Becky: Part Seventeen

This is the seventeenth part of a fiction serial, in 756 words.

Following the Zoo date, things moved on for us. Although Becky’s job made meeting up hard, she got around that by suggesting I stay at her place when she was on early shift. We both got back there around the same time, and I soon got used to Fliss and Jackie when they were there. Fliss was actually very amusing, self-deprecatingly hilarious in the way that some very fat girls are. Jackie was okay, but wary of me, as Fliss used to date men before meeting her. I would have liked to have told her that there was no danger of me trying to get off with Fliss, but didn’t want to appear rude.

What started with me bringing a few toiletries and a change of clothes ended with me having my own space for stuff in Becky’s wardrobe. I laughed out loud when she showed me the three-inch gap that she had managed to create for me, and usually hung my things on a hook on the back of the door instead. She certainly didn’t get any tidier in honour of my presence, and creeping out during the night to pee, I had to be very careful to not trip over the usual piles of her stuff. Most weeks, I was there at least three nights, and when her shifts had finished, Becky would usually stay at mine for three in return.

Fortunately, she didn’t mess up my place quite as badly, but some nights when I got home from work, I would find the small house a lot worse than I had ever left it.

And she got to meet my parents one Sunday, for the usual blow-out lunch. My mum was excited to see her, and chatted as if she had always known her. But that was my mum all over. Dad was less impressed, it had to be said. I didn’t need to discuss it with him, as I had a good idea why. Becky didn’t rush to help to clear up. She didn’t bring anything, like wine, or flowers. And she talked a lot about her job. All the time. Despite his outward friendliness, he was something of a traditionalist, and he wasn’t used to young women like Becky. Not at all.

We also managed that long weekend in Barcelona, at the end of May. We both took enough time off to get there on the Friday, and come back on the Monday. Becky had a guide book, and a list of things she just had to see. The thought of relaxing on the city’s beach was very far from her mind, and we hit all the spots from just after breakfast, until they closed. Parc Guell, Tibidabo, the central market, Sagrada Familia, Gaudi Museum, up and down the Ramblas, and even the illuminated fountain at night. It was amazing what she managed to squeeze in to that short time, and she took countless photos on her phone too.

Despite all that rushing around, we had a great time. Staying at a small hotel in the old gothic quarter, and eating far too much tapas whenever we spotted a nice place. There was no sense of awkwardness at all, and it felt like one long wonderful date. On the plane home, she told me she was going to start a blog. I had heard about those, but didn’t know anyone who did one. She was going to call it ‘Becky and Frankie’s World’, and keep a record of everything we did together. I really liked the sound of that. It had a ring of permanace about it.

Once we got back, I finally got invited to visit her parents for dinner one Saturday night. It was a mare of a drive though, all the way out to Hertford. They had a nice house, bigger than my family home in Gidea Park, and it was full of expensive things. I was told to call her dad Dougie, and her mum Marie. I later found out that their names were Douglas and Maria, but they were sticking to their claimed Scottish background. I also discovered, much to my delight, that they hardly knew Scotland at all. Even their grandparents had been born in London, and although they had spent a two-week holiday near Loch Ness once, they hadn’t even been to Edinburgh. I never did get why they were so desperate to be Scottish, just because their name was Maclaren.

But I learned never to mention that to any of them.

35 thoughts on “Becky: Part Seventeen

    1. In my experience in London, people with any vaguely Scottish or Irish connection, perhaps a name, or a distant relative, always thinks of themselves as coming from that country. Maybe it’s a ‘belonging’ thing? It irritated me no end, so that’s how it ended up in the story. ๐Ÿ™‚
      Best wishes, Pete.

      Liked by 1 person

  1. I went out with lass once who worked as a travel agent and spoke with a perfect English accent. I heard her on the phone one day with her mum and struggled to understand her as she went in to a full on broad Scottish accent; very strange ๐Ÿ™‚

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Becky is a tad annoying not to mention rude. Who doesn’t offer to clean up after being invited to a meal with the parents? Or take some chocolates? She sounds a bit selfish to me.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Spoiled a little by her parents, and not much experience of adult social skills. Most girlfriends (and boyfriends) have at least one niggling flaw. ๐Ÿ™‚
      Best wishes, Pete.

      Like

  3. (1) The elementary school teacher laughed out loud when young Frankie showed her the three-inch gap between his teeth.
    (2) Becky knows a grouchy Green Party activist who wrote a story about rising sea levels entitled “The Inch that Stole Isthmus.”
    (3a) “I was there at least three nights…” At one inch per night, the most Frankie can ever look forward to in Becky’s wardrobe is seven inches.
    (3b) However, Frankie might get one more inch out of the wardrobe if he tries this approach with Becky:
    โ™ฌHold me, love me
    Hold me, love me
    I ain’t got nothing but love, babe
    Eight days a week!โ™ฌ
    (4) Did Frankie ever stop to think that creeping out during the night to pee might creep out the neighbors? (They should put away their night goggles.)
    (5) Becky “didnโ€™t bring anything, like wine, or flowers.” She also didn’t bring any elbow grease.
    (6) “It was amazing what she managed to squeeze in to that short time…” But no more amazing than all the clothes Frankie was able to squeeze into the three-inch gap in Becky’s wardrobe.
    (7) “On the plane home, she told me she was going to start a blog” about the safety of industrial glue in the airline industry.
    (8a) According to the cowboy, who rode a gelding, it was a nightmare of a cattle drive with all those Herefords.
    (8b) His fellow cowboys, though, were merry men who got a kick out of shouting, “Git along, dogies!”
    (8c) All of them had to park their giddy-up at the end of the trail.
    (9) My friend Eliot derived no happiness from his two-week holiday near Loch Ness. For one thing, the creature was untouchable.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. What a frightening prospect to have your daily life shared by someone else on a blog. Thank goodness my husband has never thought of that idea. And I am not familiar with “mare” as in “a mare of a ride.” Here we would say “a bear of a ride.”

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks, John. Her choices were very similar to mine when I went to that city. ๐Ÿ™‚ Though both times I have never actually been inside the Sagrada. The queues were too long.
      Best wishes, Pete.

      Liked by 1 person

  5. I know it’s considered common, but I think you should at least offer to bring something and then offer to help with the clean up. But I’m a product of my upbringing on that. Otherwise, I like Becky very much.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Beckyโ€™s parents remind me so much of the many here who are obsessed with their Irish heritage. Okay, I admit to being one of them. Well, maybe not obsessed, but because my grandfather immigrated from Ireland and I grew up listening to stories about the old country, Iโ€™ve always been fascinated by that part of my heritage. Anyway, sorry for rambling.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. No need to apologise. That is EXACTLY why I wrote this into the story. It irritates me, so irritates Frankie too! ๐Ÿ™‚ It would be like me walking around claiming to be Swedish or German. Nonsense!
      Best wishes, Pete.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. That used to drive me mad in London. People from vague Irish and Scottish backgrounds who hammered on about it all the time. That’s why I chose it to annoy Frankie in this story. ๐Ÿ™‚
      (Not so much with the Welsh though)
      Best wishes, Pete.

      Liked by 1 person

  7. Well done Pete, obviously you are serializing Becky to tie-in with your new movie ‘Becky’ now out in cinemas. Please reveal to me the secrets of your success – you dark horse, you ๐Ÿ˜‰๐Ÿ‘

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It would be a lightweight British rom-com, I assure you. Maybe I should contact Richard Curtis, and check if Colin Firth is available to play the Dad? ๐Ÿ™‚
      Cheers, Pete.

      Like

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