JAX

Chapter 1 - Shona

Mickey had a Sunday routine because time was at a premium. He combined his full time job as a dentist with being a maximum part-time rugby player in London for Harlequins. When he wasn’t staring into people’s mouths, he was on the field inflicting damage on the opposition. That meant he needed a routine to be in shape and prepare for a week’s work and training.

That meant clean clothes, a mountain of playing and training kit and food by the ton. Sunday was his organisation day. He had a light workout, followed by a sauna and steam bath to relax his aches and muscles. Next was a trip to the supermarket to fill a trolley with essentials for the week. It was usually meat, veg and rice. That week he sneaked a few packs of ginger biscuits and ice cream. He secretly loved biscuits and needed to get more calories in.

He pulled up in his apartment block and saw Shona’s car wasn’t there. Mickey could get his weekly prep done uninterrupted. He gathered his bags, went inside and started cooking.

He filled the washing machine with kit, the began cooking. He sweated the finely-chopped onions, adding aubergine and Italian herbs, hoping to make a half-decent risotto. The harder veg and some liver were in the slow cooker, simmering gently. He wiped the surfaces and made the kitchen look tidy. The front door opened.

‘In the kitchen!’ shouted Mickey.

‘At least you’re home.’ Shona went straight to the bedroom.

Mickey heard some clattering and went to her. He saw Shona tipping the contents of a draw inside the case. Dresses were pulled off their hangers and she lobbed the contents of her underwear drawer straight in.

‘What are you doing?’

‘What does it bloody look like?’ she shouted.

‘I was just asking. I know things haven’t felt…’

‘You know shit, Rayner! I wanted to get this done before you came back, but I couldn’t.’ She carried on throwing things into another case. Mickey noticed her wardrobe was almost empty. ‘I’m leaving.’

Really, he thought, but stifled it down. ‘Why?’

‘You and our relationship. I’m sick of it. Training, eating, rugby and recovery. And when you’re not doing that, it’s dentistry. I’m so far down your list of priorities.’

Mickey’s mouth hung open. They had been on an edge for a few weeks, but he put it down to Shona’s new job. Pre-season training got harder each year and Mickey expected more of himself. It meant he pushed himself to the limit during July and August

‘Where are you going?’

‘None of your fucking business!’ Shona shouted. ‘I’m leaving and that’s all there is to it.’

‘It’s not quite that simple. There’s the apartment, the rent, the bills. We need to work this out, Shona.’

‘It’s your name’s on the lease and the utilities bills. You work it out, Rayner.’

‘There are payments due next week.’

‘Your problem!’

Mickey’s head pounded badly. Reality was crashing through his mind. Their joint bank account was low and the monthly bills were indeed due for rent, Council Tax, energy and the apartment’s maintenance charge. There wasn’t enough to cover all those costs.

‘Who is it, Shona?’ He threw a hunch.

‘Get out of my way.’

Shona shoved Mickey to one side and wheeled the cases into the entrance hall. She threw the keys at him and slammed the door. He went to the window and watched her drive away.

Mickey lost any enthusiasm for his tasks, but they needed doing. The food was decanted into several containers to cover his weekday meals. He cleaned the kitchen, as if it mattered.

He sat in an armchair, replaying the last few weeks’ events. Shona had been out a lot and once came home at four in the morning. Mickey let it slide to avoid a row, but Shona was blowing up at the slightest thing. He was walking on eggshells.

There were facts. Mickey was the signatory on the apartment. Shona’s name appeared nowhere on any documentation. He was totally responsible. The bills would eat a huge hole in his income. The apartment in West London was expensive and Shona’s contribution was vital. He had a problem.

He opened his banking app and transferred the money up to his overdraft out of their joint account. Shona couldn’t screw him further and make a bad situation much worse.

Monday’s training was tough. There was a series of sprinting drills and a heavy weights session.

‘What the fuck’s up with you, Mick?’ asked the Oke, the Polynesian Number 8 and his closest confidant. ‘You’re usually a beast.’

‘Shona left,’ he whispered. He didn’t want the rest of the team to know.

Oke took Mickey out of the gym, an arm on his shoulder. They were both tall and broad.

‘From the top,’ Oke instructed.

‘She came home yesterday, threw her shit into a case, said she was leaving and duly pissed off. Gone.’

‘Christ.’ Oke ran a hand over his mouth, feeling a stubbly chin. ‘There’s something you need to know. She’s seeing someone else.’

‘Who?’ growled Rayner.

Oke’s eyes moved across the gym. Mickey followed them. Mickey tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. Oke blinked in confirmation.

‘Quillan? She banging that fuckwitted little twat?’

‘Keep it cool, Mick,’ said Oke.

Oke watched Mickey closely. An angry Rayner was an awesome sight and best he wasn’t in the firing line. Mickey finished the weights programme and went to the indoor running track to work on his speed. Quillan was on the edge of the track. Mickey diverted, then sprinted, right hand to his shoulder.

The blow was colossal. Quillan’s feet were lifted above his shoulder and he crashed to the mat. Mickey pulled him up by his shirt and hammered three blows before players separated them.

‘Fucking hell, Mick!’ shouted Oke.

The commotion was massive. It took three players to secure Rayner. Quillan sneered, despite a bleeding mouth. Mickey shrugged his restrainers off and lunged at Quillan.

A player tackled Mickey and shouted. ‘Go, Quillan! You’re antagonising the situation.’

‘Fuck you, Rayner!’ said Quillan, walking away. ‘Better still. I’ll fuck Shona.’

As Mickey’s anger subsided, he called Shona. They needed to talk, but the call went badly. She refused to pay the bills or her share of them. Shona refused to meet. There was nothing to discuss in her mind.

Mickey would have to choke it down. He would have to give notice on the flat and move out. She’d taken what was hers and gone. End of.

‘Bitch!’ he said, closing the call.

‘Right back at you!’ said Shona.

Chapter 2 – Mickey

            Mickey’s options were pretty bloody limited and the reality of Shona leaving bit fast. He called the bank and told them Shona had gone. He returned the overdraft money and closed their joint account.  He sent his new bank details to Harlequins and his dental practice. His salary was immediately eaten up by bills.

The first game of the season had a bad flavour to it. Shona’s new boyfriend, despite playing for the same team as Mickey, doled out a couple of hospital passes. When Quillan was caught in a ruck, Mickey head-butted him. Honours even, sort of. Quillan left immediately after the game, despite team orders to stay.

He spent Sunday recovering, and thinking. Things needed to change. Mickey wrote out a list of people who might be able to help. It was mighty short. Decisions started to roll quickly. He needed somewhere else to live. Maybe at twenty-nine years old, playing Premiership rugby was not the future. Perhaps his dentistry would be a better-paid career choice.

Unfortunately, Mickey needed to cut back, financially. His gym membership went. That was an easy two hundred pounds per month. He spoke to the energy provider. There was a small surplus which could be returned. The council reduced his tax as the property only had a single occupant. These were great, but the rent was a killer. He gave notice. Fortunately it was only a month.

The name that topped Mickey’s help list was Professor Lance Dear. He was head of the University of Manchester Dental School when he was a student, and Dear liked Mickey. Mickey had switched to Rugby League and was given a contract with Warrington Wolves. When it expired, he was offered a move to Perpignan in France. Lance brokered a move to Perpignan’s dental school, where he qualified. During the winter months, he started playing Rugby Union for Perpignan. Harlequins saw his highlights reel and signed Mickey back to the UK.

Throughout his rugby and dental careers, Lance Dear was his mentor and confidant. This time, he really needed Lance.

Mickey stared at a sheet of paper of people who could help him. It contained three names. For the first time in his adult life, he cried.

He divided his apartment into things he bought and things Shona bought, and sold the latter as fast as possible. Mickey asked for a room in Harlequin’s rugby house to save on rent. His house mates were in their teens and the place looked like shit, but he knew it was temporary. The vastly reduced rent and the return of the security deposit gave him breathing room. Half was Shona’s, but he gave her nothing. That money tasted sweet.

What upset him was the looks and nudges from the other players. Despite their age, they thought it funny. One made a comment. He pinned the guy to the wall by his throat. The mocking was limited to when he was out of sight.

‘I’ve put some feelers out and one’s come up trumps,’ said Lance. ‘An old friend’s looking for a dentist at his practice. The guy’s called Ged Allerdyce. It’s part-time, three days a week.

‘I’ve moved to Bristol,’ continued Dear without pausing. ‘ and need someone one day a week at the University to train students and the newly-qualifiers. Working for me and Ged gives you four days a week work.’

‘I’d hoped for something full-time.’

‘Ged said he doesn’t want to stretch himself until he knows you two can work together. He’s a lovely guy, but a little set in his ways.’

‘What’s the place called?’

‘Myrtle Road Dental Surgery. Bristol.’

‘When does he want me to start?’

‘It’s an open position. It could be an opportunity, Michael.’

‘Fix up the meeting and I’ll get the train. Thank you, Lance. You’ve no idea what this means.’

Mickey sat in a meeting with the Harlequins’ Coaching team.

‘This isn’t a great situation,’ said the Director of Rugby. ‘You can’t quit. We have a team to run, games to win and petty stuff like this isn’t for September.’

‘You all knew about Quillan and Shona.’

Several heads went down.

‘You could always fire him. That’s an option.’

‘He’s a great Centre and training with the extended England squad.’

‘And I’m not, so by definition, the him or me means him.’

‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that,’ said the Director of Rugby.

‘I can’t stay here wondering when Quillan’s going to do the dirty.’

‘Will he?’

‘Look at the last game, about thirty minutes in!’ Mickey was indignant. He finished his coffee. ‘I spoke to my agent. He’s going to ask for my contract release.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Bristol.’

‘Which club?’

‘I’m thinking of calling it a day. A dentist at fifty earns more than any rugby player at fifty. This has soured me.’

Renaud Viard had a meeting Jeremy Pierce, the Chairman of Dings Crusaders RFC. Viard had previously played rugby for Perpignan, where Mickey played during the Rugby League off season.

Viard was offered a contract by Racing 92, but he had a tendency to make his viewpoint known to the coaches. Racing 92’s coaches listened to Viard. They let him vent, agreed with his analysis on recent signings and accepted his suggestions on coaching. Then fired him.

Mrs Viard suggested Renaud disappeared to let France forget. The only club offering a contract was Dings Crusaders. Renaud signed and relocated to Bristol.

Renaud always said rugby players were two handshakes away from meeting every player. He knew Mickey was leaving ‘Quins and placed a call.

‘Jesus wept!’ said Jeremy Pierce. ‘Could we really get Rayner?’

‘He’s coming to Bristol to be a dentist. A part-time game might suit him.’

‘He’s serious shit!’ said Pierce.

‘No. He’s very good!’ said Viard.

‘Serious shit means he’s good.’

‘I thought shit was bad.’

Pierce shook his head. ‘You have so much to learn.’

‘I know what a bell end is. And a wanker,’ smiled Viard.

Pierce sat down after buying two beers. ‘I’ve got some money in the kitty. We’ve got a rugby house where he can live.’ He made notes. ‘Fuck! Rayner playing for Dings! Phone him, will you?’

Mickey had a meeting with Lance Dear and Ged Allerdyce. Ged was a kindly man who enjoyed his work. He wasn’t looking to expand the practice, but to reduce his working hours. He said Mrs A had been giving him grief about his hours. Mickey presented Ged with an opportunity to take more time away.

He agreed to join Myrtle Road Dental Surgery on the basis he could take on NHS patients. Mickey’s father had drilled in payback. A scholarship paid for his education and state health dentists were like rocking horse shit.

That evening, Jeremy Pierce and Renaud Viard took Mickey out for dinner. As a National 1 club, it would be a pay per game contract. The monthly number, assuming he played every week, would be quite strong. With Allerdyce’s salary, a day a week at the University Dental Hospital and Dings Crusaders rugby, he was doing more than alright.

Mickey squiggled his signatures on two contracts the next morning, filled his car with clothes and drove down the M4 to Bristol. He had seen enough break-ups to know the word new appeared in people’s lives. So it had with Mickey. New job, new club, new location. What hadn’t changed was living in the rugby house with no friends and bouts of loneliness. He dragged several bags into the biggest bedroom. He had a couple of days off to buy food, find his way around, go to the gym and meet his new team-mates.

The big plus was he would never bump into Shona or that prick Quillan when he was emotionally down.

Chapter 3 – Miss Christie

As a girl, Jacqueline Christie went to parties with her schoolfriends. That inevitably led to boys. Her parents dropped her off at dates or picked her up afterwards, to make sure she was safe.

Before her GCSE examinations, she met Logan Mellor, a boy in the year above at school. He was a cool kid and she was maturing into an attractive girl. They hit it off immediately. Jax was thrilled when, one month later, the pregnancy result came back negative.

This prompted a conversation with her mum. Jax and her mother went to the doctor, followed by the hairdresser. They agreed that Logan should keep using condoms, despite one splitting. The double protection seemed sensible to Jax’s mum.

The hairdresser shortened Jax’s long locks and styled them in a fashionable bob, which made her look older. One the way home, her mother took Jax to buy some prettier underwear.

Jax and Logan got on wonderfully. Their parents became friends and some dates became near family reunions. These dinners gave Jax and Logan a legitimate opportunity to sneak off to a bedroom under the guise of getting away from the olds. Jax’s mum made sure they weren’t disturbed for an hour.

Neither Logan nor Jax had any desire to go to university. Both left school with A level qualifications and started work. Logan started working a year earlier than Jax and was able to save a little. Shortly after leaving school, they rented a small place just outside of Bristol city centre.

Jax lost her Grandma and was bequeathed a small amount of money in her will. This prompted a conversation about where she and Logan could live. There was a new property development on Bristol’s waterfront which, if they pooled all their savings, they could scrape enough deposit to buy a unit off plan.

Geoff Christie, Jax’s dad, sat them both down. As an accountant, he got the numbers quickly. He came up with a figure which showed how much each had put into the deposit, and the ownership was split accordingly. Logan’s parents agreed. Geoff was protecting his mother’s legacy to her only granddaughter. Logan and Jax shovelled every penny away they could.

They furnished the place with items bought second hand. Logan’s parents bought them a new bed which was Christened frequently. The mortgage was cheaper than both of them renting a place, and both sets of parents saved a fortune on food and power consumption. Logan punched the overtime and Jax got bonuses from selling at a call centre.

She was deeply happy and contented. Logan missed nights out with the boys.

One night, Logan found himself at the back of a car with a girl. She wasn’t as pretty as Jax, or as bright, but she was different. Jax suddenly realised their sex life had stopped. Logan kept her at arm’s length, literally. When she saw a message on his phone calling him back for another check-up at the Sexual Health Clinic, she hit the roof.

The argument was savage. Logan defended himself, but he took a lot of punches. He spent that night with his parents. Jax got checked out. It was a worrying two weeks until she was given the all clear.  The result didn’t alter that Jax felt unclean. Invaded. She worried she might never have children, She bought all kinds of body products. Logan was never allowed near Jax or touched her body again.

At the age of nearly twenty-six, when an element of calm had descended, the conversation was placid, nearly gentle. Jax simply stated her decision. Logan asked if there was any going back. She said no. Done. Over.  Jax was absolutely never going to take him back. She could be most things, but forgiving wasn’t one of them.

‘This is going to bump your mortgage up,’ said Geoff Christie, looking at the numbers. ‘Are you sure you want to stay there?’

‘If I leave, I’ll never afford to buy the place back.’

Geoff and Jax arrange a meeting on neutral ground with Logan and his parents. Geoff had prepared a document showing the outstanding mortgage, property value, Logan and Jax’s parts of the deposit.

He proposed Jax bought the property, less ten grand in selling fees. Logan could walk away immediately, with no further interest in the property, to which he agreed. They went to a lawyer and signed the paperwork. Geoff subbed his daughter’s next three months’ payments which gave her the space to buy the apartment.

Jax didn’t date for a considerable period of time. She had one revenge date with Logan’s best friend. It was a one-night stand and she threw everything she knew at it. The boy told all his mates how good Jax Christie was and what she did. Logan seethed upon hearing the details.

He decided to remonstrate with Jax. She yelled at him and said they were no longer dating and she could fuck whoever she chose, how and the guy’s dick was way bigger.

Jax came home and opened the apartment block door. She was tired and her head throbbed. She grabbed the mail and went to her apartment. One stuck out. She read it several times before the words sank in.

She ran to the toilet and vomited. She sat on the floor, breathing heavily. The image flashed through her mind and she vomited again. The bank had approved a personal loan for twenty grand with a two-year term. The payment was nearly a thousand pounds per month.

Geoff Christie read it while Jax prodded some food around her plate.

‘If I say what a swine, you won’t be surprised.’

Jax shook her head.

‘There are only two things you can do. One is sue Logan and hope to get money back through the courts. The problem is he might not have the money or declare himself bankrupt so he doesn’t have to pay you. The other is suck it up and accept it.’

‘I want to injure him.’

Geoff nodded. ‘I knew you would. Let’s go to the bank and prove it’s a forged signature. My guess is he did it on-line. Can you prove it was when you were breaking up?’

Jax left the dining room and threw up in the downstairs loo. She knew she could prove the break-up, but it meant talking about what Logan had potentially done to her. That would be excruciatingly embarrassing.

When she returned, Geoff put a welcoming arm on her shoulder. That arm had shielded her from pain as a child, a girl and now a woman. She hugged her dad for ages as the tears flowed.

‘There’s nothing you can tell me which will make me love you any less.’

Jax spilled the story. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose on the tablecloth.

‘We have one course of action which is low cost and low risk. We’ll take the little shit to a small claims court. You won’t get more than ten grand, but it costs peanuts.’ Geoff’s mouth set in an evil smile. ‘We’ll go to the bank, get the documents and work on them to help you with the payments. Let’s see the twat wriggle out of this one.

Chapter 4 – The Stripper

‘That went better than we could have hoped,’ said Geoff, when he and Jax were eating lunch. ‘Commuting the loan to be paid like a mortgage will reduce your payments.’

‘But it still needs bloody paying, Dad!’ Jax was angry and felt like she couldn’t win.

‘I promise I won’t let you sink, sweetheart.’ He put his knife and fork down. ‘You might need to get a second job, at least in the short term. Or sell the apartment.’

‘Never!  The shit will never know he’s won!’

Geoff knew this was a given. Jax needed more income. Even if the court went in her favour, she would need to make more money to limit the damage. And there was a ceiling to what call centre jobs paid.

Geoff agreed to pay the mortgage set-up fee and the first three months’ payments. That was her lifeline. She took packed lunches to work. She brought coffee in a thermos flask, which saved buying drinks in the company’s vending machine. She turned every light and appliance off when she went out.

Jax got an interview. A bar job meant a little extra money, tips were untaxed and she wasn’t spending money when she worked. Being out meant she didn’t use energy at home. The bar gave her a meal, which was an added bonus. Jax had lost six kilos. She was barely heavy before.

She was taken on a couple of dates. They were nice guys. Kind, courteous, attentive and ever so interested in Jax, but they quickly drifted apart. Jax wasn’t interested in intimacy. Heavy kisses were abruptly stopped and there was never going to be anything more.

She pushed hard at the call centre for orders and won several monthly cash bonuses for being top sales. That attracted her boss’ attention.

Jax was hit with a dilemma. It was nice, but a dilemma. She was offered the Team Leader’s job. Her base would go up by a good chunk, but she would lose the monthly commission which would be replaced with a quarterly bonus. She took the job. If she made all her numbers, it meant a thirty percent rise.

She saw an advert for a place called Sin-phonia, Bristol’s best known strip joint. She took the extra pound an hour and started behind the bar. Jax was surprised at how well she got tipped. She took drinks to tables and put on the right amount of flirt. The owner liked to see short skirts and low tops. Jax couldn’t give a bugger!

‘You’d make so more money stripping, Jax,’ said the owner.

‘Being naked in front of a bunch of letches?’

The owner said nothing. He looked at Jax’s slim figure and how good her bum looked in black trousers. The silence weighed heavily.

‘How much will I get paid?’

‘You’ll easy make three hundred a night in tips.’

‘What if someone recognises me?’

‘Who’s going to tell their wife they know a stripper? That’s an instant divorce.’

‘I’ve never done it. How do I learn?’

‘Watch the girls. When you’re ready, we’ll do a routine. If you can survive that, you’ll be fine. The stage lights hide punters’ faces anyway.’

‘I’m not doing private lap dances or sex work.’

‘We’re a strip joint. We sell beer and birds and our bouncers keep it clean.’ He thought quickly. ‘Tonight. Take an hour off. Talk to the girls. Ask them about it. If you’re not comfortable, no sweat.’

‘Can I work weekends?’

‘Can for me, but Christmas is flat-out manic busy. Seven days a week. You’ll earn eight grand in December without trying.’

‘Why me, Vondell?’

‘Seriously, Jax? You’re bloody pretty and have a great figure.’ Vondell looked furtively. ‘And I’m sick of hiring dogs and dykes. I want some talent to drive this place up market, whop up the price and appeal to higher ticket punters. I want fit girls so I can let a few of the nightmare girls go.’

Jax used the internet to see dance routines, how long they lasted and when the items of clothing were removed. She looked in her underwear drawer. There was the practical work stuff, but nothing strippers seemed to wear.

She asked the girls and was pleasantly surprised how they helped. Two spent time with Jax one Saturday morning helping create a routine.

She was told to take her clothes off and stand on stage naked. Linda poked and shoved Jax’s stance. She showed Jax how to walk one leg over the other, accentuating her hips and how to use a pole for a prop.

‘You need some gear, girl!’ said Linda. ‘I know an on-line retailer. Sexy as, but so comfy.’ Linda leaned forward. ‘And I’ll show you how to cope when it’s time of the month. You won’t want to lose a weekend’s tips because of that! Final thing. Get a wig. Nobody will recognise you with long hair, and sure as eggs are eggs, punters aren’t staring at your face.’

‘When do I get tips?’ asked Jax.

‘While you’re dancing. Here. Watch. Imagine the stage is here.’

Linda crossed her legs at the ankles and picked up the imaginary money. One arm shielded her boobs and she turned sideways.

‘It stops people seeing droopy boobs or looking up your flue. Keep them wanting more.’

‘How much do you make?’

Linda looked at Jax. ‘Two fifty’s a quiet night. Special nights have been over four hundred.’

‘Christ!’

‘It’s six nights a week having punters leer, letch, give you phone numbers, ask for private dances and gangs of lads try to feel you up. It’s a job, honey. Why do you want to do this crap?’

‘My mortgage is biting me in the arse. I’ve got a regular day job, but I need to pay off a horrible debt from a nasty, shitty ex.’

‘You’ll fit in here so well! There are tons of hard luck stories.’ Linda leaned in. ‘Watch out for the dykes.’

‘Who?’

‘You’ll figure out the stray hands fast enough. And get a stage name.’ Linda took a step back. ‘You’re a pretty girl, Jax. You should do alright.’

Jax bought three sets of underwear from Linda’s on-line retailer. She was right. They were very comfy. Whoever designed them knew a thing or two about sexiness.

She danced in front of the mirror. She learned from Linda and on-line videos on how to strip, reveal and hide. Her first run in front of the Sin-phonia staff was horrendous. She tripped up and the routine was far too short.

Linda joined Jax for the second dance, walked her through it and gave instructions. It was much better. The third dance was to an illuminated stage with the house lights down.

‘There you go!’ enthused Linda.

Vondell was delighted. He had fired two strippers for till-dipping and was short of girls.

Linda was proved correct. Within six months, it was a job. Jax had developed a routine for those who tipped higher. She held the money over her front and squiggled her hips while sucking her lower lip in and closing her eyes.

She had also heard every comment, quip, sex line and obscenity going. She’s been asked out on more dates than on a palm tree. Apart from paying off bills and giving her some financial headroom, the process had put her off men, big time.

That night, Jax was late. She was working the 12-8 shift at the call centre and a crisis emerged. A corporate client had made a hefty claim which had been approved but the company hadn’t coughed up the money. It was getting dangerously close to Christmas and people were mighty thin on the ground.

The client called in, threatening to issue winding up proceedings, which usually sharpened people’s focus. The shift manager asked Jax to help him work through the layers of the organisation and to placate the client. She had an excellent phone manner. Between them, they found the log jam and called a number of people outside hours to get the money moving. Jax called the client and gave him a firm date when the money would be released. She allowed an extra 48 hours for the usual internal bullshit.

It worked, but the price was working until nine o’clock.

She was always prepared. Her strip bag was packed and in her car boot. It saved driving home to pick it up. She left the call centre, but got stuck on some traffic. It was past ten o’clock when she got into Sin-phonia’s car park.

Jax greeted the other dancers and set her clothes on a dressing table. Two wigs were put on polystyrene heads. Her outfits were put on hangers. She took out her make-up bag. She started with her warm-up routines. She stretched and tensed, followed by some sit-ups. They gave her stomach some definition without being lumpy. She did the same with her legs. It made her feel more attractive.

Jax grabbed her phone and went to the bar. There were piles of messages. She flipped through her apps and saw a number she knew.

She found a quiet corner, drank two colas and read the message. Logan had sent a note, turning her blood to ice and then fire as she read. He’d offered six grand to cease the legal action, but she had to choose. Take the money or risk getting nothing. She sipped her drink and her head lolled back. The knowledge that this nightmare could end washed over her in a wave.

Her mood lifted and Jax relaxed like she hadn’t since before Logan admitted to his infidelity. That was two years ago.

Chapter 5 – Dings Crusaders’ Christmas Social

Mickey Rayner, as the new boy, was been invited to any number of socials. Players were instructed to make him feel welcome. They also kept him drinking at the club after a game. It helped fill the club’s coffers as well as giving everyone the chance to get to know Mickey.

The Christmas event was always going to be a heavier night. Mickey usually kept off the booze, but it was the first Friday that season when there was no game on Saturday. He correctly guessed this was going to be boozing of epic proportions.

The dress code was club hoodie and T-shirt, which was a good idea because it was cold. The temperature had fallen and the snow flurries had stuck. The warming winds which usually blew along the Bristol Channel had been replaced by Northerlies from the Arctic. He wore a club wind jacket and beanie hat. His short hair meant his head froze.

He arrived at the bar and hugged his old friend Renaud Viard, then shook hands with the other players. Mickey had been a hit. He added a dimension of pace and power to the forwards.  He was used to a much higher standard. The difference was these boys were fun.

Cam Bolton played Centre and was the team’s vice-captain. He also deputised as social secretary and was in charge of the evening’s frivolities. He took fifty pounds from each player which was the beer kitty.

‘Nudge. You and Gunston can be the advanced party,’ said Bolton. ‘Message me when you get to the pub. Shall we try The Admiral next?’ He handed over a few hundred pounds to cover the tab.

‘What’s going on, Mick?’ asked Viard.

‘Nudge and Gunston are going one pub ahead. They’ll order the beer to save us queuing,’ he replied in French.

Viard threw out a typical Gallic gesture and sigh. French socials were red wine and cheese on a coach trip. He was getting used to the amber stuff. Gunston and Nudge finished their beer and left.

‘What can I get you fellers?’ smiled The Admiral’s barman.

‘Twenty-two pints of lager, four Guinness and an IPA, please.’

‘Are you taking the piss?’

Gunston pulled out a wad of cash and slapped it on the table. ‘There’s a bunch of guys in dire need of pints,’ smiled Gunston. He gave the barman a fiver for his efforts.

The barman roped in two colleagues to fill glasses. Beer was lined up on a shelf by the door. Drinkers saw the order and looked at the two men.

The pub door rattled open.

‘Over there, boys!’ pointed Gunston.

The collective cheer rose as Dings’ boys grabbed a pint and drank.

‘Same again?’ asked the barman, seeing loads of empty glasses.

‘Silly not to,’ said Nudge, slapping down a glass.

Jonah Street was known as Nudge. He’d been captain at Dings for the previous three seasons. The team had stayed mid table under his stewardship. He called a game of rugby a nudge. He was once overheard watching a TV perfume commercial where the strap line was what would you do for love. Nudge shouted: nudge one out and think of you, sweetheart!

The name stuck.

Simon Gunston was a builder by profession who augmented his money by playing rugby. He was a pugnacious fly half and a great guy for the team. Gunston and Street were delighted to have Rayner on board. He was able to guide Nudge’s on-field decisions, which weren’t the greatest.

‘Where now guys?’ asked Bolton, seeing the kitty dwindling after its second top-up. Many had hit double figures with beer.

‘Got a bad idea!’ said Gunston. ‘How about rounding off at the Sin-phonia?’

‘What is the Sin-phonia?’ asked Viard.

‘No idea,’ said Mickey, pulling his phone out. ‘Jesus. A strip joint.’

‘Strip-teaseuse.’

‘Should be a laugh.’

‘When was the last time you saw a naked girl, mon pote?’

Viard and Rayner followed the troop.

The entrance was covered by a gawdy red canopy with two poles and a rope. Bouncers greeted people as if they were entering a red-carpet event. Some were ejected, normally for lewd behaviour, fighting or being pissed out of their head. The Dings Crusaders boys might have qualified on all three scores.

The steps went down into a cavernous room, adorned with dark wallpaper and a carpet which seemed to leap up to greet punters. At one side was the bar, full of taps and optics. The stage was slightly illuminated in the middle, with music playing over the speakers.

‘Evening,’ nodded a bouncer. He noticed their hoodies’ logo. He prayed they weren’t going to be trouble. These boys looked like they could handle themselves. And there was over twenty-five of them.

‘Jesus!’ muttered Gunston. ‘For ten quid in, I think we’ve been robbed.’

‘What d’you expect?’ asked Nudge. ‘It’s not the Palais de fucking Dance!’

‘Sacre Bleu!’ said Viard.

Mickey flicked his eyebrows up in understanding. Bolton pointed to a load of beer, served in plastic glasses. There was no danger of them being stolen.

‘Hey!’ said Bolton to the barman. ‘What time’s the stripper on?’

‘Ask her yourself. She’s sat next to you.’

Jax hadn’t noticed the time and the Sin-phonia was filling quicker than she’d anticipated and she heard Bolton’s comment.

‘Shit, I’m sorry,’ he apologised.

Jax flicked her head, dismissing the comment.

‘Would you like to meet my friend?’ he pushed. ‘New into town.’ He turned to Rayner. ‘Raider. Come here. This is my mate, Mickey.’

He extended a hand for shaking.

‘New to Bristol or new to the team?’ she asked, noticing the hoodies.

‘New to everything, I’m afraid.’ He paused. ‘Can I ask your name?’

‘Jax.’

She froze. She’d given her real name. The effect of Logan’s offer had disrupted her concentration.

‘I really don’t want a boyfriend,’ she said immediately.

‘And for sure I don’t want a girlfriend,’ dismissed Mickey.

‘A bad break up,’ clarified Cam at Mickey’s shoulder. ‘All work and no play.’

‘If you could stomach a friend, I’d like to have lunch with you.’

‘A friend?’

‘I don’t have many of those.’ Mickey lowered his head and flashed his eyes at Jax. ‘I bet you get hit on a hundred times a night.’

‘On a quiet one,’ she muttered.

He took his phone out. ‘This is me on Facebook. Check me out. If you fancy that lunch, send me a friends request.’

‘What about people you work with?’ she asked, clicking a photo on her phone.

‘I don’t date patients.’

‘Doctor?’

‘Dentist.’ He looked at Jax. ‘You’ve got nice teeth. People with good teeth smile lots.’

‘Am I going to get a bill for that?’

‘I’m NHS mainly.’

‘Wow! You could make a bomb being private.’

‘There’s more to life than money. People deserve a dentist.’

‘I need to get ready. You can see me naked in half an hour.’

‘I’ll be gone way before that. This isn’t my scene, but I can’t let the team down. Nice to meet you.’

Mickey returned to the team. He got a round of applause from the boys and another pint was bought for services to chatting up strippers, as Bolton had announced.

‘Still got it,’ smiled Viard.

‘Thank you, gentlemen!’ said the announcer. ‘Get ready for our first act of the evening. For your pleasure, we are delighted to welcome to the stage, from Redruth, our Cornish Nut Cruncher, Cheryl!’

There was a raucous cheer. The music started. Lights whirled then a heartbeat came over the speaker. Jax walked on and grabbed the pole. She leaned forward to the man in the front row holding out ten pounds. She ran it over her boobs and hooked it into her garter belt. She picked up the next note bending forward fully, to another cheer.

Mickey melted into the background. The blonde wig changed Jax’s face. She was near unrecognisable, but for sure she had a bloody good body.

He said goodnight to the boys, hugged Renaud and left. The bouncer looked relieved that one had left. There was still a room full of drunk and rowdy men watching girls strip. The bouncer returned to the night job.