STOCKINGS AND CELLULITE

by Debbie Viggiano

  ‘Okay. See you then.’

  It had dawned on me some time previously that, with Euan in my life, it was essential my underwear was up to scratch for any impromptu bedroom liaisons. It was no good giving come hither looks togged out in grey undies. Thus I had recently invested in a stash of sexy lingerie. Running my fingertips over a purple bra boasting maximum plunge, I pulled a matching thong from the drawer and topped it all off with a floaty robe.

  When Euan eventually turned up for our rendez-vous, it was not Cassandra Cherry, part-time secretary and harassed mother, who greeted him. Oh no. In her place was a sensual being. As Euan shut the door and properly registered my attire, his eyes gleamed with appreciation.

  ‘Bloody hell Cass, that’s one heck of a dressing gown.’ The entirety of our time together was spent in bed, mattress springs wildly protesting as Euan embarked on what an onlooker could be forgiven to think was a wrestling session.

  The twins and I were awoken by the clock radio blaring into life at five the following morning. Our flight was hellishly turbulent.

  ‘This plane is better than the Corkscrew at Alton Towers,’ declared Toby.

  The initial relief of exchanging an airbus for a coach on terra firma was short lived. As our burly driver navigated narrow mountain passes and repeatedly swept around hairpin bends, it seemed as if the massive vehicle would tumble at any second down the sheer drop. On more than one occasion my stomach wanted to cosy up with my tonsils.

  Eventually we rumbled into the picturesque village of Risoul which sported scenery straight out of a winter wonderland movie. To our right, in the distance, skiers in brightly coloured snowsuits flashed like colourful ants against a backdrop of glistening white.

  The hotel was rustic in a cuckoo clock sort of way. The proprietor, Pierre, greeted his weary arrivals with smiles and largesse, before showing us to our family room.

  Liv and Toby peered into cupboards and poked around before throwing open the wooden French doors which issued onto a balconied veranda. Icy air blasted around the room.

  ‘We can chuck our ski socks out here at the end of the day Mum,’ Toby suggested. ‘Dylan told me they get really whiffy.’

  ‘Your socks are whiffy all the time,’ Livvy flashed back.

  ‘Don’t start!’ I bellowed. ‘Shut those doors please Toby. I want the pair of you to come with me. There is ski equipment to collect.’

  Much later, while the twins were cleaning their teeth before bed, I discreetly sent Euan a text message.

  Wish you were here.

  He didn’t reply.

  Standing nervously with the rest of the adult beginners on the nursery slope the following morning, I could see Liv and Toby making pals in the Children’s Club ski group. I cast about for somebody to strike up my own friendship with.

  ‘So what do you think of Risoul?’ I smiled at a big bottomed woman to my right.

  ‘Not bad,’ she shrugged her well padded shoulders.

  ‘And what do you think of,’ I glanced about, ‘the scenery?’

  ‘Not bad.’

  At that moment our ski instructor arrived. Jean-Paul had the sort of smouldering looks and sexy accent guaranteed to make most females weak-kneed.

  ‘Wow,’ I murmured to the big bottomed woman, ‘I bet I know what you think of him!’ I gave her a wink and cheeky grin. ‘Not bad!’

  She stared at me. ‘I wouldn’t know. I’m gay.’

  ‘Zees morning,’ Jean-Paul addressed his motley group of beginners, ‘we learn ’ow to snow plough.’ He adopted a wide pigeon-toed stance. ‘Eez eemportant for stupping.’

  Jean-Paul slid slowly down the slope’s incline by way of demonstration before executing a perfect halt.

  ‘What you theenk?’ he asked me.

  Personally I thought he had an excellent butt and a damn good pair of thighs.

  That evening I locked myself in the bathroom with my mobile and tapped out a second text message to Euan.

  Still wishing you were here.

  And then I reluctantly switched off the handset. As anybody knows, a watched phone never rings. Or, in this case, never bleeps.

  The following morning I eagerly fell on the mobile phone convinced it would yield a text message from Euan. Disappointingly the handset remained silent.

  Bit by bit our holiday rhythm got underway. All three of us would rise fairly early to do a six hour stint on the ski slopes. The twins would impersonate a pair of supple elastic bands while their mother creaked stiffly up and down the mountain slopes. Periodically I tried contacting Euan but with no success.

  On the last day, Jean-Paul pronounced everybody good enough to ski a red run. The slope was littered with soft mounds of snow, as if an army of mad moles had been tunnelling upward. From our great height I could see Risoul spread below like a white tablecloth embroidered with fir trees. I gulped and tried to concentrate on the ski instructor.

  ‘We do leetle turns around zee moguls,’ Jean-Paul instructed. ‘Après moi s’il vous plait.’

  Setting off, I was aware of a tight knot of snowboarders coming up from behind. As they swooped closer, their boards hissing in the snow, my concentration began to unravel. Suddenly one of them shot right across my path and upset my balance. Within seconds I was hurtling off, out of control. My stomach shot into my oesophagus as I gained upon the boarder, my skis bouncing right off the mountain. I must have looked a bit like a leaping thoroughbred at the Grand National, but with none of the grace. And suddenly I was on top of him, smashing into his body, sending the pair of us crashing down on an icy patch.

  There was a horrible crunching noise as skis and board briefly entangled before both my skis came right off my feet, deflecting to the side. But my ordeal wasn’t over. I might be down, but I was still travelling.

  ‘Argh!’ I screeched in terror as I slid head first down the mountain. Mercifully I hit a mogul and veered sideways into a soft bank of snow.

  Shocked, I watched the world from an upside down view, as waves of pain ricocheted throughout my upper body. My right cheek was burning as if torched by flame. The snowboarder tore off his board and bounded over to my side.

  ‘Hey, are you okay?’

  ‘Funnily enough,’ I hissed, ‘I am not okay. I think my neck’s broken.’

  I sat up and flexed my neck from side to side.

  ‘Your neck isn’t broken.’

  ‘What do you know,’ I snapped. ‘At the very least I’ve broken my jaw.’

  ‘Your jaw is fine but I think you might have left half your cheek on the ice back there.’

  The man pulled off his visor and I gasped. It was him. Brad Ploddy Pitt! Out here in Risoul!

  I ripped my goggles from my disbelieving face as he, in turn, stared incredulously at me. At that exact moment, a woman scrunched to a halt by his side spraying us both with snow.

  ‘Is she all right? What happened?’ The woman removed her super trendy sunglasses and I immediately recognised Ploddy’s female sidekick. She stood looking poised and elegant, as if modelling skiwear. She had the most fabulous slanting cheekbones. Lucky cow. I wasn’t sure I even had cheeks any more.

  ‘You catch up with the others Selina while I make sure Mrs Cherry is okay.’

  Selina looked incredibly put out.

  ‘Oh. I’ll see you at the bottom then.’

  She set off with a flair that had me gnashing my teeth. Why didn’t I look like that? Or have a figure like hers? She even had a sexy name. I stared after her sourly.

  Ploddy retrieved my scattered skis and poles. Whenever I had the misfortune to be making a prize prat of myself, this infuriating man always seemed to pop up out of nowhere. Mind you, he had been the one at fault, snowboarding so close to me. Perhaps I could take the moral high ground this time? That would be good. I mentally rehearsed an appropriate rebuke.

  Tell me Mr Pitt, what on earth were you thinking of? Were you not aware that mountains – like motorways – have speed restrictions? Might I be so bold as to suggest you partake
in a spot of signalling before overtaking next time?

  Tetchily I snapped my boots back on the skis and glared at Ploddy.

  ‘I do hope Mr Pitt that in future you will demonstrate more consideration instead of haring along like a lunatic, flattening innocent skiers in your wake.’

  Ploddy’s eyebrows shot up into his woolly hat. ‘I beg your pardon Mrs Cherry but it was you haring along like a lunatic. Your skiing was erratic, uncontrolled and downright dangerous. Quite frankly you were a disaster waiting to happen.’

  My aching jaw gaped in astonishment. Was this moron blaming me?

  Ploddy’s face was suffused with anger as he hunkered down over his snowboard and strapped his feet into position. Straightening up, his expression softened. But only by a smidgen you understand.

  ‘Clearly you are shaken up. Can I escort you safely down the mountain and buy you a hot sweet tea?’

  I closed my mouth and blinked a few times. Oh God Cass, don’t start crying.

  ‘Er, thank you but that won’t be necessary,’ my jaw wobbled violently. ‘I’m actually with a group and they’re waiting for me.’ I nodded my throbbing head in the direction of Jean-Paul who, standing with the others, was looking up expectantly.

  ‘Well let me at least take you back to your instructor.’

  He pushed off, his snowboard expertly negotiating the mounds while I nervously trailed after him. As we drew up by the group, Ploddy stretched out a gloved hand and lightly touched my arm.

  ‘By the way, my name is Jamie. Not Mr Pitt,’ he grinned. He had very strong white teeth and the smile transformed him.

  ‘Right,’ I said weakly.

  On the flight home I leant back in my seat and sighed deeply. Like one’s first amour, the snowy love affair with Risoul would never be forgotten. Meanwhile I wondered if Euan had forgotten about me.

  As soon as we were home, the twins went off to Stevie’s, eager to show off their bronze medals and certificates.

  Stevie was taking the following week off work as part of his annual leave and both children were staying with him. Which was just as well as the kitchen refurbishment was ready to start. If Euan turned up. I suddenly had doubts.

  But Euan did turn up, his van stuffed to bursting with kitchen flat packs. He boisterously greeted me, slapping my backside with gusto before gluing his lips to mine. His unshaven stubble brushed painfully against my scabby cheek.

  ‘Cass baby,’ he whooped. ‘Open up that garage door so I can unload this little lot and then you can unload me.’

  ‘Why didn’t you respond to my texts?’

  ‘Because I lost my mobile. Left it lying around somewhere.’

  ‘Well why didn’t you ring me when I got home?’

  ‘Because your number was programmed into my mobile silly.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  In no time at all saucepans, pots and pans spilt into the hall in a merry riot of stainless steel and non-stick Teflon while Euan dismantled the kitchen.

  As the week progressed I thought I would end up screaming if I didn’t escape the relentless boom of Euan’s portable radio, the incessant thumps and bangs or the chaotic mess. Respite was required. Gazing across a sea of tools and discarded packaging, I signalled to Euan that I was going out before disappearing to Nell’s for peace and girl talk.

  ‘How’s the kitchen coming along?’ she asked.

  ‘Euan’s doing the finishing touches as we speak.’

  ‘Goodness, that’s fast work.’

  ‘He likes to knock contracts out quickly, time being money and all that. All week he’s started work early and finished extremely late. He’s certainly packed in the hours.’

  ‘Presumably that’s not all he’s packed in?’

  ‘Don’t be smutty.’

  ‘Then don’t be coy,’ Nell countered. ‘Come on, talk to me. What’s he like in bed? You look a bit peaky actually. Is he wearing you out? Have another Hobnob.’

  ‘If you must know I feel exhausted,’ I confessed. ‘The man’s insatiable.’

  ‘Well I hope he’s also wining and dining you and not just bonking you senseless,’ she said tartly.

  ‘As it happens,’ I beamed, ‘Euan’s taking me out tonight to celebrate the completion of the kitchen.’

  When I returned home a couple of hours later, I caught my breath. Everything had been cleared away and Euan was down on his hands and knees washing the floor. I stared in open admiration at the beech cupboards and display cabinets, the new-fangled oven and the shiny black worktops running the length of three walls.

  ‘It looks fabulous,’ I yelled over the blaring radio, just as the doorbell rang. ‘Won’t be a mo.’

  I shut the kitchen door against the background noise just as the doorbell rang a second time. No doubt it was Nell wanting to eyeball the new kitchen. Or Euan. Or both. Instead I came face to face with Ploddy. Or, given that I now knew his name, Jamie.

  The ski suit had been exchanged for the familiar policeman’s uniform. I glimpsed the gorgeous Selina in the passenger side of the waiting squad car. She caught me looking and gave a marrow freezing glare in return.

  ‘Hello Cassie,’ Jamie said and peculiarly my tummy flipped. Nobody had elected to use that particular short form of my name before. I liked it. Somehow it sounded…endearing. I gazed up at him, as if seeing him for the first time.

  ‘I was passing and thought I’d make a quick detour to see if you were now fully recovered from your fall.’

  My hand automatically touched the side of my face which was still slightly tender.

  ‘That’s very kind of you. I’m not so bad thanks. And, er, how are you?’

  I suddenly felt horribly shy.

  ‘I’m fine. Top of the world actually after all that mountain air. A great stress buster.’

  ‘Oh yes, absolutely,’ I nodded. ‘Your job must be terribly stressful – intercepting burglars, chasing thieves, wrestling with gangsters, busting international drug rings-’

  Jamie threw back his head and hooted with laughter which had a detrimental effect on Selina. Her mouth had all but disappeared and she was looking frostier by the moment.

  ‘My particular line of police work is not so exhilarating Cassie. It’s more often than not attending traffic accidents, curbing late night drunken revelry, hunting vehicles stolen from car parks that mysteriously turn up in other car parks.’ His lips twitched. ‘I’m just teasing Cassie.’

  I snatched another peek at the scrumptious Selina who was now impatiently drumming her fingers on the dash.

  ‘Well, at least your everyday police routine is uplifted by the perk of working with a beautiful partner,’ I nodded in the direction of the squad car.

  Jamie followed my gaze. ‘My girlfriend.’

  I felt momentarily winded and heard a sharp intake of breath. Apparently mine.

  ‘Gosh!’ I exhaled frantically. ‘Lucky you!’ Oh God, why had I said that? It made me sound like a dyke or something. ‘I mean, lucky her.’ Hell. Now it sounded as though I fancied him instead. ‘What I mean is, how lucky for both of you.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Oh absolutely because you can work together and, er, go out together and at the end of every day you can both go home together, so that’s very lucky indeed.’

  ‘I see,’ replied Jamie looking confused. ‘ We don’t actually live together, just occasionally date. But we certainly work together and I guess I’d better get back to the job. I’m very glad you’re okay Cassie.’

  Jamie gave me another smile. It lit up his face. I felt strangely weak and leant against the door frame. At that precise moment Euan stuck his head around the kitchen door.

  ‘Cass!’ he bawled loud and clear. ‘How about you wiggle into your posh purple underwear for me?’

  Chapter Seven

  By the time Monday morning arrived I was emotionally the worse for wear. I couldn’t wait to get to work and lose myself in legal documents. Anything to blot out the disastrous events of the weekend.

 
; At lunchtime, Morag caught me in the corridor just as I was drooping out to get a sandwich.

  ‘Ah ha!’ she pounced. ‘Hold it right there Cass, I’m joining you. A little bird tells me you were in Cavendish’s on Saturday night and caused quite a rumpus.’

  ‘Please don’t ask.’

  ‘Of course I’m going to ask! Hey buck up Cass,’ Morag nudged me in the ribs.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re so chipper.’

  ‘Because it’s good to know I’m not the only one having a shitty time.’

  So, in due course, we settled down in Starbucks and I told her how both my professional and private relationship with Euan had abruptly ended.

  As I’d stood in my new kitchen delighting in the transformation, Euan had swept me into his arms.

  ‘I desire a beautiful evening with my beautiful lady,’ he had huskily whispered before kissing me tenderly on the lips. Naturally I’d melted to goo.

  Euan had booked Cavendish’s, a local award winning bistro which sported sky high prices which would ordinarily have left me gasping for an oxygen mask. The atmosphere was dreamy. Candles floated in bowls of pink liquid and white roses in silver vases adorned the crisp linen. A gurgling fountain lit with fairy lights was the restaurant’s centrepiece. A discreet waiter materialised by our sides. The wine list was offered in murmured tones.

  We were half way through our exquisite meal in a packed restaurant when a red haired woman catapulted through the door. It crashed back on its hinges causing several heads to look up. A waiter rushed to greet her but was shoved to one side.

  ‘Where is he?’ she screeched. ‘Where the fuck is he?’

  I craned my neck to see what was going on.

  ‘Someone’s in hot water,’ I whispered to Euan.

  He glanced up and froze, fork suspended between plate and mouth. The woman’s furious eyes were darting from table to table, scanning the seating arrangements. Her flint grey eyes honed in on our table and, in that moment, I just knew.

  ‘You bastard!’ she shrieked, swiftly weaving through the dining room’s obstacle course of customers, tables and chairs.

  ‘Euan?’ I bleated.