either go forth with the actress thing or get a proper job.’

  ‘Have you been talking to my mum again?’ she asked accusingly.

  ‘Auntie Connie and Uncle Craig never said a word to me.’

  ‘I get voice over work and…’ she hesitated. ‘Look, why are you here?’

  ‘Since that hoo ha with Tommy Halo, haven’t they considered offering you some work?’ he gently pried. ‘It’s been nearly two years. There are so many new kid shows on the telly. I know you keep writing new formats.’

  ‘How would I know a popular children’s presenter, my allegedly good friend, liked to give hand jobs in public places,’ she said, still hurt about the revelation. ‘You know what they say? Mud sticks.’

  ‘Based on what he was doing to that bloke’s dick when he was caught, you’re lucky nothing else stuck to you!’ he laughed out hard as she tried not to smile. ‘You know, someone I know was asking about buying that piece of rag you called Bert the Baboon.’

  ‘I’m not selling it,’ she frowned. ‘That made me money and he was a star… until we got sacked.’

  ‘You’ll get good money.’

  ‘I put him in Daisy’s coffin when she got cremated,’ she lied, knowing full well she needed to protect the copyright of the precious puppet for future ideas.

  His smile was now turning into a loud laugh.

  ‘Bloody hell, Molly red mop top! You really are something!’ Squirrel’s face showed he’d hit a sore point. Her hair automatically fell out of the clip and onto her face. ‘Your hair looks nice.’

  ‘Don’t talk to me about this and never call me that name again!’ she said, pointing to her head. ‘Last week I tried to join an agency for odd looking actors. You know what they told me?’

  ‘I dread to guess,’ he said, his laughter fading.

  ‘I was too odd! Too odd!’ Pining her hair back up again, she shook her head carefully as not to let it fall out. ‘I’d love to say I was a failed actress but the thing is, I’ve never had a chance because I don’t get offered the work. I damn that great grandmother of ours for having sex with a Scottish man!’

  ‘It could have been worse, though I’ve got nothing against it,’ Squirrel said gently. ‘You could have been ginger.’

  ‘You must be desperate!’

  Molly laughed when he took her out for a drink.

  She was being dragged down the road, straight into the cold chill of the mid-October breeze.

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked again, looking up at the willowy figure covered in a very large coat.

  Sometimes she thought Squirrel liked to dress like a 1970’s pimp from Harlem. Thing is, he was too pretty and far too self-conscious to look that bad. Whereas she just felt like a little dumpling next to him. Her jeans were tatty, and the top was over-stretched and the boots had seen better days. But she loved her old Paddington Bear duffle coat - red version - and would never part with it.

  ‘Here we go!’ he said, pushing her through the pub doors.

  ‘Just tell me what you want and I can refuse.’

  ‘Let me buy you a drink,’ Squirrel said, pulling her to the bar. ‘Barman, a bottle of your finest lager and she’ll have a glass of dark rum and diet coke. Make that a large one.’

  Letting out a disgruntled sigh, she sat at a table in the corner. The pub was quiet. It was a Friday afternoon, and most people were working.

  Squirrel arrived with the drinks and sat down then removed his coat.

  Molly decided not to take off her attire just in case his proposition, which she knew was coming, was too insulting for words.

  ‘I see you don’t trust me, fair maiden,’ he smiled into his drink.

  ‘Spit it out.’

  ‘Molly, you are my dearest cousin,’ he began, his speech now sounding more like his posh tones. ‘And to which that I am most sincere.’

  ‘Don’t you dare try a Shakespeare speech on me,’ she sighed.

  ‘I doth protest you mistake me for a…’

  ‘Cut the shit and tell me.’

  ‘I might have an acting job for you but it’s a little different.’

  Molly sat up straight and looked at him.

  ‘Go on,’ she gently coaxed.

  ‘It’s not on television or stage, in fact, it is real life. I need you to pretend to be engaged to someone.’

  ‘Listen, I’m an actress, not a prostitute. I know things have been hard, but I’m not that desperate! Yet.’

  Squirrel started to laugh and sat back a little, examining her.

  ‘You’re a pretty little thing and deserve better,’ he sighed. Molly gulped back her drink. She knew his charm assault. ‘How would you like to be treated like a princess for a say about three months?’

  ‘Please don’t wind me up,’ she groaned.

  ‘In lay man’s terms, how would you like to earn some good money? I see there’s scaffolding up around your home, and it’s going to cost to get that new roof, isn’t it?’

  ‘I can afford it,’ she partially lied, knowing the ten grand for a new roof and other bits were going to put a strain on her emergency fund.

  ‘Any other time, being that I am so successful,’ Squirrel grinned. ‘I would offer to lend you the money but this arrangement that I am proposing to you is far better.’

  Molly sat in the pub knowing that she needed money, and any extra cash would come in helpful. She was loathed to ask her parents. But she did have a secret tidy sum from the ‘kiss off’ she was given. It was to cover the remaining eighteen months of her contract, to go away and never be heard of again, after Tommy and his halo slipped by giving someone a five-finger shuffle.

  ‘I’ll listen, but that doesn’t mean I’ll do it,’ she eventually replied, taking off her duffle coat.

  ‘A friend of mine has got himself into a bit of a pickle. He’s been seeing this woman. Now he wasn’t to know she was the wife of one of his brother’s business associates who lives abroad. Thing is, my friend might have been rumbled, and this is going to cause all amount of problems for him.’

  ‘Why? Can’t he just stop seeing the woman and deny it?’

  ‘Oh, if life was that easy,’ Squirrel sighed, shaking his head. ‘If his brother finds out, he’s dead. If the bad man finds out, he’s dead. And it gets more complicated because this man and his wife are coming to stay in London for the next three months for business, and my friend needs a cover. They mix in the same social circles.’

  ‘Personally,’ Molly said, finishing her rum and coke quickly then pushing the empty glass towards Squirrel. ‘I think this friend of yours is a tosspot for screwing a married woman and deserves all he gets. Whether her husband is a bad man or not isn’t the question. He’ll probably be emotionally hurt when he finds out and so your friend needs a kicking.’

  ‘You’re not a nice person,’ he frowned, gesturing to the barman to get a refill.

  ‘And some crisps,’ she added. ‘And what do you mean by social circles?’

  ‘Parties, business functions and dinners. That’s what those sort of people do. It’s how they make money.’

  Molly realised he meant wealthy people and frowned. Squirrel leaned forward, and she could tell he was loathed to say something.

  ‘I know people who don’t have normal jobs,’ he said in a hushed tone. ‘They a
re very successful but it’s not by doing things that one would profess to be run of the mill.’

  ‘Gangsters,’ she half smiled, seeing him frown. ‘Mafia? Small time crooks? I’m not getting mixed up in that kind of rubbish.’

  ‘Entrepreneurs, silly, who need finance for their business ideas. Jamie just happens to have made a mistake that he keeps continuing to do on a regular basis.’

  ‘I’m really confused here,’ she said, smiling at the barman putting her drink on the table. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘He runs a string of boxing gyms across town called ‘Punch Box’. He’s very successful in his own right, but he’s gone off the rails a bit. Not sure what’s going on but I think he might be sick of being a little brother and wants to cause some waves,’ he sighed, sipping his drink. ‘Jamie’s a nice man, but he’s going to get in a whole heap of trouble for shitting on his brother’s doorstep, so to speak. If the bad man finds out it could cause trouble for David, and that would be pitiful. By pretending to be Jamie’s fiancé, he has a cover. Obviously, I thought of you immediately, being you’ve got fine acting skills.’

  Molly scratched her head. She still wasn’t sure what he was up to.

  ‘He has to meet you first,’ sighed Squirrel. ‘Jamie would have to see if he liked you. Not sure how you’re going to make out you met, and that, but I’ll leave it to you.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Just turned thirty-one.’

  ‘A child,’ she sighed. ‘What do I get out of this? I’m not jacking in my jobs.’

  ‘All you have to do is meet him when people are around and pretend you’re desperately in love. In return, you’ll go to nice places, get some new dresses. If it’s completed and the bad man goes back home none the wiser, you get a large sum of money. You’ll have expenses for this period, and I will be your guardian, so to speak.’

  Deep down she knew something didn’t sit well. Her cousin’s shifty expression and lack of eye contact led her to this conclusion.

  It was the reasoning behind it.

  ‘Why can’t he hire an escort?’ she asked, mulling it over.

  ‘He needs someone that’s not going to bring attention, that will fit in, who’s nice and plain.’ Squirrel realised what he said. ‘And you are a nice girl.’