Faking It: The most hilarious and laugh out loud page turner you’ll read this year!

by Rebecca Smith

  We sit quietly for a few minutes but I can’t stop the thoughts from whirling around inside my head. If I don’t talk to someone soon then I’m going to lose the plot entirely and I can’t afford to do that. I check the room for eavesdroppers and then I lower my book and look at Cassie. It’s important that I present the information in as factual and unemotional way as possible. She already thinks that I’m a neurotic diva and I really need her to focus and take me seriously on this.

  ‘I think I might be being a bit unfaithful to Nick,’ I blurt out.

  It certainly gets her attention.

  ‘What are you on about?’ She drops her pen and stares at me. ‘Either you are or you aren’t. There shouldn’t be any thinking involved.’

  I pick up my coffee and then put it back down. I can’t believe that I’m actually going to say this but I’m desperately in need of some reassurance right now.

  ‘I think that Nick thinks that I’ve gone off him or even worse, he thinks that I’ve gone off with someone who isn’t him,’ I say, stumbling over the words. ‘And it should be the easiest thing in the world to reassure him and tell him that I would never do something like that. Because I love him more than I could ever love any other man and I only ever want him.’

  ‘So you’re not cheating on him then?’ Cassie looks mildly disappointed. ‘Then just tell him that.’

  I shake my head. ‘It isn’t that simple though. I’ve been imagining random men as Daxx and my writing has really improved because I’ve been picturing them in flagrante.’ Cassie rolls her eyes and I rush to continue. ‘And it isn’t just that, before you say anything. I’ve been having these episodes.’

  ‘Episodes?’ She sounds interested. ‘What episodes?’

  I glance around again and lower my voice, although there’s nobody else here.

  ‘I think of them as sex bubbles,’ I confide in a whisper. ‘And they can happen at any time. Like, I’ll be in the supermarket or walking down the street and suddenly I’ll just see someone and start having really sexual thoughts about them.’ I lean back and look at my best friend. ‘Are you appalled?’

  She doesn’t look appalled, to be fair. She looks slightly amused.

  ‘Hannah – we’ve been here before,’ she tells me, smirking. ‘You’re allowed to think about sex. It’s not inappropriate.’

  ‘But I’m not just thinking about sex, am I?’ I point out. ‘I’m thinking about sex not with my husband. And I read an article the other day about micro-cheating and I think that’s what I’m doing.’ I lean forward. ‘I’m committing micro-infidelity.’

  Cassie opens her mouth as if she’s about to speak but no sound comes out. I’ve done it. I’ve shocked her into silence and even with everything that I’ve just said, I feel a hint of pride that finally, after all this time, I have managed to drop a bombshell that makes her sit up and take notice.

  I make the most of the moment and ram the point home.

  ‘I am a micro-adulterer and a sex bubble addict,’ I tell her sadly.

  Cassie flaps her hands in the air, in a gesture that I can only imagine is supposed to rid herself of my horrific confession. Perhaps I was wrong to confide in her? This is not reassuring me in the slightest. If I’ve horrified my best friend this much then maybe I’ve really gone over to the dark side. My heart starts to race and I feel my face pale. What if she thinks I’m genuinely at risk of fucking up my marriage? What if Nick leaves me and my traitorous thoughts, and I lose everything? I didn’t mean to do anything wrong.

  I didn’t choose the sex life – the sex life chose me.

  ‘Oh. My. God. Hannah.’ Cassie’s words come out in small pants and I brace myself for her disgust. ‘I can’t decide if you’re the funniest person I know or the stupidest. Are you actually being serious right now?’

  I look at her as she leans back in her chair and roars with laughter. I wait patiently while she snorts and guffaws and then finally, when she’s calmed down, I answer her question.

  ‘I am deadly serious. I can’t stop thinking about sex and I think it’s a problem.’

  Cassie wipes the tears from her eyes and shakes her head at me.

  ‘Okay. We’re really having this conversation, then?’ She sits up straight and takes a deep breath before fixing me with a firm stare. ‘I’m going to ask you three questions and I want you to answer them quickly and honestly. Don’t think about it – just go with your gut.’

  I swallow hard. This sounds hopeful. She has a plan and I like a plan.

  ‘Firstly, are you still in love with Nick?’

  ‘Yes,’ I tell her, feeling shocked that she even has to ask.

  She nods, her face giving nothing away. ‘Second question: Are you ever tempted to act on these sex bubble moments? And I’m just going to put it out there, Hannah – sex bubble is literally the most ridiculous phrase that I have ever heard.’

  I scowl back at her. ‘Of course not. Who do you think I am? I’m not going to just run around fornicating with random strangers, am I?’

  She can think what she bloody well likes about the phrase sex bubble. I think it works very well.

  Cassie rolls her eyes, as if this is all a giant waste of her time. ‘Thirdly, are you and Nick still having sex?’

  I gulp. I’m as liberated as the next woman but I would normally draw the line at discussing my intimate sex life in the school staffroom. Nothing about this is normal though, including me.

  ‘Yes, thank you so much for asking.’ I jut my chin out defiantly and beg my cheeks not to flush with embarrassment. ‘We have plenty of sex.’

  ‘And is it exciting, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants sex or a quick-fumble-before-you- fall-asleep-sex,’ enquires Cassie.

  I pause. My answer is entirely changeable, depending on what kind of week it is. I suppose, if I was forced to choose, I would describe it as the safe, comfortable, familiar type of sex. I’m not really sure that flying by the seat of my pants would be either enjoyable or erotic, if I’m truly honest.

  On the other hand…

  My mind suddenly fills with an image of the fridge door, with two shiny gold stars stuck to my reward chart and it dawns on me, like some kind of sexual eureka, that I am possibly not very honest with myself quite a lot of the time.

  I totally chose the sex life.

  ‘We do okay,’ I tell Cassie, trying not to smirk as memories start flooding my brain.

  ‘So do you really think that conjuring up sexual scenes in your head, which I might add, are in response to you writing an erotic novel, is really cause for such angst?’

  ‘No. I suppose not,’ I say, grudgingly.

  She grins at me and picks up her red pen and we sit quietly for a moment as she resumes her marking.

  I feel a tiny bit ridiculous now. I mean, I wasn’t even that worried about it until I read that stupid article about micro-cheating. I’d never be unfaithful to Nick and we might be having a bit of a weird time right now but that’s because we’re stressed about money and the kids and life is relentless. And I’m sure that if he genuinely thought I was cheating on him then he’d say something.

  Which means that it’s all fine, which is good because I like my sex bubbles. They make me feel empowered. I’m glad that I don’t have to stop having them.

  ‘I suppose we all have our own guilty pleasures, don’t we?’ I say, picking up my now-cold coffee. ‘There’s nothing wrong with it.’

  Cassie’s head snaps back up to look at me. ‘Nothing wrong except for you referring to feeling sexy as a “guilty pleasure”,’ she says. ‘Honestly, Hannah – it’s like one step forward and two steps back with you. You’re allowed to own your sexuality – the word guilty shouldn’t come into it.’

  I shrug. She can say what she likes – I’m fairly sure that most other woman don’t spend their days envisaging raunch-tastic sex scenes with bare-chested hunks glistening with sweat. And if Cassie had any idea of the erotic nature of my thoughts (or the contents of Book Two) then she would most certainly be re
ferring to it as a guilty pleasure.

  There’s absolutely nothing innocent about it, that’s for sure.

  ‘I think you need an intervention,’ she says now, putting her pen down again. ‘You’re speaking at Sex Con soon and you need help if you’re not going to make a complete and utter plank of yourself.’

  I wrinkle my nose. ‘Thanks a lot, Cass. I’m completely dreading the entire thing as it is. I don’t really need you making me feel more freaked out about it.’

  ‘Well, luckily for you, I happen to know exactly what you need.’ Cassie glances at her watch and stands up. ‘There’s only one solution and that’s a night in with the girls.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I tell her, gathering up my pile of books and pushing back my chair. ‘That sounds like a lot of effort and I’m on a deadline, you know?’

  Cassie puts one arm around my shoulder as we make our way towards the staffroom door. ‘No effort at all. Your house, Saturday night at seven o’clock. I’ll arrange the nibbles and everyone will bring drinks. I’ll sort it all, okay? All you have to do is provide the venue and turn up!’

  ‘But who will we invite?’ I ask, feeling my resolve weaken. It would be nice to have something to look forward to and a chilled evening at home with a couple of friends does sound quite appealing. Nick will no doubt be spending his evening in his shed anyway and it’d be nice to have some decent adult company for a change.

  ‘I’ll sort that too,’ Cassie assures me. ‘Do we have a deal?’

  I nod. ‘I suppose so. But I don’t want it going on too late, alright? I really have got to do some writing on Sunday.’

  Cassie winks at me. ‘Trust me, Hannah!’

  I absolutely do not.

  Benji is waiting for me when I arrive to collect him from after-school chess club. His face is forlorn and I feel a pang of guilt for making him go before reminding myself that a) chess expands the brain and b) I have nobody to look after him on a Monday so attendance at whatever activity is on offer is a requirement, and he should therefore be grateful that it isn’t litter-picking club.

  ‘How was your day?’ I ask, giving him a big smile. ‘What did you get up to?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He pulls on his coat and marches out of the door ahead of me. I know that all kids give their parents this answer at the end of the school day and that it shouldn’t be credited with too much thought, but when it comes to my youngest child I am always a tiny bit unsure about whether he’s giving an indifferent response or if in fact he has actually done nothing all day.

  It’s a distinct possibility.

  ‘Why yes, my day was fine,’ I mutter as I follow him through the hallways. ‘Slightly challenging, especially when I had a mini-breakdown in front of my best friend, possibly due to a hormonal imbalance – but generally fine. Thanks so much for asking.’

  ‘Hannah?’ I spin round to see that Allegra is right behind me. ‘I wasn’t sure if it was you for a moment. What on earth possessed you to go grey? And what was that you were saying about hormones?’

  I attempt a chuckle. ‘Oh, hi Allegra! No, I was talking about—’ I pause, rapidly trying out rhyming words in my head. ‘More scones! For the next cake sale. I think the children would love that.’

  I hate myself. I don’t even call them scones – it’s a hard ‘o’ all the way, for me.

  And my hair is fucking silver, thanks for asking.

  Allegra frowns, before remembering that it gives her wrinkles and rapidly smoothing her forehead with her hand.

  ‘Well, that’s actually a very good idea, Hannah. I think an Afternoon Tea Party could be an excellent fundraiser for the school. I’ll run it past the rest of the committee but you should be fine to organise it for the last week in November. That way we can use the profits to help fund the grotto for Father Christmas.’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean that I would—’ I start but Allegra sees me coming and shuts me down before I can utter another word.

  ‘And it would help to raise your profile after the flapjack fiasco,’ she says, her voice sly. ‘Which wouldn’t hurt Benji, not with all the Christmas parties that are going to be coming up.’

  I stare at her. Is she actually implying that my child’s social life is going to be impacted by my inability to provide a plate of sugar-free flapjacks for a poxy cake sale? I open my mouth and right on cue, Benji comes hurtling back down the corridor with Auberon, Allegra’s oldest child, in tow.

  ‘Mum!’ he calls. ‘Auberon is having a Winter Wassail, whatever that is, and he said that I’m invited! Please can I go this time?’

  I nod but he hasn’t finished.

  ‘Because when it was his Spring Soiree you said that I couldn’t go because a) we aren’t pretentious losers and b) you can’t have a soiree at two o’clock in the afternoon and you’d have thought that Auberon’s mum would know that seeing as she’s always banging on about her year in France.’

  I close my eyes for a brief second, hoping that when I open them I will have been magically teleported far, far away. But sadly, and also unsurprisingly, I am still standing in the school corridor with two eager-looking boys and one furious-looking woman.

  ‘I didn’t say that.’ I’m not even convincing myself. And suddenly, I’m sick of pretending. Twinky Malone wouldn’t let herself get pushed around like this. The time has come to tell it like it is.

  ‘Okay, I totally said that but in my defence, I was talking to my husband and I was in the privacy of my own kitchen.’ I face Allegra, my bravery making me reckless ‘And while we’re here – I bought those mince pies that I donated to the Winter Fayre. But I’m sure you’ve done exactly the same thing in your time, hey? None of us are perfect, after all!’

  Allegra stares me down and I force myself to stand my ground.

  ‘If by “done exactly the same thing” you mean have I said hurtful things about other parents behind their backs?’ Allegra’s cold-blue eyes shoot frozen lasers at me across the corridor. ‘Then no – I have not.’

  She’s got me there. Allegra has absolutely no problem with saying hurtful things right to your face.

  ‘And I knew that your mince pies were shop-bought.’ She hasn’t finished with me yet. ‘We all did. We could see the dents where you’d hit them with a rolling pin.’

  I had it on good authority that the rolling pin trick would make them look more authentic. Thanks a lot, Mum.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ I say as the boys run back towards the main entrance. ‘I was clearly having a bit of a day when I said that about your Spring Soiree but that’s no excuse. I should have made sure that Benji wasn’t listening. That was terrible of me.’

  Allegra narrows her eyes and I realise my mistake.

  ‘Obviously what I meant is that I shouldn’t have said it in the first place,’ I correct quickly. ‘If you can’t say something nice then don’t say anything at all, hey?’

  If I never want to utter another word again for as long as I live and breathe.

  Bracing myself, I await the other woman’s wrath. Twinky clearly has a bit of a mean streak and I probably deserve whatever Allegra’s going to throw at me. The Afternoon Tea Party is mine now, that goes without saying, but I doubt that I’ll get away that lightly.

  ‘I understand about having a bad day.’

  Her voice is so quiet and her words so unexpected that it takes me a moment to process what she’s just said.

  ‘Lately I’ve been feeling like all my days are bad days.’ She leans against the wall and looks at me with bleak eyes. ‘I’ve been trying to put all my attention into these bloody – excuse my French – school fundraisers but some days I don’t even know why I’m bothering. Nobody cares.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ I say cautiously. I’m feeling very unsure about this new, vulnerable Allegra, and it seems best to keep a safe distance between us in case she suddenly remembers who she really is. ‘We’re all very grateful for everything that you do.’

  ‘Grateful! Pah.’ She folds her arms across her ches
t and glares at me. ‘I don’t want gratitude. I just want to remember how it feels to be excited about something that isn’t organising a worthy playdate for Ophelia or planning some form of enriching entertainment for Auberon. My children have a better social life than me and I just thought it would be different, you know. Being an adult.’

  Oh. My. Fucking. Word.

  Allegra has actual blood flowing through her veins, not de-icer.

  ‘I’m having a party on Saturday night,’ I say before my brain can catch up with what my mouth is saying. ‘Well, more of a get-together than a party. Just a few of us round at mine. You’re very welcome to come, if you’re free.’

  She gives me a tight smile and I feel a warm, cosy glow flooding my stomach. This is actually perfect. I get to offer the hand of friendship and make amends for both my ever-so-slightly rash outburst and also my loud-mouthed son – who, incidentally, had better be prepared for the removal of his Xbox when we get home as a consequence for having no fucking sense – and Allegra gets to reject me and my kind offer, which will both remind her of her superiority and restore her state of equilibrium.

  It’s win-win for both of us.

  I pull my features into their best oh-what-a-shame position and await her cutting dismissal. Women like Allegra do not hang out with women like me for fun. No way. She probably spends her evenings baking bread and doing enriching activities with her children before cooking a three-course-meal for her loving husband.

  ‘I’d love to come.’ By the look on her face, I suspect that it’s not just me who is surprised by her reply. ‘What time should I arrive?’

  ‘Oh.’ I gulp and then rearrange my face into a big smile. ‘Well, the others are arriving around seven but you can come whenever. It’s not a formal thing – just rock up when you’re ready.’

  ‘And is there a dress code for this gathering?’ Allegra pushes herself off the wall and starts walking, forcing me either to stay where I am and ignore her or trot along beside her. I’m momentarily tempted by the former but then change my mind on the grounds that I’ve used up my rudeness quota for today.