CLEANER II: Chapter One - Part Seven

Happy New Year to all FinnFans! 


DAHLIA

  

Melissa was the one to hail the cab, leading me to the edge of the road. I went after her, looking at the blond curls flowing down from her head, mildly dazed. What I was seeing wasn’t reality as I knew it; it really wasn’t. When I stopped at the curb, my own newly darkened hair swung into view and the glimpse of it made me jump.

This wasn’t right. None of it was.

Melissa raised her arm, trying to flag down a taxi. One went by without stopping and she turned to me, throwing her eyes to the heavens in a comradely way as though we were just two friends on holiday together – as though this preposterous and faintly sick exchange wasn’t actually taking place. The little smile she gave me before she turned away again disturbed me more than any part of this; it was so weightless; detached from the potency of what was happening to us right now.

I reached for her to touch her back and turn her round; to tell her that maybe we should slow things down a little; have a night or two just to get used to the hair change before we rushed on to the next part; but as I did so she stepped away, calling, “Taxi!” more urgently as one slowed and pulled up.

I looked at it dopily, telling myself I should still say something but unable to somehow now that it was there and she was opening the door. Melissa climbed in awkwardly, struggling with her bulk and, not knowing what else to do, I climbed in after her, noticing the unfamiliar pinch and lack of flexibility my rounder tummy gave me. Standing up it wasn’t noticeable to me, but sitting or bending accentuated the extra mass, making it undeniably apparent.

I closed the door after us and Melissa gave the driver the directions then threw me a smile. Her face was radiant, her eyes imbued with their own shimmer of delight. Again, I opened my mouth to say something, and her eyes flickered down to my lips, sensing it; maybe even sensing the intent of what I might say. She spoke immediately, but the word seemed only a holding device, to fill the gap between us while her mind floundered to find something of substance to say.

“So...”

I closed my own mouth, my own side of the potential dialogue stymied. The thoughts in my head were so fractious, the drive to voice them was flimsy; barely enough push to get it moving. I was confused and very unsure of my ability to make a decision either way. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go through with it suddenly. I did. I just had my doubts. Those doubts weren’t enough to make me stop it with any great passion. I was just as likely to go with the flow as long as Melissa kept driving.

And Melissa kept on driving on as though she was the one who wanted it, not me.

We pulled up at the hotel and there was an odd moment of still expectation that bewildered me until I realised it was because Melissa and the driver were waiting for me to pay. I was the one in the fancy clothes. I was the one with the money. Flustered, I handed the man probably more than he was asking for and we got out.

Again I felt as though I was only following as Melissa walked up to the doors and went inside. Is this what it will feel like when our roles are reversed, I thought, when I... become... Melissa?

And do I really want that?

Melissa pressed the button for the lift and we waited painstakingly. She must have sensed the silence between us now – she must have – and I wondered if this wasn’t another element of the transformation, as our sense of status and identity shifted. We had been close to being equals of a sort since our decision to do this had come; during the journey here to Greece. Soon that wouldn’t strictly be true anymore and neither of us could know how that would feel – not over an extended period.

The lift arrived and we went inside. Melissa looked like she was going to speak but a family entered after us, effectively gagging her. Instead she looked at me, holding my gaze, and I looked back.

Could she the fear in me as clearly as I could see the verve in her?

I had thought her a reluctant participant on the whole, but the closer we got, the more her inhibitions seemed to dissolve. For some reason that unsettled me more.

Why was I so afraid? This was what I wanted.

It was what I wanted.

I bumped into Melissa when we reached my hotel room door. I had been so caught up in myself on the way from the lifts. She raised her eyebrows, reminding me to fumble the key out of my handbag. My new hair swung again in front of my face and this time I almost yelped. I felt petrified and actually cold, despite the general temperature. It was cooler in the hotel than it was outside but I felt chilled to my organs.

For the first time on our return journey, I led the way inside. The cases were laid on a table near the window. I approached them tentatively. Of the cases, most of the bulk was taken up with the new clothes we would both wear. There had never been an intention for me to need more than one or two day’s worth of clothing for my true identity. I stood in front of the nearest case and looked back at Melissa, then I looked back at the case.

I looked back at her. She was looking only at the suitcase, her eyes blazing again with disconcerting expectation. Then those eyes flicked up to mine and she said, “Open it.” 

LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Eight - Part Five

Hattie climbed the back stairs with the tray of drinks for her parents and made her way warily toward their bedroom.

She didn’t like walking through her own home in the role of a lowly servant. After expecting to get a thrill from the experience, it surprised her that she hated it so much, making her question again the rest of her plan.

Her father was an insufferable domineering force in her life and he had wrongly blamed her for the palaver with the stable hand’s trial, but even he didn’t deserve this.

She slowed as she neared their door at the front of the house and loitered outside, wondering whether she should abandon the scheme entirely, but she heard the gravelly sound of a clearing throat behind her and glanced back to see the butler, Powell, standing at the top of the servant’s staircase.

“I’m watching you girl,” he said. “Be about your business quickly. Stop dawdling.”

She nodded fearfully and went up to the door, the decision made for her, knocking lightly.

“Enter.” 

Powell was still watching as she disappeared inside to find the Earl and Countess propped up in bed, reading by lamplight.

“There you are,” snapped the Earl. “Hurry up for God’s sake you impudent girl.”

“Sorry m’lord,” replied Hattie and her eyes went round to hear the term of respect come to her lips without her thinking about it. Was that the first sign of mental changes already?

“Well come on then,” said her mother.

“Yes m’lady said Hattie, hurrying forward, feeling bewildered. She hadn’t meant to go through with it but they were pushing her and their demeaning manner brought back a flush of anger. She smiled grimly as each of them sipped their brandy.

There was still chance for her to divert her intentions but each step that got put into place led her closer and closer to it.

“Well don’t just stand there like a blithering simpleton,” snapped the Earl. “Leave us.”

“Yes sir,” replied Hattie, bobbing a curtsy and then feeling perplexed as she realised how easily it had come to her. They ignored her completely as she made her way to the door and Powell was still waiting for her.

“You didn’t make a mess of that I hope,” he said.

“No sir,” replied Hattie, feeling rather cowed.

“Good. I have my eye on you young lady. If you don’t do exactly as you’re told then you can expect me to let you know what for in no uncertain terms.”

Hattie smiled to imagine her father being the recipient of that.

“What are you smirking about?”

“Nothing sir,” she replied, feeling easier at the idea of using terms of deference to him. It was only temporary. It didn’t matter. Unlike Ann before her; she was confident now that she would be back in a position of authority very soon, and this time it would be different than ever before. There would be no chance she could lose control of the situation because she would be the highest authority in these parts.

She came close to her own bedroom door where within, the real Nellie waited for her to return to swap back. Powell was still watching but nevertheless, it was a choice of Hattie’s to go on walking past.

She had decided now that staying a hapless maid for another couple of hours was a small price to pay. She was going to go through with her plan and see it all the way to its finish.

She was going to swap places with her father.

CLEANER II: Chapter One - Part Six

DAHLIA

The hairdresser was a taxi ride from the hotel. I'd asked in the hotel where the best place was within range and this was it: an expensive salon for wealthy tourists.

Melissa and I went in and I greeted the manager while she hung back. He guided us to our seats and introduced us to the ladies who would be doing our new looks. One spoke good English, the other didn’t seem to get anything, but they could talk to each other.

“What would you like?” asked the English speaker.

“I, er...” I cleared my throat. “We’re like to swap hairstyles,” I said.

She frowned at me confused.

“I want my hair to look like hers,” I said, pointing at Melissa, “and she wants hers to look like mine.”

The hairdresser frowned. “So...” She pointed at Melissa.

“She wants blond curly hair, exactly like mine,” I said.

“Blond,” said Melissa, smiling, embarrassed.

The hairdresser nodded, still frowning.

“And I want mine straight and brown, with a fringe. Exactly like hers.”

“Brown,” said Melissa.

The hairdresser looked from one to the other of us. “Exactly the same?”

“As close as you can get it,” I said. Melissa’s hair wasn’t as long as mine at the front obviously and didn’t have quite the same length, but it wouldn’t be too far off.

Looking mystified, the English-speaker explained what we wanted to the other girl. The other girl looked incredulous and said a rapid garble of Greek back at her that made Melissa and I share a smile. They batted back and forth a few times until the Greek-speaker shrugged, muttering to herself, then turned to Melissa and gave her a big and totally fake smile.

Then they got to work.

We settled into our chairs while they started on the cut. Before they began they took a photo, from each side, of both of us on the one girl’s phone. Then they got going.

It took a long time.

And all that time, my nerves jangled away, telling me I was being crazy, but it was too late to listen to them. As my girl snipped away at the front of my hair I realised that it had already been put in process. It was too late to back out now. I’d started my transformation.

And it wasn’t the half-hearted switches we’d made up to now or even the rather more determined overeating I’d been doing. This was going to be methodical and steady and it was going to happen over a long period. I relaxed into my chair, imagining really becoming her in every way; though I knew that was too far over the top, even for me. But it was a lovely fantasy, even if I still couldn’t quite fathom why.

They straightened my hair, cutting away some of the length and levelling it at the bottom in a line at the height of my chin. Seeing them start to do that was really horrifying but I gripped tightly to the arms of my chair and tried not to run screaming from the salon.

After forty five minutes they were done with the cutting for both of us. Melissa’s hair didn’t have enough length to really look like mine but her girl had done a good job of shaping it in that direction and it looked a lot more glamorous; less mumsy. Like mine now was. My hair looked like that of a middle-aged housewife; or a secretary... or a cleaner.

“Fucking hell,” I muttered to myself. It really was amazing.

And it was only half way there.

We had a short break while they got ready to do the dyeing and Melissa and I came together, giggling at how different we looked already. We were just like school friends; silly girls playing dress-up at a sleepover. I felt kind of drunk, even though I wasn’t; it was that kind of slightly out-of-body experience.

They got started on the dye jobs, eliminating my highlighting and, of course, greatly lightening Melissa’s hair. This wasn’t some scrappy hairdressers at the back of Barton high street – this was a high-end fashion salon. It was the best money could buy in this country and they were clearly very good. That was what was needed. As I was returning to my natural darker shade I wouldn’t need the same amount of upkeep on my hair but Melissa would need more regular repeat visits. That was fine. That was all part of the persona she was taking on. A cheap place would do for me next time.

I sat there imagining that, smiling deliciously, as they carried on working.

After another age they finished off drying our hair. They referred to the original pictures, made a couple of last minute adjustments, then stood back, nodding and smiling.

I looked at Melissa. She looked at me.

Her hair was blond and magnificent. Yes, it wasn’t as long as mine had been but it would grow in soon enough and it did look great. Really great.

As for mine, it was identical to how Melissa’s had been.

It was thick and dark, coming down to form a bob below my ears, a dense fringe running along just above my eye line.

I fingered it in disbelief and uneasy wonder. I’d never had a hairstyle like this in my life. I never would have. It looked kind of awful; turning me into someone ordinary – especially with my more filled out face. This was not the look of a fashion model; not anymore. It was the first really big step on this process we were embarking on. It meant there was no going back.

We stood up and paid our way and silently left the salon.

Outside we waited on the pavement, not speaking to one another for a long while. Eventually, when we did make eye contact, it was difficult. We both felt uncomfortable. Perhaps we were acknowledging just how weird this all was in a way we couldn’t articulate.

It was a long time again before either of us spoke and it was Melissa in the end who did so.

“Well,” she said. “That’s that then.”

“Yeah. I guess it is,” I replied.

“So now... Now it’s time for the next part,” she said.

I nodded, more nervous than I thought I would be.

“Next we put on our new clothes.”

I nodded.

“And then we swap names. For the whole rest of the time we’re staying abroad.”

She smiled at me and I smiled back but I was shitting myself. It was happening too fast. It was going to be over and done within the hour. I was going to become Melissa.

It was all happening way too fast. 

LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Eight - Part Four

Merry Christmas Finnfans! 

I hope you are surrounding yourselves with Christmas cheer in one way or another. 

You'll never be able to understand how much your support means to me. It's the light I always have to cling on to no matter whatever else is happening. Thank you so much.

And to celebrate this wonderful time of year, here's an early release of tonight's episode of Lady Ann!!!! 





Mavis and Lord Hurley disembarked from the train at Birmingham New Street Station along with Gladys, the maid, and Richard started to march toward the stairs leading to the exit.

“Aren’t we gettin’ on another train?” asked Mavis.

Richard stopped, his back to her, and sighed. “I told you Ann dear. We are breaking our journey here tonight. We’ll go the rest of the way to Nockton Vale in the morning. There aren’t any trains this late going out that way and it will be nicer to arrive at Crackshaw fully refreshed and in daylight. I think you’ll be favourably impressed by the grandeur of the house.

Mavis smirked to herself. “I don’t chuffin doubt it.”

“What was that?”

“Nothin.” She followed him up the steps as Gladys struggled on with the luggage, desperately trying to call a porter to help.

They made their way to the Queen’s Hotel that adjoined the station and booked into adjoining rooms. Birmingham was a thriving place, the second biggest city in the country and by far the most incredible place Mavis had ever seen. Just the journey south by rail had been astounding. She was being shown a lifestyle she had nary imagined. There was so much bustle and here in the hotel there were so many well off people. In Griply it had only been the Nevilles and the occasional traveller who showed any signs of wealth. Here those signs were everywhere!

Richard dealt with the hotel staff while Mavis looked on but as she waited she became aware of the way she was standing. She wasn’t stood as she normally would be, all chest and hips and sass. She was standing decorously, hands clasped lightly at her waist, feet close together, posture erect and somewhat... repressed.

She frowned, disconcerted, and made herself stand in a wider pose, something more familiar to her. That was more like it, but it made her feel slightly uncomfortable. She didn’t like the feeling. She had an instinct to stand more primly but she resisted it.

When the room details were finalised they were led upstairs, a porter carrying the luggage. Mavis settled into her room, dazzled by the space and luxury. It wasn’t as high a standard as Griply Hall but it was a thousand times better than the shabby inn rooms at the Dog & Pony. She laughed to think of them compared to the kind of opulence she intended to enjoy for the rest of her days.

After half an hour she grew bored, wondering what Lord Hurley was up to and went to the adjoining door. She tried it, frowning to find it locked, and tapped with a bent finger, thinking of Richard's handsome face and trim figure.

When he opened the door he looked perturbed; even irritated, wearing a smoking jacket over his shirt and trousers. “Are you alright Ann? What is it?”

Mavis gave him a suggestive leer. “I was just wonderin what you was up to in there is all,” she said. “An tryin to imagine somethin better we could be doin together.”

He stared at her, genuinely perplexed. “What?”

Mavis walked her first two fingers up his chest, her accent wavering between hers and Ann’s. “Perhaps we should take advantage of this solitude now we gottit. Wha’dya say?” Her hand reached his neck and she ran her fingers into the back of his hair.

“Ann please!” he stammered, stepping back. “I really don’t think that’s appropriate, do you?”

Mavis stepped over the threshold into his room, allowing the strap of her dress to fall off her shoulder. “I should bloody well hope not. Appropriate is the last thing I want to be tonight.” She smiled and winked.

Richard crossed his arms. “Ann. I’m serious. Stop this ridiculous charade this instant. You’re only making a fool of yourself. I expect better behaviour from my fiancée.”

“Really?” asked Mavis, stopping, disappointed, frustrated and angry. She gestured down her body. “You’re saying no... to this?”

Richard flapped his mouth open and closed. “You know very well that we aren’t married yet and that this kind of behaviour is entirely inappropriate.”

Mavis folded her own arms, pouting, glaring at the impossible man. She hadn’t expected this in the least.  “What’s the matter with you? Can’t you see how beautiful I am?”

Richard flapped his lips again.

“Forget about it,” snapped Mavis and walked back to their adjoining door. “I’ll see you in t’mornin. G’night.”

Richard looked after her as she banged the door shut behind her and on the other side of it Mavis sat gloomily on the edge of her bed, wondering what the real Ann was doing back in her body.

 

CLEANER II: Chapter One - Part Five

DAHLIA

I woke up an hour before the alarm call I’d booked with the hotel reception and quietly went about my morning routine, bathing, brushing my teeth, washing my hair.

I put in the contact lenses I’d bought myself to transform my eyesight, two notches up from no prescription at all. They still felt a little weird in my eyes but I could easily cope with them. As I blinked them into place I thought about the scientist I’d heard of who wore special glasses that made his vision upside-down who doggedly went on wearing them until his brain had compensated and showed him the world the right way up. I thought about the series of progressively stronger prescriptions I’d brought with me, right up to the strong lenses Melissa had to wear all the time.

I smiled at myself with a slightly muddled careworn expression.

There was no delusion anymore in me about the effect of my overeating. I’d seen it plain as day and I could see it now. I still wasn’t what anyone would call fat, but the ripeness of my face and stomach suggested a movement in that direction. I thought about how slim I had been until so very recently and how close I was to being that way again. A week or two of concentrated exercise and dieting would be all that was needed at the moment.

If I went ahead with this crazy plan then I would be going in the opposite direction to that. Every day – every meal that passed, I would be taking step after step toward a place where being slim would feel like an impossible dream; as Melissa surely felt now.

The idea of being as fat as her... of transforming my body from athletic and trim to round and obese; to labour up stairs with difficulty; to become unattractive to almost any man... There were some men who found fat women beautiful but they were few and far between. I’d spent all my years trying to maintain this flawlessness; to be a symbol of sexual excellence; but it hadn’t made me happy really. I hadn’t ever found a handsome prince to carry his beautiful princess of to his castle. On the contrary, every man had wanted me for my looks and my looks alone... or perhaps the money or the fame.

Just to imagine stepping away from that persona and into the life of another where those shallow qualities would be irrelevant. A logical part of me didn’t understand the attraction I had to doing that but another logical part understood it completely. Because there was some sense to it at the end of the day.

And I really did want it.

Melissa was going to be waiting for me soon. We would go to have our hair done; take that first gigantic step to assuming one another’s identity; then swap names and get on with this adventure.

This was the last time I would be alone and look into my face as it was; the last time I could whisper, “My name is Dahlia,” and know it to be so in the sense it always had been.

This wasn’t permanent. Eventually I would come back to myself. It was only a holiday from myself. But for now; for a very long time; I was saying goodbye to the woman I was.

It wasn’t too late to go back. I could call Katherine; ask her to book me a return flight; run back to England; maybe even get back in time for Steven’s funeral.

But the very thought of that made my face cringe back on itself; distorting my features; blanking off a part of my brain.

I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t. This was all there was for me now: this wonderful, watertight escape.

I just thanked God that I had Melissa – that I'd found someone willing to play through such an anomalous facade. It was such a big sacrifice for her; what with her husband waiting for her back home; but I had never been more grateful... and I could justify it to myself that she was going to be getting an all-expenses-paid extended holiday abroad. It wasn’t going to be pure hardship for her, even if I was going to do everything I could to work her hard to lose weight.

I wanted her to have her own transformation; partly as a thank you for what she was doing for me; partly because I sensed that she needed someone else to push her; but also to provide that exchange and comparison to my own changes. Her conversion to being Dahlia was every bit a part of my fantasy as me becoming Melissa.

I had my last look at this face: my long, curly, blond hair; my unblemished face and pretty eyes; my expensive tailored clothes. A couple of hours from now I would leave this behind me and become someone else.

I couldn’t wait. I literally couldn’t wait. I wanted it so much.

 

LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Eight - Part Three

The dressing down Hattie got as she was led from her bedroom by the butler was a jolt to her system that told her in a way that couldn’t be doubted just how firmly ensconced she was now in her new role as a maid in her own household.

“You will have to do better than that if you expect to remain in post here Nellie,” snapped the old man. “I don’t want to see you dallying around your betters in future, is that clear?”

The stormy silence brooked no ignoring of his fierce recrimination and Hattie found herself saying, “Yes. Sorry,” and then hating herself for it.

“You’ll do as you’re told the moment you are given instructions. Is that clear?”

“Yes... Mister Powell. I’m sorry.”

He led her on in fractious silence, heading down the servants’ staircase at the back of the house. Hattie had used it on occasion, mostly as a girl to sneak around when she was up to mischief. Now it was the route she was expected to take and the acknowledgement of that left her faintly uneasy.

This is only for a couple of hours, she thought. I can put up with it until then and after that, no one will be able to tell me what to do.

They went into the kitchen and Powell declared, “Here she is,” to those present. “She was dawdling upstairs with Lady Harriet.

Lady Harriet. It didn’t sit well to hear her name applied to a third person, not present. She was Lady Harriet; or she had been.

“Oh good,” said Cook. “Get over here and sweep the floor.” She handed Hattie a broom and went back to clearing up the dinner things.

Hattie looked at the broom and thought of her plan, worrying suddenly that she would lose sufficient control to carry it off. Remaining in this body overnight was not part of her plan and she was worried she would get trapped in its mode of thinking if she did.

“Well get sweeping you silly thing,” snapped Cook. “We don’t have all night and there’s more to be done after that.”

Hattie considered and immediately discounted the idea of resisting. She was nothing if not observant and she knew there was no point in a servant ignoring her instructions. It could only lead to deeper trouble and more work if anything as punishment. She started sweeping quickly.

“Careful,” said Cook. “You’ll make the dust airborne.”

“Sorry,” replied Hattie bashfully.

“And do a good job this time. I thought you were slapdash at it this morning.”

Hattie’s face fell. “Yes. Sorry.” She worked more carefully, wishing she hadn’t bothered doing this. No revenge was worth feeling such a loss of self as this. She didn’t know who she was anymore. Did the way she look and the perception of others comprise her entire persona? Was she really just a maid now? Or was she still herself?

She got the kitchen floor swept, building up heat beneath her arms and in the small of her back, but no sooner was she finished than the broom was taken from her and a mop put back to replace it.

“Now do the mopping,” said Cook. “There’s water warming on the fire.”

Hattie sighed, hiding it as best she could, then got to work. Part of her smiled grimly at the idea of her father having to do this instead of her when she put him in this body and took possession of his, but another part couldn’t help but feel guilty. It really was a terrible existence. However unjust his treatment of her lately, surely even he didn’t deserve this.

“Nellie! Stop daydreaming” snapped Powell, looking up from his newspaper where he sat at the kitchen table. “Get on with it!”

“Sorry sir,” replied Hattie, blushing in embarrassment and resentment as she put her back into it.

No. Surely she couldn’t go through with it. She must go back upstairs as soon as she could get free and take back her own body.

But then it seemed such a shame to have gone to all this trouble and not see it through to the end. And it was truly going to be delightful to slip into her father’s own body and watch him flutter about trapped in the life of a lady’s maid. That was going to be a riot! Oh yes. She couldn’t back out now.

She went on mopping, looking toward the pantry, knowing that what she needed was in there and with her father on his way to bed already she had to move quickly before he—

DINGADINGADING!

The bell rang on the board up on the wall, the coloured flag beneath it showing the origin was the master bedroom.

That was it. She was going to be too late if she didn’t hurry it up.

“That’ll be the Earl and Countess calling for their nightcap,” said Powell.

“I’ll take it up to them,” said Hattie.

“You’ve got the mopping to do.”

“I’ll... I’ll finish off when I come back downstairs,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

Powell regarded her coldly, measuring up his own desire to climb all those stairs. “Alright. Just be careful. The brandy’s in there. Pour his lordship a generous portion. He likes his tipple before bed.”

Hattie smiled and gave a curtsy, setting her mop aside and going into the pantry with two glasses.

She found the brandy quickly and poured the required amounts then looked and found the other little bottle she knew had been here: the drug her mother used sometimes to help her sleep.

If her plan was going to work she needed both of her parents to be dead to the world all the way through to morning.

She took down the vial and measured out as large a serving as she dared into each glass and stirred it round with the end of her finger.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, lifting the drinks on their tray.

Was she really going to do this? Really see it through to its finish?

She giggled to herself to imagine it.

Yes she bloody well was!

 

CLEANER II: Chapter One - Part Four

MELISSA

“Maybe we should start off by laying out exactly what we want to achieve,” said Dahlia.

“Er, okay. Sure,” I said.

We were both quite inebriated now and that had given me a healthy flush of confidence; almost as much as the flush I'd got watching her wolfing down that gigantic meal. I’d never seen her eat like that before; with ravenous eyes that drew in everything on the plate. But Dahlia clearly had some reservations, and why wouldn’t she? I’d never, ever heard of a situation that we were walking into – not in real life or on TV. There were kids films about this kind of thing, sort of, but they were always dosed with saccharine and magical wishes. Undergoing a slow, methodical, purposeful process of physical transformation was so far outside the box that expressing the concepts verbally was close to unviable.

I had the notion that this was the one conversation we would have about this; ever; that after this it would never come as close to the surface again. We would act on it and continue to make adjustments, possibly in character, but a frank conversation as Melissa and Dahlia, really looking at our intentions in the gleam of the lamplight... it felt too conscious for more than a one off. As it was, I didn’t think we’d be getting this far even if we weren’t drunk.

With that in mind, and seeing Dahlia’s hesitation, I decided to leap forward. “We said we were going to swap places for the duration of our trip. We said we would stay away for several months.”

She nodded.

“The whole time we’re here, we’ll become one another; wearing appropriate clothes and calling one another by the wrong names.”

“The right names.”

Dahlia startled me with that but her playful smile brought on one of my own.

“We’ll dye our hair,” she said, “and have it restyled so that I become brunette and you become blond. My blond hair is made up of highlights anyway so that shouldn’t be too hard.”

I fingered the ends of my hair. “And I’ll start wearing contact lenses all the time, while you...”

“I’ll wear my glasses.”

I nodded and started to speak again but the waiter interrupted us, asking what we wanted for dessert. The salad had gone down better than expected, leaving a pleasant thread of virtuousness through me, but I did want something else. Having said that, I wanted to resist too. I wanted to take this rampant bull by its horns and ride it all the way. Dahlia was clearly fully intent on putting on weight. She’d already ruined her perfect figure, edging it toward normalcy instead of super model flawlessness. I could do the opposite. With her help, I could become slim. Or slimmer at least.

“Nothing for me thanks,” I said.

“Triple chocolate sundae please,” said Dahlia, licking her lips.

The waiter nodded and withdrew.

“I’m going to need a personal trainer,” I said, “if I’ve got any hope of really becoming thin.”

“Of course.”

“That’ll be expensive.”

Dahlia gave a brief limp-wristed wave. “Money isn’t an issue. I’ve got more than we need for this; really.” She took a draught of wine. “Really. We’re doing this; we’re going to do it properly. You can have two personal trainers; membership of any gyms you like. You’re going to be Dahlia Western. You’re going to live like a queen. You’ll have the best room in the next hotel; everything you need.”

“Wow.”

“Just so long as you live up to your side of the deal.”

“Which is?”

“To become me,” said Dahlia. “To treat me as though I were you.”

Mostly to myself I murmured, “The whole time we’re away... Every day... All day.”

“That’s right. And meanwhile, I’ll be you. I’ll be Melissa.” She grinned excitedly, letting out a hiss of half-laugh air. “I’ll dye my hair and have it cut like yours and then I’m going to eat and eat and eat. That’s all I’m going to be doing.”

She looked off, imagining that and I shook my head, marvelling at this woman and the drive of intent she had to do such a weird and self-harmful thing. Somebody should shake her and tell her to stop being such an idiot, but that sure as hell wasn’t going to be me. No way. I had an all-expenses-paid Grecian holiday ahead of me and some realistic motivation to lose weight and better myself for the first time in my life. I could even lose five stone and meet some handsome prince to whisk me away to a new life away from Robert. Anything could happen.

Anything was happening.

“We’ll have our hair done tomorrow morning,” said Dahlia. I’ve already found out where we can go. Someone expensive and reliable. Then we’ll do the rest of the swap; change into our new clothes. We’ll become each other. Then we’ll get a taxi to the other hotel we’re going to be staying in, so that when we arrive we’re already in our new roles.”

Dahlia’s dessert came. She tucked in and I watched her careless manner, the chocolate going round her mouth, while I sipped my wine. We didn’t say anymore until she finished it off.

“And when we’ve swapped,” I said. “What then? Will we... hang out? Swim in the pool? Go to the beach?”

Dahlia looked thoughtful. “I don’t think that would be... appropriate,” she said. “I’m not quite sure how we’ll do it yet but... well... no offence to you, but Melissa works for Dahlia. They aren’t pals. I think the new Melissa will need to know her place and keep a low profile; show the proper deference.”

I smiled, tempering it so that my mirth at the hilarity of this didn’t shine too brightly. “I think you’re right Dahlia,” I replied. “I think that the new Melissa should never forget who is the wealthy woman and who is the cleaner.”

 

LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Eight - Part Two

With the door shut, Nellie found herself suddenly and unexpectedly alone and only now did it occur to her that Lady Harriet had been about to explain something to her and that she should have prevented her being sent out.

She went to the door and opened it, looking down the landing in the direction of Powell’s receding voice. The butler was chastising who he thought was the manor’s newest maid, telling her off for being slow at following instruction. They were still well within calling distance but as Nellie opened her mouth to shout them back she didn’t find the breath for it.

The immediacy of her own situation came back to her and the idea of pulling the pair back lost all urgency. She took another look at her elegant manicured hand in her beautiful, expensive dress and grinned, going straight back into the room with a glance to see if anyone had seen her. She shut the door and pressed back against it then hurried across to the mirror, beaming at the reflection shining back at her in the lamplight.

It wasn’t a fancy. She really had swapped places with the cultured lady. She was Lady Harriet!

“I’ve never seen nothing like it,” she murmured, fingering her cheek and lips. She spoke the words again, letting her full rosebud lips press back against her slim fingertips until the smile that was simmering there grew into a grin and stopped her. “Never seen nothing... Wow.”

She took a longer look at her new dress, testing the luxurious fabric with her sense of touch, then she hurried to the wardrobe and threw back the doors, jerking to look at the entrance to the room in case anyone might come and catch her.

But what if they did? She was Lady Harriet now. They would have to ask instruction from her!

Though another thought occurred to her that instantly eliminated the shine on her heart.

What if the Countess entered? Or worse, the Earl himself? What would she say then? The very idea of facing one of them in what suddenly felt like a very flimsy disguise was deeply disquieting. Nellie’s breathing altered, becoming tight. She closed the wardrobe door and stood fearfully, hands gripped at her stomach.

But a minute passed, and then another, and no one came. No one was going to come. She recalled what the butler had said. The older generation were going to bed early. Nobody was going to disturb her now.

She tentatively opened the wardrobe door again and looked in, marvelling at the vibrant colours of the pretty dresses within. Why, she could wear any of them now – any that she chose!

She looked again toward the door.

But what if Hattie came back to talk to her again? What if she found her emptying the wardrobe and having her way with all of its contents? She would be told off terribly!

Nellie chewed her lip uncertainly. Then she closed the wardrobe door again.

Better not to risk it. She wouldn’t be allowed to stay this way for long. She would have to become herself again shortly, surely. She daren’t risk being caught causing a mess and acting with disrespect for her ladyship’s things.

So instead, Nellie sat on the chaise longue as composed as she had the breeding for and waited.

She waited for a long time. Hours. No one came. Lady Harriet never came back to give her further instructions. She started to worry that something bad had happened to her mistress, that she would be trapped in this new body. Then she started to daydream about how wonderful that would be: forced to take on the life and role of a sophisticated lady. She imagined the balls and the suitors. She imagined being served by servants and giving out orders. She imagined really being Lady Harriet Neville.

Still no one came. Hattie did not reappear to demand the return of her body. For all Nellie knew she had been made to do chores for the rest of the evening and was now sharing a bed with Lottie, the other maid.

She smiled to think of such a thing, closing her eyes; drifting closer to sleep, leaning into the corner rest of the chaise longue, her head resting on her hand.

Behind her eyelids she went on imagining an extended stay in this strange new life, knowing it could not happen but secretly wishing that it would.

To be Lady Harriet rather than plain old Nellie Barrow.

To be the rich daughter of a real Earl and Countess.

She was still smiling as she gently and unknowingly fell into a deep and contented sleep.

 

One Thing Different Now Available!

You may be excited to learn that the new version of One Thing Different is now available on Amazon, Smashwords and various other sites!

This is a smoothed and streamlined version of the original web serials, edited together into one cohesive story and adjusted to fit properly into Nockton Vale.

What it Says On the Back of the Book 

“ROMPS ALONG AT A TIDY RATE”

Have you ever wondered what your life might have been like if just one thing had been different; if you hadn’t got the break you needed; if you’d gone out with someone other than your wife or husband? Have you ever regretted a missed opportunity and wished you could go back and change things? Or perhaps everything is good for you and the idea of anything in your past being altered fills you with fear?

Because little things can have huge consequences. Change one detail and your life might have taken a different path. You might not even recognise yourself. You could be living an entirely different life, for better... or for worse.

Kim, Gemma, Samantha, Anna and Christina are five beautiful women who have landed on their feet, with high profile jobs or wealthy husbands. Drunk on wine and candlelight, the friends share an evening, imagining how different their lives could have been if only a single change were made, but there is magic in the air and sometimes careless words can have powerful consequences.

One by one, the women find their lives starting to change, but the outcome of these changes is far more transformative than they ever imagined. As their destinies are rewoven it becomes apparent that if they don’t move quickly it may be far too late to put things back how they were.

“I REALLY LOVE THESE STORIES”

How Much Does it Cost? 

The eBook version is available for $2.99 (or about £1.94).

Bargain!

Where Can You Get It? 

One Thing Different is available from:

Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk 

Smashwords 

(in a wide variety of formats including PDF)

and will soon be availabel from:

Barnes & Noble 

& 

iBooks

CLEANER II: Chapter One - Part Three

DAHLIA

Melissa found me in the darkest corner of the hotel restaurant. I already had an open bottle of white wine and two glasses, one of which was almost emptied.

I’d found myself gabbling it down as I waited for her, feeling more like I was about to be interviewed by some hard-nosed back-stabbing journalist than that I was waiting to eat with a trusted friend.

She seemed over-polite as she took her seat and raised a menu and I realised immediately why.

We had never been equals before – not really – not in a supposedly relaxed environment like this, which was of course outside of her relatively poverty-stricken comfort zone. Neither one of us knew quite how to talk or act, but then, that was the point of this meal and the drinks afterward: to lay down some ground rules that we could work to.

I picked up my own menu and scanned down it. “What are you going to have?”

“Steak,” replied Melissa. “You can always trust a good steak.”

I raised my eyebrows over the top of the menu playfully. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Uh... Oh.” She looked again at the menu. “Salad?”

I smiled. “Much better. I’ll have the steak.”

We looked at each other in a frozen moment then burst out laughing. “Make it a mixed grill,” she said. “If you really want to pile on the pounds.”

I giggled, trying to see if they did one and smiled too when I saw that they did.

Pile on the pounds. I thought about that concept, visualising it.

The waiter came and we put in our order, looking at me with a perplexed crinkle in his eyes when he heard what we were having, double checking he didn’t have it the wrong way round. We assured him he didn’t. The fat woman was having the salad. The slim woman was eating the fat food.

Still vaguely uncomfortable, we made small talk about the plane ride while we both set off down the wine bottle, Melissa doing her best to catch up with me. Nearing the bottom of my second glass I started to let go of that tension that had been tickling me. Melissa too was loosening up, getting a bit more expressive in her words and gestures.

When the food came I gazed, thunderstruck, at my plate. I’d asked for the extra large mixed grill and it had the proportions of a dinosaur. I’d never seen so much meat in one place. I’d never had a plate this size. Each of the five different types of meat; gammon, steak, chicken, sausage, black pudding; was a generous enough portion to satisfy any normal woman. All together and with the steak cut chips and the peas, mushroom and onion rings, it was diabolical.

Pile on the pounds.

I looked at Melissa; at her sparkling eyes and mirthful expression, returning my gaze and glancing down at what I had before me. Her bosom was generous, her arms bulging and round. Her face was very fat with a great hanging circle of flesh.

Was I doing the right thing?

I reached for my knife and fork but hesitated, curled fingers poised above them.

“Eat up,” said Melissa. “It’ll go cold. You have to hurry with a mixed grill and gobble it down; the faster the better.”

I smiled shyly, picking up my cutlery.

“Hang on though,” she said. “You’re forgetting something.”

“What?”

She passed across the glass decanter it was stored in. “Mayonnaise. It really brings out the flavour.”

Up until this series of exchanges had begun I’d never touched mayonnaise but now all I could think was that she was right. It really enhanced the flavour of whatever it was added to.

I gave myself a bountiful portion and tucked in, loving the taste and the sense of liberty I got to be consuming such a truly inappropriate meal; going against a lifetime of conditioning and principles.

Melissa didn’t look too thrilled by her salad but once she got going the initial scowl diminished.

We didn’t talk much. We just ate. And ate. And ate. Melissa finished hers but I kept going; flagging at times and then soldiering on. I knew that I'd had enough but eating more was becoming a compulsion, an overpowering desire to chomp and chomp and chomp and chomp. I didn’t know what the feel was it incited in me but it was like a chill wind whipping at my soul filled with excitement and abandon; maybe the tiniest bit of gloriously alluring self-destruction.

The deep heat the wine was imparting was making my limbs feel funny. I felt lovely; really contented.

We ordered a second bottle of wine as I polished off the last of my steak, feeling bloated as never before in my life but also extremely at ease.

I sat back, rubbing my tummy in a slow circular motion, relaxing into my chair. Melissa was watching me, smiling.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she replied. “Nothing at all. It’s just...”

“What?”

“It’s nice to see you so happy.”

I smiled warmly at her. She was so sweet. Was I happy? Had I truly left my troubles behind?

Thinking that made them shudder below the surface of my mind, threatening to emerge to my consciousness. I almost came to picture my brother. But I pushed the thought away immediately. I wasn’t ready for that. I didn’t feel I ever would be.

“Have some more wine,” said Melissa, “and let’s take a look at the dessert menu. Yes?”

I giggled. “Okay. Yes. Why not?”

“Why not indeed.”

She passed it across to me and I started to read down but after a moment I realised that Melissa was still watching me and I let it drop.

A long silence passed between us. Then she leaned forward a few inches and started the conversation we were both of us waiting for but that I had been too afraid to initiate.

“So what’s the plan?” she said.