Some Like it Hot

by Amanda Brobyn

  “But you know what, Sophie,” her eyes narrowed with steel grit, “that will be the last thing I tell him in a long time. Here’s me thinking I’d betrayed his trust when all along it was he who had betrayed mine by trying to keep me exactly where he wants me! Anywhere between the kitchen and the bedroom! He’s going to have to work damn hard before my faith in him is restored. The equilibrium of that house needs to change. And fast.”

  Kath trotted over carrying a tray of canapés. She didn’t notice the closed body language of the women – she had come in at the end of the conversation, just catching the last words.

  “The equi– what? Will you guys bloody well learn to speak English!”

  Under the endless blue skies The Trophy cruised along at continued speeds of six knots. It was fast enough to enjoy the thrill but slow enough to enjoy the view of the north-west Pennines which flowed into the heart of the Irish Sea. Not that they would be travelling the seventy-mile distance needed to officially reach the Irish Sea from where they were positioned. Clive had planned to stay within, or as close to the estuary as possible. If anything, if he reconsidered his route, he might divert towards the River Dee – the view of North Wales would be great on a clear day like this.

  Anna sat on the deck, her skinny legs crossed one over the other like she was sitting in a school assembly. She still looked like a child, tall as she was. Her shoulders leaned back against Sophie’s knees and she held up her DSI, squinting from the sun as her hair was pulled and twisted free of charge.

  “Don’t squint, Anna, you’ll get crow’s feet.”

  “But I’m only fifteen. Aren’t I a bit young for wrinkles, Sophie?”

  Sophie held Anna’s hair with one hand while she reached into her handbag, grabbing a packet of hair grips with the other. She slid the grips in, keeping the barrel curls in place, ignoring Anna as she winced, her young eyes watering.

  “Beauty is pain,” Sophie told her. “And no, you can never be too young to start looking after your skin.”

  Anna wiped the tears from her eyes. The fine blonde hairs across her hairline were scraped back tightly, sending her tear ducts into overdrive.

  “Nearly there, honey.”

  Anna closed the lid of her DSI. She couldn’t do two things at once like most other girls she knew. She was a one-task woman and it suited her perfectly. She had watched her mother fetch and carry after them and her father for so many years that she swore she would go out to work and hire a nanny to look after her children. She would never live a life of domestic subservience. She had started her campaign from a young age.

  Sophie squeezed out from behind Anna’s bony torso and hoisted the lanky teenager to her feet. Anna was like Jude, tall, shapeless and with barely enough breast development to fit into a bra. Okay, Jude was larger in that area than her daughter was, but her breasts had only really developed after the children were born – much to Clive’s delight.

  “How do I look, Daddy?” Anna yelled to Clive even though he was only a matter of feet away.

  Clive took in the view of his baby girl. She was so like her mother that it brought a lump to his throat. No boy or man would ever get their hands on his daugher, not until she was at least thirty.

  He shuffled towards her, merry from drink and high on the success of the day. Everyone was having a blast. He was oblivious to the tension that had occurred just moments earlier, unaware that he was at the heart of it.

  Clive took hold of her slight face which tanned even from the mildest of rays and he kissed her button nose.

  “Beautiful, Anna. Just like your mother.”

  Sophie’s stomach flipped with the tenderness of his words. She had always known what Clive thought of Jude, just sometimes she felt that he misunderstood her. Looks could be deceiving and her calmness had been deceiving him for years.

  “Thanks, Sophie.” Anna bent forward and kissed her on the lips. She towered above Sophie whose ankle-band heels had now been removed – for her own safety. “And now I have your lipstick too!” she giggled, skipping off to torment her brother.

  Sophie grinned at her and Clive watched as his daughter ruffled her brother’s gelled hair. He ducked away, as passive as ever.

  “I hate to say this, Clive, but she definitely takes after you. What Anna wants Anna gets,” Sophie declared. “She even managed to swipe the lipstick from my very own lips!”

  “Lucky girl,” Will piped up.

  Clive cogitated as he looked from Anna to Sophie. The shade of lip colour looked entirely different on each of them with their different colouring – Anna, with her tawny dark skin compared with Sophie’s peach-coloured complexion which Clive knew was entirely fake.

  “She is like me, I admit,” said Clive, still watching her. “Tom has Jude’s gentle and laid-back nature but he has my fairer complexion, and my unfortunate daughter seems to have inherited my impatience.”

  “They’re gorgeous kids, Clive.” Sophie meant every word of this. “If I had kids I’d want them to be exactly like Tom and Anna.”

  Clive thought he heard a flicker of emotion in Sophie’s voice.

  “You have to get married first,” Clive told her. “We need to find you a man, Soph.”

  “I’m right here,” Will butted in. Tact was not his forte.

  Sophie shuddered as she stared out into the dark-blue waters, watching the reflection of the yellow sun as it shone against the endless blue backdrop.

  “Firstly, don’t be so old-fashioned . . . you don’t need to get married to have kids, you just need a sperm bank . . . and secondly, thanks but no thanks, Clive,” she quivered. “Never again.”

  “Again?”

  “What do you mean ‘again’?” Sophie asked.

  “You said ‘never again’.” Clive was an avid listener. He missed nothing.

  “Did I? I don’t know what I’m talking about today, Clive. Too much of the good stuff, I guess . . . talking of which . . .”

  Sophie turned to make a beeline for the downstairs fridge. On her way she brushed past Roni, who she still hadn’t forgiven. She tapped her on the shoulder, cupping her gel-nailed hands around Roni’s ears as she whispered into them. “The only person I’ve been shagging lately is Rafi.”

  Roni gasped. She spun around, open-mouthed. “How could you? He’s my barman.”

  Sophie’s nostrils flared. The cheek of it. Her and her double standards. “What? Would you prefer I shag other people’s husbands, Veronica . . . instead of a single guy?”

  Roni knew she deserved it. She should have realised that Sophie would have been considering her revenge. They were on equal footing now.

  Roni wondered why her life couldn’t be simple like Jude’s or Helena’s. Why was she always knee-deep in trouble or consequence? She was trying so damn hard to be nice but, in truth, she found it much easier being a bitch. Perhaps she and Sophie had more in common than they realised?

  As The Trophy drifted through the marina, Clive manoeuvered it slowly and carefully as he aimed for the berth. It was time to put his baby to bed. He paid greater attention to the task than usual because of the amount he had drunk – they had all drunk.

  Will rushed from port to starboard, yelling out spatial measurements and generally easing Clive back to their rightful pitch: number thirteen. It certainly hadn’t been unlucky for them.

  “Just let the wake carry it forward now, mate,” Will slurred a little. “It’s in the bag.”

  Jude clutched a black plastic bag which clunked when she moved. The empty bottles banged against each other clumsily as she dragged it along the floor of the boat, feeling the strain of its increased weight. It was sickening to think they had consumed so much alcohol between so few people.

  Tom rushed over to help his mother, prising the bag from her hands.

  “I’ll collect the rubbish, Mum,” he ordered fondly. “You go and chat to your friends.”

  Jude stroked his cheek. She was a little drunk and the day had been filled with as many ups and downs as the wa
ter on which they were sailing and Jude – in true nautical style – had thrown caution to the wind. She didn’t want to be the odd one out.

  “Thank you, darling,” she said, slurring slightly.

  Kath rummaged into her frayed gypsy bag. The mustard-coloured tassels whipped against each other as the wind picked up. She lifted her mobile phone, switching it on. She was eager to see how Jason was, but of course there had been no signal from where the boat had bobbed about for the afternoon so she had turned her phone off, preserving its energy.

  James enjoyed the view from where he was sitting. He had his wife perched on his knee, his arms wrapped tightly around her just beneath her breasts, her soft but toned bottom sunk into his thighs and he felt like he could have stayed in that position for a long time.

  Today had been a super day for them both, a true distraction which had been delivered with impeccable timing.

  The gang were a great craic.

  “Five missed calls, Jim.”

  Kath bolted from his lap and the contents of her handbag flew across the damp plastic floor.

  “They’re from Neil . . . it must be our Jason again,” she panicked. “What the hell has he done now!”

  Helena was first to the rescue, as calm as ever. She stood next to Kath, saying nothing but offering her a calm reassurance by being at her side.

  Sophie frantically opened the last bottle of bubbly and poured her friend a glass of it while Jude crouched on the sticky floor in front of her ready to do whatever it was that needed to be done.

  “Take deep breaths, Kath,” Helena ordered in dulcet tones. “You’re holding your breath. Consider that he may have been calling to see if you were enjoying yourselves. Don’t fear the worst until you are presented with the worst.”

  “Do you have a signal yet?” James spoke hurriedly and Kath nodded, exchanging a look of dismay. “Do you want me to ring?”

  “No, it’s okay – I’ll do it.”

  Kath rang her eldest son, breath held as she waited for him to answer.

  “Breathe,” Helena whispered.

  Kath said nothing as the phone was pressed to her ear. She had no words to say. She continued to listen until she had heard all she needed to hear.

  “Thanks, Neil. I love you, son,” she told him with motherly fortitude.

  Kath looked at the sea of concerned faces staring at her, aware that she had given nothing away. There was nothing to give away, not according to her emotions anyway.

  “I’m sorry, Jim.”

  Kath stood up, calm and controlled, pulling James away from the stare of compassionate faces. She took hold of his hand, leading him to the far side of the boat which was free from earshot – as free from earshot as they were going to get within the spatial limitations.

  “It’s your mother, Jim . . . I’m so sorry, love . . . but she died this morning . . .”

  The witch is dead! Kath cheered in silence. She had longed for this day ever since the hospital visit where Elizabath had offered her cash in exchange for her newborn child. But Kath knew that she must keep her emotions empathetic in favour of her husband whose heart would be breaking over what he had lost. In truth though, he had lost her long before she died and they both knew that.

  James’ head spun with dizziness and he sobered immediately. The news hit him hard and this itself took him by surprise as his chest tightened and his heart pumped furiously. But why did the news hit him so hard? He had no mother, he hadn’t for a long time not in the motherly sense, so why did he feel like someone had dealt him a blow to the stomach? One which made him feel like doubling over to stop the pain.

  “I need to get out of here,” he told her quietly.

  Helena lay sprawled on the sofa watching the television screen. At the same time she was completely unaware of what it was she was – not exactly watching – but more staring at with her eyes because her mind was very much elsewhere.

  Nathan had sent her another text.

  ‘Times up. 500 quid & I’ll be silncd 4evr.U got 2 wks or I’ll do it.’

  Do what? Helena had no idea what Nathan would do. Was it to her, to himself? If not, then who? Helena knew that Nathan was volatile, but what worried her was the extent to which he would go to get back at her. She was unsure as to what he was truly capable of but she did know that he was deperate and almost homeless and desperate people took desperate measures usually without a care for the consequences. She didn’t need a psychology degree to work that one out.

  “What are you watching, you lazy cow?”

  Sophie’s slippers flipped against her heels as she snatched the remote from Helena’s flimsy hand. Its weakness was a match to her soporific state.

  “It’s your turn to cook,” Sophie ordered. “I’m starving so get a move on.”

  Helena grinned at Sophie. She could always rely on her friend to be unchanging no matter what crap life threw at everyone around her.

  ‘If the crap doesn’t stick, you’re laughing,’ Sophie would say, ‘and if it does stick, brush it off and get the fuck on with it!’

  Sophie was consistent in everything she did. Her immaculately presented exterior, her frame of mind, her short-tempered nature. She was a little piece of normality in Helena’s wild imagination which had been creating pictures of havoc since Nathan’s texts had begun.

  “One grain or two?” Helena prised herself from the sofa, shoving her feet into her flip-flops as she made her way to the open-plan kitchen.

  “Very funny. What are you watching by the way?” Sophie’s hair was wet. It dripped onto her pink towelling robe which matched her pink Hello Kitty slippers.

  “I wasn’t really watching anything, Sophie, to be honest. I was daydreaming.”

  Sophie flicked through the television channels. She was in the mood for a good meal and a night of relaxation. She was still tired and a little worse for wear after yesterday.

  “Yeah! America’s Next Top Model!” she shrieked. “I love this programme . . . ooh, and it’s a brand-new series, Hel. Come on, let’s snuggle.”

  Helena yanked open the cupboard doors, pulling out various carbohydrate-based foods. She opened the fridge to be greeted with little produce – nothing that wasn’t out of date anyway.

  “Loser! Anyway, I can’t snuggle, it’s been so long since I had sex I might not be able to resist you.”

  “You’re only human,” Sophie scoffed without taking her eyes off the television. “And excuse me . . . loser? I’m watching this programme in the name of research. I need to understand what hairstyles are in fashion . . . the cutting-edge trends of my neighbouring countries.” Sophie craned her neck to make eye contact with Helena who was behind her, still banging and clattering but with little to show for it. “Perhaps I should see if there is a banking programme on for you?”

  Helena ignored Sophie’s comments. She was still consumed by how she could get hold of five hundred pounds over the coming week. If only she knew what Nathan would do if she chose not to hand it over. Surely he was all talk? He certainly hadn’t been much of an Action Man. Any wonder she was gagging for it.

  “Did you hear from Kath by the way? She hasn’t returned any of my calls.” Sophie filed her nails with a pink animal-print emery board as she talked to the empty room. Only the television talked back.

  Helena stopped what she was doing and threw a packet of dried pasta onto the work surface. “Oh sorry, Sophie, I meant to tell you.”

  She sat down next to Sophie on the white Italian-leather sofa. It was warm from where she had been lying minutes earlier.

  “James’ mother died.”

  Sophie didn’t move a muscle. She continued watching one of her favourite programmes, glued to the models who were being hoisted into the air for an elevated photo shot.

  “Good. She was a hateful bitch anyway.”

  Helena snatched the remote from Sophie, pausing the television – something they were still getting used to – pausing and rewinding a programme as and when took their fancy. Sky Plus w
as brilliant.

  “Sophie! The woman is dead. Never speak ill of the dead. Have some respect, will you?” Helena was outgraged by her friend’s lack of compassion but Sophie pushed herself upright reclaiming the TV remote, rudely grabbing it whist simultaneously launching a dagger in the direction of her friend.

  “Helena, she was a horrible little cow when she was alive. I’m not one for hypocrisy, you know that. I speak my mind and that’s my opinion.” Sophie stretched out her legs. She didn’t want varicose veins. “She tried to take Neil away from his mother. She offered Kath money, Helena, in exchange for her own flesh and blood. The woman was evil if you ask me and at least now they can put proper closure on her once the funeral is out of the way.”

  Helena took in Sophie’s frank retort. She had a point but still, in her opinion, speaking ill of the dead was simply profane. It shouldn’t be done.

  “Will you go to the funeral?” Helena wanted to know.

  “I will if Kath wants me there – but I’ll tell you this, I certainly won’t have any respects to pay to her and I can’t for the life of me understand how James can have any respect for his mother given what she did to him, let alone bother to go to the funeral for her.”

  Helena stood up aghast.

  “He’ll go because she was his mother, Sophie!

  “Exactly!” Sophie exclaimed. “That’s my point – Mother!”

  Roni huffed and puffed as she battled with the cross-trainer in the gym she hadn’t seen for years.

  Peter used it and the girls did when they came home, not that they needed to, but the gym was a part of the house she rarely ventured into. Then again, the same could be said for the swimming-hut until of late.

  Roni managed a smile, grimacing with exertion, as she thought of the last Curry Club and how different it had been to all the others which had gone before. The heated water, the mouth-watering cocktails and a team of staff on hand to fetch the women anything they wanted – including sex as it had recently transpired. It had been perfect and she knew that the benchmark had been raised. Hers was officially the one to beat.