Relight my Fire

by Joanna Bolouri

  When you become a parent, naturally everything becomes about your kid. I threw myself into that role head-first, so much so that even I stopped seeing me as me – just as ‘Mum’. I organised everyone, not just Molly, and thrived on routine, forgetting that life isn’t as linear as I tried to make it. Of course Oliver wouldn’t come crying to me because he wanted more attention – I already had one demanding child. I was doing what I was supposed to do – how could he selfishly ask me for more? But it turns out there was someone else willing to do it. I’m just glad he realised that it wasn’t only recognition he craved; it was me. Yes, he also behaved like a complete dick but we need to move on.

  I questioned him about his feelings for Bethany and he assured me they were non-existent. I can either accept this as true or continue to doubt him until it eats away at me. I’m choosing the former. Even when we got home, the conversation continued into the small hours and for the first time I really believe that we can get through this.

  Thursday May 18th

  I woke up this morning to the sound of Oliver singing along to ‘Love Plus One’ in the shower and it made me smile. Actually, it made me melt; that rush I get when he does something cute came flooding back. Then I watched him dress, while Molly barged in and out of our room, bare-arsed, looking for pants.

  ‘Morning, sleepy,’ he said, kissing me on the cheek. ‘I need to shoot off; can you help the streaker here find some knickers?’

  ‘On it,’ I replied, giving myself a shake while he fastened his watch and straightened his tie. ‘You look good,’ I informed him, unashamedly eyeing him up. ‘Really good.’

  He paused to look at me, which given my bed-head must have been horrifying.

  ‘Miss Henderson, are you flirting with me?’

  I brushed the hair off my face with my hand. ‘Maybe . . . yes. Why am I so turned on by the fact you just fastened your watch?’

  ‘Well, my wrists are very manly.’

  ‘And my pussy is very—hang on, Molly!!’

  I dragged my aching vagina out of bed and brushed past Oliver, who told me to hold that thought until tonight.

  ‘We’re having sex later,’ I informed him, quietly. ‘All of it. I’d kiss you now but I have morning breath. Just go before I lock this door and climb you like a gym rope.’

  He left the room, casually adjusting himself while I went on an underwear hunt with Molly, finding eleven pairs in the drawer where her pants live. I didn’t mind. I was ready to shag my boyfriend again. Today was a good day.

  Saturday May 20th

  Hazel was stuck for a babysitter this weekend, so we took Grace overnight to let her and Kevin celebrate their anniversary in style. She’s agreed to take Molly next Saturday as I have plans for Oliver’s birthday.

  ‘We’re staying at One Devonshire in the Vettriano Suite, in case anything comes up,’ Hazel said. ‘Thank God we don’t have to take Grace along; there’s no way I’m not being naked 100% of the time.’ Grace likes staying with us. She gets to impress us all with her Minecraft skills and sleep on the bouncy air mattress we keep for guests. Molly was of course delighted that her ‘sister’ was staying, begging us to let her come on holiday with us this year.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be going away with her own parents, sweetheart. Maybe when you’re both older, we can arrange something.’ Jesus, being responsible for my own kid abroad is stressful enough, never mind someone else’s. We should plan where we’re going this year, actually. Last year’s holiday in Egypt was fun but being constantly hassled by the spa staff who wanted to thread my entire face wasn’t a highlight.

  Monday May 22nd

  Mum and Dad are thinking of coming over in October for a few days. Their old friend Mitchell is having a huge 70th birthday celebration in Arran so they’re hoping to combine the two.

  ‘I hear his new wife is quite a bit younger,’ she informed me. ‘If she hasn’t shagged the old boy to death by New Year, I’ll be surprised.’

  ‘Ever the romantic, eh, Mum?’ I replied. ‘Hang on, what the hell is that noise? It’s like panting. Is that Dad?’

  ‘It’s Daphne. She gets very excited when I’m on the phone. Do you want to say hello?’

  ‘To the dog? I think I’ll pass. Who’ll watch her when you’re over here?’

  I heard her lower the phone and tell Daphne to fetch. ‘Our neighbour Bill. He has three dogs anyway, he’s happy to look after her. She has a ball over there. He lets them use the outdoor pool . . . oh shit, she’s in the rose bushes. I have to go, will email you the dates. Love to Molly!’

  She hung up the phone and left me to break the news to Oliver. As much as he likes my parents, he finds them a little too full on, though everyone is full on compared to his own parents.

  Tuesday May 23rd

  A very meek-sounding Jay called to make changes to his copy this morning, apologising for his unprofessional behaviour.

  ‘It’s absolutely fine,’ I assured him. ‘Please, let’s just forget about it.’

  ‘Great,’ he replied. ‘I’ll email the new photos over shortly.’

  I have to admit, I felt a little bad for the guy. Not only had he been shot down, he was also paying over the odds for advertising in a shitty, right-leaning newspaper.

  Frank’s partner came to pick him up for lunch. She looked completely different. So different, in fact, that I had to question whether this was the same woman Frank had on the photo on his desk. A look from Lucy confirmed that she thought the same.

  As soon as they stepped out of the office, Lucy and I rushed into his office to grab a look at the photo. But it was gone. There was nothing left to do but SPECULATE AND GOSSIP.

  ‘They’ve split up.’

  ‘Who dumped who? I bet she dumped Frank. But why?’

  ‘Maybe she died?’

  ‘Maybe he died?’

  ‘Maybe he had an affair. Ooh, I bet that’s it. And he’s parading his mistress around town like some Lothario.’

  ‘You have to find out, Phoebe. He’ll tell you.’

  ‘Why will he tell me?’

  ‘He’s been up you. He’ll tell you anything.’

  *

  He arrived back after a two-hour lunch, looking flustered. They totally did it. Beasts. I’m going to quiz him next week.

  Wednesday May 24th

  It’s Oliver’s birthday so I baked a cake with Molly after she got out of school. I haven’t baked since 2001 when some mates and I thought it would be hysterical to make hash brownies without researching how to do it first. We failed miserably.

  I let Molly do as much as her little arms would allow, taking over the mixing when she got tired. We decided on chocolate with buttercream icing and some little fondant animals Molly insisted on buying at Tesco.

  ‘This one is a bit wonky, Mum,’ Molly commented as we let the layers cool on the rack. ‘The animals might fall off.’

  I stood back and looked. She was right. One was perfectly level and the other looked drunk. ‘We’ll just cut a bit to make it more . . . even,’ I reassured her. ‘Once everything is on, Dad won’t know.’

  Oliver got home at six and was greeted by Molly holding a lopsided, farmyard-themed birthday cake, sporting huge 3- and 9-shaped candles.

  ‘Happy Birthday, Dad!’

  ‘Oh WOW!’ he exclaimed, doing his best not to laugh. ‘I think that’s the best cake I’ve seen IN MY LIFE. You must have worked so hard on this.’

  Molly nodded. ‘I did most of it. Mum says I can light the candles after dinner so we have to have dinner now, ’kay?’

  She handed over the cake and skipped off to her bedroom. Her work here was done.

  ‘I thought we’d just get a takeaway?’ I suggested, taking the cake so he could get his coat off. ‘Chinese?’

  ‘Hell yes. I’m exhausted. Looks like you are too.’

  ‘I have no fucking idea how Mary Berry does this crap on a daily basis. She must have biceps of steel.’

  He wandered off to the bedroom to change.


  ‘Would you like a beer, darling?’ I asked in my best housewife voice. ‘I got some of those craft ones you like.’

  ‘That’d be lovely,’ he called back, knowing I’d just implied he was a wanker. ‘I’ll be on the couch waiting for my presents. I hope your arms still have enough strength to carry them through.’

  ‘First one’s in the jar,’ I replied.

  ‘What ja— Oh! Really?’

  I heard the noise of the jar scraping off the top of the wardrobe. Inside was my last request. It didn’t take long until his face popped around the side of the kitchen door.

  ‘When?’

  ‘Saturday. Hazel’s taking Molly at 3 p.m.’

  He grinned. ‘A whole twenty-four hours in bed? That’s ambitious.’

  ‘Not really. I thought we’d organise a bed picnic, maybe order a pizza, hook the PlayStation up, watch a movie, laugh at some porn and, you know, fuck my brains out in between?’

  As his head disappeared back round the door, I heard him proclaim: ‘Best. Birthday. Ever.’

  Sunday May 28th

  Oh, yesterday was fun. I think this was the best sex jar request yet.

  We dropped Molly with Hazel at 3 p.m. before racing home to begin twenty-four hours in bed. It began as I thought it would: frantic, noisy, no-children-around sex which lasted about twenty minutes, before we grabbed food from the fridge and planned our activities. Highlights included:

  1. Playing Friday the 13th multiplayer on PS4. I was the worst killer ever, everyone lived and some American teenagers made fun of me.

  2. Watching La La Land. (I loved. Oliver hated because apparently jazz is for wankers.)

  3. Watching Mad Max Fury Road.

  4. Having very intense sex.

  5. Passing out for two hours.

  6. Having more sex in the shower.

  7. Ordering pizza, hot wings and Irn Bru. Eating like pigs.

  8. Feeling sick.

  9. Cuddling. Too sore for more sex.

  10. Oliver making me laugh so much I almost peed myself.

  11. Sleeping until 1 p.m.

  It reminded me of when we first got together; all sex and laughing and just messing around. As a couple, we needed this, but as friends we needed it more.

  Wednesday May 31st

  Molly went back to nursery today (I am so done with these holidays), so I met Lucy for a quick coffee during her lunch hour. I was only in town to return some jeans which claimed to be my size yet were clearly made for someone with bare bones for legs.

  ‘Please let me talk about something other than weddings,’ she pleaded, biting into a cookie. ‘Honestly, I never thought I’d become this person. I’m sorry we didn’t just decide to elope.’

  ‘You still could,’ I informed her, blowing on my Americano. ‘Oliver said that’s what he’d do. Just fuck off and do it.’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘We’ve paid deposits now – we’re too far gone. Also, WHAT? Oliver talked about marriage?!’

  ‘Calm down,’ I replied. ‘It was just in passing. Neither of us have any plans. I made a joke about him buying me a fancy ring and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him shut his face so quickly.’

  ‘Shame,’ she replied, continuing with her cookie. ‘We could have done a double wedding. That would have been fun.’

  I laughed. ‘Can you imagine? We’d never take it seriously. I’d want to walk down the aisle to Madonna and have my first dance with you.’

  Lucy’s face broke into a massive grin. ‘We could prepare one of those really intricate, surprise dance routines and put it on YouTube.’

  ‘We should do that regardless.’

  ‘He’s moving in, you know. In June,’ she said. ‘We decided we might as well get it over with. Be one less thing to do after the wedd—oh God, STOP ME TALKING ABOUT WEDDINGS.’

  An hour later I was back on the underground and on my way home, wondering which Madonna song I’d rock down the aisle to. Would have to be ‘Ray of Light’. No, ‘Vogue’. Definitely ‘Vogue’.

  June

  Thursday June 1st

  I made an excuse to see Frank in his office, asking him about the deputy role he’d offered me. I didn’t give a shit about that, I just wanted to start a conversation so I could enquire about his personal life.

  ‘Ah. You’re considering it. Wonderful. Well, the role would involve—’

  ‘Where’s your photo gone?’ Yeah, not very subtle but he was boring me already.

  ‘Photo?’

  Oh don’t play dumb, Frankie boy. Where’s the photo and who’s the new woman? What the fuck are you up to?

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, trying not to look like I was drilling him for information. ‘The one of Vanessa . . . it used to sit right there.’

  He sighed. ‘I see. This is because Kathryn took me to lunch last week.’ Frank might be a dick but he’s not stupid. ‘You’re prying.’

  ‘Of course I am. Spill.’

  ‘Phoebe, I am your boss and this is not an—’

  He stopped talking when I gave him a look that said Really? You want to go down this road?

  ‘Fine. Kathryn is my divorce lawyer. Vanessa and I are no longer together.’

  ‘I knew— What? Hang on! You’re married?’

  ‘Was married.’ He started pressing random buttons on his keyboard, nervously. This was obviously uncomfortable for him. ‘Three years.’

  ‘Well. I’m sorry. I . . . don’t really know what to say.’

  ‘Well there’s a fucking first,’ he mumbled under his breath.

  ‘I am sorry, though. I feel bad now. We thought you were having an affair.’

  He stopped tapping. ‘WE? Who’s we?’

  ‘Oh relax, just me and Lucy. We had nothing better to talk about. I promise this won’t go any further.’

  He nodded and I quickly left. What I meant was this won’t go any further than me . . . and Lucy . . . oh, and definitely Hazel, but again, he’s a smart man. He knows me.

  Saturday June 3rd

  Oliver’s mum and dad have invited us to Dublin during the school holidays but he’s less than keen to go.

  ‘I’m not using my holiday allowance to be fucking miserable. I want to be miserable somewhere warm, where my mum won’t nag me about getting a haircut. I’ll make up an excuse.’

  In other news, HOW THE HELL IS IT JUNE ALREADY? I haven’t done anything. Is it too late to take back my plan to not make any New Year’s resolutions because I feel like I should have had some goals in place. Even Molly has fulfilled her ‘pick names for all the cats I see’ resolution, though I’m not sure ‘big pussy face’ was entirely appropriate for the cat who sits on our bins.

  Monday June 5th

  Frank kept away from me today, probably scared I’d quiz him about his recent divorce, which of course I would have given half a chance. I told Lucy all about it as we walked to the station after work.

  ‘I wonder what he did?’ she mused, pushing the button at the traffic lights. ‘I’m convinced it must have been his fault.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked, stepping back from the kerb. Jesus, the traffic was heavy today.

  She glanced at me. ‘Hmm. I have to say that him being a massive arsehole was a factor in reaching this conclusion.’

  We started to cross the road. ‘So,’ she continued, ‘you never said – does he have a big dick or what?’

  Oh God. I felt my face begin to burn. I knew she’d ask about this eventually.

  ‘Because if he has a tiny penis, that could also contribute.’

  ‘He isn’t tiny!’ I insisted, almost defending him. ‘He’s normal-sized.’

  ‘I mean, Kyle isn’t big—’

  My head snapped round to look at her. ‘He isn’t?’

  ‘Nope,’ she grinned, ‘but damn he knows how to work what he has and I’m never sore afterwards.’

  In my dream, Kyle was huge. I’m going to have to adjust this mental image now. We reached the other side of the road and I hoped the end of this conversation, but Lucy was
still intent on getting me to talk about Frank’s sexual prowess.

  ‘So, was he good in bed? Did you kiss him? Oh Jesus, you kissed him, didn’t you? Fuck, I don’t know if I actually want to know any of this.’

  ‘I WASN’T VOLUNTEERING THE INFORMATION!’ I exclaimed. ‘Stop digging.’

  She pulled me into Starbucks to grab a coffee. ‘But was he? Tall, skinny vanilla latte, please. Where did you do it? Did you go to his place? Oh God, I have so many questions.’

  I promised to fill her in properly over lunch tomorrow and left her in Starbucks; I had to get back for Molly. I’m not sure if I want to rehash the past, to be honest, but she’s never going to let this go.

  Tuesday June 6th

  Frank is one of those fragile men who need to feel important. It’s his oxygen; without it, he’d quickly die and then we’d be obliged to attend his damn important funeral, so we all play along to avoid having to do this. He’s so transparent though – he’ll make you wait while he finishes a non-existent email or he’ll mention how much his suit cost or he’ll just randomly shout COME ON, PEOPLE, TIME IS MONEY while clapping his hands. He’s a fucking joke and every time I look at him, I’m reminded that I let that clapping buffoon into my knickers.

  Wednesday June 7th

  I had a dream last night where Kerry Washington invited me to stay at her house but I refused because fuck being in the same space with someone that perfect. Watching back-to-back Scandal at bedtime may have been to blame. Oliver always rolls his eyes when I turn it on but he loves it more than I do.

  We have therapy tomorrow. I feel things are going pretty well at the moment, both with our sex life and our relationship. Oliver doesn’t think we need to go anymore but I’m not so sure. It’s been more than useful so far and it’s certainly made Oliver far more communicative than he was. I don’t think about him kissing the mysterious Bethany as much as I used to but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about it at all. It’s still there. Quietly present. Maybe we can cut back to once a month and see how it goes?