The Girl at the Bus-Stop Read online

  The Girl at the Bus Stop

  by

  Sam Aubigny

  Copyright © 2011 Fran Hiatt Limited

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places or events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely co-incidental.

  When a wannabe author receives his 1000th rejection letter from a literary agent, how can he possibly recover? Easily, by getting blind drunk and writing a best-selling sex novel.

  Middle-aged clerk Reuben Rudge, has been writing sci-fi novels for many years, and getting nowhere. His latest rejection letter is the last straw, so he gets drunk and watches a late night TV documentary about BDSM. In the morning he wakes up naked on the floor, with a manuscript to post.

  A few weeks later he receives a letter from a publisher addressed to Ms Raspberry Caine, inviting her to contract talks for the adult novel Disciplinary Attraction. After finding the manuscript on his laptop, Rudge reads it and is shocked by its content and even more so when he realises that he’s the author.

  Fearing a lack of credibility, he persuades a complete stranger at his bus stop, young Becky, to pose as Raspberry Caine at the interview.

  The book becomes a bestseller, and Rudge lies to his wife about a new job he has in London. He employs Becky full-time as Raspberry Caine, and she has to bluff her way through the book launch and a succession of functions attended by celebrities, VIPs and the ‘arty-farty’ glitterati.

  Rudge is under pressure to write the sequel, but has no ideas whatsoever. Becky steps in to help by documenting the kinky exploits of her famous new friends, but forgets to change their real names.

  Will a scandal unfold? Does Mrs Rudge discover her husband's secret life?

  Comments from readers and writers

  “Well this is an absolutely excellent plot, and a perfect pitch to boot. I am more than happy to plunge into this story. It’s like Remington Steele but with a sci-fi geek hiding behind a woman. The style is light and breezy. The dry wit is very enjoyable. The opening chapter’s suburban setting is suitably boring yet desperate. That aspect of the humour is where it’s at its best.”

  “This is very likeable. There’s bags of charm, and lots of clever, wry humorous touches. I found your writing style a very easy one to follow and enjoyed the humour.”

  “This is not my genre but you got me on the first page. It flows wonderfully and the humour is spot on.”

  “I wish you all the very best with this. It deserves to go all the way and I am surprised it is not in Waterstones now.”

  “Very funny. I enjoyed the dry humour and the acute observations (although the humour is very British and I wonder how well it would travel?). Your ending is an interesting twist. It's hard to comment too much without giving anything away.”

  “This is really outstanding! Your dry, understated humour really rocks my boat! And of course, how could I not relate to the frustrations of the under-appreciated writer?”

  “…………the writing is smooth, very entertaining. To me Rueben is real to life character.”

  “I found your writing to be very visual and entertaining. I like the range of similes you build in early on that create humour and some rather unpleasant images. Everyone likes a good loser, and your character certainly fits that bracket. “

  “I read all of this and loved it! Reuben is such a lovely man, and I feel for his lack of success with his S-F novels.”

  “This story has a main character who easy to relate to – because he’s just like all of us, bus collecting rejection slips on a regular basis. I sympathized with him right away. I like the detail you include in your descriptions of scenes: exactly the colour or brand or smell of everything; makes your setting feel very real.”

  “Loved this! Warm and funny and deserves to do well.”

  “I was drawn into it by your pitch. It sounded different and when I read the first chapter it was just that. Your sense of humour is very sharp. I love the line regarding Mr Potter where you describe him as a cadaver in a cardigan. I also like the parts where the overseas callers are harassing Rudge with offers that he just isn't interested in. Another sympathy vote! What makes this novel different is the theme of Rudge pretending to be a female author. Very clever. Good luck with this.”

  “This was delightfully tongue in...cheek. Well done!”

  “I like your sense of humour. You have many funny descriptions and examples of dirty humour. There is a niche audience for this type of writing.”

  “This is excellent, original and a damned good read. I would buy it if I saw it in a book shop just on the strength of the pitch.”

  “Rudge instantly is a sympathetic character…I believe many will relate since we’ve all felt this way at one point or another. Nothing seems to go right for the poor man. I loved many of the lines such as ‘Cadaver in a cardigan’, from that line on I was hooked. Poor Rudge, the world just doesn’t spin in his direction. The mistake at the office, his rejection letter he hurls across the room, even the fence needing repair, your heart just reaches out to the poor man. I found his mood hilarious, his responses to the phone solicitors was spot on. You manage to draw the reader into his tiring existence.”

  “I laughed so often through the chapters I kept turning the pages. I loved the wording and the many snippets such as, ‘whatever happened to a couple pints after work’ then the joke about his wife. The drunken nights he barely remembers anything, waking nude in the hall. There is so much humour throughout the chapters it is a wonderful hook to keep the readers engrossed.”

  “This book is such wonderful fun! I laughed my way through the first two chapters, then sobered up and read the next two as well, just to see if there was anything about it I could really, as in really criticise, and in fact, there just isn't. The writing rolls smoothly along, the characters are straight out of reality, the sense of dread is something we have all visited. As an example, the wise cracking, happy work mates are just perfect.”

  “I like the sarky, "urgently required crap" being delivered in vans, the "reproduction Georgian brass effect battery operated Chinese carriage clock" We have all felt the way Reuben does, but you have it pitch perfect.”

  “Brilliant stuff. All the very best with this!”

  “I love good writing and that’s what I read here, writing that flows and is a pleasure to read. The quality of writing here made it impossible not to comment. Phrases like ‘with an expression like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle...’, ‘can name the five vegetable you most resemble...’ and ‘he wondered how anyone so pretty could go to such lengths to make herself look like a vandalised work of art’... were gems. Rudge meeting Becky in Chapter Three is where this story really kicked in for me.”

  “Great idea, well written. Lots of good lines in there. “

  “My kind of writing...full of humour and observation, not to mention the obsession with minute detail! Bloody good.”

  “….clever premise= a failing writer- l can identify with that- you can't be, with your excellent writing skill, originality and knowledge of how to use narrative and dialogue with great effect.”

  “Mr Rudge is a great character and I like his relationship with Becky, they seem to have the makings of a good 'team'. You've captured the everyday working life routine spot on and the way Rudge has names for all his neighbours (I do the same!)”

  “The first chapter showcases a typical day and thoughts that I feel many people would identify with. He has the normal complaints and jealousy. Rudge is bitter toward his wife and the decisions he feels she has forced him to make. This story has a lot of promise even though it is not something I would typically pick out to read. “

  “This is right up my street. Quintessentially English with great observations of the mundanity and annoyance of life. I'm a huge advocate of chapter headings, and the title of the first is just inspired. A lot of hats will be raised to that one. I checked out all the other chapter headings because of that, and found more gems. 'Good Year For The Raspberries' does the impossible by eclipsing the first (as myself, you're obviously a fan of Costello). The way you built up the 'Wife on Mars' gag was masterly - really good comedy writing and very funny. This is a breath of fresh air.”

  “This is highly original, very funny and nicely written. I've read the first seven chapters and I can't wait to read the rest of it. I'm sure it will be extremely popular as a novel and it would also make a great comedy film. Well done.”

  Chapter 1 - 99 Lead Balloons. 6

  Chapter 2 – A Good Year for the Raspberries. 12

  Chapter 3 – Once in a Lifetime. 17

  Chapter 4 – London Calling. 23

  Chapter 5– This Year’s Girl 28

  Chapter 6 – Bubblewrapper’s Delight 35

  Chapter 7 – Waterloo Sun Seat 38

  Chapter 9 – Suspicious Minds. 51

  Chapter 10 – Master and Servant 58

  Chapter 11 – Too Sci-Fi 73

  Chapter 12 – Eatin’ Trifles. 80

  Chapter 13 – Making Plans With Nigel 88

  Chapter 14 – The Game of the Name. 97

  Chapter 15 – Brasserie in Pocket 104

  Chapter 16 – Leave in Silence. 112

  Chapter 17 – Holidays in the Sun. 121

  Chapter 18 – Are Friends Eclectic?. 130

  Chapter 19 – Senses Working Overtime. 140

  Chapter 20 – 2000 Smiles. 150

&
nbsp; Chapter 21 – A Glass of Champagne. 157

  Chapter 22 – Seasons in the Sun. 164

  Chapter 1 - 99 Lead Balloons

  Reuben Rudge hated Dave Banstead more than life itself. Earlier that day he’d allowed the bullying sales manager to humiliate him in front of the entire office at the crumbling headquarters of Einstein & Unger, Motor Factors. Rudge would have rejoiced in telling the horrible bloated git exactly where he could shove his job, but in the thick of a recession he’d had to take it like a mouse.

  On this occasion Banstead had blamed Rudge for an ordering mix-up which had resulted in a consignment of too few alternators and too many starter motors arriving from the Chinese manufacturer. Rudge had felt his neck glow almost white-hot as Banstead’s verbal horse-whipping cut ugly welts into his self-esteem. He had tried wracking his brain to try and remember details about the order, just so he could at least try and fight back with some facts. He had no recollection of it whatsoever, and had sat in silence until his manager finally exhausted his limited vocabulary of expletives.

  The rest of the staff didn’t think much of Banstead’s management style either. He possessed all the people skills of a dog chained up in a breaker’s yard, and his brow-beaten workforce had discovered no redeeming qualities in the man whatsoever.

  ‘I wouldn’t take any notice of him, Mr Rudge,’ Mrs Garner the cleaning lady had said sympathetically. ‘He leaves the toilet in a terrible state, and I have to open all the windows.’

  ‘I’d hate to be his poor wife,’ said Sharon from accounts. ‘Just imagine waking up next to that big fat belly every morning? It would be like sleeping up against an overfilled cold hot water bottle.’

  ‘What about if he was on top of you doing the business?’ suggested Lauren, the new girl. ‘He’d need at least nine inches before he even got near the target, so anything less and he’d break your ribs trying to get it up.’

  ‘But somehow you just know he hasn’t,’ a smirking Sharon had replied. ‘I bet he’s stacked like a button mushroom.’

  The women had cackled at the remarks, and Rudge had smiled politely before delving into the company’s archaic computer system to try and clear his name. He had hoped to prove to Banstead that the flaky software was to blame for the cock-up on the order, but having wasted over an hour on his quest he’d discovered that it was his fault after all. He’d simply entered the wrong quantities against each part number, and had neglected to double-check the docket.

  Rudge had moodily knuckled down to his afternoon’s toil in silence, ignoring the cheerful Friday afternoon banter of his colleagues. He had no longer felt part of their world, and the easy efficiency in which they set about their tasks was at odds with his stupidity and carelessness. He had been making a lot of schoolboy errors lately, and he couldn’t understand why. Ordering car parts was not exactly a difficult job, and despite his lowly position in the workplace he could at least pretend to be interested.

  As soon as five o’clock came around he’d been the first out of the door as usual. He’d rushed from the building without a word, and walked at an almost Olympic pace through the 1970s industrial estate to reach his bus-stop.

  After enduring a forty minute journey squashed up on a seat next to an obese woman smelling of piss, Rudge walked home that evening with his head down. His spirits couldn’t sink much lower if they’d been made out of lead. He just wanted to go to bed, pull the covers over his head and wait for death. He consoled himself that at least it was the end of the working week and the incident would be forgotten about by Monday. He knew by now that life was full of varying degrees of positivity and negativity, cancelling each other out to reach a plateau of mind-numbing indifference.

  By the time he reached the top of his road he’d already pushed Banstead to the back of his mind. This was unusual because since Banstead had joined the company three years before, Rudge had endured one dreadful working day after another. People are often subjected to one nemesis at a time in life, but Rudge seemed to be stuck with two. It occurred to him that Dave Banstead and Mrs Rudge were in cahoots, operating a 24/7 rota system on a mission to make his life as unbearable as possible. Rudge perked up a little when he remembered that there was an added bonus to the weekend. Mrs Rudge would be away at her sister’s until Monday.

  He glanced at the sign for his road, Pine Avenue, and wondered why street names were always so unimaginative. As he walked along, quite jauntily now, he went through some alternative names in his head. He decided that street names used in pop songs would be a much better alternative, and in just a few yards he’d come up with, Baker Street, Blackberry Way, Penny Lane, Warwick Avenue and Heart Attack and Vine. He abandoned the idea when he couldn’t think of enough titles to cover just the roads on his dreary housing estate, and frowned in disappointment.

  He stopped to watch the sun-tanned smiling thirty-something builder bloke rinsing the shampoo off his BMW coupé, parked on his symmetrically patterned block-paved drive. Rudge knew that the man had plenty of reasons to look happy as he’d often seen his attractive wife leaving for work in the morning. Now there was someone he could aspire to, the man seemed in total control of his life. He even wore designer logo clothes for work, albeit covered in cement dust and paint.

  As the last of the suds were dispersed from the wet silver paintwork with a jet-wash hose, Rudge felt a pang of jealousy. He often wished he still had a car of his own, but five years’ previously he’d written-off his elderly Citroen after a collision with a deer. Foolishly Rudge had accepted a derisory pay out from his insurers, and the subsequent loss of No Claims Bonus meant that he couldn’t afford insure even the most modest of replacement cars.

  He’d tried seeking additional compensation from the Highways Agency. He’d argued that the animal had run across the road in front of him a good fifty yards or so before the warning sign for deer. It hadn’t washed, and neither had the suggestion that they move the sign back fifty yards to prevent further tragic loss of people’s No Claims Bonuses, and to the local deer population as well of course.

  It was Rudge’s wife who’d suggested that he should invest the insurance payout in a season ticket for the local bus service. The savings on car insurance, road tax, servicing and fuel would easily pay for a decent summer holiday in her favourite destination of Lanzarote. After constant badgering he had reluctantly given in to her demands, but having owned a car since he was seventeen it had been a bitter pill to swallow.

  He couldn’t dispute the fact that urban roads were now so gridlocked that streets often resembled skinny car parks, and at least buses could use the Bus Lanes. That’s if they weren’t blocked by shop fitters’ vans, or twenty four seven retail delivery trucks bringing urgent unnecessary crap from the Far East to replenish the shelves.

  Despite the inconvenience of walking to and from bus-stops in all weathers, wasting hours of his life waiting around, sharing his personal space with nutters, yobs, smelly people and the totally baffling he had quickly adapted to the harsh reality of his new routine. Despite the abject misery of the whole Public Transport experience, he knew it was the sensible option.