Writing

I was asked what sort of things I write....Well, aside from the paying writing, which I won't discuss here (sorry folks, but I have an editor to consider)I'm also writing a novella (a posh short book) and I've a half written comedy novel sitting gathering dust.

So, in the interests of entertainment and because nothing terribly interesting has happened for the last couple of days, here's the first chapter of the comedy novel. Please bear in mind that there is a reason it's sitting gathering dust....

Patrick’s fifteenth birthday was on the 1st of September 1939, two days later war broke out and he was relieved of his virginity by a working girl called Sadie. She said she was doing him a favour; no one wanted to die a virgin and she was sure Hitler himself was going to come knocking and kill them all. Patrick’s mother, Sadie’s best friend, was out working as a hostess in a gentlemen’s club in the West End. Sadie popped round to see if Patrick and his baby sister, Eileen were safe as war had been declared officially at 11am, some ten hours previously. She walked through the back door of Rosie’s little house in Tooting and found Patrick sitting naked in a small tin bath in the kitchen.

“What the – Sadie! I’m having a wash!”
“Oh don’t mind me! I’ve seen it all before. I’ll shut my eyes so you can get out and keep decent.”
“Thank you.” Patrick waited until Sadie closed her eyes and then he stood up, looked around and sighed, “Um, you’re sitting on my towel.” Her large blue eyes opened and she spoke to his hands which were attempting to conceal his embarrassment unsuccessfully, “My, you have grown… up. It only seems like yesterday you were still a little boy. Doesn’t time fly…hmm.” She appeared to drift off into a reverie inspired by Patrick’s naked and still wet body; he didn’t look fifteen.
In Patrick’s opinion Sadie looked like a Saturday morning in bed; comfortable, warm, dreamy, but unmade. The hem on her dress was always coming unstitched or the lining came away as she took off her coat or she couldn’t remove her heavily darned cardigan because it forced the tiny buttons on her blouse to pop and skitter to the floor. Sadie had known Patrick all his life, or so it seemed to him. He couldn’t remember a time when the little kitchen wasn’t full of squawking women trying on each others’ clothes, laughing, smoking, sniggering, drinking tea, cackling, painting fingernails, smiling, painting lips, giggling. Sadie was the loudest and depending on her current ‘gentleman friend’ she often stayed in the front parlour of their two-up, two-down house. Sadie was fond of telling Rosie, Patrick’s mother, that her house was the only place she could call home; tea was always in the pot and the welcome was warm.
Patrick was still standing cold and naked in the kitchen, “Um, Sadie, my towel?”
“Hmm, yes. Here you are Patrick. Shall I close my eyes again? Not really much point is there? I’ll put the kettle on shall I? Nice cup of tea. Or maybe we should have something stronger – seeings what’s happened.”
“What? Seeing me without my clothes on? And would you please get off my towel, I’m freezing here Sadie, please?”
“No you silly billy, not seeing your little willy, well actually not so little, quite large actually… The bloody war – that’s what’s happened. Mr Chamberlain said this morning on the wireless that we are ‘now at war with Germany’ – that’s what he said. Awful it is, awful.” She stopped to sigh and sniff. “All them poor boys are going to get sent out to their death. My Dad died in the Great War you know.” She sniffed again and her eyes looked watery, high spots of colour had appeared on her pale powdered face. Patrick stepped out of the tin bath and tugged on the towel that was still firmly wedged between Sadie’s shapely backside and the hard wooden kitchen chair. “Alright! Alright! You only needed to ask you know.” Finally Sadie lifted herself and let him get to the thin and threadbare cloth masquerading as a bath towel. Patrick wrapped the white towel with its red stripe around his skinny waist. At last! That was worse than showers after Mr Dawson’s football practice at school. “I think I’d better go and get dressed while you’re making a cup of tea Sadie.”
“Were you going to put your jim-jams on Patrick? Don’t let me stop you.” She stood up, made towards the sink and looked over her shoulder at him, “They said on the wireless that we must carry on as usual and not panic in these difficult times… You’re not panicking are you?” She gave a high-pitched giggle, turned towards him, leaned her elbows on the sink behind her, pulled back her shoulders and shook out her long red hair nervously. She knows I’m looking at her breasts. Tits. Melons. Thrupp’nies. Knockers. Stop it! “No, no. I’m not panicking, but I am getting cold, so if you will excuse me for a moment…”
“I’m panicking Patrick. I don’t know what to do!” She gave a tight smile before her mouth opened to a perfect O, she seemed to break somehow and her words came out in whispers: “We’re all going to die you know… The Fuhrer will send his Boche troops and murder us all in our beds. He’ll gas us, bomb us, and invade us. Oh bloody hell. Whatever will I do Patrick?” Sadie began sobbing and heaving as she shook. Patrick looked down at the puddle of bathwater at his feet, he bit his lip. Does she have to do this now? I wish she’d at least wait until I’m wearing more than this pathetic towel. “I’ll just…um, clothes…” He took a step towards the hall door just as Sadie let out a howl that would not have disgraced any of the residents of Battersea. “Don’t leave me Patrick! Don’t leave me! We’re all going to die!”
“Sadie, we’re all going to die one day.” I hope that sounds sympathetic and she’ll stop crying. Mind you, all that heaving does make her blouse gape – I think I can see her brassiere…Bloody hell, think of something else; think of her crying and all that snot…I have to get some clothes on, now!
“Patrick, Patrick, have you come over all funny? Are you scared stiff too? What do you think will happen now? Will it be quick and over in a flash? Or will it go on for ages?”
“Will what be quick?” Patrick asked warily.
“The war”
“Ah. Yes. Well, I, um. I don’t know.”
“But you must know something Patrick – all them expensive lessons – and wasn’t your housemaster a Jerry? What’s happened to him then? Was he a spy?”
Patrick paused. Father Lazlo was Polish… “I don’t really know what to think Sadie. I’m sure Mr. Chamberlain and the government know what they’re doing and I suppose it’s not up to us to question it all. But I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like for those people in Poland – to just have someone walk in and take over… to be powerless.” They both stood silently. “Well, I’d better get dressed.” He took a stride towards dignity but was stopped again by Sadie who now threw herself against his bare and hairless chest and began to sob. Patrick stood still, Sadie’s Marcel Waved head barely came to his shoulders, he had been as tall as the masters at the end of last term and was often mistaken for a Sixth-former or even a gentleman. He patted Sadie’s narrow back as if she were a strange overfriendly dog which he needed to placate while his other hand was still clinging to his modesty.
“Oh Patrick, you’re so calm and sensible. Your mum is so lucky to have you back home you know.” Sadie’s voice was only a little muffled by his almost dry chest. She was whimpering and her chest was heaving, her blouse still gaping with each intake of air. Her hot breath upon his left nipple was not going unnoticed. Patrick tried to focus on Sadie’s less appealing features like her small, pointed and pronounced teeth, but that made him think about her mouth rimmed with scarlet lipstick. He tried to picture her overlong toenails which scratched the ground as she tottered in her high heeled sandals but that made him imagine her slim ankles, shapely calves, white rounded thighs rising up to her perfectly formed – his breathing was becoming ragged. The towel was now pointless.
“Patrick! You naughty boy!” said Sadie slowly, “Well I never! And all for me…What are we going to do now?” She walked her pink shell fingernails up his chest.
“Sadie, I’m…I do apologise. I must -”
“Come on,” she whispered huskily just like Patrick had seen at the movies, the same movies she had seen, “Into the front parlour. Room doesn’t get used that much, curtains are closed and I’ve heard the settee is quite comfy.”
“But…Sadie” SHUT UP!! This is a chance to get your leg over you stupid bugger! She might be a few years older than you and she’s done the rounds a bit, well more than a bit, but she’s female and she’s got great knockers. If I’m lucky she might even let me have a look at them. So shut up and let her take you.
Sadie took Patrick’s hand and gently led him into the darkened room. His heart was pounding so much he couldn’t hear all the wirelesses in his street tuned to the Home Service, the 9pm bulletin, all talking war with one solemn voice.

Bloody hell. Bloody hell. This is it. She’s going to let me…I’m going to…Bloody hell. Stay calm. Stay calm. The parlour was cool and quiet, dark heavy Victorian furniture set like a stage waiting for its next scene to be played out in front of the framed audience of long dead relatives reproduced in faded sepia tones. Sadie’s only concern was with her living audience of one for whom she slowly lifted her pale blue cotton skirt, slipped her cream cami-knickers down over her rounded hips and allowed them to slide to the floor where she elegantly stepped out of them and then threw them over Great Uncle Charlie who remained unperturbed in his mahogany frame. She turned away from him, bent to remove her strappy sandals and slipped her small feet onto the worn carpet. She quietly laid herself upon the narrow ageing couch, lifting her skirt again and allowing her spectator his first sight of a woman. Her white thighs were luminous against the dull brown swirls that had once been flowers on the upholstery, but Patrick’s eyes could not move from her coppery pubic hair. He stood, towel still in hand. I’m not quite sure what to do now. I mean, I know what to do, but what does she expect? “Um, can I um, kiss you?”
Sadie giggled, “Not many want to kiss. I usually charge extra for that you know.”
Patrick frowned.
“Don’t worry Patrick love. This one’s on the house. This is for the war effort.” She gently pulled him on top of her then kissed his lips and whispered, “We need to make an effort to make sure you don’t die a virgin… Don’t look at me like that; I know I’m your first. Drop that bloody old towel!”
He did as he was told. His knees were between hers and his hands held fast onto the couch, Bloody hell. Oh God.
“You know where to put it, don’t you love?” Sadie was looking at the ceiling.
“Yes, of course. But I … I don’t want to hurt you.”
Sadie’s mouth puckered a little, she let go of her skirt and dropped her hand, but not her eyes, to guide him. She did not laugh, smirk, wince or yelp as Patrick thought she might, Sadie was silent. He kept his eyes trained on the arm of the couch, another grubby patch where the flower pattern had become a brown pattern with darker bits. Great Uncle Charlie looked on impassively; he was responsible for the stain on the couch; half a pint of stout spilled as he experienced his final heart attack brought on by the discovery of his only niece’s expecting another in the long family line of bastards. With a gentle creak from the couch Patrick’s first attempt was over quickly. He sat back on his towel, “Was that alright?”
“Yes. It was fine.” She drew her knees together and pulled her skirt over them.
Patrick looked down at himself. He grinned I’ve done it! I’ve bloody done it! That was…bloody hell. He looked back at Sadie, “Can I kiss you again?”
Sadie smiled. He tried to kiss her gently with tenderness but he found his hand pushing back her skirt. “Can I? Again?” She checked her brown wristwatch and nodded. He climbed back into position; she lifted her skirt and dropped her knees out again. Concentrate this time, must concentrate. Trains, the Northern line.
On his second attempt Patrick made it all the way from Morden to the Embankment with changes at Stockwell and Victoria Station. He was keen to try a third attempt, this time going around all of the Circle line but by then she was developing fabric burns on her delicate white rump and needed to return to her paying duties. Sadie stood up and shook her waved hair out a little as if it were wet, “They’ll all be out and about now. Seeings it’s the war and everything. I ‘spect it’ll be a busy night like, could be busy as Christmas or New Year. Well, that’s you sorted out, sorted out good and proper! Anytime you fancy another go….” Sadie picked up her knickers and began to fold them, “If I’m free, like. But don’t go telling your mum – she might tell me off!” She giggled, put her high-heeled sandals back on and walked into the kitchen. Patrick followed obediently, towel back in place around his waist, “Thank you Sadie, thank you very much. You’ve been extremely generous to me.” Is that right? Should I be thanking her? Should I tell her I love her? Should be in love with her now, or her with me? Is that why she did it?
“Oh do give over love! Any of the girls round here would have dropped their knickers if you’d looked their way or followed them down a dark alley. I can think of quite a few who’d love to meet you and your crown jewels in a dark alley! With your posh ways, you’re a proper gentleman you are. I suppose that school can’t have been all bad then…” She looked away from Patrick, outside to the darkened sky where the stars had begun to come out. Sadie raised her eyebrows and returned her concentration to the underwear she held in her small hand, “Sometimes Patrick,” she looked back up at him and smiled a little, “It’s nice to be in charge…Oh look at that clock, it’s almost chucking out time over at the King’s Head, I’ve some regulars there, better get going. Give my love to your mum – tell her I popped round to check on you.” Sadie scooped up her handbag and shoved in her folded knickers, she caught Patrick’s eye, “Saves time. And washing.”