Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Thank you, Street View.
I’ve adhered to User 1467’s instructions, and I’m gothed up in honour of Lucy in a short, crushed velvet dress with bell sleeves, and some big-holed fishnets with pixie boots. Since it’s late on a Monday night, the streets are empty, and my confidence at being in the outside world is growing fast. Instead of getting the driver to pull up right outside their place, I get dropped on the corner of their road. Not too far away from my destination, but enough to get my pulse racing, out in the open.
I climb the stone steps to the building to find a panel of apartment doorbells at the main entrance. I don’t press the one for the top floor, I just notice the name by the button.
The Harrisons.
Their surname, I guess.
Mr Harrison, the birthday boy. Turning forty years old in just a few minutes. I’m smiling to myself as I take out my phone. I always love being a gift for someone.
I click arrived on the app, and await my instructions.
Just letting you in now. Head up to the top floor and you’ll see our door.
A buzz sounds out and I hear the main lock click. I push open the heavy oak door and it reveals a Victorian tiled floor and a solid set of oak stairs. The place already gives off home vibes.
This is a different kind of booking to the others I’ve taken since Cannes. Much more… personal. It has an entirely different feel to it than being in someone’s workshop, or walking past security in an office block. This is a home I’m going to. A married couple sharing a special occasion, not just a client out for some regular fun time.
The Harrisons’ front door opens before I knock, and a sweet looking guy in glasses lets me in with a finger over his lips. I nod as I tiptoe past him into his hallway.
So, this must be User 1467.
He’s about six foot tall, his thick stance hugged tight by a patterned blue shirt over dark chinos. His hair is a light chestnut brown, and he’s clean shaven. His dimples are cute when he gives me a conspiratorial smile.
He leans in, and presses his mouth right to my ear.
“Barnaby has no idea whatsoever.” He points to the end of the hallway, and I hear the sound of a TV blaring. “He’s just through there, but here, come with me first. Let’s get ready!”
With that, my client takes my hand and leads me into their kitchen. This place is beautiful with its oak fronted cupboards. They have a cute hanging wall sign that says home is where the heart is, but someone has crossed out heart and put hard-on there instead. Silly humour. I like it. Plus, they have a ceramic cat cookie pot with a bobble headed policeman next to it, waggling his finger. I can tell I’m going to like this pair.
I’m grinning when User 1467 slides out a big chocolate birthday cake from one of the lower cupboards. He’s hidden it behind some cereal boxes.
“You’ve done fantastically well with your appearance,” he whispers. “You look just like Lucy.”
“Glad I could help.”
“You’ll do more than help. You’ll set his fantasies on fire.”
“Pixie boots sure are hot, aren’t they?”
His smile is so cute.
“When they are on a beauty like you. I don’t think they’d suit me quite so much. I wouldn’t make a very convincing Lucy.”
“I dunno about that,” I say. “You could give it a shot.”
His low chuckle is contagious.
“Please don’t suggest it to Barnaby. I don’t want to be giving him a striptease in crushed velvet. That’s what you’re here for.”
User 1467 produces two birthday candles in the shape of a 4 and a 0. He sticks them into the cake and lights them up.
“Ready?” he asks, and I nod as he hands the cake over to me. It’s a quality one. Heavy. The icing looks delicious.
My client checks his watch, and his excitement at his husband’s special day is palpable, written all over his face. At this rate he’ll be more excited than Barnaby.
“Yoo hoooo, coming through!” he shouts when midnight strikes, then gestures me on ahead of him into the hallway.
I join in with User 1467’s happy birthday to you song, holding the cake in front of me as I walk into their living room and find the treasured Barnaby relaxing on a burgundy leather Chesterfield. He’s in a far brighter shirt than his husband, in a rich brocade of red and gold with bright white trousers. Very flamboyant. His hair is darker, and he has a neatly trimmed beard, and oh wow, how he sits bolt upright at the sight of me. His eyes are wide, eyebrows high, as though he’s seeing a ghost. But I guess he is.
I’m the ghost of Lucy.