Relight my Fire

by Joanna Bolouri

  ‘What? What’s wrong?’ He wiped my lipstick from his mouth.

  ‘Nothing . . . it’s just . . . you’re so intense.’

  ‘And?’

  I gasped and narrowed my eyes. ‘Prison’s changed you.’

  He sniggered and pushed me towards the bed, undoing his belt. ‘You said if I got you here I could do whatever the fuck I wanted to?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Then bend over.’

  We fucked over the bed, on the bed, on the floor, against the desk, on the chair and even against the door while we heard people walking past. I don’t think there was an inch of that room, or me, that wasn’t covered. There was pounding, there was spanking, there was squirting, there were several moments of religious bellowing and by the time Oliver had finished with me, I finally understood Lucy’s wallpaper analogy.

  We lay panting in bed at 3 a.m., too tired to do anything except sleep, both pushing each other away to get some air. However, the last thing I remember is Oliver gently clutching my hand as I drifted off. It was sticky but perfect.

  Monday March 20th

  It was Lucy’s birthday today. When I saw her at work this morning, she was still laughing at the state she’d seen me come home in on Sunday. She also had on a birthday babe badge which was roughly the size of a dinner plate.

  From: Lucy Jacobs

  To: Phoebe Henderson

  Subject: GOOD MORNING

  How’s it going, John Wayne? Have you recovered?

  From: Phoebe Henderson

  To: Lucy Jacobs

  Subject: Re: GOOD MORNING

  HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I feel like I’ve been battered with a penis. Honestly, maybe it’s my age, but fucking hell, I ache in places I don’t even have.

  BUT TOTALLY WORTH IT. I feel sorry for the hotel staff, having to clean up that room. They may as well just set it on fire.

  From: Lucy Jacobs

  To: Phoebe Henderson

  Subject: Re: GOOD MORNING

  You lucky bitch. How many of these things do you have left? You should just keep doing it until one of you dies, to be honest.

  Oh and thank you for the birthday wishes! I’m very special and I hope your gift later reflects this.

  From: Phoebe Henderson

  To: Lucy Jacobs

  Subject: Re: GOOD MORNING

  My gift later? You asked for vouchers you maniac.

  I have one request left and Oliver has two. We’re supposed to have them finished by Wednesday but I can’t see that happening unless neither of his involve my vagina. Or having to move. I’m too unfit for this shit.

  From: Lucy Jacobs

  To: Phoebe Henderson

  Subject: Re: GOOD MORNING

  You’d better be in reasonable shape for my gathering tonight, bitch. It’s bad enough that you and Hazel are both bringing your children to my dinner, I don’t want your internal injuries getting in the way of my fun. I shan’t stand for it.

  (Molly is super sweet btw – she put my hair in bunches and didn’t scream once when we watched Nightmare on Elm Street.)

  I glared over at her as she waved at me from her desk. I hope to God she’s kidding.

  *

  5 p.m. Taxi has been called to take us to Lucy’s house. We have roughly three and a half hours before Molly starts getting tired and cranky. That should be enough time to do presents, eat food and have a couple of glasses of wine. I am a considerate and highly efficient mother and friend.

  Tuesday March 21st

  OMG OMG OMG!!!

  Lucy’s birthday dinner last night. HOLY BALLS.

  So we got there at half five, Molly carrying the extravagantly-wrapped box that contained Lucy’s specially-requested vouchers and Oliver carrying the pink champagne I intended to open as soon as possible.

  Kyle ushered us in to the living room where Hazel, Kevin and Grace were already seated. Lucy, looking as excited as she had been at work all day, whooped when she saw us.

  ‘Yay! We’re all here! Kyle, grab my phone, will you, I need a photo before booze ruins our good looks.’

  One Oscar’s-style selfie later, we sat down to eat a massive pizza that Kyle had lovingly bought on his way over, complete with garlic bread and wedges. I’ve never understood the reasoning behind garlic bread with pizza. I’d like some dough to go along with my other dough, please. Regardless, the kids soon vanished in front of the telly while we all celebrated Lucy turning thirty-seven.

  ‘Paul sent me a card from New York!’ she said, grabbing it off the mantelpiece. ‘I miss his big gay face.’

  Our mutual friend Paul had come back home to Glasgow briefly a few years ago before deciding it was as shite as he remembered. He then quickly sold his flat and returned to New York with his boyfriend. They got married last year.

  ‘I haven’t emailed him in ages,’ I confessed. ‘I’m a terrible friend.’

  Kevin raised his glass to Lucy, to begin our usual round of toasting, which we did to embarrass the shit out of whoever was turning a year older.

  ‘To Lucy!’ he said. ‘The woman who bought my wife a crotchless cat-suit and to whom I will always be grateful!’

  Hazel’s face looked exactly like mine when Oliver revealed too much at Pam’s office. Men have no filter, it seems.

  Next to go was me. Still holding my glass, I smiled sweetly. ‘To my wonderful friend. The one who doesn’t know where the fuck Nessie lives. The one who hears far more about my sex life than necessary and the one whose lovely face makes going in to work a lot more bearable. You complete me, bitch. Happy Birthday!’

  We all began to clink glasses until Kyle stopped us. Kyle with his tattoos and his pierced eyebrow and his disarmingly charming face. Kyle the one who dream-fucked me and now I find it hard to look at him for too long without blushing.

  ‘To my Luce. The one who makes me wish I had more hours in the day to look at her. The one who makes me want to try harder. The one who won’t move in with me . . .’

  We all ‘ooohed’ panto-style and she laughed.

  ‘And the one I’m really, really hoping will be my wife.’

  We stopped oohing because at that moment every single one of us held our breath. Except Lucy.

  ‘What?! Are you fucking serious?’

  He produced a small ring box from under his seat. I felt sick. She won’t live with him, why the hell would he think she’d marry him?

  He opened the box and fuck it, I stood up to get a proper look. We all did.

  ‘Marry me, Luce. I’ve never been more serious in my life.’

  She looked at the ring. And then at me. And then back at Kyle. The silence was killing us all. Until she squealed, ‘FUCK YEAH, I’LL MARRY YOU!’

  MY BEST MATE IS GETTING MARRIED! But more importantly . . .

  I’M GOING TO BE HER BEST WOMAN!!!

  That’s a thing . . . right?

  Wednesday March 22nd

  Having only completed three out of our six sex jar tasks, I felt a tad sheepish walking into Pam’s office, like I hadn’t done all of my homework and would be thrown a disappointed look at any moment. Oliver wasn’t concerned in the slightest. He was verging on triumphant.

  ‘Phoebe got to do two and me, only one, but I’m proud of what we’ve achieved.’

  Pam smiled. ‘So you feel it’s been an effective tool in becoming closer again?’ I liked the way her messy bun wobbled every time she spoke. It was comforting.

  Oliver coughed. ‘Let’s just say, there’s no humanly way we could have been any closer the other night.’

  I whacked him on the side of the thigh. ‘I’m sure Pam doesn’t need to know that.’

  Pam interjected. ‘This is a safe space, Phoebe. I’m happy to listen to whatever you’d like to divulge, I’m not here to judge.’

  Pausing for a moment, she flicked a page in her notebook, reading something to herself.

  ‘Oliver, you said when we began our sessions that you wanted you and Phoebe, as a couple, to feel like your old selves again. Do you still f
eel this way?’

  He shook his head. ‘This is becoming a better version. I’m seeing the side I’d forgotten about.’

  ‘And which side is that?’

  He grinned. ‘The side that makes me get instantly hard.’

  He swiftly moved his leg before I could whack him again.

  We have another appointment in two weeks. Plenty of time to finish the sex jar challenges and find out what else she has in store for us.

  Saturday March 25th

  Lucy texted me a gif of a bride falling down, stating that there were to be ‘no fucking stairs’ at her wedding. She’s panicking already and they haven’t even discussed a date. It’s exciting, though. I’ve never gotten giddy over weddings, or indeed marriage, but it’s Lucy. I’m giddy for her. She deserves every little smidgen of happiness that comes her way.

  Monday March 26th

  Mum’s got Facebook. Mum’s profile picture is one of Daphne licking her face, with Dad visible in the reflection in her sunglasses. Mum has all of her posts public, including a photo of me holding Molly the moment she was born. Molly looks cute but I look like that kid at the end of the film Sleepaway Camp. Mum has friend-requested me. Mum can fuck off.

  Lucy is now behaving quite nonchalantly about the fact she’s an engaged woman and seems more interested in my sex jar escapades.

  ‘We haven’t done anymore,’ I confessed. ‘We’ve just been busy.’

  ‘Ugh,’ she replied. ‘Hurry up and stop being so boring. That’s what got you into this mess. If you stop having sex again, your hole will close up forever and you’ll just pee up inside your own body until you drown.’

  ‘Jeez, FINE. I’ll get on it. You’re so bossy.’

  Tuesday March 28th

  So I caved and added Mum on Facebook but I’ve blocked her from seeing most of my stuff and told her that the moment she tags me in a photo, she’s deleted. We’ve also discussed her publically sharing pics of Molly. I don’t want any old nonce happening upon my child’s beautiful face.

  Anyway, today was relatively uneventful although Dorothy did have a meeting with a particularly skinny, older gentleman and we all reckon he’s the one who’ll be replacing her. Kelly isn’t happy, or course, not even being considered for the job.

  ‘Utter bullshit,’ she moaned. ‘I could run this office with my eyes closed. I’ve been here longer than anyone.’

  Brian disagreed. ‘Pretty certain Moira the cleaner has been here longer, Kelly.’

  ‘No, stupid, I meant longer than any of you—’

  ‘And by that reasoning, I think Moira should apply,’ he continued. ‘Makes sense. She’s well-liked. Team player . . . hides your mug when you leave it for her to wash . . .’

  ‘Utterly ridiculous,’ she protested. ‘Moira doesn’t know the first thing about . . . she does what?!’

  I walked away and left them arguing. I hope when slender man gets the job he fires me immediately. I cannot take any more of this nonsense.

  Wednesday March 29th

  Molly has a slight cold and fell asleep relatively early, which gave Oliver and I a chance to pick the next request from the jar. I’ll miss it when we finish; it’s been rather fun.

  Oliver’s turn this time and I tentatively picked out one of his two remaining pieces of paper, wondering where the fuck he wanted to aim at this time.

  I want to watch you masturbate.

  ‘Um . . . why?!’ I enquired, a tad perturbed.

  He bounced on the bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. ‘Are you seriously asking me that?’

  ‘But how is that fun for you?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be playing along. I just want to watch you make yourself cum while I do the same. It’s a simple one – probably better after our last jaunt. I’m not sure my cock could take it.’

  ‘Can I use toys? You know how long it takes me using my hand these days. It’s a fucking effort.’

  He laughed. ‘See, I have no idea, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you do it.’

  ‘Likewise,’ I replied. ‘You sneak off into the shower . . .’

  He bounced back up. ‘Well, there you go. It’s settled. We’ll have a couple’s wank. You can use whatever you want but I want to see everything.’

  Thursday March 30th

  ‘I’m really not sure about this one.’

  I scanned the canteen, people-watching, while I patiently waited for Lucy to finish downing an entire can of Irn Bru before answering. ‘Sorry. I’m so hungover. I had dinner with Kyle’s parents. They’re huge whisky drinkers, and when in Rome . . .’ She quietly burped, trying not to breathe over me.

  ‘What’s the problem with Oliver’s request? Me and Kyle do that all the time. Usually he’ll pull back the duvet while I’m having a play and join in. It’s very rarely scripted.’

  ‘I don’t know. I think that it’s the fact he’ll be looking at everything. Every stretch mark, every wobble. My stupid solo sex face. I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate. What if he wants to cum at the same time and I’m still miles away? Fake it?’

  ‘Can I have your water?’

  ‘What? Oh yeah, go for it.’

  She mumbled about the evils of whisky and finished off the rest of the bottle. ‘Don’t fake it. We’ve had this talk. And don’t overthink it, either.’

  ‘You’re no help today,’ I muttered, ‘though I’m not sure what help you can give me, to be fair. Just show me your pretty engagement ring again and we’ll say no more.’

  She lifted her left hand, displaying the large diamond on a rose gold band.

  ‘It’s never not impressive,’ I admitted. ‘Fuckssake, you get asked for your hand in marriage and I get asked to wank. Where’s my fucking ring?’

  She laughed into the water bottle, choking herself in the process. ‘You get a Molly, I get a ring. Now, fetch me some more water before I dehydrate completely, please.’

  Friday March 31st

  I’ve taken a few days off for Easter because the nurseries are closed until the fucking 18th of April now and Maggie is taking her real children to Disneyland Paris until the 5th. Oliver has the long weekend, which is nice, but he’ll be skipping back to work and leaving me with a child who’ll be 95% chocolate by then. I’ll need to think of some fun stuff for her to do. God, I hope the soft play centres are open and that they’ve started selling wine.

  April

  Sunday April 2nd

  We all went to Kelvingrove Park today. Oliver was on a mission to teach Molly how to ride a bike without stabilisers. Being the first Sunday of the nursery break, every bored parent in Glasgow had the same idea, dragging themselves behind their kids who ran screaming towards the swings. I let Oliver and Molly go ahead as I ate some chocolate I’d stashed away in my handbag.

  ‘But what if I don’t want to learn how to ride without stabilisers?’ I heard Molly enquire, pedalling alongside her dad. ‘Why can’t I just keep them on?’

  Oliver ruffled her hair. ‘Because pretty soon you’ll be far too big for a kid’s bike and they don’t make grown up bikes with stabilisers.’

  ‘But mum can’t ride a bike.’

  ‘I can!’ I insisted, quickening my pace to catch up with them. ‘I’ve just forgotten how to. I haven’t done it in a very long time.’

  Total lie. I never learned. I wish my parents had pushed me to learn but they parented in the ‘let her do what she wants’ style, which very rarely came in handy. Bloody hippies. I didn’t want Molly to think I was lame. She’ll learn that soon enough when she’s older.

  Oliver smirked at me. He knew I was full of shit but it was easier to lie than to have to explain why I didn’t ride but she had to. He stopped Molly and bent down to talk to her.

  ‘I promise that by the end of today, you’ll be riding this bike back through the park with no training wheels. Think how cool you’ll look when you cycle to nursery.’

  She bowed her head and thought for a second. ‘Hmm . . . Stewart rides his bike to nursery. It’s a nice bi
ke, Dad, it has a flame sticker on it.’

  ‘You learn how to ride, I’ll get you a flame sticker.’

  ‘Can I get a Yoshi sticker?’

  ‘Deal. Let’s get these wheels off.’

  I stood back and watched while they interacted. There was something so pure about the whole thing. Molly taking in what Oliver said, Oliver gently pushing, Molly pointing to a squirrel and then falling off – it went on for at least an hour. There were tears, tantrums, Oliver gained another grey hair and I just marvelled. Finally, just as it began to drizzle with rain, Oliver let go without her noticing and off she went, to embarrassingly loud cheers from her parents and an elderly man who’d been watching from a park bench.

  My heart nearly burst. Today was perfect. Also, what the fuck is a Yoshi?

  Monday April 3rd

  ‘Right, Henderson, we need to get these last sex jar requests done.’

  I rolled over in bed and looked at Oliver who was already up and hunting around for a clean shirt. He was back to work today. I was going to remain in my pants until at least lunchtime.

  ‘I know,’ I agreed, yawning. ‘We will . . . Christ, you look good in those pants. Are those the ones I bought you? Get back in here immediately.’

  He glanced over as I threw back the covers. He sighed. ‘I wish I could. Early meeting with the boss.’ As I pouted, he sidled over and kissed my neck. ‘Ugh, you’re all soft and warm. Fuckssake. I’m going to be thinking about this all day.’

  ‘You could just put it in . . . just a little . . . just the ti—’

  ‘No!’

  I pulled down my underwear a little and he paused.

  ‘What if I just put my hand inside my knickers while you watched? That’s what you wanted, right?’

  ‘Oh, you complete shit.’

  ‘And then my other hand began to wander to my nipples? Do you think that would work?’

  ‘Phoebe!’

  I laughed. ‘OK, I’m sorry. Go to work.’