‘Oh for goodness sake,’ I banged down the iron. ‘If it isn’t kids demanding attention, it’s cats. I suppose you want feeding?’ Wallace regarded me adoringly, purr box bursting into life. ‘Couldn’t you have picked something up on the go? A mouse? Or a bird?’ I opened the cupboard under the sink. Hunkering down, I peered amongst dusters and paraphernalia for cat food. Wallace head-butted my elbow with impatience. There was a noise behind me. I turned just in time to see Gromit leap through the cat flap. ‘Ah. Heard your brother demanding food, did you? Another lazybones who can’t catch his own din–’
The words died on my lips. I had an overwhelming urge to climb into the cupboard. And shut the door. Sandwiched between Wallace’s jaws was a huge blackbird. As Wallace meowed a greeting, the bird fell to the floor. But instead of keeling over, claws up, it found its feet and regarded me with beady eyes. Jesus. It was still alive. I had to get it out. Before it took flight inside the house – where, no doubt, every internal door was wide open. I paled at the thought. At that precise moment both cats, in perfect synchronisation, pounced. The blackbird, shocked but still capable, launched itself upwards. Wallace and Gromit promptly head-banged each other. Livid, they fluffed up like porcupines. As I went to stand up, my foot connected with one furry tail. Gromit’s. Screeching with pain, he twisted his body and raked his claws down my legs. Sharp needles stabbed through the thin material of my joggers. I yelped in agony. There was a moment of pandemonium as both feline and human limbs entangled, and then both cats sprang after the bird. I stumbled awkwardly. As the floor rushed up to greet me, I struck out with one wrist. Unfortunately this connected with the ironing board’s legs. I looked up fearfully. A hot iron, imitating the cats with its hissing and spitting, rocked precariously. Before I had even registered that the iron was about to topple, my reflexes kicked in. In a nano-second my arms had propelled my body away. The iron slammed down to the floor, cable looping around the ironing board. Moments later there was a second crash as metal hit marble. The noise was deafening. From the lounge, Eddie let out a startled cry.
‘It’s okay darling,’ I croaked. ‘Mummy’s just being a bit noisy.’
Gingerly, I picked myself up. Nothing broken. Apart from the iron. I unplugged it, and picked up a bit of plastic. Directly overhead were some ominous thumpity-thumps. Clearly Wallace and Gromit were charging about in Petra’s bedroom. I collapsed the ironing board and leant it against the wall. Eddie was grizzling now.
‘Coming darling,’ I hobbled into the lounge. Sounds of mad scrabbling persisted. It was getting closer. I had a mental vision of Wallace and Gromit skidding on two legs around the banisters. I bent down, unstrapped Eddie and scooped him up just as the terrified blackbird flapped into the room. Both cats were in hot pursuit. I screeched, ducked, and flung one hand over my head. The bird landed on an overhead light fitting and instantly let forth a volley of crap. Blobs of gunk landed in the spaces between my fingers. Eddie’s grizzling changed to squeals of delight. The cats had leapt onto a cabinet, intent on hurling themselves at the light fitting. Both sofas were pebble-dashed with bird shit.
‘You bloody cats,’ I screeched.
My shouting only served to further unnerve the bird. It spread its wings and took off from the light-fitting – straight toward the cabinet. Wallace, practically hanging off by his tail, swiped front paws through the air. His aim was spot on. Suddenly the room was filled with feathers and flying fur as both bird and cat crashed to the ground.
Out in the kitchen, a voice could be heard. Who was that?
‘Cassandra?’
‘Help! I’m in argh–’
I let out a bloodcurdling cry as Gromit – unsure how to get off the cabinet – leapt straight onto my head. Scrabbling wildly, claws impaled into my scalp and forehead. Desperate to protect Eddie, I held my son out at arm’s length. Eddie wasn’t at all perturbed. Indeed he was clearly thrilled to bits to see Mummy wearing a cat on her head and pulling funny faces. As Gromit swayed about, Eddie gurgled with laughter.
‘Help!’ I screeched again, as claws dug perilously close to my eyes. I charged towards the kitchen, baby aloft, cat akimbo, straight into my mother-in-law. Of all the hero rescuers in the world, why did mine have to be a pint-sized version of Nanny McPhee?
Edna instantly assessed the situation and took charge. Grabbing Eddie, she whipped him over to the playpen and out of harm’s way. Seconds later a tea towel landed on my head. Gromit was swaddled and removed. At that moment Wallace, bird in mouth, strolled into the kitchen. He gazed at Edna. Recognising a superior being, he placed the bird reverently at her feet. She bent down, palm open. The bird, moth-eaten but still alive, hopped onto her hand. Edna opened the kitchen door, and the bird flew off to freedom. Just like that.
She went to the sink and scrubbed her hands.
‘Forgive me for letting myself in Cassandra dear, but Jamie telephoned me. He wants me to babysit again. Tonight. He said Ethan Fareham has invited both of you to have dinner with him and his fiancée.’
I stared at Edna stupidly. ‘Fiancée? Ethan’s proposed to Selina?’
‘Sit down Cassandra. You look very pale. And those scratches are nasty. Quite swollen. Let me find some antiseptic.’
‘I can’t possibly go out to dinner,’ I said. But I was talking to thin air. Edna had taken herself off to the bathroom medicine cabinet.
The telephone shrilled into life. I reached out a shaky hand. The skin was peppered in scratches. I frowned at them. My face was starting to throb. ‘Hello?’
‘Cassie, it’s me,’ said Jamie from his car. ‘The kids have finished at the stables and I’ve picked them up. We’re on our way home. Has Mum told you about tonight?’
‘Yes, but the house is covered in pooh,’ I replied.
There was a pause. In the background the kids sniggered with laughter.
‘Are you okay Cassie? You sound a bit spaced out.’
‘I’ve had a bit of an accident.’
I could hear Toby roaring with laughter. ‘Oh my God. Mum’s poohed herself. All over the house.’
Edna returned with a bottle of TCP and some cotton wool. She took the phone from me.
‘Jamie dear, Cassandra has been badly scratched by one of the cats. A bird got into the house and has made a bit of a mess. I want all the children to pull together and help me get this place ship-shape.’
‘Edna,’ I interrupted, ‘I can’t possibly leave you and the children to clean–’ I gasped as, with her free hand, she doused my wounds in TCP. Geez, it stung.
‘See you in a couple of minutes,’ she said to Jamie before hanging up.
‘Edna, I really can’t–’
‘Of course you can. And must. This is important. It’s business.’ She finished dabbing. ‘Here. Take these painkillers. Now go and have a bath. Put Eddie in with you while I start on the cleaning.’ My mother-in-law was already rolling up her sleeves.
And so for the second night running I found myself sharing the bathtub. This time with my baby son and a brightly coloured army of plastic ducks. They bobbed around in the bubbles as Eddie, wedged between my thighs, splashed in delight. In the background I could hear all sorts of activity going. Beds were being stripped of soiled linen, surfaces washed and floors mopped. Jamie and the children had taken one look at me and been horrified. Toby, appalled for laughing earlier, had hugged me tightly.
I picked up a sponge and soaked my hair before gently rubbing in shampoo. My scalp was stinging like blazes. What an absolute fiasco the afternoon had been. And as for tonight. I sloshed water over my head and rinsed away the lather. I really could have done without it. After last night’s bombshell that Selina was joining Fareham & Mackerel, I knew we’d meet again one day. But at no point had I reckoned on it being just twenty-four hours later. What on earth were we going to talk about? Hi there Selina! How ARE you (gush gush)? The last time we met I flung a glass of wine in your face. Would you like another for old time’s sake?
Eddie began to beat a tat
too with his palms against the water. The bath was far cooler than I’d have liked on account of him being in it with me. In fact, I was starting to feel a bit shivery. I finished rinsing my hair, then turned my attention to Eddie. Hauling myself out of the water, I wrapped us both in a big bath towel. Thanks to the cats’ antics, Eddie had missed out on a decent afternoon nap. He was now struggling to keep his eyes open.
Ten minutes later my baby was fast asleep in his cot. I checked his alarm was on, that no cats were in the room, and quietly shut his door. Time to get to work with my hairdryer. That was the easy bit. Attempting to do the same thing with my face wasn’t so straightforward. My forehead looked as though havoc had been wrought with a sharp fork. All around my eyes were tiny puncture wounds. The swelling had subsided slightly, but everything looked red and angry. Liquid make up was out of the question. I stroked some mascara onto my eyelashes and opted for a bright red lipstick. Hopefully this would draw attention to my mouth, rather than my forehead.
Smells of home cooking drifted upwards. I sniffed the air appreciatively. It certainly wasn’t my culinary special – beans on toast. My relationship with the vast range in our kitchen was a standoffish one. I didn’t ask too much of it, and it didn’t give me much in return. Whereas Edna would have all the ring burners blazing, double ovens stoked, and – before you could say Jamie Oliver – produce a week’s worth of home cooking.
I riffled through my wardrobe. What would Selina be wearing? Something fabulously chic and tailored? Or smart-casual? I swished coat hangers this way and that, appraising everything with a critical eye. I swept half a dozen pairs of identical joggers to one side and considered a red velvet dress. I’d bought it in the Sales last year before discovering I was expecting Eddie. By the time an opportunity to wear it had come along, my baby bump was well and truly established. I removed the dress from its hanger and let it slither over my head. It was a snug fit, but not enough to restrict breathing. I stood in front of the mirror. Not bad. Not great, but definitely not bad. Rummaging around in the wardrobe, I found a pair of shiny black boots and a matching clutch bag. They would do. I finished off with a liberal squirt of perfume. If nothing else I might just manage to smell nicer than Selina.
Jamie came into the bedroom. ‘That’s a lovely dress darling. Give me thirty seconds in the shower, and I’ll be ready to go.’
I smiled. ‘See you downstairs.’
I grabbed a coat and walked across the landing. The aroma of furniture polish and cleaning fluid jostled with cooking smells. The house was positively sparkling. I found the children in the TV room, glued to some ridiculous reality programme.
‘Hey kids.’ They glanced my way. ‘Thanks for helping clear up all that mess.’
‘That’s okay Cass,’ Petra smiled. ‘You clear up after us all the time.’
‘We didn’t mind doing it,’ said Toby, ‘but don’t expect me personally to do it again. It’s a woman’s work.’
Just eleven years old and my son was already a chauvinist.
‘Where are you going Mum?’ asked Livvy.
‘Out to dinner with Ethan and his fiancée.’
‘Oh yeah. That’s ironic,’ Jonas snorted. ‘The fiancée used to go out with Dad.’
‘Did she?’ Petra’s brow furrowed. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Sabrina.’
‘Actually, it’s Selina,’ I corrected.
‘That’s right,’ said Jonas. ‘I remember her. She was a milf.’
‘A what?’
‘Jonas!’ Petra chided.
‘What’s a milf?’ I asked, perplexed.
Livvy and Toby had gone a bit pink.
‘It’s, um, a sort of modern compliment,’ said Toby.
‘Enlighten me,’ I said. On the screen a woman with fake breasts and a mouth like Donald Duck was talking about her life being incomplete unless she had bum implants. ‘Jonas? Spill the beans. What’s a milf?’
Jonas shifted uncomfortably. ‘I can’t remember exactly. But it’s, well, like Toby said, a sort of compliment. But a bit, you know, racy.’
‘Racy?’ I eyed my step-son. Not quite thirteen but definitely waking up in the puberty department. He was already six feet tall, albeit built like a piece of string. Only last week, when vacuuming his room, I’d picked a forgotten magazine off the floor. It had been full of naked women. I’d taken a black marker pen to it. Drawn dresses and one-piece swimsuits on all the busty ladies. Sensible ones too. No plunging necklines or high-cut legs. And then I’d warmed to the task. Given them accessories. Harry Potter spectacles. Handlebar moustaches. One or two blacked-out teeth. And then I’d carefully placed the magazine back on the floor. Jonas hadn’t said anything. And neither had I. But I knew that he knew that I knew that he knew and I knew that he knew it too.
‘Daddy was never that keen on her though. And neither were we Cass,’ said Petra loyally.
I smiled. ‘Thank you, sweetheart.’
Jamie bounded down the stairs. ‘Told you I wouldn’t be long. Come on then Cassie. Bye kids. School tomorrow so don’t be late to bed please.’
Out in the kitchen Edna stood before the range, oven mitts on both hands. She bent down and removed a huge terrene of coq au vin. All the ironing had been done. To one side, on the worktop, freshly laundered and folded sheets were neatly stacked. How did she do it? And so effortlessly. They were questions I’d asked myself so many times.
‘Cassandra dear,’ my mother-in-law carefully set the terrene down. ‘Those puncture wounds look very sore. How are you feeling?’
‘Much better thank you Edna.’ My stomach growled with hunger. I hoped we’d be eating something equally scrumptious tonight. ‘Thanks so much for coming to the rescue.’ At this point any other daughter-in-law might have hugged her mother-in-law. Unfortunately our relationship was not a touchy-feely one. Rather it was more employer/employee. With me definitely in the employee role.
Edna inclined her head. ‘It was no trouble. Hurry along now. Have a nice time.’
‘I’m sure we will Mum,’ said Jamie. ‘We’ll try not to be too late.’ My husband turned to me. ‘Ready?’
‘Yes darling,’ I pasted on a bright smile. As ready as I’d ever be for this dreaded meeting.
Chapter Four
‘Your car or mine?’ I asked Jamie.
‘Mine,’ he said picking up his keys.
As we walked out of the house, a cold wind whipped up my hair. I stuffed my hands in my pockets as Jamie pressed his key fob’s remote button. The central locking sprang open on the BMW X5. It was a company car, and pristine. The kids rarely travelled in it. Instead their muddy riding boots, sweet wrappers and rubbish detritus graced the inside of my car – a seven seater Citroen affectionately known as The Muck Truck.
‘So,’ I folded my legs into the BMW and sank back against the leather, ‘which restaurant are we off to for this evening’s fun foursome?’
Jamie ignored my sarcasm. ‘No restaurant Cass. We’re going to Ethan’s apartment in Greenwich. I believe Selina insisted on it. She’s doing the cooking.’
‘Well she’d better not poison me. I want it on record, right here, right now, that if I’m ill later it’s her fault.’
‘Darling, don’t you think you’re being a bit childish?’
The electric gates slid open, and Jamie eased the Beamer out onto the road.
‘Childish? Childish! That woman is a nutter! You know it. I know it.’
‘Cassie, I know this is hard for you–’
‘You have no idea how hard it is for me!’
‘Yes, I do! And it’s just as difficult for me too.’
‘Well you’re very calm about it. You’ve evidently taken the whole situation in your stride. I’m still struggling to get my head around everything. I don’t know why you can’t tell Ethan straight. You’d be doing the bloke a favour. How would he feel if he knew his girlfriend – correction, fiancée – had once harassed his business partner? And not just at work, but home too? Not forgetting all her d
ropped phone calls to me. And at my place of work too. Talk about freaking me out.’ I was aware that my voice had risen. ‘That woman was hell-bent on making out you were having an affair. She set you right up. I can still see her. Sitting opposite you in that restaurant. Looking oh-so-smug. Telling me, “Sorry you had to find out this way.”’
I could feel my stomach knotting with bad memories – me chucking wine at Selina, stuffing a handy bread roll into Jamie’s shirt, and then legging it before an army of waiters turfed me out.
‘Look, we’ve gone over this. Ethan would be devastated, Cassie. You know that. Quite apart from anything else, you are forgetting that Ethan is the Senior Partner. He’s the one who put the dosh into the company. Ultimately the overall decision is his. And he wants Selina working for us. I have told you several times now that Selina has emphasised the past is over and done with. As far as she’s concerned, it’s all water under the bridge. She’s potty about Ethan. And she’s very sorry about what happened.’
‘Well she’s not apologised to me.’
‘I’m sure she will this evening.’
‘Unlikely.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Ethan will be there of course.’
‘Look Cassie, I’ll say it again. I’m powerless. We’re going round in circles discussing it.’
‘I know, I know,’ I wailed. ‘And I’m sorry. But I’m just not happy about it. I’m not happy about it at all.’
The BMW accelerated down a slip road and onto the duel carriageway to London.
‘Cassie, if I could change things, I would. You know that. If Selina’s joining the firm means you are going to be utterly miserable, I’ll tell Ethan I can’t work with him anymore. Is that what you want?’
Lipstick and Lies Page 4
