All That Mullarkey

by Sue Moorcroft

  Her breath stopped. His touch was light, hands cupping, smoothing. Tender, gentle. Almost unbearable. Her entire body rose in gooseflesh and her nipples gathered to press against her clothes. His fingers slid between two shirt buttons. ‘Your skin is so exciting.’ The fingers trickled like the wings of a dancing butterfly across her breasts where they swelled above her bra.

  It was several heart thuds before he sighed and slid his arms around her, pulling her lightly against him. ‘At Muggie’s, that first night, you wore a raunchy smack-over-the-head perfume. At the seminar it was lighter, flowery, pleasant but inexpensive. And the same at The Almshouses.’ He inhaled. ‘Tonight, I can only smell shampoo. Clean and sexy.’ His mouth was suddenly right against her ear, lifting the hairs on her neck with his breath. ‘When I kiss your ears, you shudder.’ On cue, at the tickle of his breath, a shiver of pleasure shook through her. ‘I know the feel of you, the taste. The way you look naked.

  ‘I know you’re a live wire, bright, good at your job. I recognise the craziness in you, the moments of recklessness.’ His eyes glittered in the darkness. ‘OK, so I don’t know how many A levels you got, when you lost your virginity or who was your first boyfriend. And I’m not as predictable, nice, or sensible as your husband. But I know something about Cleo Callaway that seems to be passing him by – I know that you’re not happy. And that’s a dangerous thing for me to know.’

  The spell broke.

  Her hands seemed to spring up under their own power to thrust him away. Bones grew again in her legs and muscles pulled themselves together. Her heart slowed and clarity and reason flooded her mind. ‘So you must know that I’m not up for this.’ She heard her voice, calm and cool. ‘I’m not available, I’m committed elsewhere.’

  He was very still.

  ‘Justin, this has to stop. I can’t cope with you. We had a fabulous night. You’re an exciting man. In other circumstances … But I’m a married woman. And I’m not going to ignore that – again.’

  The rest of the way home he stalked beside her in silence. She stopped where Port Road met Ladies Lane, short of her house. ‘What now? Will you phone your mate again? Or call a cab?’ She was reluctant to offer to drive him home. To be in the intimate space of the car. To return to his flat.

  ‘I’ll go wait.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m not sorry that my car broke down tonight. It gave me a clearer idea of things.’

  Cleo sat on the toilet, sobbing. Heaving, gasping, with fury at her own incompetence and the futile way she spent her emotions. The empty packaging from the test kit lay on the floor between her feet.

  After Justin had gone she’d flown upstairs, filled with the compulsion to know, to be sure, to be free of the uncertainty. To face what was coming and deal with it. Not knowing suddenly seemed insupportable. Why on earth had she made excuses for so long? She scrambled at the back of her knickers drawer, thrusting aside the satin and lace, snatched out the packet and fought the cellophane with shaking hands.

  She checked the instructions one final time – as if she didn’t know them by heart!

  And dropped the wand straight down the fucking toilet. Where it lay, useless, unused, in the water which was automatically and hygienically bleached with every flush.

  Her shoulders heaved.

  Tomorrow, she’d buy another one.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cleo felt like drumming her heels in frustration. Nathan had scheduled her to take a Professional Voice Over the Phone workshop again! Was the services world really running on multi-choice telephone systems and operators equipped only to deal with standard queries from customers they never met?

  She parked. Withdrew her mobile from its pocket. It grew warm in her hand as she gazed through the windscreen. Then, in a moment’s resolution, she selected last night’s message from Justin and pressed reply. Prefer not 2 meet again. CanÕt hack yr games. Got enough 2 worry about. C

  There. Done. Over. She ought to feel better. Soon. Soon she’d get peace of mind, having done something positive to save her marriage, salve her guilt.

  She retrieved his reply at morning break, reading as she blew gently across the surface of her coffee. Most of the members of her group were occupied with texts of their own. None of them over twenty-five, they were firmly of the constant communication generation.

  DonÕt b a wimp. Only playing. WouldnÕt hurt u. What r u worried about?

  She made herself carry on brightly with the session, although it felt like wading through treacle. ‘OK, I’m Ms Grumpy coming through on the line of … Amanda! Amanda, Ms Grumpy says to you: “Your company’s crap, your company is! You’ve had my cash for two weeks and the bike I ordered hasn’t left your effing, beeping warehouse yet! Do you know what the effing, beeping interest is on £109.99? Eh? No, you don’t, do you? Eff, beep, eff, beep!” Right Amanda, what’s your response?’

  Amanda, blonde and fluffy and not long enough out of the classroom to mind courses, looked gobsmacked. ‘Shit,’ she quavered.

  Cleo grinned without betraying a trace of irritation that kids were apparently being stuck on customer services hotlines without even basic training in telephonic interaction. ‘Any better suggestions? Bad idea to swear back. Better to remain calm and impeccably mannered, always. The ruder Ms Grumpy gets, the politer you become. Try again, Amanda?’

  Amanda put her hand to her head. ‘Umm … I’ll get my manager?’

  ‘Maybe, not yet, not yet. Anyone else? Jason?’

  Jason adjusted his tie. Coughed. Looked desperately around the room for inspiration. ‘Can I have your postcode, please?’ The others tittered.

  ‘Eventually. Something else, first. Cathy?’

  Cathy gulped audibly. ‘Don’t swear at me?’ Everyone tittered again.

  Cleo managed not to sigh. Barely versed in their basic script, these kids disintegrated in the face of trouble and were totally blank where initiative was concerned. ‘We’ll come back to that.’ She held up one finger. ‘First, your first and most important response – “I’ll certainly try to sort this out for you, Ms Grumpy.”’ Everyone sighed in relief at learning the answer and nodded. ‘Defuse the situation, reassure your caller you’re on their side. Be aware of your tone of voice – only twenty per cent of the message is received through the words. Remain polite, your tone conciliatory.’ More sage nods.

  ‘Then?’ She cast about for someone brave enough to voice an opinion. Phew, the temperature was high in this place. Slipping out of her jacket, she eased the high neck of her silk top, evidently too hot for energy-efficient office blocks in summer. She was forced to supply the answer again. ‘Then – tell them what you intend to do. “Ms Grumpy, if you’ll bear with me while I take the details, I’ll be able to look into your problem and see what I can do to solve it.” Then you ask for the postcode or customer number and go into the right screen for the account? OK?’

  Murmuring, nods, ‘Oh yes, ’course.’

  A final point to clear up before she took them through the whole caboodle again to see if any of it had lodged in the vacant little brains. ‘Cathy didn’t want to be sworn at. Good. Reasonable. But it happens, and it happens all the time, swearing is becoming casual in situations where it used to be inappropriate. So when is it time to react? Does your company have a policy on swearing?’ For a strangled moment she couldn’t even remember the company name.

  She gazed encouragingly round the clutch of teenagers and twenty-somethings. They all gazed back, waiting for her to give them the answer.

  The blonde-streaked fluffy girl, Amanda, tried, ‘The CEO seems to like it. Particularly on a bad day.’

  Cleo moved on through the laughter, intent on retaining the collective attention. ‘No one know? Some firms used to have a policy of passing the call on immediately to a supervisor or manager who would politely ask the customer not to swear before dealing with the enquiry him-or herself. But it’s become the norm to simply ignore it. OK? Don’t rise to it, don’t comment on it. For goodness’ sake don’t repeat it!’ Del
ighted laughter. ‘I’ll grab your human resources manager at lunch and talk to him.’

  She looked at the clock and sent them all off to lunch. ‘Five minutes early because you’re all working so hard. I’ll see if I can get you a policy decision on the swearing.’ They all responded to her wide, professional smile as they filed out. Cleo switched on her mobile phone as the last of them left.

  Just 4get it. Gr8 at time but over now.

  With little appetite for lunch, she made do with a couple of digestives. Another pregnancy symptom? She hadn’t been nauseous but Rhianne said she never had a moment’s sickness with her first pregnancy.

  Outside, she discovered that the only local retail outlets were a burger bar and a sandwich trolley; but she felt better in the fresh air, the silky top less cloying. She bought iced Perrier from the sandwich trolley and sank down on a sunny bench, just as Justin’s next message came through.

  What r u worried about? Have u email addy I can msg or can I ring? Sorry if u r upset.

  Her response was curt.

  Not appropriate.

  Received back:

  What worry? What worry? What worry???

  Glancing at her watch, she stabbed at the stupid, unco-operative, titchy buttons, making mistakes and having to work backwards and forwards.

  Worry whether u will drop me in shit. Please piss off.

  She checked her watch and hurried up to the human resources manager’s office.

  After a weary afternoon of being the irate customer in endless role-playing situations, she flopped back into her car and switched her phone back on. It beeped immediately.

  Sorry. Accept u r married 1. I withdraw! xxx

  She smiled, although her vision was swimming. Replied, Thx. Did she feel better now? She ought to.

  It took a couple of minutes to delete all Justin’s messages; then she rang Liza. ‘How are you fixed for a drink and a moan tonight? I can’t come out with you Friday because I’ve promised to watch Gav playing football.’

  ‘Had we arranged something for Friday?’

  ‘If Gav asks, yes.’

  Liza giggled. ‘Cleo, I rather like the unruly you. Do you want to meet me at the flat now, or come back later?’

  She thought of the clingy top and hot, window-window-window room she’d been slaving away in all day, and knew she needed a shower. She was glad she had all planning and client account work for the rest of the week. ‘Later, OK?’

  And she had to brave the pharmacy. But Bettsbrough, when she hit it, was a mass of roadworks and dust hanging in hot still air, with home-time drivers looking murderous.

  ‘One more day won’t matter,’ she persuaded her rear-view-mirror self.

  ‘What’s up?’ Gav zipped the pizza into sections with the stainless-steel cutting-wheel.

  Cleo pulled a face. ‘It’s too hot.’

  ‘Rain’s forecast for tomorrow.’

  She watched him polish off four slices of pizza, spooning coleslaw onto each before he folded it up and ate it. Yuk. She swallowed. Was she feeling pregnancy nausea? To divert her mind she told him, ‘I’m going out with Liza tonight. I can eat then.’

  ‘Again?’ He put his pizza down, wedge five out of eight, one bite taken. ‘I never seem to see you.’

  ‘I came to the footie last night,’ she pointed out reasonably. ‘And I’m coming again tomorrow night.’

  ‘Don’t do me any favours.’ He picked up the pizza and took a massive unattractive mouthful.

  Silence. Cleo rubbed her temples. How had her marriage suddenly become like everyone else’s? What could she do to eradicate the memory of Gav’s ugly anger? To forget her own conduct and the guilty memory of Justin?

  And find some way of fancying Gav again.

  The thought kapowed through her brain – she didn’t fancy Gav. And perhaps he no longer fancied her, judging by the way he avoided contact.

  Tormented by the questions she’d asked herself a hundred times already, she went up for a shower. She hardly even remembered that she’d left Gav downstairs in a big black sulk.

  When Cleo stooped to kiss him goodbye, Gav pointedly proffered his cheek. He felt her hesitate. Withdraw and spin on her heel. Heard the rapid thuds of her footsteps returning upstairs, a pause of several minutes, then her footsteps clattered down again. The bag over her shoulder said more than she did. ‘I’ll stay at Liza’s tonight, it’s handy for work in the morning. Be back in time for the footie tomorrow night.’

  He kept his eyes on the television.

  The front door closed and she was gone. Gav clasped his head. ‘Gav Callaway, you handled that just perfectly. Why did you try to contain her when you know it’s the very thing she objects to?’ Maybe so he’d have some head space to psych himself up for tomorrow …

  A tomorrow of appointments he didn’t fancy. Not least a possible meeting with willowy, scornful Lillian.

  He fetched beer from the fridge and armed himself with the phone. ‘Keith, you’re not free to pop over for a pint, are you?’

  ‘No, I’m flaming not because flaming Dora’s out some-bloody-where, Meggie wants her mum and Eddie wants his supper!’ snapped Keith, raising his voice over the terrible cacophony.

  ‘I’ll ring back later,’ Gav said hastily. He didn’t want Keith to suggest that he should go and help with the kids.

  ‘Strikes me,’ observed Liza, wriggling up onto a black bar stool and swigging her drink, ‘that things ain’t what they used to be. Ooh, see that bloke with the dark hair? That’s Angie’s latest.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Cleo sucked down sweet, cooling mouthfuls of her wine and pushed aside worries about possible effects on the possible foetus.

  Liza caught the eye of the dark man and waved before giving her attention to her sister. ‘So, what’s the matter? Gav’s pyjamas? Bodice-bustin’ Justin?’

  Cleo laughed. Thank God for Liza, Liza she could tell anything and everything to. Nearly.

  She began, ‘I’m trusting you not to pass any of this on to Mum and Dad – I don’t need them poking their noses in as well as everything else. But things are a bit strained at the moment.’

  Liza propped her cheek on her hand and studied her sister. ‘Know what?’ she offered, draining the last drips from the bottle into her glass and upending the empty over Cleo’s, as if that made it equal. ‘Mum and Dad would only say what I’m going to say – I think your marriage has had it.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Maybe it was the memory of Liza putting her worries into words, but Cleo had a funny, eerie feeling, as if she was close to the edge.

  To the edge of what, she wasn’t certain. But the sensation had been strong all day of something that was fermenting, building, gathering to tip her over into some new place.

  It was a stupid, unsubstantiated feeling, but she found herself being wary, watchful, so that when the edge appeared she’d be ready for it. Especially when she stepped back inside her home that night, mindful of the foul mood Gav had been in when she’d left the evening before. She paused. Listened.

  Gav was singing!

  He swooped down on her, beaming. ‘’Evening, sweetheart! Dinner’s nearly ready. I’m sorting my footie kit out.’ He surprised her with an abrupt, intense kiss. ‘We don’t seem to be spending much time together, lately. What d’you say we pop off somewhere tomorrow? Throw some stuff in an overnight bag, find a hotel in the Dales for a couple of days of decadence? Steak dinners, a four-poster … a little champagne? Fancy that?’ He dropped a kiss on the end of her nose, whispered, ‘Bring an end to the celibacy?’ And stroked her bottom.

  It sounded as if he were making a lot of effort. She smiled and said lightly, ‘Sounds great.’ Maybe a few romantic trimmings were all they needed to find each other again, exorcise the memory of the recent tension. Perhaps she’d learn to melt again when Gav touched her, to feel her heart trot at the base of her throat. Maybe. And as she shrugged into her jacket she felt a little lift in her heart, as if the edge had receded a bit.

  At t
he sports hall, the spectators’ balcony was thronged. Scores of teenagers in RAF-blue uniforms seemed intent on being the loudest supporters and Bettsbrough was thinly supported in comparison. Cleo had no trouble finding her friends where they’d staked a claim at the railing. ‘Hi!’

  Dora looked as if she might’ve been crying; Keith was white and tight-lipped.

  Rhianne, in contrast, was bubbling with joy, couldn’t wait to spill her can brimful with golden beans. ‘Cleo! Ian’s got a brilliant new promotion. Brilliant! The salary’s miles higher – isn’t it, Ian? Miles!’ She clenched joyful fists and bounced on the spot. Her pale-blue shiny pumps matched her pale-blue perfectly pressed trousers. ‘Isn’t he clever? Aren’t you, Ian? Haven’t I always said so?’ Rhianne linked happy arms with her husband.

  ‘Not all the time,’ Ian answered dryly. But he gave her his lopsided smile and accepted Cleo’s congratulatory hug.

  ‘And a company car,’ squeaked Rhianne. ‘And performance bonuses!’

  ‘Supposing I perform.’

  ‘’Course you’ll perform.’ Nothing was going to damp Rhianne’s bliss. ‘I’ll buy you a congratulatory coffee! Coming, Cleo? Dora?’ Even in the queue she could barely stand still, jiggling and grinning, squeezing arms. ‘I’m glad I stayed with him, now.’

  Cleo stared. ‘Why? Were you ever leaving?’

  Rhianne reddened, eyes flickering to a point past Cleo’s head. ‘Well … well, yes, we were talking about a trial separation. Last summer. But we stuck it out, so –’

  Cleo slid a sympathetic arm along Rhianne’s slender shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, Rhianne, I’d no idea. It must’ve been dreadful, keeping it to yourself. I’m glad things worked out. How awful to go through something so crappy without anyone knowing.’

  Then she caught it. The glance lancing between Rhianne and Dora. The penny dropped. She withdrew her arm and turned to Dora. ‘You knew!’ Dora blushed and studied the floor.

  The queue shuffled up. Rhianne bit her lip. ‘Sorry. It was just too …’ But they’d reached the head of the queue. As Rhianne didn’t seem about to, Cleo paid with angry little movements, snatched up the tray of drinks and headed for Keith and Ian. Gav was already downstairs warming up, the clatter and slap of the ball echoing up to the gallery.