by Laura Kemp
‘Wine, please. I’m fed up now. And I’m desperate for soft bacteria-laden cheese. Pierre is on a mission in Poland now to find me the mankiest bit of mould he can find.’
Oh, Pierre! He’s loved up with Bea and they run Polish nights at the deli. And his electrics have never been so well behaved.
‘Vee! VEE!’ Murphy shouts.
Vicky goes to find him and she knows even before she’s seen him why he’s calling her. The hymn-like chords and wave of strings and heavy bass serenade her in the hallway.
It’s ‘Paradise’ by Coldplay – their song – on the radio. She peeks round the bathroom door and he’s singing along, waiting for her to join in.
‘God, they’re rubbish, Coldplay,’ he says, standing up to slow-dance her in a circle.
‘Dreadful,’ she agrees, with her arms around his neck, their chemistry popcorning all over the place as their son watches from the floor on his back, arms punching and gurgling. Sometimes she imagines what would've happened if they'd never had the misunderstanding which kept them apart: like, would they be doing this but just further down the line with more kids. Or maybe they'd have split up because they hadn't learned what they needed to about life. The two of them reckon they happened at the right time - experience has made it all the sweeter.
Griffy runs in and then rolls his eyes at his embarrassing father. ‘You two!’
‘Gross, I know,’ Murphy says, pulling him into their embrace. Griff wriggles free and drops to his knees to be with his brother and Murphy joins him to swish the bath.
‘Drink, Murphy?’ Vee asks. ‘Wine? Lager? Cocktail?’
‘There’s craft beer in the fridge.’
Vee rolls her eyes at him.
‘Come on, a man’s got to have one guilty pleasure,’ he says, offering a shrug and then a raised eyebrow in her direction because she has a chunk of lilac running through her hair. Not permanently like before: this time with hair chalk, which is so completely different to the Brighton pink, obviously.
‘Fair dos,’ she says, caught red-handed. ‘Griffy?’
‘Coke, please.’
‘Is that okay with Aunty Katie?’
‘Mum told her I could,’ he says, peeling off Jarvis’s babygro.
‘Good lad,’ Murphy says, stopping to watch his boys who both have his strong features and thick eyelashes. He shakes his head and looks at Vee, blinking fast because he'll be welling up in wonder any second. The big softy. He still can't believe his luck, he says - but she always tells him he made that luck, he's earned it. He's looked after everyone else for so long that he’s getting that back now in spades. But then her mind is just as blown when she thinks of her fortune, which borders on the crazy! Explaining their dysfunctional set-up to people is always weird – ‘Murphy is the father of my son and our best friend’s too and she’s having another so yes, they’ll all be siblings’. But, God, it’s one hell of a glorious mess built on love which began that day when he walked into high school and set her heart racing with excitement.
Vee goes into the kitchen, picking glasses and unscrewing wine and opening cans and cursing the fizz which spills out onto the worktop. She mops it up and then runs her hand across the smooth wood. Murphy’s flat, it’s been good.
Amazing, in fact, when they got ‘together together’. That’s how they refer to it because they’ve always been one. ‘Together together’ started the day of Kate's wedding when they decided they were better dealing with everything life threw at them as one. But it didn't start straight away because Murphy slipped out immediately after the ceremony - he had only wanted to catch sight of Griff for fear of awkward questions or upsetting his son when it was Kate's day. Murphy was so stealthy, Griff didn't even know he'd been there. He caught a train home, leaving Vee to it, and she must've drunk called him four or five times to check they really were an item. It was her decision, he'd said, if she wanted to go to London he wouldn't stop her. She’d declared she’d study in Cardiff because there was no way she was going to lose him, this wonderful man who had put his son first even when he didn’t know how Griff was going to take to him. Talk about responsible, amazing, incredible and bloody epic. He’d grown up and she wanted to grow old with him.
The next day she jumped on the 08:25 back from Brighton and turned up here, with a stonking hangover, and fell into his arms – then asleep in his bed for twelve hours. The morning after he told her how beautiful she was when she was sleeping. He’d watched her into the early hours. She almost died from the romance of it – until he said he’d even found her dribbling cute. Vee has been here ever since. They love one another deeply, tease each other remorselessly and give support unconditionally. They’re loved up and sickening in other words. But it’s not been all running slo-mo through a meadow.
Murphy had a wobble in the days after Kate’s wedding, leading up to his first meeting with Griff, wondering what, if any, his role would be. But he needn’t have worried because his son loves computer games and that’s how they’ve bonded. It’s not a father-son thing, more like an uncle-nephew.
Kate and Murphy, who’ve found their way because they both love Griff, will never be his proper parents – Charlie and Tom will forever be that. Griff is just chuffed that he gets more presents.
Vee had an interesting time at college, falling pregnant three months in. On the day she graduated, she gave birth – almost in a cab, he was that quick. It was like he was desperate to arrive, as if he’d been there forever waiting for them to sort their shit out. Murphy was there at the birth, cross-eyed with love, sobbing at his perfect skin, as pure, as his mum would've put it, as the head on a pint of Guinness.
They named him Jarvis Bernard after Mr Cocker and Murphy’s mum Bernadette. The good thing about Jarvis is it can’t be shortened, like theirs - it might reduce his chances of an identity crisis, that's the aim anyway.
Murphy took time out to look after Jarvis so she could apply for jobs and it took a while but she got there in the end. He’s left the company in London to start up his own business, producing health wearables and apps, which Vee thinks is fabulous albeit complicated. As for Apple, he has no regrets - he was offered an interview but he wasn’t even tempted. That’s not to say he doesn’t have the latest iPhone. But everyone’s got to settle down sometime, he always says, even Jarvis Cocker: ‘Look what happened to him - he ended up doing the voiceovers for Sainsbury’s ads.’
All of it means this flat just isn’t practical anymore. Ha, they thought they’d be the coolest parents in the world here, living it up in the centre of Cardiff – having a baby wouldn’t change them. As if! They both worked that out five minutes after they first attempted to get the pushchair up the stairs.
Vee blushes when she thinks that Murphy sold his London pad for enough money to buy a six-bed mansion. But they unanimously decided to stick to a three-bed semi, one room each for them, Jarvis and Griffy, with an annex Murphy can use as an office, so he could help Orla and Phil with a big deposit. This place they’ll rent out, probably to some whizzkid. As for marriage, she’s found out that it’s not that important in the scheme of things. Murphy is keen but they agree right now, the holy trinity of a home, family and friends is more crucial.
So yes, they’re heading to the suburbs. They regularly shake their heads at themselves, that they spent their lives trying to escape the boredom only to be returning of their own accord. At least they’re safe in the knowledge they’re still their wonky old selves with their own unique version of domestic bliss. Even Kate’s mum Pam has got on with it although she is still clinging to the belief that as far as everyone knows, she has a nice, normal family.
‘So your new place!’ Kate says, when Vee appears with a tray of drinks. ‘I never really thought you’d go for it when I sent you the details.’
Vee thinks of the new-build estate which backs onto fields, on the edge of the countryside where there are waterfalls and horses, woods and hills. Murphy and her went to see it ‘just for a look, to rule it out’ and
played a game over several days to see who would admit loved it first. She cracked before he did, she's never been any good at holding things in. The thing about it is the convenience of living close to Murphy's dad and her parents while also being in the catchment area of a good school.
‘What's not to like about suburbia?’ Vee says, thick with self-deprecation. ‘Nah, I can’t wait. Mum’s had a look. She says there’s room for a conservatory. But that is so not happening. Well, not yet!’
THE END XXXXXXX
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Acknowledgements
Lizzy Kremer – There are around one hundred thousand of them poured into this book but when you want to find the words to express your love, respect and gratitude for somebody it can be difficult to find the right ones. My go-to when it gets like that is humour - glittery tits spring to mind, Lizzy - but she deserves more. Having picked me and nurtured me, Lizzy made me see what it was to dig deeper. She is my motivation: it's all about repaying her belief, loyalty and direction. TBUM is for her.
Clare Bowron, thank you for your incredible insight and direction, which changed everything.
The Aria Team: Caroline Ridding – Top bird, boss and mate. How lucky I am to have you – your energy and enthusiasm is unrivalled – cheers!
Nia Beynon – Oh! You’re magnificent in every way. The Yes Woman who works until it hurts.
Blake Brooks – M&P extraordinaire – let's do promo tattoos and Lovehearts!
Yasemin Turan – Skillz all round, lady.
Jade Craddock – A simply amazing editor: how do you do that thing when you know what I want to say and put it in a comment on your notes and I go ‘oh, yeah! that's exactly it’?
Next, and say no more, The Readers – Without you, nada, nothing, zilch. Thank you so very much - and keep in touch, I love hearing from you and reading your reviews.
Authors – The kindest cuddliest cackliest gang in the world, even to small fry like me, particularly Milly Johnson, Lucy Diamond, Miranda Dickinson, Amanda Jennings and Tosh plus the RNA crew.
Bloggers – Bloody diamonds, the lot of you! Thank you to the library on the moon and back for your support.
Twitter – Love my feed for news and views and scraps and laughs. Plus Tanni’s plugs!
Facebook – I apologize for my lame updates. It's procrastination.
Instagram – No better place for positivity, hilarity and touching snapshots from everyone's lives.
Mum, Dad, Jamie and Paddy – For your excitement and belief. And Tesco runs. My secretary, Ollie, who is excellent if he gets a dog biscuit.
And finally, Jo, my eternal back-up woman. That one long-term friend who saw you at your spottiest and still loves you.
About Laura Kemp
LAURA KEMP lives in Penarth, Cardiff with her supportive husband, gorgeous son, playful dog and ancient cat. Writing to Laura is compulsive. With 15 years journalistic experience and several successful books to her name, writing is her escape and her love.
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Preview
Read on for a preview of Whatever Happened to Vicky Hope’s Back Up Man?:
Frankie Green’s happy ever after is put on hold when her childhood sweetheart husband complains things are boring in bed.
When he asks for some space, she sets out to win him back by getting herself a sex education.
Little does she know that her hilarious, tender and embarrassing journey of enlightenment is going to change everything…
A story full of humour, heartache and happiness, of friendship, coming of age and overcoming insecurity.
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One night in May…
Frankie
Frankie shivered as she waited for Jason to unveil his surprise.
‘Keep your eyes closed,’ he said, rustling about with something as his movements shook the king-size bed.
With a smile on her face, she couldn’t believe that after fourteen years together he still made her all tingly. In fact, tonight was the tingliest she’d ever felt, she decided, as a wand of fairy dust sprinkled excitement on her toes, which raced all the way up her bare body. Except for the bits covered up by her new matching white M&S underwear.
It was their first wedding anniversary and they were in the same posh hotel room where they’d started life as Mr and Mrs Green.
Soon they’d be making love in their familiar way, his body on hers was all she desired. The girls teased her for having only slept with one person but she was so relieved she hadn’t had to kiss any frogs like they had – and still had to. But his muscular weight was the measure of their love; it was solid and secure and, secretly, she wanted to feel possessed by her man. Just as she had done at lunch when he led the way to their table overlooking Cardiff Bay’s glorious waterfront. Their hideaway was only ten minutes from their house in the city but she saw no need, and had no desire, to go anywhere else.
‘This way, Mrs Green,’ he’d said, guiding her to her seat with his lovely old-school manners. She had a glass of pink fizz, her favourite, while he had a bottle of some fancy lager, one he hadn’t tried before, then he’d tried to persuade her to try some chorizo. But she stuck to her trusted bangers and mash followed by banoffee pie – the exact meal they’d had for their wedding breakfast.
The only fly in the ointment had been when she’d brought up starting a family next year. A cloud had crossed his usually cheerful face. He didn’t think he felt ready, he’d said, taking her hand and squeezing it affectionately. ‘I just want to enjoy us for a bit longer, there’s so much fun to be had. It was a big enough deal to get married, wasn’t it?’ he’d said, smiling his irresistible smile.
She’d felt bitterly disappointed, not because she felt broody. After all, they did have masses to finish in the house and she honestly had nothing to worry about because she had years before her biological clock started ringing. But because that’s what couples did, wasn’t it? Domestic bliss equalled the patter of tiny feet. She was tired of her hairdressing clients asking when she was going to have a baby. On the plus side, Frankie was flattered he still prized her company and didn’t want to share her after all this time.
They’d met in the first week of college: he was her first and only boyfriend and she loved it that way. She was forever his Tinkerbell, the pet name he had given her from day one, owing to her long blonde hair, blue eyes and her figure that back then was a perfect hourglass, but was now a tad plumper thanks to her love handles. He was the only one for her. He was perfect, with his boyish good looks and easy-going nature. He was positive, kind, generous and…
‘Almost ready, Tink,’ he said, from his pillow. She beamed, hearing the thrill of anticipation in his voice. What was he going to produce? A piece of jewellery, maybe, or some lingerie? Whatever it was, she would adore it because he knew her taste was simple but elegant.
There was the muffled sound of fabric then a click. It was all too much for Frankie so she peeped through her eyelashes. And then she wished she hadn’t. In the place of the box from Tiffany’s she’d been hoping for was a fluffy black handcuff attaching one of her blindfolded husband’s wrists to the bed railings. He’d used her scarf, her best flowery one in fact, to tie round his head to hide his eyes. Inside her head she screamed ‘Oh my God’ but she was so horrified, the words wouldn’t come out. Instead, her eyes nearly popped out of her skull.
‘You… look like a hostage,’ she said, aghast at how the blindfold made his crew cut and stubble seem like he’d been taken captive. Wincing, she knew this wasn’t what he’d intended. It was a good job he couldn’t see her face, which was contorted with shock and disgust. Kinky sex had never appealed to her – whenever she came across it in magazines, she’d flick past to find the romantic questionnaire instead. Mum had given her a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey and while Frankie had soaked up the love story, she was bewildered by all the equipment.
Jason’s laughter turned her stomach now. ‘Come on!’ he said, ‘I’m your slave, do whatever you want to me.’
She ran through her options like a shopping list: lock herself in the loo? Say she had a headache? Or have a go? But what was she supposed to do to him, specifically? Cover him in whipped cream and call him Margaret?
‘The only thing I think I’m capable of, Jason, is tickling you,’ she said, wincing at her cluelessness as her fingers wiggled. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just confused, this is so out of the blue.’ She pulled his mask up onto his forehead so he looked like a camp Rambo; she needed eye contact. That way they could be honest, which was how they’d always operated. But while his big brown eyes usually shone with warmth, now they were hurt.
‘I was just trying to liven things up,’ he said, staring down. Then, after a pause, he added, ‘Because…’
‘Because?’ she asked, warily. What was going on?
‘I dunno, things are a bit, you know, predictable in bed, that’s all.’
