“Ah, well you see we’re always told we can’t have it all.” I really hoped the sarcasm wasn’t lost on her, otherwise I would just sound like an unfeeling bitch.
“Give me over your phone and I’ll send him something that will let him know what he’s in for later. By the time he gets home, he'll be hornier than a sailor who’s been at sea for the last six months. That was a clumsy metaphor, wasn't it? If that's the best I can come up with, it means it's time for coffee.”
She got up to her feet and went into the kitchen to help herself, and probably give Michael some ‘helpful’ advice about being more assertive when it came to Joseph and his bullying ways. He would never do anything about it, of course. He seemed happy enough in his misery. I hoped that his marriage was worth the daily abuse.
I sat back on my heels and rummaged my phone out of my bag. Arthur was already at my parents’ house because I couldn't listen to an entire day of ‘are we going to our sleepover yet?' I knew my dad wouldn't say ‘no' to me when I landed at their door first thing this morning. He was still awkward around me after our bonding session over art, but I was too preoccupied with my own troubles to worry about how he was feeling.
There were no text messages from an irate grandmother, so he must be behaving himself. I decided to text Ben to see how his day was going, I was not going to be taking Elle’s suggestion of ‘sexting’ anything. I even hated the word.
Elle returned with two cups of coffee and balancing a plate with a huge tray bake on top.
“My theory is that if we share one of these chocolatey things it doesn’t count,” she said.
“It’s huge.”
“I was hardly going to pick a small one to share, was I? Oh, the filth is on, I see. Hand it over Cole I will take over.”
In the time it took her to put the cups down and snatch my phone out of my hands I still didn’t have time to stop her. I always did have the reactions of a dead sloth.
“Let’s see what you’ve started with… ‘how’s your day going?’ Ah, come off it, Amy. You've got to just jump right in there and state your intention from the get-go.”
She furiously typed on my phone and looked very pleased with herself after she hit send and handed it back to me.
I dreaded to think what I was going to find, but to my surprise, it wasn't that bad:
Amy: What are you wearing? Xxx
“I could have answered that for you, he’s wearing a blue striped shirt and navy trousers. I know this because I ironed them and sat them out last night before I went to bed,” I said matter-of-factly.
“It’s not an actual question to find out what he’s wearing. I promise he’s going to read that and be so excited. He knows what you’re up to, you know what you’re up, it’s on. Trust me.”
We didn’t have long to wait to find out who was right.
Ben: What? I’m wearing that stripy shirt and trousers you laid out for me. Is this a trick question, was I not meant to wear these?
“What did I tell you?” I said, smugly.
“What are you two like? This is ridiculous, I’m surprised it’s only been six months – I mean have either of you actually had sex before? Give me that phone.”
She, once again, grabbed the phone and started to type, whilst muttering under her breath.
“Now, if this doesn’t get his attention you’re on your own.”
I read with horror what she had sent:
Amy: No, big man, I want to know what I’ll be ripping off you tonight. I can’t wait to get my hands on you xxx
I fought the urge to vomit in my own mouth and decided to wait and see what he made of this. You never know, maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did. Maybe saucy texts were what we were missing all along.
My phone buzzed. I didn’t want to read it but I knew If I didn't react quickly Elle would just take it from me and see what her handy-work had achieved.
Ben: Would you mind not ripping this particular shirt off? I quite like it.
I smiled to myself, happy that things weren’t so bad between us that I couldn’t predict that he would find this exercise as embarrassing as I did. I was about to show Elle my message of victory when the phone buzzed again.
Ben: I can’t wait to get my hands on you either. I’m going to put my penis in you. A lot.
I couldn’t hide the revulsion in my face and impatience got the better of Elle. She grabbed the phone and read both messages. Her face mirrored mine and I just looked at her completely at a loss as to what I was meant to say back to that.
“Are you happy now? I’ve just received the most unsexy text message in history,” I raged.
“I’m sorry! I really didn’t think you could go wrong with sexting. I mean who says penis when they want to sound sexy. It’s so… clinical.”
“I feel ill.”
“Oh, stop the amateur dramatics. He’s trying and that’s the main thing. He obviously thinks this is what you want to hear so we should just keep the discussion going.”
“Are you serious? You really think we should carry on with this charade? I want to be able to look him in the eye again.”
“Look, just a couple more messages then he’ll be happy and excited about his evening with you and you can drink enough wine that will blot this whole experience from your memory. You asked for my help, and believe it or not, I’m trying.”
I handed her back my phone and gave my silent assent for her to continue to seduce my husband while I lay on the ground with my hands over my eyes and tried to pretend this wasn’t happening.
Just think of the wine, just think of the wine, just think of the wine.
She typed away, barely looking up from the screen and every so often she would laugh at what she’d written or at Ben’s response. I stopped myself from getting up to read the exchange over her shoulder. I thought it was better just to let them get on with it and I would catch the recap at the end.
Shouldn't I be jealous? I mean, technically, he is talking intimately with another woman. No, he thinks he's talking to me and besides, he would be mortified (and probably furious) if he knew it wasn’t me at the end of the phone. Elle was right, I asked for her help this was just a part of that. I hope.
After ten minutes she looked up and said:
“Alright then, my work here is done. We got there in the end I think.”
“What do you mean ‘got there’? He wasn’t like playing with himself or anything?”
“No! Just read the messages. You guys have a long way to go before you get to that level of intimacy. You’re both as bad as each other.”
She handed me the phone and went to leave the empty cups back into the kitchen. I took a deep breath and decided to face reading what I was letting myself in.
Amy: Of course I won’t rip it… unless you’re bad. Are you a bad boy Ben?
Ben: Well… I’ve been known to leave the toilet seat up on occasion and I don’t pick up my socks from the living room. So yes, yes I am.
Amy: That is bad, Ben. I’m looking forward to running my nails down your back when you put your penis in me a lot.
Ben: I would like that. I’m full of lots of sperm and it’s definitely going to you.
Ben: In you?
Ben: to you? Duck I don’t know which one, you can pick whichever is the right one.
Ben: Ducking autocorrect.
Ben: I give up
Amy: I’ll see you later Ben. I’m moist thinking about you now.
Ben: That sounds nice. Like a nice ham.
She didn’t reply to his last message. I think her patience must have reached breaking point at that stage. I don’t think I had ever read a less sexy conversation between two people. He was trying though and that made me feel better about putting the effort in this evening with dressing up. Maybe the dance and the candles weren’t such bad ideas after all. I decided it was better just to take it one step at a time this evening and see where it took me. Besides, if I overthought this too much I was likely to scare myself a
nd end up in a onesie with a ‘keep away’ sign around my neck.
“I added the word ‘moist’ in especially for you, it seems like a word that would make your skin crawl,” said Elle as she appeared behind me.
I laughed and found myself relaxing. There was an unfamiliar feeling in my tummy; one that I’d forgotten even existed. I was actually excited about seeing my husband and it wasn’t just because we had time to stare at our phones without the kids around.
“Right, time for the next stage in our plan,” said Elle, “Road trip!”
Chapter 20
I wasn’t that impressed with our road trip. The first stop was to pick up her girls from outside Keith’s work. He’d taken the morning off to spend with them and she arranged to pick them up from the front of the building before he went in. It dawned on me that I hadn’t actually met him before. Sure, I’d seen photos of him but that’s never what a person really looks like.
He was taller than I thought, a stocky build, and had more hair on his face than on the top of his head. I couldn’t really see the attraction, but he was grimacing so I don’t think I had caught him on a good day. I could tell the conversation between the two adults was tense and formal. By the time she came back to the car with the kids, she had plastered a fake smile on her face as to not alert the girls to whatever her real feelings were towards her estranged husband.
She put on the radio louder than normal and spoke to me through her teeth.
“He’s not taking them this weekend, again,” she said. “Claims he has to work but that’s such bullshit. I don’t know why he’s acting like this, but I’m not letting him away with it. If he wants to see these girls then he has to stick to a schedule and if he can’t do that then he’s not getting to see them. Unfit parent. End of. I haven’t told them yet. I’ll get chocolate first.”
I hated not knowing what to say, and to my shame, all I kept thinking was how relieved I was that Ben and I hadn't got to the point where we were discussing custody schedules.
“This all sounds very definite,” I said. “Is there no working things out?”
“I don’t know Amy, I really don’t. I mean he hasn’t mentioned anything about coming home and when I asked him about marriage counselling he changed the subject. I mean what am I meant to do with that? Has this break turned into a break-up but he just didn’t bother to tell me? Either way, he’s acting like a complete arsehole and I can't be bothered to try and talk him around. I'm concentrating on the girls because clearly, he's not.”
The rest of the journey was done in silence and I didn’t ask where we were headed, I didn’t think it mattered at this stage. I needn’t have worried, we pulled up at a huge department store, I was familiar with this place at least.
“I’m going to take the girls over to that chipper and have a chat with them. You are to go get some makeup that will update your luxurious supermarket collection. We don’t have time for au naturale beauty this evening, we want to knock his socks off.”
She was gone before I could even respond, but I knew she was right. No point in half-assing things at this stage. I hated the make-up counters in these places. The women manning them were either too orange or too perfect. Either way, no one liked when I said I preferred looking pale. I’m pretty sure the name of my foundation colour was ‘death’. I accepted I was pale a long time ago and I wished the rest of the world would catch up. This didn’t do me any favours though. Even though I was pale the majority of the time, if I decided to skip a day without wearing foundation I still got asked if I was sick.
On numerous occasions in work I had to stop myself from saying:
“No, Rita I’m just not wearing any make-up, you bitch.”
Bloody, Rita.
I browsed in a non-committal way and half-heartedly picked up a few mascaras. I didn’t really know what I was looking for. What did a sex kitten paint her face with? The way Elle talked about it made me feel like I shouldn’t be looking for anything less than full-blown war paint.
“May I help you?” asked a very pretty Oompa Loompa.
“No, I’m just really looking. Thanks anyway.”
“No, don’t worry it’s my pleasure. So, are you looking for everyday wear or is this for a special occasion?”
Clearly, the Oompa Loompa wasn’t taking no for an answer.
“A special occasion, I guess.”
“Well, you are in luck. Our very talented make-up artist, Cheryl, is here today and she can do a makeover in store. That way you’re all ready to paint the town red and if you like the look then you can buy exactly what she’s used for you to replicate it at home. Lucky or what?”
I’m never getting out of here alive.
I was shepherded towards the counter and told to take a seat where I was greeted by the aforementioned Cheryl. Again, very pretty, but was buried under a slightly radioactive-looking orange tinge. I was caught off guard by her Birmingham accent and I just let Oompa Loompa One speak for me.
“Now, this lovely lady has a very special occasion to get ready for and I told her you’d look after her,” she said with a sickly-sweet smile. I watched helplessly as she walked off to stalk her next prey.
“If that tangerine bitch thinks she’s getting the commission for this sale after I do the actual work of doing the make-up she’s another think coming,” said Cheryl.
I wasn’t entirely sure if she was talking to me, but I was too nervous to agree or disagree with her.
“First things first, we are taking this skin tone up a few hundred shades.” If I wasn’t nervous enough with this statement, the manic laughter afterwards was enough to keep me on edge.
Forty-five minutes later I was handed a mirror. I didn't recognise the person staring back at me. Gone was the deathly pale skin tone I wore with pride, replaced by a shade that brought the word ‘cheese puff’ to mind. She had assured me I was getting a subtle smoky eye look, however, I looked like a panda.
I was furious.
I was going to give her a piece of my mind when the original Oompa Loompa came back to praise the work.
“Oh, wow! What a transformation. You’ll turn heads, tonight, Debs, come over here and see the great job Cheryl did.
“Oh, wow! What a transformation. You’ll turn heads, tonight,” she said.
“I’ve just said that,” laughed Oompa Loompa One. “Didn't I just say that? That means it's just double wow.”
I turned around to face Cheryl, who was handing me a bag with all the products she’d used to complete this miracle makeover.
“That’s £97.85,” she said.
You’ve got to be kidding me. I swear to God, Amy, if you pay for this you’re a lost cause. You should ask for a wipe immediately instead of paying for the ‘privilege’ of looking like Donald Trump.
I dutifully handed over my credit card. I was never going to have the nerve to actually tell this woman she had turned me into a walking carrot. I would just buy the stuff and never return here again, that was the much easier option.
“Thank you,” I said.
You’re an idiot.
I reached into my phone to call my chauffeur and see if I could grab her keys to hide out in the car in case anyone I remotely recognised saw me.
The phone rang out.
Where the hell was she?
Then I heard it:
“Amy? Amy Cole, is that you? Well, don't you look… different?”
“Hi Rita,” I replied, as monotonously as possible.
Of course it was Rita, why else would the universe let any other person on the planet be standing in front of me right now, other than Rita?
“I can’t talk long, you know how it is. Busy, busy. I just decided to go on a little splurge between meetings. We can’t all be ladies of leisure like you! And where are the little excuses you used to leave your career?”
I knew this wasn’t an actual question; she was taking a half second to catch her breath and carry on with her passive aggressive attack. My eye makeup was on so thic
k and the fake lashes Cheryl had unceremoniously stuck on were weighing down my eyes. I would have been quite happy to go for a little nap.
“I had run out of my favourite, must-have, eyeshadow. There are actual tiny grains of gold in the shadow, it really makes the green of my eyes pop. It even makes me less tired looking when I've had a late night with the girls at the latest rooftop bar. Maybe you should try it? Wind that clock back to when you didn't have those little rugrats keeping you up all hours and adding years to you! Ha! I’m kidding! No seriously you’re looking fabulous as always. I’m loving this new look, really suits you. I’m so glad you decided to ditch that pale-girl-don’t-care attitude. I mean it was fine when you were in your twenties but it really does you credit that you’ve decided to step up the beauty routine. Your husband will thank you for it, I mean he must wake up with a fright looking at that white pallor! Anyway, darling, I have to run. We must, must, must get that lunch. I will definitely text you next week and arrange. Love you!”
She was gone before I even had the chance to say ‘drop dead’, I decided I had enough of people and was going to camp outside Elle’s car and just wait for her to come back.
It didn’t take long for the three of them to appear with ice creams and smiles. The girls didn’t seem too bothered by the news their dad was letting them down. I’d assumed that was the work of the sugar in their system. Elle took one look at me and said:
“Only you could go into a shop for some mascara and come back looking like a glow stick. Get in the car you absolute bell-end.”
Chapter 21
We drove back to her house and she told me to go have a shower to ‘de-fuzz’ and ‘get that shit off my face’. It took longer than I thought and by the time I was downstairs again, Elle was already setting up her makeup collection on the kitchen table.
Amy Cole has lost her mind: The perfect laugh out loud, feel-good comedy (The Amy Cole series Book 1) Page 16
