Heather's Busy Week Pt. 06

By Limey Lady

Deliberately avoiding lovey-dovey relationships, Heather’s spell at university has been enjoyable indeed. Of course it helps that her looks and to-die-for body attract lusty admiration from nearly everyone she ever meets.

Now, late April, she is into the final term of her three year course. She is about to be awarded a coveted “starred first” and believes she is highly experienced in every bedroom game ever invented; highly experienced and almost (but not quite) sated. If it wasn’t for her overactive libido, she might even consider having a couple of months of celibacy, to further her final revision.

Unfortunately, as well as being blessed with a huge libido, Heather is also blessed with the ability to get into pickles and scrapes. In fact she can be a bit of a Jonah. So far she’s usually managed to keep bad luck out of her undergraduate carrying ons. But she’s not to know what lies in wait for her over the next seven days.

During the busiest week of her life, Heather finds herself confronting drug dealers and undergoing police interrogation. She also finds time to take seven different lovers, all of them more than just once, some of them on multiple occasions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Limey Lady
• Release date: Jul 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311758132

Limey Lady

Here's a confession for you: I'm not sure if "Limey Lady" is a pseudonym or my alter ego. Back in 2016, when she came into being, she was definitely a nom de plume. Now, however, I am not so sure.As background, I have always written stories but, up to 2009, writing took a backseat, way behind the demands of my family and career. Then a life-changing medical condition . . . well, it changed everything for and about me. Suddenly I had/have time to spare. Suddenly I was/am churning out tale after tale.I was born in York but brought up in West Yorkshire, in part of the Aire Valley often described as "Bronte Country". I must say, though, that although most of my stories are set locally, they have little in common with the fine works of Charlotte, Emily and Anne. So far my output can be divided into two: long stories featuring ne'er-do-wells, guns and some violence . . . and shorter stories featuring "liberated" women who rarely do what they're supposed to do.Limey Lady was created to be the author of the short stuff. But the longer novels all include feisty, uncooperative females - much like her characters - so I'm going to put her name to both as I publish on Smashwords.Watch this space . . .

Book preview

Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 06

By LimeyLady

Copyright M C Woolridge (writing as LimeyLady), 2016

Distributed by Smashwords

All characters and events in this publication,

other than those clearly in the public domain,

are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter Fourteen - Carrie does a runner

Chapter Fifteen - Heather recruits help

Chapter Sixteen - In Spider’s web

Author’s note

Other books by LimeyLady

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

(Thursday, 25th April 2002)

By rights Carrie should have been pissed off, but a flicker of hope burned inside her. After the foulest sequence of setbacks she’d finally had a break. Now, if she played her cards right, if everything went to plan . . .

Jesus, she thought, I need a hit. Just one last hit . . .

The doctor had been bang on when he’d told her the addiction was in her head. She didn’t have a physical craving; she just couldn’t stop thinking about that magical white powder.

Just one last hit . . .

She knew Mother was right in insisting on detox. She’d had a narrow escape on Sunday and couldn’t go through that sort of experience again. It really was time to clean up her act. And she would, because she was strong. She’d sail through whatever tasks the doctors imposed on her. Never mind twenty-eight days, she’d be discharged by this time next week. She was one of life’s winners. Always had been. All she needed was to get herself from now, half past midnight Thursday morning, to ten o’clock Friday morning. And there was an easy way to do that, wasn’t there?

Just one last hit . . .

Carrie cast her mind back a few hours, trying to divert it. Wednesday was the one day of the week with restricted visiting, so she’d been spared Alex and Mother for once. Instead she’d been questioned by the police.

Again.

There had been two of them: DI Fazakerley and a miserable bitch with Norwegian glaciers for eyes. Taking advice from a nurse, Carrie let them interview her in bed. According to the nurse, coppers liked to do interviews in private rooms so they could apply heavy pressure (she said heavy pressure as if it included waterboarding and thumbscrews). But not on her watch, not if she had any say in the matter. ‘Don’t take any nonsense from them,’ she’d said. ‘One press of your buzzer and I have them out on their ears.’

Fazakerley had done most of the talking while the miserable bitch took notes. He’d wanted to know where she’d got her coke from, and when. Expecting that, she assured him her second statement . . . the one she’d agreed with Heather whore Hunter . . . was factually correct. She just hadn’t mentioned the cocaine Ross had unexpectedly pressed on her.

Next up she was asked about Whore Hunter. Lying through her teeth, she’d maintained that they hadn’t spoken since Friday and would never be speaking again. Fazakerley had grunted and said their statements tallied, more or less. Seizing the opportunity, Carrie had said it was good to hear the devious cow was telling the truth for a change.

She’d stonewalled when the miserable bitch asked her about previous use. Only the once and never again, she’d said . . . and thank God for doctor/patient confidentiality!

His colleague obviously wanted to press charges but Fazakerley had considered the bigger picture. Carrie had actually seen the thoughts going through his head. Nothing to be gained by charging the lass. Most she’d ever get would be a slap on the wrist. Walker is a different kettle of fish altogether. And she can add to the case against him . . .

In the end they’d rewritten the witness statement, copying most of the last one but changing the slant slightly, and adding a few choice paragraphs to nail Ross’s coffin. She’d been okay with that. She was, after all, telling the truth. And Ross’s coke had nearly fucking-well killed her.

Carrie only noticed the cold after the police had gone. Feeling cold worried her. The hospital was always stiflingly hot, with no oxygen in the disinfectant-flavoured air. And that was before you overdosed. Feeling cold wasn’t ever supposed to happen.

A passing nurse had put her mind at ease. She wasn’t relapsing or suffering from withdrawal symptoms, the heating was playing up. It was Siberia in the women’s side of the ward, sauna-time in the men’s. The engineer had been called . . .

Dr Strickland had taken Carrie’s clothes away. His reasoning was that an addict would find it harder to escape in an NHS nightie. Carrie had reckoned it would be just as hard to sit out in Siberia, so she’d stayed where she was.

Marina dropped by perhaps an hour later. Marina was a care worker and had to be the nicest person Carrie had ever met. She didn’t speak a lot of English but had a smile that would have cheered up Scrooge.

‘Still in bed!’

Carrie had smiled back at her. It was impossible not to. ‘It’s too cold without my clothes.’ She pulled the bedsheets tighter, pretending to shiver. ‘Brrr, brrr!’

Ten minutes later Marina was back, closing the privacy curtains behind her. ‘Clothes,’ she said.

Carrie could have kissed her. They weren’t just