Lipstick and Lies

by Viggiano, Debbie

  ‘Well we can’t all be domestic goddesses,’ Nell sniffed. ‘I’ll bet you have Henry’s wardrobe arranged in days of the week, colour coded, accessorised and in seasonal order.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Morag. ‘And then you can find what you’re wanting like that,’ she clicked her fingers. ‘I can’t be playing hide and seek with items. And why are Rosie’s bootees in Rocket’s basket?’

  Nell stopped posting Rosie’s arms in her coat and glanced at the basket. ‘Oh Rocket. You naughty girl,’ chided Nell. She stooped down to retrieve the footwear. ‘You mustn’t take things that don’t belong to you. Oh and look. You’ve chewed one of them. Mummy is very cross.’ Nell waggled her finger in the dog’s face. Rocket had the grace to look ashamed.

  ‘Surely you’re not going to put that bootee on Rosie’s foot!’ Morag looked repulsed. ‘It’s been slobbered on by your dog.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with a bit of slobber.’ Nell looked affronted. ‘It builds up a baby’s immunity.’

  Morag visibly shuddered. ‘Rather you than me. Right, are we all ready? I’ll just get Henry’s pram out of the boot.’

  ‘Likewise.’ I followed Morag to the front door.

  As winter walks went, it turned out to be a pleasant one. The three of us wheeled our babies along, enjoying the scenery and bracing air. Henry had stopped crying. Eddie was nodding off. Only Rosie still grizzled, although her cries were softer now. She was clearly exhausted. We trundled along a path flanked by immaculately turned flower beds, the earth hiding thousands of bulbs. Spring always brought a lovely show of daffodils along this section, and it was a pleasure to watch golden trumpets nodding in a warm breeze. But right now it was chilly. Towering oaks waved their bare branches, awaiting the emergence of green buds and acorns. Rocket ran ahead, nose down. She meandered from side to side, seeking out squirrels. Nell glanced inside Rosie’s pram. The baby’s eyelids had fluttered shut.

  ‘Thank Gawd for that,’ Nell sighed. ‘I’m bleedin’ knackered. I could do with pulling up on that park bench and going to sleep right here and now. You look a bit worse for wear too Cass. Did Eddie give you a bad night?’

  ‘On the contrary.’ I took in a lungful of fresh air. Thankfully the earlier nausea was starting to recede. ‘Since I actioned Morag’s sleep plan, Eddie is sleeping like the proverbial log. No, my sleep was interrupted by something else.’

  ‘Ooh, I sense a sexy story coming on.’ Morag momentarily removed her hands from the stroller handle of Henry’s pram. She clapped them together with glee. ‘So come on Cass. Spill the beans. Can you beat my car sex story?’

  ‘Morag, I don’t need car sex to make my life complete,’ I tutted. ‘I’m quite happy with conventional sex, preferably in a double bed with a duvet over my body and the light off.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with adding spice to one’s love life,’ Morag lectured. ‘Last night we had food sex. It was a major turn on. And scrumptious too.’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ I sighed. ‘Sausage and chips in bed – and Matt’s todger was the sausage.’

  ‘Very good Cass.’ Morag nodded approvingly. ‘Now you’re letting your imagination flow. Although you’re wrong about the sausage and chips.’

  ‘So what food was involved?’ asked Nell.

  ‘Melon,’ said Morag.

  Nell and I glanced at each. ‘Melon?’ we mouthed simultaneously.

  ‘We chopped some chilled melon into chunks,’ said Morag. ‘Then, in bed, Matt placed them over different parts of my body. Juice ran over my skin, and Matt licked it all off. Obviously two pieces of melon were impaled on my nipples.’

  ‘Yes obviously,’ I murmured. I mean where else would one put melon? God forbid in a fruit bowl. Too boring for words.

  ‘I think I missed my vocation,’ said Morag.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘Instead of being a solicitor, I should have been a sex therapist. I think I’d make a damn good counsellor. I can see me now, sitting in a swivel chair, tapping my pen against my teeth whilst listening to a couple lamenting about their boring sex life. I’d soon have them breathing fun back into their relationship. Perhaps I should write a book on it,’ said Morag thoughtfully.

  ‘You’d frighten the pants off potential clients,’ said Nell. ‘Not to mention give them raging complexes. If I greeted my Ben with two melons on my knockers, he’d have me carted off to the funny farm.’

  Morag shook her head dismissively. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing Nell. Anyway, back to you Cass. You were about to tell us your sexy story involving,’ she posted quotation marks in the air, ‘a duvet over your body and the light off.’

  ‘Actually there was no sex involved at all,’ I said apologetically. ‘Instead I had a text at three in the morning from Stevie. He’s gone AWOL. Not even bothered to let work know either.’

  ‘What do you mean AWOL?’ asked Nell. ‘He can’t be. Not if he’s texted you.’

  So I told them both about Charlotte’s phone call, and her anxiety about thinking Stevie was missing. And my telling Charlotte that Stevie had met somebody else, followed by Stevie standing Charlotte up after arranging a lunchtime meeting, and concluding with my ex cancelling his weekend with the twins. ‘Oh. And he also sent me a charmless text asking me not to leave him snotty voicemails, and told me I was a stuck-up bitch.’

  ‘Stevie said that!’ Morag was incredulous.

  ‘Yep. I think he’s lost the plot this time. Total mid-life crisis. He’s obviously so enthralled with Selina he’s gone doolally. I hope he doesn’t get the sack from work. He has a mortgage to pay at the end of the day.’

  ‘So what did you do after receiving his text?’ asked Nell.

  ‘Well I tried contacting him again earlier this morning, and this time I really did leave him a snotty voicemail. If I’m going to be accused of such a thing, I might as well go ahead and commit the crime. I told him I knew he was having an affair with Selina, and that she was borderline lunatic in my opinion.’

  ‘And has he got back to you?’ asked Morag.

  ‘Not yet.’

  At that moment my mobile, buried deep within the depths of my coat pocket, announced a text message. I stopped dead in my tracks. Curling my cold fingers around the phone, I withdrew it.

  ‘Who’s your message from?’ asked Nell.

  I touched the screen. ‘Talk of the devil. It’s from Stevie.’

  ‘Well go on then,’ Morag urged. ‘Open it.’

  I tapped the envelope icon. And blanched.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  ‘What does the text say Cass?’ asked Nell.

  Morag took the mobile from me. ‘Here. Let me. You always had a vivid imagination Cass, and now you are excelling yourself. I am not having a relationship with Selina. She is the sweetest girl I have ever met, whereas you are the biggest (in every sense of the word) cow I’ve ever had the misfortune to know. So fuck off.’ Morag passed the phone back to me. ‘I’m flabbergasted. I always thought you two had an amicable relationship. This is completely out of character.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Nell. ‘Even when you were going through divorce, the pair of you always managed to be friendly enough. What’s got into him?’

  I stared at the mobile phone and re-read the message. It didn’t ring true. Particularly the words you are the biggest (in every sense of the word) cow. Stevie might well have called me a cow in the past, but only because I refused to take him back after one affair too many. But to say biggest (in every sense of the word). Well! The words kept leaping off the mobile’s screen and walloping me in the face. That wasn’t how a man spoke. It was bitchy talk. Words that a woman might say. A woman with an axe to grind. I let out a shaky breath and looked from Nell to Morag. ‘This isn’t Stevie’s text.’

  ‘What do you mean it isn’t Stevie’s text?’ Nell frowned. ‘It says his name there!’ She tapped the contact name. ‘Of course it’s Stevie who sent you the text.’

  ‘It might be Stevie’s phone
that sent the text, but Stevie isn’t the author. He didn’t write this.’

  ‘Well who the bloody hell did?’ asked Morag. Her eyes widened. ‘You don’t think–’

  ‘Yes. Yes I do think.’

  ‘Am I missing something here?’ Nell puckered her brow.

  ‘This is Selina’s work.’ I waggled the phone at Nell. ‘Charlotte was right. Something is going on. I think Stevie really is missing.’ I smacked my forehead with my palm. ‘Everything makes sense now – why he’s not telephoned work, and why he stood Charlotte up. Charlotte said Stevie hadn’t taken as much as a change of underwear from his house. Not even his toothbrush! And he hadn’t been home for days, because there was a pile of mail on his doormat.’

  Nell’s eyes were like saucers. ‘What do you think has happened to him?’

  ‘Well,’ I blustered. ‘It sounds utterly preposterous. But I suspect kidnap.’

  There was a resounding silence as we all stared at each other. The word kidnap hung in the air. It sounded incongruous. Ludicrous. Here we were standing in the middle of an ordinary park, on an ordinary winter’s day. Three mothers with our babies in prams and a dog peeing on an empty Mars bar wrapper. And yet the conversation was not so much ordinary as extraordinary. The abduction of a strapping great man. By a woman no less.

  ‘And you truly suspect Selina is his abductor?’ Nell was the first to speak.

  ‘I know it sounds absurd.’ I shrugged my shoulders helplessly. ‘But yes. I think that woman knows his whereabouts.’

  ‘Cass, before we all let our imagination run away with us,’ said Morag, ‘let’s just think this through for a moment.’ We pushed off with the prams again, slowly this time. Our brains whirred with unanswered questions and possibilities. Rocket headed along the tow path by the geese and swans. We followed her. ‘If Selina really has abducted Stevie, what would be her motive?’

  ‘God, I don’t know. The woman isn’t all there. Ethan told Jamie in confidence that Selina had recently been behaving rather oddly. He confided that she sees a psychiatrist and counsellor routinely, but hadn’t kept her last two appointments and wouldn’t talk about it. Who knows what her motive might be.’

  ‘Sex,’ suggested Nell. ‘There was a story years ago in the paper about a woman who used mink-lined handcuffs to kidnap and ravish a burly missionary.’

  ‘But hang on a moment,’ said Morag. ‘We know that Stevie is more than willing to bonk Selina. She doesn’t need to hold him prisoner for that. If she’s kidnapped him, then I suspect the motive would be,’ she gave a worried look, ‘somewhat more sinister.’

  We all stopped walking again. I felt a chill wash over me. Like a premonition. But not quite able to put my finger on what it was.

  ‘Morag, are you hinting that Selina might want to kill Stevie?’ I whispered.

  ‘This is madness.’ Nell rolled her eyes. ‘What would that daft bint gain by killing Stevie?’

  ‘That,’ said Morag, ‘is the sixty-four thousand dollar question. Why indeed.’ She looked at me. ‘Any ideas Cass?’

  ‘No!’ I shook my head. ‘This is crazy. We sound like frustrated women who have overdosed on too many detective movies. It’s nonsense. Rubbish.’ I straightened up. ‘I have to face facts. I’ve simply received a nasty text from my ex. He’s spent so much time bonking a bitch, he’s turned into one. Hence his propensity to write bitchy texts.’

  ‘Let’s put that theory to the test,’ said Morag.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘Reply to that text. Send a message that appears to be playing along but,’ she held up a finger, ‘tests who we’re really talking to. A message which – for the real Stevie – would make no sense whatsoever.’

  ‘That,’ I breathed, ‘is a brilliant idea.’ I hit the reply button. ‘What shall I write?’

  ‘I know!’ Nell chirruped. ‘Why don’t you text, “If you are the real Stevie, what are the middle names of our children?”’

  Morag and I stared at Nell in amazement. ‘No Nellie-Wellie,’ Morag enunciated. ‘We need to be discreet. Without arousing suspicion. Comprendez?’

  ‘But Nell does have a point.’ I smiled kindly at my old neighbour. ‘Firstly, discussing the twins is a legitimate reason to text. Secondly, using the twins as the topic should reveal whether it is Stevie reading my messages. I have an idea.’ I began to tap.

  Sorry to offend. Your private life is none of my business. Regarding the twins’ birthday next week – any preference on which restaurant to book for celebrations? Thanks. Have a nice day.

  ‘Perfect!’ I hit send. ‘That message is apologetic. And a little bit contrite. Also totally inaccurate. The twins’ birthday is not for another six months.’

  ‘Very good Cass,’ Morag nodded approvingly.

  We resumed our walking but had barely gone five paces when my mobile tinkled the arrival of another text. Once again we all stopped and huddled over the phone. I opened the message.

  Apology accepted. Let twins choose restaurant.

  ‘OH MY GOD!’ squawked Nell. ‘He’s been kidnapped. Call the police. Call an ambulance. Get the Fire Brigade too.’

  ‘Phone Jamie,’ said Morag urgently. ‘Phone him now.’

  I stared at the message in shock. It was one thing to suspect I’d not been communicating with Stevie, but quite another to have it confirmed. I suddenly felt a bit strange. A little wobbly.

  ‘Hurry up Cass,’ said Morag. ‘Ring Jamie.’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered. With shaking hands, I found Jamie’s number on speed dial. It rang three times before connecting.

  ‘Hello?’ said a female.

  My mouth dropped open. Selina! Why the bloody hell was that woman answering my husband’s mobile? How many mobile phones belonging to other men did she have in her possession?

  ‘Er, it’s Cass.’

  ‘Hi Cass,’ she greeted me warmly. For a moment I felt wrong-footed. What if it wasn’t Selina sending fake messages from Stevie’s phone? What if it was another fanatical female? It wasn’t unfeasible that Selina was the only woman Stevie was seeing. Two-timing wouldn’t trouble Stevie’s conscience. For all I knew he might even be three-timing. Stevie was like a dog on a scent where women were concerned. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Yes, I’m good. Thanks for asking. Um, is Jamie there?’

  ‘Sorry, no. Both he and Ethan are in a meeting with James Powell. James is the bank’s big cheese. The men want absolutely no interruption for the next couple of hours, hence me having their mobile phones. Can I give Jamie a message?’

  ‘I was ringing to ask, er, what he wanted for his dinner,’ I said lamely. ‘Nothing important.’

  ‘Shall I get him to call you?’

  ‘No, that’s fine. He can take pot luck.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll tell him that,’ she laughed. ‘So, are you looking forward to the ball this Saturday?’

  Gordon Bennett. Now she wanted to make friendly small talk. This couldn’t be right. Selina sounded so natural. So unfazed. Not remotely like a person with a screw loose. Jamie’s words suddenly reverberated around my head. Can I just say Cassie, you’re not just coming across as neurotic, but certifiable. If I told Jamie about this, he’d immediately declare it was me with the screw loose.

  ‘Yes!’ I replied. ‘I’ve bought my dress and accessories. Can’t wait! And you?’

  ‘Well, it’s business really for me. But I’m hoping for some romance!’ She gave a throaty laugh. ‘Ethan has booked us into a fancy boutique hotel for the night – deluxe king room with river view no less. I’m one lucky lady.’

  ‘Sounds fab,’ I chortled.

  Morag and Nell stared at me. Both women were clearly baffled by my friendly conversation with a kidnapper.

  ‘One small hitch though Cass,’ said Selina.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘It’s looking like Jamie and Ethan will have to go into work this Saturday. James Powell has done wonders for Fareham & Mackerel, but boy does he want his pound of flesh.’

&n
bsp; ‘That’s a nuisance. Is James Powell expecting you to be there too?’

  Nell tugged at my sleeve. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ she whispered. I flapped my hand at her.

  ‘Fortunately James doesn’t need all three of us.’ Selina gave a sigh of relief. ‘But it does mean the boys won’t have time to go home prior to the ball. Therefore, when they’ve finished work, they’ll head straight to the hotel in Oxford. Ethan has suggested I pick you up and we travel to the hotel together. From there, we’ll later take a minicab to the ball.’

  I hesitated for a moment. My heart wasn’t skipping with joy at spending the best part of an hour in the car with Selina.

  ‘Oh. Right. Would you like me to drive?’ I asked. ‘I’m more than happy to do so.’

  ‘Can’t unfortunately. Sunday morning Ethan and I are expected in Abingdon to have lunch with his parents. We’ll need a car. So I’ll pick you up at six, or thereabouts.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Lovely chatting Cass. I’ll look forward to seeing you Saturday. Bye.’

  ‘Bye.’ I hung up.

  ‘What on earth was all that about?’ asked Morag incredulously.

  ‘You heard,’ I sighed. ‘A bit of chit-chat about Jamie and Ethan in an important meeting – without their mobiles, hence Selina answering. And then an exchange of pleasantries about the bank’s ball this Saturday. All four of us are attending. And joy of joys, on Saturday evening Selina will be my driver.’

  ‘So,’ Nell splayed her palms out in a gesture of bewilderment, ‘is Selina a kidnapper or not?’

  I raked a hand through my hair. ‘I would hazard not. She was as cool as a cucumber.’

  ‘So who,’ asked Nell, ‘is sending those texts from Stevie’s phone?’

  ‘I really don’t know,’ I shook my head. ‘We’re going around in circles. I’m not sure about anything anymore.’

  ‘Well something isn’t right,’ said Morag. ‘That last text about the twins choosing a restaurant for a fictitious birthday was utter tripe.’ She paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘I have an idea. What about we take a drive right now to Selina’s bachelor apartment and check it out? You said you followed her the other day Cass, so you know where it is. Let’s have a bit of a sniff around. See if it yields any clues.’