The Bunk Up (The Village People Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

there’s been no one resident for a while. A little shove on the rickety window at the back and I was in. My mother had left a key for the cottage inside on the hook. Talk about asking to be broken into. I’ve boarded the back window up and stuck some tape on it for now. It’s a little breezy. I’ll get someone to look at it later. I’m hardly flush with money right now. Acting jobs are hard to come by.
    My hope is that Tilly needs a location to film some scenes in and that as well as finding me a part, she also pays rent for the property. I sincerely hope I don’t have to contact my mother and let her know I need to stay here. We’re not exactly on the best of terms. She’s too busy adoring her other son. Her eldest. He’s a freaking nutter. An accountant by day, he makes a ridiculous amount of money as an artist in his spare time -if by art you mean sticking strange detritus together like empty toilet roll tubes. He did that once, really. It was entitled The Unused Guinea Pig Paradise and people paid vast sums of money to go and see it. He makes money out of used loo rolls and my life is so shit I need the toilet tissue.
    Wiping dust off the bathroom mirror, I check out my appearance. I’ve not shaved for a couple of days so I’ve five o’ clock shadow giving me a broody leading man appearance. Maybe I can push Joe in a pond if I need to, or under a horse. There’s bound to be a few round here. My stomach growls. Decision made. First I need to find Tilly and then I’ll pop to the Horse and Hound for pie and mash.
    Beydon has no through road. I figure that’s how it has its current population of ninety-four people. They obviously came here and couldn’t find their way back out again. I miss the bustle of London already, with its huge array of delicatessens and women. Here there’s a tea-room, Beydon Hall (where the main filming is taking place), a village shop and a furniture shop. Even the church is called St Peter’s and St Paul’s, urging people to fly away. The average age here seems to be about sixty. Most of the property here is privately owned by the owner of Beydon Hall. Maybe they should sell it off to get a bit of young blood back in the place. From what I’ve seen of some of the local women, it wouldn’t surprise me if a little in-breeding hadn’t occurred, or bestiality. No, I’m not being cruel. My eyes have burned at times.
    I finally get to the entrance of Beydon Hall. There’s an imposing garden to the front of it, with a sweeping gravel driveway. It’s a good job I’m a gym bunny and love a morning run or I’d be sweating like some of the pigs in the barns here. How does one solitary piece of gravel always manage to find its way to the bottom of your shoe? I spent half the jog tapping my foot to the ground to get it to stay at the front. I lean against a wall and take off my trainer.
    “Cut.” I hear someone yell. “Can someone get the bloody idiot away from the property.”
    “I know the bloody idiot. Carry on and I’ll deal with him,” says a familiar voice.
    Having put my shoe back on I stroll towards Tilly. The cameraman can fuck off if he thinks I’m rushing for him.
    “Over here,” she beckons. “Out of shot. Time is money. You’re costing me.”
    “Put me in the film then,” I beg her. “Then I can pay you back.”
    She runs a hand through spiky short black strands. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”
    I nod in agreement. “No.”
    She sighs.
    “Look,” I tell her. “I don’t think it’s fair to penalise me, or should I say penis-alise me, because of our past.”
    “Frazer. This has nothing to do with our past. It’s because I don’t think you can actually act.”
    “Huh.” I shake my head. “Still bitter after all this time.”
    “I’ve been married to Joe now for three years,” she reminds me. As if it’s something I don’t know. I’d say that’s how he got the part except he already had several Golden Globes when they met. He