STOCKINGS AND CELLULITE

by Debbie Viggiano

  I slapped Tupperware lids on lunchboxes and frisbeed them to my patiently waiting children. Belting back upstairs and ignoring my burgeoning bladder, I pulled my long coat from the wardrobe, grabbed handbag and car keys and legged it out to the car.

  After blowing noisy kisses to the twins’ rigid backs (public displays of affection were apparently uncool) on sudden impulse I headed off to Fairview Shopping Centre. There was nothing like a spot of retail therapy to lift the spirits. And right now I needed to do everything possible to keep the pecker up. Just visualising handing over a little rectangular piece of plastic was putting some roses back in my pasty cheeks. This was definitely going to be good. I could feel it in my water. And talking of water, I really should find a loo very soon.

  Inside the shopping mall, distraction was immediate in the form of glittery denim jeans in the window of River Island. Low slung, belted and boot legged they’d look absolutely terrific on an eighteen year old. I was a battle worn thirty-nine – feeling furiously rebellious.

  I strode into the disco-lit interior where blaring music instantly assaulted my eardrums. Businesslike, I began moving around the shop floor loading up. It was hot work. Ten minutes later I flung the garments over my shoulder and shrugged off my heavy winter coat. Instantly refreshed I headed off to the fitting room vaguely aware that two teenagers were regarding me with ill-concealed amusement. When I swished the fitting room curtain aside with a flourish the reason for the girls’ mirth became apparent. My reflection, caught in a full length mirror and lit in a blaze of down-lighting, revealed a white faced black-eyed woman clad in nothing but a nightdress. I groaned and sank to the floor in mortification. At that moment I hated Stevie. How could I have let him reduce me to this?

  I bought the jeans and several tops, one fabulously clingy making my boobs look far bigger and better than hers.

  Once home, I dumped the carrier bags in the bedroom and sank into lethargy. Exhaustion overwhelmed me. Why was I so tired? Downstairs a pile of ironing awaited. Dropping onto the bed I closed my eyes. Just for five minutes.

  Three hours later I awoke with a jolt. The school run!

  Liv came through the school gates looking poker-faced and Toby was sporting a puffy purple eye. Both children flatly refused to offer any explanation until we were away from the school and on the road.

  ‘Well?’ I demanded. ‘Who did this? I want names Toby, because I’m going to complain bitterly.’

  Toby promptly burst into tears.

  ‘He had a fight with the new kid in Year Four,’ Livvy answered in a monotone.

  ‘Oh indeed? And what horrible child was this? From the council estate perchance? I suppose it was one of the Sykes family. Nell said there was talk of them joining our school.’ A pelican crossing loomed and I slowed down. ‘Their father’s in prison you know. Got caught trying to rob a bank apparently. Nell said something about him waving a concealed gun around wrapped in a carrier bag. Turned out to be a banana. You see children? This is what happens when you don’t pay attention at school. If Sykes Senior had bothered to learn his times tables and worked out floor areas and angles of infra red beams, he’d have stood a far better chance of success.’ I thumped the steering wheel to underline my point. ‘You can’t enter into something half cocked, brandishing a banana.’ The last of harassed mothers with their offspring crossed the road. Shoving the gear into first I sped off. ‘I’m telling you, the Sykes family make a plank look intelligent.’

  ‘Mum,’ Livvy snapped, ‘the new kid in Year Four happens to live in our road and was taunting Toby at break time. He said our dad is now his dad.’

  I nearly crashed the car.

  Naturally an explanation had to be given. I told the children in a matter of fact voice that Daddy and I had been experiencing difficulties and were spending a few days apart to do some quiet thinking.

  ‘So why is Dad living with Ned Castle’s mum?’ asked Liv.

  Good question. And one to which I didn’t know the answer.

  Within minutes of returning from the school run, the headmistress telephoned.

  ‘Good afternoon Mrs Cherry.’ The greeting was pleasant enough but one could detect the steel at ten paces. ‘I’m sorry to have to report an incident earlier today between Toby and another pupil. I feel it would be appropriate if you could come to the school so we can discuss the matter properly.’

  There then followed a bit of mutual diary checking and we agreed upon ten o’clock the following morning.

  Nell, ever the good Samaritan, appeared on the doorstep at tea time weighed down with an enormous casserole.

  ‘I’ll bet you’re not eating properly,’ she fussed setting the dish down on the kitchen table. ‘Also I’ve got some more info for you on you know who,’ she rolled her eyes meaningfully.

  Suddenly my legs wouldn’t support me. I sat down. Despite loathing my love rival, I wanted to know everything about her. Apparently she is forty-five years old – which makes her five years older than Stevie. Hardly dolly bird material. She’s also on the look out for fresh male company having just ended her third marriage.

  ‘By all accounts she’s looking for Husband Number Four,’ confided Nell.

  ‘And obviously set her cap at my husband, the thieving bitch!’ I snarled.

  The following morning I painstakingly combed my wardrobe for appropriate apparel. It was vitally important to appear well presented – impressions were everything. Miss Jenner would look up from her desk to observe a mature and sensible woman, an exceptionally capable mother of two star pupils – one of whom had regrettably strayed under the severest of provocation. Yes, absolutely.

  ‘Mum, I’m so sorry,’ said Toby miserably as he dressed for school.

  ‘Hey! No worries little man,’ I smiled and ruffled his hair affectionately. ‘Playground scrapping happens all the time. Meeting the Head is just a formality,’ I assured ignoring my churning stomach.

  At exactly five minutes to ten I knocked on the secretary’s door and was immediately led through to the headmistress’s office.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Cherry,’ Miss Jenner proffered her hand and gave mine a strong shake. She was a typical headmistress – tweedy, iron grey hair and of indeterminable age.

  ‘Miss Jenner,’ I smiled graciously.

  ‘Do sit down Mrs Cherry,’ she beckoned to an empty seat in front of her desk.

  As she shut the door I registered the bulky presence of another person who had initially been obscured. Seated to the side of Miss Jenner’s desk was Cynthia Castle. My jaw hit the ground.

  ‘You!’ I spluttered. ‘It’s her!’ I informed the Head.

  ‘Please sit down Mrs Cherry.’

  The cut glass voice defied argument. I sank into the indicated chair, my cotton shirt instantly drenched in sweat, heart hammering wildly. It really hadn’t entered my head that Ned Castle’s mother would also be at this meeting. Stupidly I’d thought this morning would be a straightforward one-to-one discussion. Faced so unexpectedly with the opposition, I completely wimped out. What a lost opportunity considering the many hours invested in daydreaming dark revenge fantasies – like liberally decorating Cynthia Castle’s car with paint. And why stop at the car? I had a sudden urge to whip out a lipstick from the depths of my handbag and scrawl all over Cynthia Castle’s face, but regrettably could not summon the wherewithal. In fact, it was as much as I could do to remain upright on the chair and not sprawl in an ungainly heap.

  The headmistress cleared her throat, gravely acknowledged delicate issues between both parties before going on to say that nonetheless she couldn’t have pupils knocking seven bells out of each other. I sat in a shocked haze watching Miss Jenner’s mouth move and form words, but failed to actually hear anything further. When I did finally tune back in it was to catch Cynthia Castle whimpering about her Ned being victimised. Victimised? By Toby? How dare she! I jumped up but, sensing trouble, Miss Jenner stood up too.

  I waggled a forefinger in front of Cynthia Castle’s startled face and g
ained a smidgen of satisfaction that her eyes were round with apprehension.

  ‘You tell your Ned from me to keep his fists to himself. And you can also tell him that my son’s father is exactly that – Toby’s father.’

  And with that I burst into tears and stumbled out of the office.

  Later that evening Stevie turned up insisting we talk. Liv and Toby were overjoyed to see their father but their reaction was tempered with caution too. They wanted explanations.

  ‘There’s nothing to explain,’ Stevie confidently assured, ‘everything is in hand.’ He hugged them tightly before they reluctantly disappeared to watch The Simpsons.

  When Stevie and I were finally alone, the urge to let rip and slap him hard was overwhelming, as if this would somehow alleviate the depth of my own emotional hurt. Instead I ranted and raged in fury and frustration releasing angst and vitriol until the dam suddenly burst and I was sobbing uncontrollably. Stevie had his arms around me in a trice.

  ‘Stop it Cass. Please. I can’t bear it.’

  He couldn’t bear it? Stevie was holding me so tightly my face was squashed into the soft fleece of his cream sweater. It was warm and heartachingly familiar. It was also now sodden and covered in mascara, snot trails and tears. Good. Let Cynthia Castle tenderly hand wash that little lot off.

  ‘Can I come back?’ Stevie whispered into my hair.

  I froze. In my dreams I’d fantasised about this moment, written umpteen reunion scenes and re-played them too. Now he’d actually said the magic words. I removed my head from his chest and gazed into his soft hazel eyes with my own red rimmed road maps.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What? But I love you Cass! I’ve always loved you and I always will.’

  ‘I love you too Stevie,’ I replied. ‘But not as a husband. Not any more.’

  From the incredulous look on his face, one could presume things were seriously not running to plan.

  ‘You can’t possibly mean that Cass.’

  ‘Oh but I do.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake! We go back a long way – we’re a team, we belong together. Apart from anything else, what about the kids?’

  Ah ha. Yes. Livvy and Toby. Stevie was playing the card that gave the ultimate knee jerk reaction.

  ‘Stevie we might go back a long way, but we are not a team and frankly I would question we ever were. Couples who are devoted to each other are also dedicated to each other. They don’t cheat on their partners or cause public embarrassment and humiliation. As for Liv and Toby, obviously you are their father and I’m more than happy for you to see them whenever you want.’

  ‘Oh that’s awfully decent of you,’ Stevie replied sarcastically.

  ‘After all, you’re only down the road,’ I pointed out dryly.

  ‘Listen to me Cass. Staying at Cynthia’s was only ever a temporary situation whilst the dust settled with you.’

  ‘Please. Spare me the soft soap. Where you now live and with whom is of no interest to me.’

  Stevie glared at me furiously. ‘Meanwhile, as it’s almost the weekend, is it okay if I take the twins out tomorrow?’

  ‘Of course,’ but I was addressing his back. He stalked off to say good-bye to the twins.

  The evening limped on. Pushing away the gloom that threatened to swamp me, I made some fresh coffee and settled down listing some outstanding chores, anything to keep occupied. Tomorrow I would purchase some Wellington boots for gardening, stock up on light bulbs and buy that new bolt long overdue for the garden gate.

  Shopping list complete, I drove home the following morning with the tiniest sense of accomplishment stealing over me. I told myself that I’d fix that bolt without any male help whatsoever which would be yet another small inch down this new road of independence. And talking of roads, good grief, what was going on with this one?

  I had encountered a junction and straight ahead was a traffic officer and stationary police car. The traffic cop gave me a hard look followed by a series of hand signals. Cautiously I proceeded towards him, trying to read his waving arms. Did he want me to pull over? What had I done? He seemed to be gesturing to the pavement. What? Pull over here? But there wasn’t any space due to parked cars packed bumper to bumper. I crawled forward desperately searching for an appropriate gap to pull into. No gaps. Things were starting to get distinctly gushy under the armpits.

  I risked a quick glance in the rear view mirror. The cop had his back to me and had switched his attention to other drivers who were heading up a side road. At least my now pulling over wouldn’t cause a hold up.

  I indicated and came to a gentle stop, but the traffic officer took no notice of me. Two minutes passed. Then three. Had he lost interest in me? I dithered. Perhaps he hadn’t actually wanted me to stop at all? Yes, that was it. I’d been mistaken. Sighing with relief, I indicated, pulled out and drove off. Clearly I’d caught a lull in the traffic because there wasn’t a car in sight. How strange. And quite eerie. This was usually such a busy town. I sped up enjoying the throaty hum of the engine and was happily trundling around a bend when I encountered a scene of such carnage I nearly choked on my tonsils.

  A huge lorry had jack-knifed across the road. Skew-whiff to its rear was a car, squashed like a concertina, a lamp post sliced through the broken engine and embedded in the driver’s seat, shattered glass everywhere. A vast fire-engine was blocking any further progress of my own vehicle, as were an ambulance and another police car, blue lights flashing as they idled at various angles across the tarmac. Firemen were reeling thick hoses off the engine, a bunch of paramedics were crouched over a stretcher, and an absolutely furious looking policeman was striding towards me yelling into a walkie-talkie. The cop was about my own age and a dead ringer for Brad Pitt. Despite the dreadful circumstances, I felt my heart do a few unexpectedly skippy beats.

  The policeman raised his hand indicating I halt. I buzzed down the window.

  ‘Hello Officer.’

  I gave a winning little smile but Ploddy’s face remained thunderous.

  ‘Switch off your engine, step out of your vehicle and hand me your keys,’ he barked. ‘Immediately.’

  Cripes. Did he want to give me a breath test? Bloody hell. I’d only drunk a bit of coffee that morning. Okay, four coffees. But they had been decaff. Okay, best not to lie. Confess to the filtered stuff. These cops weren’t stupid were they? Clearly they could detect dilated pupils and the shakes at ten paces. This didn’t seem quite the appropriate moment to do a breath test what with a body on that stretcher and – crikey, it really was a body.

  I suddenly felt a bit odd. With jellified legs and scared out of my wits, I craned my neck up at the policemen. He was tremendously tall, even taller than Stevie. I stared at him like a frightened rabbit.

  ‘Have I done something wrong Officer?’ I whispered.

  ‘Wrong? Wrong?’ he bellowed, his good looks contorted with rage. ‘My colleague ahead instructed you to divert left, but you blatantly ignored him and continued forward.’

  I suddenly twigged. ‘Oh! Do you know Officer I wondered about that,’ I gabbled with relief as understanding dawned. ‘He was flapping his arms about and I thought he wanted me to pull over but I couldn’t find anywhere to stop.’

  ‘Flapping his arms about?’ he hissed, chin jutting belligerently, eyes like flint. Shame he was so apoplectic. It really did spoil those devastating good looks.

  ‘Madam, can I suggest you equip yourself with a copy of The Highway Code and study the bit about flapping arms.’

  ‘Um, will do Officer,’ I cranked up a nervous smile.

  ‘Are you aware Madam that you have driven onto the scene of a major road accident?’ Ploddy flung his own arms wide indicating the mayhem.

  ‘N-no, I wasn’t originally aware Officer, but I am now. I’m terribly sorry.’ Heavens, he still looked absolutely livid. ‘H-have I wiped out all the clues?’

  Ploddy’s head inclined slightly, his mouth dropped open but nothing actually came out for a moment or two.


  ‘This is an accident scene Madam,’ he enunciated slowly, ‘not a burglary.’

  I nodded my head. This situation was having a dire effect on my body. My bowels momentarily lurched and I clenched my buttocks tightly together.

  ‘It’s women like you that give blondes a bad name,’ he growled.

  I nodded away. Now what the devil was that remark supposed to mean?

  The copper gave an exasperated sigh and thrust my car keys back in my hand.

  ‘Get out!’ he yelled. ‘Go on! Get out of here right now before I change my mind and give you three points on your licence and a hefty fine.’

  More frantic nodding. My clammy hand curled around the car keys. I didn’t need telling twice.

  ‘Yes Mr Pitt,’ I bleated and hurriedly squashed myself behind the steering wheel. In my haste to get away I over-revved the engine whilst shoving the car in gear, forgot about the clutch, gave a lurching bunny hop forward and immediately stalled. By this point I was very aware that my deodorant had completely let me down.

  With reeking armpits and swearing under my breath, the car engine whined before turning over. Nervously I negotiated my way around the firemen, past the ambulance and its grisly contents, zig-zagged between the fire engine and the paramedics and finally got the hell out of there.

  Chapter Two

  As the car jerked to a halt on the driveway, I heaved a sigh of relief and momentarily rested a cheek against the cool steering wheel.

  ‘Coo-ee!’ Nell rapped on the window making me jump out of my skin.

  ‘God, don’t do that. I’ve had more shocks than I can take this morning.’

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Yeah. Yours or mine?’

  ‘Definitely yours. Ben’s been in the downstairs loo and stunk out the whole of the ground floor.’

  ‘Oh lovely,’ I gave her a wan grin as I stuck the key in the lock.

  ‘Now then Cass,’ my friend plonked herself down on a kitchen stool and fixed me with a beady eye. ‘You need to start getting out and it just so happens an excellent opportunity has arisen to test out your wobbly ego.’