Page 5 of Tangled With the Wrong Guy
The four of them turned to the motionless heap beside the tree trunk.
‘Reckon it’ll be too hard to move him,’ said another.
‘Let’s just cling-film him to the tree,’ said another.
Oh my god.
‘Look!’ Chloe shot. ‘If you don’t leave, I’m calling security.’
The first guy looked at her, his head on one side. ‘You know what? For a tasty Brit chick, you’ve got no bleedin’ sense of humour. It’s his STAG do. It’s a fuckin’ prank. We’ll come back for him later.’
Chloe opened the browser on her phone, searching for a number to call, hoping the action would be enough to send them packing.
‘Oh no you don’t!’ said the second guy, and before she could react, he grabbed her phone and threw it onto the roof of the tall tomb. Smirking, not taking his eyes from hers, he took a long swig from his can of beer.
Chloe was speechless. ‘You … youwanker!’
The others made the infuriating ‘ooooo’ sound again.
She stood on tiptoe, craned her neck but couldn’t see her phone. She gave a little jump and glimpsed it nestled in the moss on the roof.
What do I do now?
She opened her mouth to abuse them some more, then hesitated. Five drunk men, one woman, only the dead to hear her scream. She should probably be more careful, less aggressive. The phone stealer was still watching her through narrowed, dark-brown eyes, and she didn’t like the look in them. While she’d take a guess the others were harmless Cockney muppets, this one gave her the chills.
One of them set about attaching their friend to the chewing gum tree with the roll of cling film that had been in the long cardboard box.
The victim looked up for a moment, confused, then his head lolled. Good grief, how much – and what? – had he imbibed? They’d probably been drinking all day. Concern nudged its way into Chloe’s contempt.
‘Stop that!’ she ordered. ‘He’s in no fit state.’
They ignored her. Cheered on by the others, the guy wrapping the clingfilm around the tree was on his third or fourth circuit, and the circling was making him dizzy. He fell over, and another picked up the roll and carried on. After several more circuits, the roll ran out.
The victim – the groom – was now sitting with his legs straight out in front of him, his arms and torso held tight against the tree by the cling film. His beret had fallen over his eyes; onlyhis nostrils, the fake curly moustache and his chin were visible above the red necktie.
The guys stood back to admire their handiwork, snapping photos on their phones.
‘Fuckin’ epic,’ said one.
Chloe bared her teeth. ‘GET. MY. PHONE.’
‘How’re we supposed to do that? I don’t see a ladder,’ said the guy who’d thrown it up there.Snake eyes.
It was all suddenly too much. Chloe was overwhelmed; tears threatened. She was so done with today, and with men. ‘You absolutetools.’ She batted away a tear. ‘You–’
‘Just shut the fuck up,’ interrupted Snake Eyes, opening and shutting one hand in ablah blah blahgesture.
Chloe made an effort to switch back to anger. She didn’t want to cry in front of them.
The cling-wrapped groom let out a groan, and Chloe saw that the cocoon was tight, and the pitiful chap was in a bad way. Parking her rage, she went over and bent down. ‘Hey, idiot. Are you okay?’ She put down her flowers and pushed up his beret … and found herself looking into a pair of enormous, panicked, deep blue eyes. They reminded her of someone.
And then he threw up, all over her trainers and her flowers.
‘Wey hey!!’ called one of the lads, and the others joined in the cheer.
Any remaining self-control evaporated. Chloe picked up the discarded cardboard tube the clingfilm had been rolled around – it looked good and thick – and flew at Snake Eyes, hitting him as hard as she could on the arms, legs, his head. The release of emotion felt fantastic.
The other three cheered some more.
