All credit goes to Gabby's 56 year-old naked neighbour. Inspired by a slightly psychotic conversation between Gabby, Sophie and I. When you take us to the mental hospital, can you make sure it has big TVs to watch Scott&Bailey on please?

Completely Naked

When Gill woke up, sunlight was streaming in through the gap in the curtains covering the large patio windows, and illuminating the living room. The table was covered in broken glass, and the carpet was stained with scarlet patches.

She crouched down and pressed her finger against the soggy floor, then licked it. It tasted of wine, instead of blood. She was glad about this; she couldn't remember what had happened last night, but she had a feeling she'd been pissed off about something, and you never knew what you might do when you were pissed off. As she always liked to say, 'everyone is capable of murder'.

She glanced up at the calendar and realised she had the day off. Sammy was going to the football with his dad, in an attempt at 'bonding'. Gill knew how Dave and the whore liked to bribe him; it would only take a chocolate bar, and they'd be best buddies, disregarding all the pain he'd caused. But hey, that was Captain Underpants for you. Once an arse, always an arse.

Gill sat up and wiped a trail of dribble from her chin. She was going out with Julie today, and they were staying out tonight too. 'We're going out on the pull, you fat-arsed bitch', as Julie had eloquently phrased it. Oh joy.

She leant across and dragged open the curtains.

Bloody hell.

Gill wasn't really a neighbourly woman. She was out until after midnight most days, and generally left for work before anyone else got up too; she never really met anyone who lived nearby to her, and she didn't really want to.

Barbeques weren't really here thing – she preferred to get pissed alone. She didn't see what was so exciting about pressing your nose against the window as a couple screamed at each other in the street about whose turn it was to put the bins out; this was apparently 'looking out for each other', but to Gill it seemed like pure nosiness. Maybe she was just cynical, just getting old.

But bloody hell.

She knew the woman next door was called Mrs MacDonald, because when Gill had first moved into this house with Dave – God, how long ago had that been? – she'd come round with pies and cakes and a massive grin plastered across her face, and welcomed them into their new home.

She'd come round with pies and cake and a slightly less massive grin when Dave had moved out and gone to live with the whore, and offered her 'sincere condolences', like someone had died. Then again, maybe they had; maybe Gill had died inside.

But BLOODY, BLOODY HELL.

Mrs MacDonald, the head of the neighbourhood watch team, and the winner of the town's gardening competition, was lounging in the back garden on a deck chair, her wrinkly feet tucked up on a stool. Gill stared, transfixed, through the fence, her lips slowly sliding apart to form a goldfish expression.

She was naked.

Completely naked.

Gill rang Julie. Each ring seemed to grow louder, more urgent. Well, this was very, very urgent; there was no denying it.

"Hiya, Slap."

"Hi."

"You alright, Gill?" she sounded concerned, "You're not ill, are you? You can't bail on me now – I've spent all week trying to choose some high heels to go with my outfit. I'm going to look stunning."

"Such certainty."

"No, really. What's up?"

"I have a problem."

"Oh, right," Julie said, emphasizing the two syllables like 'riii-ght', as though it had been obvious all along, "What problem?"

"Do you remember Mrs MacDonald?"

"Mrs Maccy D? Of course I do. I remember when Dave walked out and she walked in with a trifle and said she was very, very sorry, and you threw it down at her feet and said you didn't want her bloody trifle because it wouldn't bring your bloody husband back."

Gill coughed.

"Then she got a bit upset because you'd broken her special bowl? God, she's a legend, that woman," she laughed, "What about her? She's not ill, is she?"

"No."

"Well, what's the problem?"

Bloody hell.

"She's... she's sitting in her garden. She... I can see her through the window; she's sitting on one of those stripy deck chairs, doing some knitting. I think she's making a woollen elephant."

"Oh God, I'd forgotten, you're afraid of elephants, aren't you?"

"Piss off," Gill snapped. There was no time for joking. "She's..."

"Spit it out. Poor Mrs Maccy D – she'll be getting paranoid if you're staring at her, won't she?"

"Don't think there's any danger of that. Okay. She's naked."

"Oh my God," Julie's laughter flowed down the phone line and stung Gill's ear, "Oh my God. I never, ever imagined that Mrs Maccy D would be one of those."

"I know. I mean, what the hell do I do?"

"Completely naked?"

"Yep."

She appeared to be choking on her giggles now, "Bloody hell."

"That's exactly what I thought."

"So, how's she look? Flat stomach?"

"She–" Gill grimaced, somehow entranced, "Yeah. Pretty good shape. She's a bit wrinkly, but she must be about eighty or ninety, you know? She's good for her age; better than you look now. Stunning."

"Hairy?"

She squinted through the fence, her nose pressed to the window like she was watching a domestic in the street, "Yeah. Plenty of hair down there. Shaved legs, though. Who knows how she bends down? God, why are we having this discussion?"

"Maybe we don't have to go out on the pull after all. Maybe you've found someone. It's always where you don't look, isn't it?"

"Shit," Gill turned away from the window and buried her head in the curtains, "Shit. Stop it. You're making me feel queasy."

"Ah, true love. I bet you're blushing, you mad arsed bitch. You know, I won't ever judge you, Gill. I might laugh at you for falling in love with Mrs Maccy D, but I'll never judge you."

"Julie, this isn't even funny any more."

"Oh, it is. It'll be funny forever."

"No," she squealed, "Look, can you come and pick me up? Quickly? I need to escape. I can't do this any more."

"Calm down, love. My car's broken down – it looks like we're having a day in instead. We're not going to get bored, though; it's only nine o'clock, and I bet Mrs Maccy D is going to be out there all day. We'll have a great time. We can set up our deck chairs next to her, if you want."

"Shit. You're kidding me."

"No, I'm not. It's about time you repaid her; you were a right bitch," Julie laughed, "You know what the first thing we're going to do is?"

"Glue the curtains together?"

"No. Make her a trifle."

XxXxX