Lipstick and Lies

by Viggiano, Debbie

  There was a pregnant pause. Edna sliced up some bread. Morag was suddenly very interested in the contents of my fruit bowl. I studied my fingernails.

  ‘Arthur is indeed a very nice bloke,’ Edna eventually said. ‘Nice enough for me to share the expense of a boat restoration project and,’ she reached into the fridge for some butter, ‘whilst I wouldn’t term it as shacking up together on an ocean wave, it is true that we are seriously thinking about committing to each other.’

  ‘How do you mean Edna?’ I asked.

  Edna returned the butter to the fridge and pulled out some thin slices of rare beef. My stomach gave a sudden growl of hunger. ‘I might as well tell you, Cassandra dear, that Arthur has asked me to marry him.’

  ‘Ooooh how exciting,’ Nell shrieked. ‘Cass said–’

  I kicked Nell hard under the table. ‘That’s absolutely wonderful Edna,’ I gushed. ‘Let me be the first to congratulate you.’

  Edna blushed. ‘Well thank you Cassandra dear, but I haven’t yet accepted Arthur’s proposal. We’ve only known each other for a brief time. Committing to a boat restoration is one thing. I can extract myself from that any time I like. Signing up for marriage is something else, and will need thinking through. Carefully.

  Morag cleared her throat. ‘Well you must have some good vibes about Arthur to have made such a financial commitment with the boat.’

  ‘Of course. But the boat can be sold. For a tidy profit too. Whereas a marriage,’ Edna cut the crusts off the sandwiches, ‘well that’s a completely different ball game.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ Nell laughed smuttily.

  ‘Well whatever decision you reach,’ I glared at Nell, ‘I’m sure it will be the right one.’

  ‘Thank you Cassandra dear. Now if you’ll excuse me girls, I must take these sandwiches out to Arthur. Grafting is hungry work.’

  ‘Laters Edna,’ Nell waved. The back door shut. ‘Aw, your mum-in-law looks quite loved up. I wonder what it’s like getting your leg over at seventy-two.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake Nell, talk about royally dropping me in it! And fancy referring to Arthur as a bloke. He’s quite refined. Ex-Merchant Navy stock. Not Uncle Albert from Fools and Horses!’

  ‘Oh keep your hair on Cass. I was just joshing with Edna, and she knew it. So what if she’s seventy-two? She’s still a woman like the three of us. With emotions. And dreams. And unfulfilled urges.’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ Morag sniffed. She shifted on her stool, straightened her back and stuck her chest out. I instantly recognised the body language. Morag was revving up to tell us her latest sexy shenanigans. And under no circumstances was she to be interrupted. ‘Last night we did something very different.’

  ‘You mean you didn’t go to the stud farm?’ I muttered.

  ‘What stud farm?’ Nell frowned.

  ‘Last night we went in the car,’ Morag nodded, eyes wide.

  ‘To the stud farm?’ asked Nell.

  ‘For a drive Nellie-Wellie,’ Morag said irritably, ‘keep up. We went for a drive and parked in a lonely, dark lane.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘For fun!’ Morag trilled. ‘I was the driver. Matt was in the passenger seat. Blindfolded and handcuffed. He was my hostage.’

  ‘Did anybody see you?’ I asked. I wasn’t quite sure what the Old Bill would have made of a female driving along with a blindfolded man sitting next to her.

  ‘No!’ she sighed, ‘It was dark remember? So I parked up, dropped the back seats down and ordered Matt into the back of the car. Then I demanded he strip off.’

  ‘What the heck would you have done if somebody had come along Morag?’ I shook my head incredulously.

  ‘All part of the thrill. But in reality that wouldn’t have happened. It was an uninhabited country lane.’

  ‘No stud farm?’ asked Nell.

  ‘It was my Ford Galaxy Nell,’ Morag enunciated.

  ‘Blimey, all that fuss you made when you took me to hospital,’ Nell fumed, ‘insisting on towels in your car, and there you are rogering your husband senseless on the upholstery.’

  ‘Slightly different. Matt was on his back. And I climbed on top of him. No spillages.’

  I groaned. Too much information.

  ‘So,’ Morag continued, ‘I then whispered to Matt that he was my sex slave, and I could do to him whatever I pleased.’

  ‘And what did Matt say to that?’ I picked up a Hob Nob, but held off biting into it for fear of choking.

  ‘He was whimpering. Absolutely begging me to let him go. He said he had a wife who would be furious with him.’

  ‘But that’s you,’ Nell looked puzzled.

  ‘Yes. We were pretending Nell. You know. Fantasising.’

  Nell shook her head slowly. ‘I see.’ She clearly didn’t.

  ‘And I called him a bad boy for rising – literally – to the charms of another woman.’

  ‘Who was that?’ Nell frowned.

  ‘Me of course! We were still pretending, yes?’

  ‘And then what happened?’ I risked biting into the Hob Nob.

  ‘We both had the noisiest most incredible climax at exactly the same time. Matt was going, “Guuuh-guh-guh-guh,” and I was going, “Aaaaaaaah ah ah ah.”’

  I began to choke. Nell thumped me on the back.

  ‘And after you’d made all this noise, how did it end?’ she asked.

  ‘Well unfortunately my leg jerked out and crashed against the steering wheel setting the airbag off. It didn’t half make us jump.’

  There was a pause while Nell and I tried to understand the need for car sex.

  ‘So what’s all this got to do with a stud farm?’ Nell eventually asked.

  At that precise moment my mobile announced a text message. I leant sideways. Making a long arm to the worktop, I grabbed the handset. A message from Stevie.

  Going away. Catch you later.

  I stared at the text. Odd. Where was he going? And would he be back in time for the weekend? I knew Stevie had purchased top dollar tickets to take the twins to Billy Elliott the Musical on Saturday night. Surely he wasn’t going to cancel after nearly bankrupting himself? I tapped a message back.

  Will you see Billy?

  Rosie began to wail. Nell heaved herself upright and went over to the playpen. She lifted Rosie out. ‘I suppose I’d better get you fed Madam and then head back home. There are a million chores I should be doing. Shame on me for guzzling coffee and listening to stories about debauched sex and pensioners being proposed to.’

  Morag stood up and stretched. ‘All that talk about sex has made me quite up for it. I think I shall find my husband. Have another go at making a baby.’ She smirked in satisfaction. ‘I can’t wait to be pregnant again.’

  ‘More fool you,’ said Nell.

  My phone announced another text message.

  Yes, staying at Billy’s for a few days. Talk soon.

  I stared at the text message. What on earth was Stevie talking about? Something didn’t stack up here. I hit the ring button. Stevie’s voicemail immediately kicked in. Oh for goodness sake. I hung up irritably. I’d give him a call later. When Nell and Morag had gone, and the air wasn’t filled with the sound of wailing babies. I tossed the phone onto the worktop, and went to the playpen to pick up my son.

  By the time I’d fed Eddie, cleared up coffee cups and plates, and made myself a quick sandwich, it was time for the school run. I spent the rest of the afternoon working my way through manky PE kits and scrubbing football boots, before starting on a pile of ironing. It was gone nine when I had the next window of opportunity to talk to Stevie without interruption. But, as I reached for the telephone, it rang.

  ‘Cass?’ asked a tremulous voice. ‘It’s Charlotte.’

  Now there was somebody I hadn’t expected to hear from again.

  ‘Hello Charlotte. Is everything all right?’

  ‘No,’ she replied breathlessly. ‘No, things are not all right.’

  ‘Whatever’s the matte
r?’ I asked.

  There was a pause. When she next spoke, her voice crackled with emotion.

  ‘I think Stevie is missing.’

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘Missing?’ I gripped the handset. ‘What do you mean you think Stevie is missing?’

  ‘I mean he’s not around. He’s disappeared. Without a trace.’

  Ah. Whilst Charlotte might believe Stevie’s absence to be worrying, thanks to my brief role as detective, I knew Stevie wasn’t far away. And quite possibly with Selina by his side. The fact that she’d absented herself from work for an entire week probably meant the pair of them were holed up in some quaint inn with a roaring fire and personal service in hot tea and crumpet. With Selina being the crumpet.

  ‘Charlotte, I don’t know how to tell you this, but–’

  ‘Oh my God. What’s happened to him?’ she squawked.

  ‘Absolutely nothing. He’s fine. Really. But the reason you can’t find him is – well there’s no other way of telling you. He’s met somebody else. And he’s probably with her.’

  There was a pause while Charlotte digested this. ‘B-but I don’t understand. He’s not gone into work.’

  ‘Well he’s probably taken the week off as holiday.’

  ‘N-no,’ I sensed her shaking her head. ‘I was meant to meet Stevie in London today. For lunch. But he didn’t turn up. And he’d been adamant about us getting together to talk. You see, I’ve taken legal advice about staking a claim on half his house.’ Ouch. ‘Well I’ve co-habited with him for long enough,’ Charlotte said defensively. ‘Paid my share towards bills and maintenance. Made the place look nice. I don’t see why I shouldn’t walk away with a few thousand pounds so I can start all over again.’

  ‘Well obviously I can’t comment on that Charlotte. It’s between you and Stevie.’

  ‘I appreciate you’re going to take his side,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘Charlotte, your relationship with Stevie is none of my business. So there is no side for me to take. And if Stevie failed to turn up today, that’s more likely because he’s feeling aggrieved rather than anything sinister happening to him.’

  ‘I’m telling you Cass, something isn’t right. After work I drove round to his house. I still have a key. I let myself in and tripped over a pile of mail.’

  ‘That’s because Stevie has been with this other woman. At her place.’

  ‘So why hasn’t he taken his toothbrush and wash bag with him?’

  ‘Because he’s a slob?’ I ventured.

  ‘I went through his wardrobe Cass. Everything is still there. All untouched. He’s taken no spare clothing. In fact I can probably tell you what he was wearing when he last walked out of his house. I checked his underwear drawer, and also the laundry bin. He hasn’t even taken a change of underpants with him.’

  ‘Did you find his wallet in the house?’

  ‘No. He must have that on him.’

  ‘So, if he’d left on a whim, theoretically he could buy himself a fresh change of clothes?’

  ‘Well, put like that, I suppose so. But the other thing is,’ she took a shaky breath, ‘nobody at Stevie’s work knows his whereabouts either. He’s not telephoned to explain his absence Cass. He’s not taken annual leave. And other than phoning in sick on Monday with a bad back, nobody has heard from him since. He told the Personnel Officer he’d return to the office on Tuesday. Tomorrow is Thursday, and so far Stevie has been a complete no show.’

  I paused. For all Stevie’s womanising faults, and lack of responsibility in a relationship, one thing he wasn’t apathetic about was work. Okay, so he’d pulled a sickie on Monday pretending he’d had a bad back. But he wouldn’t have done that unless his diary had been quiet. And he certainly wouldn’t have neglected to telephone the office without some sort of further explanation for any prolonged absence. Even if it was just to dish out more lies!

  ‘I don’t know what to say Charlotte, other than I had a text message from Stevie earlier on today. So I know he’s okay.’

  ‘What did it say?’

  ‘Nothing much. Just that he was going away. He’s cancelled seeing the twins this weekend. So there you have it. I’m sorry. Stevie must have this woman really bad to forego his kids and neglect his employers. I hope he doesn’t lose his job.’

  There was a pause. I sensed Charlotte trying to absorb the body blows one by one. A failed relationship. A man who had moved on from her without a backward glance – and stood her up without even a text by way of apology.

  ‘Did Stevie say where he was going?’

  ‘He mentioned he was staying with somebody called Billy.’

  ‘Stevie doesn’t know anybody called Billy,’ Charlotte sounded puzzled.

  ‘Billy probably doesn’t exist. He was meant to be taking the twins to see Billy Elliott the Musical this Saturday. When I asked if that was still on, he texted back saying he was staying at Billy’s for a few days. It was probably the first name that came into his head Charlotte. Honestly, Stevie tells so many lies when it suits him, I don’t think he can always keep track of the porkies he’s telling. You really are better off without him you know.’

  ‘Yes,’ she sighed miserably. ‘And I am ready to move on. Promise. I was just concerned. But if you really think there’s nothing to be alarmed about. Well, I guess I’ll stop worrying.’

  ‘Tell you what, give me your mobile number and I’ll send you a text when I next speak to him. Just to put your mind at rest. How’s that?’

  I duly scribbled down Charlotte’s number before ringing off. I felt desperately sorry for somebody so young and beautiful being passed over for the likes of a manipulative, lying bitch like Selina. But then again, Stevie wasn’t exactly squeaky clean himself. In fact, the more I thought about Selina and Stevie as a couple, the more well-suited they appeared to be. Although God help that woman if she had designs on being my children’s step-mother. Calm Cass. Take deep breaths. That would never happen. The woman was a user. She’d use both Stevie and Ethan for her own purpose. Ethan would provide the fantastic job and lifestyle. Stevie would provide the sex. I retrieved my mobile from the kitchen, and tapped in Charlotte’s number.

  ‘Who was that on the phone?’ Jamie wandered in. He opened the fridge and peered inside. ‘I’m feeling peckish. What can I nibble?’

  ‘It was Charlotte. And come out of that fridge. You’re as bad as the children constantly grazing between meals. You’ll get a tummy if you’re not careful.’

  ‘Well thank you for your concerns about my waistline Mrs Mackerel,’ Jamie reversed out of the fridge, ‘but perhaps you should worry about your own tummy before you comment on mine,’ he prodded me gently in the abs. Or where my abs would have been had I bothered to do stomach crunches.

  ‘What?’ I looked down my gently rounded abdomen. ‘Are you telling me I look fat?’

  ‘No! I was just saying–’

  ‘That I’m overweight. Well thanks a bunch darling. You certainly know how to make a girl with a post-baby figure feel good about herself. I suppose you think I should be skinny?’

  ‘All I said was–’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like me to be like Victoria Beckham? Stick thin with a lollipop head. And when pregnant, look like a pipe-cleaner but with one of David Beckham’s golden balls under my oh-so-cute poncho.’ I could feel a rant brewing. How dare Jamie say I look fat! I was well aware of the need to lose a few pounds. But I didn’t need my tactless husband reminding me. Typical – just when I had an evening dress to slither into. And had to stand around hob-nobbing with the likes of another stick thin creature. God life was so unfair. ‘You’re a typical man Jamie Mackerel. You think women should swan around looking gorgeous, even when they’re up the duff. And when they’ve finally popped a sprog, they should shimmy back into their size zero jeans before picking up a duster and flick it in time with their hair extensions. HOW DARE YOU!’

  Jamie flattened himself against the fridge, hands up in a gesture of surrender. ‘I never said any such
thing Cassie. It’s you that’s just gone off on a wobbly. Is it your time of the month or something?’

  ‘POSSIBLY,’ I roared, ‘But DON’T think you’re getting away with telling me I’m FAT.’

  I turned on my heel and stomped off to the lounge. Bloody men. Bloody waistline. Bloody Hob Nobs. I’d eaten way too many of late. Bugger McVities for inventing the blasted things. Didn’t companies like them realise they were playing havoc with women’s silhouettes? I picked up the remote control and pointed it at the television. I’d take them to Court. What a brilliant idea! In this day and age of compensation-madness, I’d probably succeed too. A mental picture of the Daily Mail floated through my brain. WOMAN SUES BISCUIT MANUFACTURER – OH CRUMBS! Or The Sun: FAT WOMAN GOES CRACKERS OVER HOB NOBS.

  Jamie peered around the lounge door. ‘Is it safe to come in?’ He stuck out one arm and began waving a white tea towel. ‘Sorry if I sounded tactless darling. You’re not fat. You’re perfect.’

  I sighed and leant back against the sofa. ‘Sorry too. I over-reacted. Probably hormonal. Period’s a bit late.’

  Jamie sat down next to me. He slung an arm around my shoulders. ‘I haven’t had a chance to talk to you properly all evening. So, why was Charlotte calling?’

  ‘She was worried about Stevie, and thought he was a missing person.’

  ‘And is he?’

  ‘No, of course not. Just buggering her about. As usual. Causing problems. Wrecking relationships. And not just his own. I know you don’t believe me about him seeing Selina–’

  ‘Oh Cassie, please. I don’t want to discuss Selina. Every time her name is mentioned in this house, we go to war.’

  ‘I agree,’ I said quickly. ‘I don’t want to talk about her either. But Stevie was meant to meet Charlotte today, and he stood her up. He also sent me a text cancelling seeing the twins this weekend. And he’s absented himself from work with no explanation. Charlotte was initially anxious about his whereabouts. I told her he’d met someone else and was probably with her.’