Summerhouse Blues

And then, just when I really thought I was going to die the cavalry arrived. At first I thought I'd lost it, that I was dreaming but then it got so loud that even I could hear it clearly, the roar of a dozen or so high powered bikes pulling into the drive. Jack drops me like a sack of potatoes, goes to the window, and pulls back the curtains.

"What the fuck..."

He dashes downstairs and now it's my turn to crawl to the window and peek out. There in the drive, all lit up by the security lights, is a ring of bikes and, right in the centre there's Rhonda standing tall with some sort of spanner thing in her hand. Casually she uses it to take out one of the Merc's headlights and I can see from the dents all over the body it's not the first time she's hit the car. Another back handed swipe and the windscreen's gone. At this point Jack reaches the front door. I opened the window to hear what's what.

"What the fuck..." Jack shouts. "Leave my fucking motor alone."

"I've come to pick up my boxers," Rhonda says casually as, once again, she swings the spanner thing at the Merc.

"Your boxers?" Jack is confused as fuck, as, quite frankly so am I.

"Yeah, seems I dropped them here earlier when I was screwing Tracy," Rhonda replies.

It was only much later that Rhonda told me that she'd been down at the clubhouse when she picked up my phone call and all she could hear was Jack bellowing at me about boxer shorts. That's all she needed to hear, that and the simple fact I was calling her at two in the morning. Most of the gang were still with her at that time of the night so it wasn't as if she had to round up a posse or anything.

"You were screwing my wife?" Jack's confusion is almost amusing except, well, we're not home yet.

"I don't think you'll find that she's your wife any more; she's mine now," Rhonda says sternly. She looks up at the window and sees me. "Grab your stuff, darlin'," she shouts, "just enough to go on the bike; you're coming home with me."

That's all I needed to hear; I throw on a tracksuit over my jim-jams, put on some trainers, shove a few bits in a holdall, nothing much, just some clean undies and my toothbrush and then hurry downstairs, or hurry as much as I can with the stabbing pain that's coming from my ribs. When I get to the door Jack bars the way but by now the bikers can see what a mess he's made of my face and the mood is getting ugly.

"Do you know who I am?" Jack snarls. "Do you know what I do to people who fuck me about?"

"I know exactly who you are, Jack Mason, and I know exactly what you think is going to happen but, before you make any stupid moves let me just assure you that if any harm whatsoever comes to Tracy, or me, or any of the crew, even so much as a snagged fingernail, then Dawed Hussain might get to know what happened to that shipment of charlie that disappeared in the marshes last month, get me?"

"How do you know about...?" And then Jack stops. Even when he's this drunk Jack knows when to stop talking and, more importantly, when he's beaten. "Here, you want her, take her, the fucking slag's no use to me anyway." He grabs my arm and throws me out of the door. I stagger down the front step, lose my footing and, as I fall to the ground I hear a collective gasp from the surrounding bikers. Then I feel a hand on my arm helping me up, her hand. I struggle to my feet and smile through the tears.

"Go to the bike, darlin'. We're nearly finished here. I just need to..." And with that she swings at Jack with the spanner thing and he falls to the ground howling.

"You hurt her, I hurt you, and if you ever, ever even so much as touch her again I'll hurt you so bad you'll spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair, get it? Better still, just keep right out of my way. I never, ever, want to see you, or anybody connected with you, ever again. And remember, one slip, one little slip and Hussain gets the news, is that completely understood?" All the while Rhonda was punching home her words with a series of kicks to Jack's groin.

"U-h-understood," Jack groaned.

Rhonda turned to where I stood next to her bike.

"Come along, darlin', it's time I took you home." She tossed me her spare helmet, put the spanner thing in the panniers, we got on the bike and with me snuggled in behind her we roared off into the night and freedom.

Epilogue

Well, would you believe it but it's barely a week after Rhonda's rescue and Jack's body is only found washed up on Canvey Island beach. The coppers found my mobile number in his wallet and I got called in to identify the body and, believe me, it wasn't pretty. Rhonda hadn't exactly been gentle with him but who ever it was who had done this had been far, far rougher. They told me that he'd been dead long before he'd gone in the water and that whoever put him there had wanted the body to be found; apparently there are plenty of places the body could have been dumped where it would just disappear into the North Sea never to be seen again. They grilled me pretty hard asking me if I knew anyone who held a grudge against him. Hah, you'd have to search far and wide to find anyone in Essex who didn't have a grudge against him but I played dumb, even I know that grassing to the coppers can be unhealthy. The grapevine has it that Dawed Hussain found out what had happened to his charlie and that was that, game over. Rhonda assured me that she'd kept quiet and it wasn't her that had let the secret out but, as she pointed out, if she'd known Jack's involvement then it wasn't exactly the best kept secret in town.

Anyway Jack didn't leave a will and, after a bit of to and fro it turned out that, as I was still technically his wife, I got the lot, well, the lot after various vultures had had their share. I managed to sell the house for well over a million and I was more than happy to see it go; I never, ever, wanted back in there again. As for the clubs, there were various factions only too keen to move in on Jack's share and a tough lawyer friend of Rhonda's made sure I didn't do too badly. All in all it worked out as enough to set me up nicely and a good bit over to invest in a local building firm and now Betty's Builders employs quite a few of the girls from the club and is large enough to take on the big boys. Rhonda is still the boss while I run the office and look after the books. Turns out when you get down to it that book keeping is just sums and is easy-peasy; who'd have thought it, a thickie like me helping run a business.

Rhonda and me, well, after I moved in and saw the state of her place I just had to set to sorting it out for her, it's the least I could do after all she's done for me and, once I'd given it a good top-to-bottom and spent quite a bit of Jack's cash here and there, I'm beginning to get it looking pretty decent. Rhonda moans about having to take her boots off because of the new carpets and how she preferred those battered old armchairs I threw out when I got the new three piece suite but, secretly, I think she rather likes it. She certainly likes my cooking; if her jeans get any tighter around the waist I'll end up having to put her on a diet. She says I fuss too much but there's a smile on her face when she does so.

As for the rest, well, I look after Rhonda and she looks after me; I'm her girl and she makes sure that everybody knows it. And if we both like a bit of rough and tumble in the bedroom, and other rooms for that matter, I know deep, deep in my heart that she would never, ever hurt me, we love each other far too much for that.

Glossary

An American previewer told me that they struggled with some of the terms used. I have therefore added a glossary although I'm not sure how many of these are British only and how many are commonly used the other side of the pond.

Knickers -- women's undergarments - panties - not those stupid trousers worn by golfers.

Dodgy -- not quite legal
Casualty - E.R.
Copper - policeman
Blues and twos - blue flashing lights and two tone siren used by police
Norton Commando - one of the greatest motor bikes ever produced along with the Vincent Black Shadow and the Triumph Bonneville - don't even talk to me about Harley Davidson, Ducati or, heaven help us, Japanese iron
Throw a wobbler - lose your temper
Keeping up with the Joneses - buying products because the neighbours have brought them, suburban one-up-manship.
Shut my trap - keep quiet
Slapping - beating
Stroppy -- Angry or argumentative
Cuppa - cup of tea.
Dozy little cow - dim witted woman
Kylie - Kylie Minogue - pop icon
Loo - toilet - polite term
Bushed - tired
Pot Noodles - cheap fast food snack of little food value eaten mostly by impoverished students and those who don't know how to cook. In USA known as Ramen, dehydrated noodles for the microwave
Tizzy - confused state
Pork pie -- minced or chopped spicy pork in a pastry case usually eaten cold
Easy-peasy - very easy
Gagging for it - (very) ready for sex
Diddle - play with yourself
Tough tittie - Hard luck

Wickes - The UK equivalent of Home Depot
Tickled my fancy -- 'amused me' but can be used sexually as 'aroused me'.
Bogs - restrooms - vulgar term
Tescos -- well known UK supermarket chain
Birds - (young) women
Don't make me laugh - expression of disbelief as in "You must be joking"
Grub - food
Twig - understand
Boxers - boxer shorts - a type of (male) underwear
Tush - backside
Pissed as a fart - very inebriated
En-suite - small bathroom directly attached to a bedroom and for the exclusive use of that bedroom
Charlie - cocaine
Essex marshes - remote part of Essex bordering the north sea and notorious for it's use by persons smuggling drugs from Holland
Canvey Island - Low lying area on the North Bank of the Thames - not actually an island except after severe flooding.
Grassing -- telling tales -- especially to the police