Frances has just met her kidnappers, a cult called The Lambs of the Apocalypse.....
“Come on,” a gentle voice said next to her elbow, “I’ll take you to your room.”
Frances, reassured by the kindness of the voice and Ken’s defence of her – and that there must be a “room” somewhere in this wild Gondwanaland (hopefully with a flushing toilet) - pocketed Des. She didn’t protest as Zeke took her by the elbow. She was utterly knackered, her wrists, ankles and now knees hurt like hell and she needed to pee so badly her sphincter was barely holding its own.
But tomorrow, these so-called-lambs were going to fear her silence!
“Zeke, is it?” Frances asked as she stumbled along beside him trying to see by the light of one flame.
“Is there a loo in my room? I really am very desperate to...”
God, the final indignity, having to talk about bladder function to a strange man who was part of what she could only assume some elaborate kidnapping scheme, or at the very least a bizarre form of practical joke.
Just as well they’d kidnapped her instead of Joni. Her sister’s Woolworth’s bladder would never have withstood the rigours that Frances’s has been put through – there would have been an accident in the back of the car for sure!
“Spend a penny,” she ended lamely.
“We have drop toilets,” Zeke informed her. “This way,” and he peeled off to the left.
How on earth he could even see where he was going was beyond Frances. She did notice that Zeke, who towered over her and whose hand at her elbow felt as big as a meat cleaver, also had the most prominent eye-balls. Remarkably so. They could surely have won him the part as Geoff Goldblum’s stunt double in The Fly.
They were obviously an asset in this apparent black hole.
“Here we are,” Zeke said as he opened a door Frances had practically run smack bang into.
A waft of composting waste, human and vegetable, permeated the dank night air and sat in her nostrils like giant globs of fetid snot.
Frances, who had quickly become reaccustomed to five star facilities, guessed suddenly that drop toilet was not a euphemism for a loo with an adjustable seat height. But considering she was ready to squat where she stood and empty her bladder in front of a bug-eyed man, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Zeke placed the torch handle through a metal ring inside the door. “That should help you see what you’re doing.”
Frances smiled weakly, not absolutely sure she really wanted to know what the inside looked like or even what she, Frances from Kew, looked like inside it, but human bodily functions knew no dignity. “If I’m not out in a minute you have my permission to come in and get me,” she murmured as she held her breath and went in.