Lipstick and Lies

by Viggiano, Debbie

  ‘Oh my God Cass,’ Morag gasped. ‘He’s making a note of my registration number. I’ll be arrested.’

  ‘Don’t panic,’ I clutched my chest, convinced I was about to have a coronary. Morag swerved out into traffic and blaring horns. ‘It’s our word against his. We’ll say we popped round to see Selina and he got the wrong end of the stick. He’s a doddery pensioner at the end of the day. We’ll make out he has senile dementia or something.’

  ‘And I’ve lost my lovely wigs!’ said Morag. ‘How are we going to explain the wigs if we get questioned by a police officer?’

  ‘We don’t,’ I gasped. ‘We make out we know nothing about them.’

  ‘From now on Cass,’ Morag said as we hurtled onto the dual carriageway, ‘we leave Stevie to his own devices. Whatever is going on, he’s a big boy. I’m sure he can handle himself.’

  I gripped hold of the door handle for support as Morag shot into the outside lane. I didn’t know where Stevie was or what had happened to him. But one thing I did know. If Morag and I had the police knocking on our doors, we were going to have our work cut out explaining ourselves.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Nell set the bacon butties before us, tutting loudly.

  ‘So in a nutshell,’ she paused briefly to search out tomato sauce from the fridge, ‘your investigation of Selina’s apartment backfired. And any moment now the Old Bill could descend and cart you off to the local nick for questioning.’

  ‘That’s pretty much the gist of it.’ I took the sauce from Nell and squirted liberally over the bacon. ‘Mmm. Delish.’ I took a massive bite. Grease slid down my chin. I’d better make the most of this. I didn’t know if the food in jail ran to bacon butties. When I was a child I’d listened, round-eyed, to my parents telling me about prison. That should I ever break the law, my doom would be a dungeon-like abode with only bread and water to survive upon. At the grand old age of eleven, I’d been outraged to discover this was a huge untruth. Indeed, these days it seemed there were more rights to be had on the inside than the outside. Why, only last month I’d received a ticket for parking illegally whilst giving Eddie an emergency change on the car’s back seat. I’d been watched by a sadistic traffic warden who had gleefully fed my car registration details into his machine. What about my son’s human rights for a clean bottom, eh? I took another chunk out of the bacon butty and sighed. Time would tell whether we’d be eating more butties in Nell’s house, or languishing in a cell dressed in pyjamas covered in arrows.

  ‘It was a disaster,’ Morag agreed. ‘I hope Matt doesn’t find out. I can’t begin to imagine how he’d react. Bonks might be suspended by way of punishment.’

  ‘A whole new meaning to going bonkers then,’ Nell arched an eyebrow.

  ‘Jamie would go ballistic.’ I gave an involuntary shudder whilst imagining my husband’s reaction. ‘He works in security! Can you envisage client reaction? How would Jamie explain the little matter of his wife tootling off in a wig to case a colleague’s joint and being party to knocking over a pensioner? That would be the end of Fareham & Mackerel. Well, the Mackerel bit anyway. Definitely not the career move he’s looking for.’

  ‘Regarding our husbands, I think we’d better keep Mum for now, don’t you?’ suggested Morag.

  ‘Definitely.’ I nodded my head vigorously.

  ‘And as for Stevie,’ said Nell, ‘can I suggest you try getting hold of him one last time. If you don’t speak to him, leave a message saying that unless he properly returns your call, you will report him to the police as a missing person.’

  ‘I think the last thing I need right now Nell is to flag myself up to the police.’ I licked one finger and ran it around my plate, gathering up butty crumbs. ‘However, you’ve made a good point. If I don’t get hold of Stevie, I’ll give Charlotte a ring and suggest she phones the police. She’s still pretty much Stevie’s partner as such. There’s the house to sort out after all. Plus she has some stuff to collect. I think Charlotte is the most appropriate person to report any unexplained prolonged absence.’

  ‘Great idea,’ Morag nodded her head. ‘The Old Bill can investigate Stevie’s whereabouts, and we can be left firmly out of the equation. Then I can get back to normal life. And bonking my husband instead of being celibate behind bars.’

  ‘And talking of bonking, why was Matt and the sex food diet mentioned on that clipboard?’

  ‘Oh it was just a joke. You know, to tease Matt the next time he consulted his beloved horses’ diet sheets. He’s always tweaking them about.’

  ‘I thought that pensioner was going to swallow his dentures.’

  ‘Pity he didn’t,’ Morag grimaced, ‘and then he’d have been too busy giving himself the Heimlich Manoeuvre to take down my registration number.’

  I drained my coffee. ‘Time to go home. And do normal things. Like ironing. And housework. I will never again complain about chores being boring. From now on it’s the quiet life for me.’

  ‘Me too,’ Morag agreed. ‘We will leave you in peace Nell. At least Rosie’s colic has stopped.’

  ‘Yes,’ Nell sighed. ‘For now.’

  With a sigh of relief, I set off on the afternoon school run. It was bliss to be pootling along at twenty miles per hour, instead of roaring away from furious pensioners or getting entangled with Astravan drivers suffering road rage. One way or another, the last few days had seen rather a lot of drama on the roads.

  The kids were in high spirits when they piled into the car. Livvy and Petra were talking nineteen to the dozen about a new physics teacher. Male. Fresh out of uni by all accounts.

  ‘Mr Boardman is gorgeous,’ Petra gushed. ‘I just know I’m going to love studying physics from now on.’

  ‘He can explain Newton’s laws of motion to me anytime,’ Livvy sighed dreamily.

  Jonas was intent on teasing Toby over his crush on Diane Cooper. ‘How’s the grand plan coming along Tobes? You know, the one to deepen your voice. I can’t wait to see Diane faint clean away the next time you pass her in the corridor.’

  ‘All in good time,’ Toby assured. ‘One day I’m going to marry Diane Cooper.’

  ‘Ha ha ha!’ Jonas let out a raucous laugh. ‘That’s the funniest joke I’ve heard all year.’

  ‘I’ve heard a funnier one,’ Toby retorted. ‘My wife to be – Diane Cooper – sat down next to me as I was flipping channels. She asked, “What’s on TV?” so I said, “Dust”. Although that’s probably the sort of thing Jamie would say to you, isn’t it Mum!’

  ‘Very droll,’ I smiled. There probably was a fair sprinkling of dust on the telly, indeed throughout the entire house. But not for much longer. I would give the place a good bottoming. Just as soon as I’d barricaded myself into a handy room with my mobile phone. I wanted to speak to Charlotte away from wiggling ears. The last thing I wanted was the kids worrying about their father.

  The Muck Truck bounced into the driveway of Lilac Lodge. I was relieved to catch a glimpse of Arthur and Edna working away on the boat. Their body language indicated they were perfectly at ease with each other. It would seem Arthur had recovered from his marriage proposal being rejected. They both put up a hand and waved as we emptied out of the car. I waved back. The kids charged through the front door. Dumping their coats over the banister, they thundered upstairs and disappeared into their rooms.

  ‘I’ll be coming around with the Hoover shortly,’ I called after them. ‘So pick things up off the floor please.’

  I went into the kitchen with Eddie on my hip. He started to grizzle, so I made up a feed before popping him into his playpen. Two minutes later he was under his mobile and guzzling contentedly. Shutting the kitchen door, I went over to my holdall. Rummaging inside, I extracted my mobile. First things first. Call Stevie. I touched the screen, selected his number and waited for it to connect. Seconds later it began to ring. And ring and ring. Once again the voicemail kicked in. I took a deep breath.

  ‘Hi Stevie. It’s Cass. I was really hoping you’d answer the
phone. Can you call me back please? I haven’t spoken to you for a few days. Frankly I’m concerned. Concerned enough to report you to the police as a missing person. So call me. As soon as possible.’

  I hung up. Wallace and Gromet appeared through the cat flap. They set up a cacophony of howls, demanding their tea. I opened a tin of cat food and was just doling out some particularly pongy meat, when my mobile signalled the arrival of a text. Setting the cats’ dishes on the floor, I snatched up the phone. The text was from Stevie.

  For God’s sake Cass, get off my back. I told you I was going away. Stop looking for drama and making a crisis where there is none.

  I stared at the message. Well, that had told me hadn’t it! Or had it? Why couldn’t my ex have simply telephoned to say the same thing? Stevie wasn’t the most thoughtful of men, but I really didn’t think he’d deliberately not wish to put my mind at rest.

  I touched the screen and Stevie’s message disappeared. This time I scrolled through my contacts looking for Charlotte’s number. She answered on the second ring.

  ‘Hi Charlotte, it’s me.’

  ‘Hello Cass,’ she inhaled sharply. The breath caught in her throat and she coughed slightly. She was clearly anxious. ‘Have you heard from Stevie?’

  ‘Yes. And no.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, he’s texted a few times. But when I ring he never picks up. Frankly I’ve had doubts that it’s been Stevie texting me at all. I’ve even wondered if his phone has fallen into somebody else’s hands. His messages have been both inaccurate and downright rude. I rang him ten minutes ago and left a message on his voicemail to call me, or else I’d be reporting him as a missing person.’

  ‘I’ve been going out of my mind all week with worry. And I’ve tried calling him myself. Several times. But despite all my messages – voicemails and texts – I’ve heard absolutely nothing from him.’

  ‘Well I had a text from Stevie’s phone just five minutes ago. The message was to get off his back. Why he couldn’t phone to say that is a mystery. It’s out of character. So in all honesty, I think his absence should now be reported to the police.’ There was a silence at the other end of the phone. ‘Hello? Charlotte, are you still there?’ And then I heard a gulping noise and realised Charlotte was sobbing. ‘Charlotte, please don’t cry.’

  ‘Sorry Cass,’ she hiccupped. ‘I’m just so concerned.’

  ‘Try not to be. Stevie’s a pretty solid chap. I’m sure he could pack a punch if needed.’

  ‘So when are you going to phone the police? Now?’

  ‘Ah.’ I raked a hand through my hair. ‘Actually, I think it would be better if you phoned the police. After all, I’ve been hearing from Stevie by text. Whereas you’ve heard squat diddly. You can truthfully tell the police you’ve had no communication whatsoever. That you know for a fact Stevie did not inform work of his absence, nor taken a change of clothes from his house – not even a toothbrush. I think the police are more likely to get a move on with things if they hear from you. Whereas if I speak to them and say I’ve been having texts, I’m pretty sure they would delay things. Especially if they saw the contents of Stevie’s last message.’

  ‘Y-yes,’ Charlotte wept. ‘I-I’ll do it now. Thanks Cass. I-I’ll let you know how I get on.’

  We said good-bye to each other and hung up. For a while I stared pensively at my mobile. Where the heck was my ex-husband? I chucked the phone back into my holdall. In his playpen, Eddie had pulled himself upright and was making mum-mum-mum noises. Meanwhile I needed to do some vacuuming.

  ‘Come on little man.’ I bent over the playpen’s rails and scooped up my baby boy. ‘Let’s go and see if one of your sisters will keep an eye on you while I push the vacuum cleaner around.’ Eddie responded by reaching up and grabbing a fistful of my hair. He tugged hard. I winced with pain. ‘No darling – argh! – let go.’ My son squealed with laughter. Six months old and already displaying sadistic tendencies. After a bit of tussle, I disentangled chubby fists from my tresses and hastened up the stairs to Livvy’s bedroom. I knocked on her door. On the other side, a great deal of chuntering was going on. I pushed the handle down. My daughter was on her mobile phone.

  ‘I knew this would happen,’ Livvy huffed. ‘Do you think? Ah, my bad. Really? I told Lucy there would be beef. What a beg. Yeah. Peak times. You’re kidding? Oh that’s reem.’

  I hadn’t the faintest idea what language my daughter was talking. It made no sense whatsoever.

  ‘Can you look after Eddie?’ I mouthed.

  ‘Hang on a minute Emma.’ Livvy moved the mobile away from her ear. ‘You won’t be long will you Mum, only I have homework to do. Just as soon as I’ve finished talking to Emma,’ she winked.

  ‘I will ensure the vacuum cleaner goes flat out,’ I grinned, ‘and will screech around all corners and skirting boards on two wheels.’

  ‘Okay.’ She held her arms out and took Eddie from me.

  I was half-way down the stairs when I stopped dead in my tracks. And sniffed. That smell again. The same whiff as this morning – when the boys had climbed into the car. A smoky smell. Like – I stiffened – cigarettes. I spun around and re-traced my steps, sniffing the air like Rocket on a trail. Outside Jonas’s bedroom, my nostrils went into overdrive. Yeuch. Definitely ciggies. I flattened one ear against Jonas’s door. Low voices. Every now and again Diane Cooper’s name was mentioned, followed by sniggering. I rapped on the wooden panels. There was a sudden frenzy of activity from within.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ Jonas bellowed.

  More noises. Darting footsteps. The squish-squish of a canister spraying the room.

  ‘Can I come in?’ I asked. And didn’t bother waiting for a reply.

  Toby was playing nonchalantly with some alien goo. He threw the gelatinous gunk repeatedly up in the air before catching it. Jonas had prostrated himself across a bean bag near the sash window. Which just happened to be open. Both boys were chewing gum, jaws rotating noisily. I narrowed my eyes. An open window – in January?

  ‘What are you both up to?’ It came out as an accusation.

  ‘Nuthin’,’ drawled Jonas. ‘Take it easy man.’

  Man? Easy man? More teen speak. Toby continued playing catch with the alien goo. He caught it deftly in the palm of one hand. Then up, up it went. Higher and higher. A change of tactic was required.

  I cleared my throat. We could all do the silly teen talk thing. ‘I’m cool,’ I shrugged. ‘So cool in fact that I’m chilled. Real laid back and easy. Peasy. So,’ I strolled into the room, ‘howzit goin’? Wassup an’ stuff?’

  Jonas’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. There was a stunned pause.

  ‘Kay,’ he replied eventually.

  Kay? Who was Kay? I looked suspiciously around the room for a female of the same name.

  ‘We’re both ’kay.’

  Ah. O-kay. More silly teen speak.

  ‘Thass good buddy. So you’re all cool an’ chilly willy too?’

  Jonas and Toby glanced fleetingly at each other before swivelling their eyes back to me. I strolled across to the window. Sniffed deeply.

  ‘What’s with the little ol’ pongo then dudey?’

  Jonas produced a canister and waggled it about. It was a body spray for men.

  ‘Just road testin’ my new stuff.’

  Again I sniffed deeply. ‘That’s a hip hop smelly you got a-roarin’ there. Sorta limey lime with smoky undertones.’

  My mouth seemed to have slipped into spaghetti western lingo. And now my legs were swaggering up and down the bedroom. Even my thumbs were doing strange things, currently wedged in imaginary twin gun holsters. Clearly I’d turned into a cowboy. Any second now I’d lasso Toby’s alien goo and holler yee-ha.

  ‘S’cool,’ shrugged Jonas.

  I stared at him. He looked cocky. Insolent. He blew a gum bubble. My blood began to boil. Where were the fags? At that moment Toby’s constant throw-and-catch with the alien goo backfired. The sticky blob flew up
in the air and hit the ceiling. It stuck fast. It was, regrettably, a gesture which tipped the balance of my mood.

  ‘For God’s sake Toby, look what you’ve done to the ceiling,’ I shouted.

  Annoyed, I grabbed Jonas’s computer chair. Wobbling precariously, I clambered up. The chair creaked ominously as I plucked the alien goo from the ceiling. A bright green patch remained on the otherwise spotless paint.

  ‘Look at that!’ I snapped.

  ‘Oh man, keep yer hair on.’

  Toby’s attempt to parody Jonas sent me rocketing into orbit.

  ‘Keep my–? Watch!’ I bellowed furiously. ‘Watch carefully now!’

  I jumped off the chair and, with all the force of a javelin thrower, hurled the alien goo through the open sash window. The blob sailed through the air, straight into next door’s garden. And hit our neighbour – who just happened to be inspecting his winter patio pots – slap on the forehead.

  ‘Shit!’ I squeaked in horror, and ducked behind the curtain. ‘Right you pair of Herberts. Give them to me.’

  ‘Give you what?’ asked Toby, eyes as round as saucers.

  ‘Don’t come the innocent with me. I want your cigarettes.’

  ‘I didn’t know you smoked Cass,’ Jonas said flippantly.

  ‘I don’t!’ I howled. ‘And I’m not having you two puffing on cancer sticks either. Now hand them over this minute, or I’ll tell Jamie and the pair of you will be in the biggest trouble you’ve ever–’

  Jonas instantly produced a packet of Silk Cut. ‘Please don’t tell Dad, Cass. He’ll go ape.’

  ‘How long has this been going on?’ I looked from one boy to the other as, ridiculously, the soundtrack by Van Morrison began to play in my head.

  Toby cleared his throat. ‘It was my idea Mum. I wanted to impress Diane Cooper.’

  ‘What, by smoking? No girl is going to be impressed by a boy humming like an ashtray Toby.’ I now had a mental picture of several ashtrays humming a tune. God, I must be incredibly stressed. Clearly the events of today were starting to get to me.