His Ex-Kentish Ex-Girlfriend

Beau Ghee, writer of sex-adventures and part-time sleuth, bashed away at his manual typewriter and typed in the remaining words, “the end”. He leant back in his squeaky office chair with kaftan-covered arms behind his greasy head and smiled smugly to himself. He couldn’t help thinking that Helpless Buxom Women would be a published success. He could feel it in his bones, and in his groin too.

Beau Ghee, Gunbridge Bells’ unsung hero, was the love child of an Indian biochemist and a French prostitute. He had never known his natural parents, just of them, as he had been adopted soon after birth and had been raised by a local Romanov family in Gunbridge Bells. He had always felt different - a flamboyant loner, heavy smoker and hoarder of junk shop scarves, ceramics and ornaments.

Beau lit a cigarette from his existing cigarette and puffed hard - too hard. Years of chain smoking had taken a toll on his health and on the stained net curtains of his study. He suddenly felt hungry and decided he’d make lunch before starting on his new novel, Where’s Pussy Gone?.

As he was sauntering down the hallway towards the kitchen there was a gentle tap at the door. As he opened it he was surprised to see his ex-girlfriend, Shirley Knott, standing there, hands on wide hips, dressed in a smart navy-blue suit and a hat that looked like a stewardess’s.

Beau stood there in astonishment for a moment before finally stuttering, “Shirley! What a surprise! Do come in!”

Shirley seemed pleased to see him, and as he led her in to the immaculate, if old-ladyish living room that he kept for “best”, Beau relaxed a bit.

“Still tea with milk and 2 sugars?” Beau offered remembering Shirley’s beverage tastes.

“No, make that a black coffee and Splenda, I’m low carbing” Shirley said with a flounce and a slight wiggle of her huge hips.

As he was making tea and coffee, Beau wondered why Shirley was speaking in a heavy Brooklyn accent. They’d only just broken up a month ago, and before that her speech was as Kentish as hops and garden gnomes, slightly estuary in fact. Why was she speaking like an American? Beau shrugged, and carried on with the hot drinks. But it niggled him and made him slightly uneasy.

As he rolled the hostess trolley into the living room. Shirley spied some Mr. Kipling “Fancies” on a rose embellished china plate and winced audibly. Beau took a comfy armchair in front of her and began nibbling on a pink Fancy, his favourite.

“So, Shirley, I have to say I'm a bit surprised to see you. What’s up?” He asked, licking some crumbs off his lips.

"Well, George Takei has invited me back to the States to look after his house while he’s away on vacation. He wants me to water his plants and feed his chihuahuas. It’ll be great going back home, but it's a shame it’s to the West Coast, Los Angeles. Those people aren’t as cultured as us New Yorkers.” Shirley glazed with a smile on her cold-sore encrusted mouth.

Beau sat erect and slowly fingered his moustache. He couldn’t work it out: Shirley was still speaking with the Brooklyn accent but it sounded quite natural, not put on. She sat like an American, spoke like one, and yet as far as he could remember, she had never once stepped foot in the USA, or anywhere else outside of England. The truth was, Shirley, despite the air-hostess type attire and the tales of going back “home”, had been phobic about flying ever since he’d known her. Indeed, they had once been on an aeroplane about to fly 45 minutes to Amsterdam, when Shirley had a toilet accident, became hysterical and had to be restrained in a straight jacket and removed from the aircraft. He smiled fondly at the memory.

Beau decided to address this niggling dilemma full on.

“Shirley, why are you talking that way, you know... with a Brooklyn accent?”

“Whaddaya mean?” Shirley, almost leaped up from the sofa in a mix of both surprise and irritation. “I was born in Brooklyn to Nutzie and Hymie Goldshaker, I only came to the UK 5 months ago on business." She petulantly took a sip of hot coffee.

“Shirley, you were born in Doombridge, Kent – I've met your mum and dad, Ethel and Roy. We played snap with them only 6 weeks ago, don’t you remember?”

Beau watched as Shirley became redder, a look he had once found attractive, but now found unsettling. He knew an outburst was to come. Sure enough, she bolted upright and pointed an accusing finger at him, shrieking, “I’m leaving right now! I came here to tell you some news, and apparently you're not willing to listen! Instead you want to question my very existence!" Flailing her arms, she abruptly and probably deliberately knocked over her half-finished cup of coffee.

Beau swiftly picked up the crocheted doily on the coffee table and began mopping up the coffee spill. “I’m really so sorry Shirley. So what’s the news? I’d really like to hear”.

Shirley, still standing, calmed a little and said, “We're getting married, me and Keith Kuntz! I’ve booked the Scientology Hall for the 12th of June and just wondered if you’d like to be best man?”.

Beau, shocked for a second time, again fingered his moustache while desperately trying to remember where he’d heard the name “Keith Kuntz” before.

To be continued

– Sonia Diamond