For fuck’s sake. I come in here for two seconds and get my buzz well and truly killed.
‘There is nothing wrong,’ I tell him. ‘We’re making industrial amounts of cocktails and as I sadly do not possess a cocktail shaker then I am going to have to take this bucket.’
‘The sick bucket?’ clarifies Scarlet. ‘That is disgusting, Mother.’
‘At least they’ll have something to throw up into when they’ve drunk the contents,’ mutters Nick. ‘So that’s one benefit.’
‘It’s not the sick bucket,’ I snap, although I do give it a quick rinse under the tap with some cold water, just to be on the safe side. ‘Nobody has ever actually been sick into it.’
‘I was.’ Benji sounds proud. ‘Last year when you said that I was fine but I said that I was ill and then you said that I was just trying to get out of school and then I was sick in the bucket and you had to say sorry.’
‘That doesn’t count,’ I tell him. ‘You weren’t that ill.’
‘Gross,’ moans Scarlet. ‘You’re totally going to end up in A&E.’
‘Alcohol kills germs,’ I say sweetly, shaking the last few drops of water out and turning back to the door. ‘But thank you for your concern.’
‘Just take it easy, Hannah,’ says Nick as I reach for the handle. ‘And call me if you need me.’
I turn to look at him, my gorgeous, kind-hearted husband. His face is lined with exhaustion and yet he’s right here, making sure that I’m okay. I don’t know how I could ever have doubted what we have together and whatever it is that’s going wrong between us, we’ll sort it out. We always do.
‘I will always need you,’ I tell him, dashing back to land a quick kiss on his lips. ‘But right now I have one piece of advice. Stay away. When you leave the safety of the kitchen you need to walk briskly through the hall and do not look back. And no matter what happens, Nick – do NOT go into the living room.’
I open the kitchen door and a wave of raucous laughter barrels through. Nick gulps.
‘What are they laughing at?’ asks Benji.
Nick puts his hand on our son’s arm. ‘Better that we never discover the answer to that question. Now get anything you think you might need and let’s go upstairs. We can barricade the bedroom doors if necessary.’
Scarlet rolls her eyes but I see her glance nervously towards the open door, her face uneasy. I’m glad to see that she has some survival instincts. She may be female but she is in no way ready for what is happening in that room. I was wrong to have concerns about Pru and Miss Pritchard – if anyone is at risk tonight then it’s Isobel, with her fresh-faced enthusiasm and naivety. She’s clearly still at the starting point of her sexual journey, although I have a sneaking suspicion that if she sticks around, tonight might be an eye-opening experience.
Giving a cheery wave to my family, I head into the hall and back into the carnage with Dogger at my heels. Allegra whips the bucket out of my hand the instant that I step over the threshold and starts enthusiastically opening bottles while Lori hovers next to her, sharing her own opinions on the perfect way to mix a Negroni.
Cassie walks over to me and thrusts my wine glass into my hand.
‘Drink this,’ she instructs. ‘While we wait for Allegra to create her magic.’
I take a hearty swig and then experience a two-second debate about whether to swallow the burning liquid or spit it back.
Swallowing wins out, like the professional that I am.
‘Uh. What is this?’ I brandish my glass at Cassie. ‘It’s foul.’
‘It’s Miss Pritchard’s twenty-year-old sherry,’ she tells me. ‘We’re toasting her coming second so it seemed appropriate.’
‘It’s stale,’ I say, taking another more tentative sip. ‘It tastes like mothballs.’
‘Like I said, it seemed appropriate,’ repeats Cassie. ‘Drink it all – Allegra is ready to cock you up.’
‘Seriously?’ I splutter, wondering if I can pour the rest of the sherry into a nearby pot-plant before remembering that this is my house and I actually don’t have any plants because I’ve killed them all. ‘Did you really just say that?’
‘What’s that you’re talking about?’ asks Miss Pritchard, walking up to us and thrusting out her glass. ‘Have you organised some gentlemen to join us?’
‘No, Miss Pritchard,’ I tell her, directing her to where Allegra is waiting with the bucket. ‘But you can have a delicious cocktail if you’d like one?’
Her face falls. ‘Well, if that’s the only thing on offer then I suppose it will have to do. But are you sure that there are no men on the premises, dear?’
A movement catches my attention and I turn, just in time to see my terrified husband scurrying past the door. For a brief, evil second I’m tempted to drag him in here to say hello – but then I come to my senses. He wouldn’t last two minutes in this room.
‘No men,’ I tell her.
‘No men needed!’ calls Sandra from the front of the room. ‘That’s my motto. Now get your drinks and let’s get this party started!’
Everyone starts to settle back down but something has shifted in the atmosphere and the seating arrangements have changed. Allegra sprawls casually in between Pru and Miss Pritchard on the sofa while Cassie and Lori sit on the floor, closer to the action.
‘Hannah?’ Isobel’s voice is quiet and when I look at her anxious face, I know exactly what she’s going to say.
‘Of course you should go,’ I tell her. ‘I’m sorry that I didn’t warn you what it was going to be like – I had no idea that Cassie was planning this. Thanks so much for coming though.’
Isobel blinks. ‘I don’t want to leave. I just wondered if I could possibly have some of that cocktail?’
She holds out her glass and a sudden image of my daughter pops into my head.
‘You do know that it’s quite alcoholic, don’t you?’ I say, as gently as I can while still being heard over the noise being made by the rest of the room. ‘Maybe you should stick to the Nosecco?’
‘The Nosecco is shit,’ she says. ‘I need a proper drink.’
And while a tiny part of me feels that I should be advising her on the importance of responsible drinking and explaining that alcohol is not required for one to have fun, a larger part of me is cocking up her glass with huge enthusiasm.
‘Cheers!’ she says, taking a swig.
We clash our glasses together and grin and I relish this moment of connection. It’s not about the drink. It’s about female solidarity and living for now and reveling in our womanly bond.
And it’s a bit about the drink, yeah.
‘So we’re going to start with what I like to call, the risqué attire,’ says Sandra, once we’re all gathered around.
Allegra was right. This is a gathering. Arse it.
She holds up a black, lacy item and we all stare.
‘It’s faulty,’ states Miss Pritchard.
‘That’s the problem with clothing today,’ agrees Pru. ‘It’s all badly made tat. This whatever-it-is was probably made in a sweatshop by small children who get paid tuppence, at the end of the day. It’s criminal, it really is.’
‘It isn’t faulty,’ soothes Sandra. ‘And I can assure you that it wasn’t made by small children. We have a very strict policy when it comes to treating our workers fairly.’
‘It’s got two holes in it,’ points out Lori.
‘They’re for your nipples,’ says Cassie. ‘It’s the style.’
The room goes quiet as we all contemplate the item before us.
‘Is it for breastfeeding mothers?’ enquires Pru. ‘Because I suppose it could be quite practical.’
Sandra’s face goes a funny colour. ‘It’s not supposed to be practical,’ she says. ‘It’s supposed to be provocative.’
‘How do they know where your nipples are, though?’ I muse. ‘I mean, there’s quite a large surface area of possibility. It’s like those face-in-the-hole photo boards that you get at the seaside. If you’re not t
he right height then your face won’t match up to the hole.’
‘You make a good point,’ says Cassie. ‘I reckon my nipples are way higher than yours.’
Bitch, I mouth at her, smiling contentedly when she chokes on her drink.
‘Well, maybe the peephole camisole isn’t for you then,’ says Sandra, valiantly ploughing on. ‘But what about this little beauty?’
She holds up a pair of cute, black, lace knickers and we all make an oohing sound.
‘Now they’re nice,’ says Allegra. ‘Very tasteful.’
‘They’re on offer right now,’ says Sandra, sounding pleased. ‘Buy one, get the second pair half price.’
‘Well, you can definitely put me down for two pairs of those,’ I say. I know that it was Cassie who arranged this whole evening but I am the hostess and I feel like it’s probably my responsibility to ensure that Sandra actually makes some money. If I order something then perhaps the others will follow my lead.
Plus, the knickers really are lovely.
‘Me too,’ says Allegra and I smile at her gratefully.
‘Fantastic!’ Sandra beams. ‘I think you ladies are going to love the sheer lace paneling and the playful open crotch!’
‘The playful open what now?’ I ask, my mouth dropping as she demonstrates the gigantic void where the crotch should be. Dogger gives a small whine and slinks out of the room, which is probably for the best. I don’t want her being subjected to anything inappropriate and it would appear that shit is about to get real.
‘Is that in case you need a wee and you’re in a hurry?’ booms Miss Pritchard.
‘But why?’ I whisper. ‘What earthly reason would I have for letting it all hang out?’
Cassie raises an eyebrow at me. ‘Come off it, Hannah. You’re not that sweet and innocent.’
I shake my head. ‘I just fail to see the appeal. And what if you need to use a sanitary towel? It’d just fall straight through the hole.’
The room falls quiet as we all contemplate this conundrum.
‘The younger generation love them,’ says Sandra, her voice wheedling. ‘They see this kind of underwear as an opportunity to show off their grooming. They’re all waxed and stripped and neat nowadays.’
Cassie scowls. ‘What a bloody waste of time and energy.’
‘It’s true though, isn’t it?’ says Allegra. ‘I saw a documentary on it. All the teenagers have access to all the porn and so they think that’s what real bodies look like.’
‘I hope you’re not going to buy into this crap, Hannah,’ says Cassie, narrowing her eyes at me. ‘Porn should be real. It should be hairy and messy and awkward.’
‘I totally agree,’ I say quickly, hoping that nobody questions her reference. ‘Who has time to wax down there? I can barely be bothered with shaving my legs.’
‘I hate the idea of my kids seeing anything like that,’ adds Allegra ‘We should just ban porn altogether.’
The room explodes in a riot of noise but I sit back, unwilling to engage in what feels like very dangerous territory. I know that I have nothing to be ashamed about but the fear of being identified as Twinky Malone silences me.
‘You can’t just get rid of porn!’ yells Cassie. ‘And we shouldn’t want to. That’s like saying we should get rid of sex.’
‘I don’t think porn itself is the problem,’ agrees Lori. ‘It’s more the message that it chooses to send.’
‘What we need is real porn,’ shouts Isobel suddenly, making me jump. ‘Porn that shows it’s okay if you don’t know what you’re doing and that doesn’t objectify women as sexual commodities. We should have porn that shows women having orgasms and men listening to advice about what works and what doesn’t work.’
‘But would anyone actually watch that?’ ventures Allegra.
‘I would!’ screeches Cassie.
‘I would absolutely watch it!’ confirms Pru.
‘And me!’ I yell. ‘Real porn with all the sex.’ I punch my fist in the air. ‘So. Much. Sex.’
Twinky Malone is apparently not prepared to stay silent.
‘Lovely, furry, bushy, shaggy porn!’ calls Lori. ‘With genuine people showing realistic scenarios.’
‘We should do it,’ says Cassie and the volume dials down a few notches. ‘We should make our own Porn Production Company. By women, for women.’ She looks across at me and lifts one eyebrow. ‘We’ve totally got the skills covered between us. Hannah is an excellent writer.’
‘Oh, do you dabble in writing too?’ asks Allegra, sitting up and staring at me. ‘What kind of thing?’
Actually, Allegra, I have written an erotic novel and in fact, the entire purpose of this evening is to connect me with my inner Sex Goddess because I’m struggling to remember that I am more than just a mum and that I do actually exist as a passionate, seductive temptress even if it is a bit tricky to identify with the sensual me when I’m up to my eyeballs dealing with life.
‘A bit of this, a bit of that,’ I say, waving my hand dismissively and taking another big sip of my drink. ‘So Cassie, what skills are you going to be bringing to this venture?’
She grins wickedly at me. ‘I’ll be the advisor. You know, for the sex scenes. I doubt that there’s an awkward sexual encounter that I haven’t experienced. I’m perfect for the role.’
‘I’m very good at organising things,’ contributes Allegra.
‘It’s true,’ I nod. ‘She is.’
‘I have a wonderful eye for costume,’ says Pru. ‘You know, if we wanted to include bondage scenes?’
‘I could help with that,’ offers Lori. ‘I’m pretty handy with a sewing machine and it’d be a nice change to make something that wasn’t for bloody World Book Day.’
‘So that’s almost everything sorted,’ I say, waving my glass in the air. ‘We’ll just need someone to make a website and do the filming. You’re young, Isobel – I bet you could do that!’
Isobel nods and gets up to refill her glass. ‘I’ve just got a new iPhone and the recording facilities are exceptional. I could totally do that. And making a website would be easy.’
Cassie claps her hands in excitement. ‘So that’s everything covered,’ she says. ‘What shall we call our production company?’
‘Excuse me,’ sniffs Miss Pritchard. ‘But I rather think you’re forgetting someone.’
‘Oh, I’m sor—’ starts Cassie but she is cut off by Miss Pritchard’s hand being waved imperiously in her face.
‘You’re going to need to find some hot men to star in these films,’ she says. ‘And luckily for you, I have a phonebook filled with numbers. All you have to do is give me the specifications, including height and girth, and I’ll hook you up.’
‘What exactly does she mean by girth?’ whispers Isobel, returning to sit next to me.
‘Just drink your drink,’ I advise. ‘And try not to think about it.’
‘We still need a name,’ slurs Cassie, her drink sloshing onto the carpet.
I lift my hand. ‘I have it. Proper Porn. You know, as in right and proper but also properly pornographic.’
Sometimes I amaze myself with my own levels of erotic genius, I really do.
Everyone cheers and raises their glass.
‘Shall I show you the vibrators now?’ asks Sandra, rather timidly. ‘Or are we done for the night?’
‘The night is only just beginning!’ roars Miss Pritchard and we all descend on poor Sandra who, rather wisely, opens her suitcase of pleasure and then beats a hasty retreat to the corner of the room while we scream and cackle and generally act like feral children in a sweetshop – except that the average age in the room is fifty-three and our sweets have names like Rodeo Rider and Tickling Tornado and Bullet of Love.
After an hour of drinking and shrieking and more drinking and generally ridiculously hedonistic behavior, Sandra calls time.
‘I’ve got some forms here if anyone would like to order anything,’ she says, just as Cassie prods me in the arm with a Rampaging Rabbit and I
retaliate with my Satisfied Queen. For several seconds we are absorbed in our lightsaber/vibrator battle until Sandra clears her throat disapprovingly and I realise that we’re probably not being very respectful with the merchandise.
‘There’s no pressure to buy,’ she says, starting to gather up the vibrators from around the room. They seem to have got everywhere, into every nook and cranny.
‘I’d like to purchase a few things,’ mumbles Allegra. ‘Pass me an order form.’
We all take a form and a pen and I sink onto the floor, trying to decide what to buy. A few hours ago, I wouldn’t have dreamt of ordering any of it in front of these women but everything has changed now. I’m not the only woman in the world who thinks about sex and I am buoyed up with the feeling that I’m somehow part of a collective. It’s been a bit lonely, thinking that I was the only one.
I eventually tick the box for a satin negligee (without holes) and something that I can give Nick on his next birthday. I mean, it’s a present for me really but he doesn’t have to know that. And quite frankly he should feel lucky to get anything after the amount he’s spent on Betty. The memory of the last big bill that arrived for Land Rover parts makes me scan my eyes down the order form again and choose something else that, while perhaps not being a guilty pleasure, is one hundred percent going to be a hidden pleasure. That’s actually the name of it too, which is a happy twist of fate.
‘What was the name of that nightie that you showed us at the start?’ calls Allegra. ‘The one that you said went with my complexion? I want to add it to my order.’
Sandra goes across and shows her the appropriate item and then finally, everyone starts to gather their belongings and gets ready to leave.
‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Hannah,’ says Miss Pritchard, leaning against Pru. ‘It was wonderful to get out of the house for a change.’
‘Can I order you a taxi?’ I say, as the two women wobble towards the front door. ‘It’s quite late and it’s ever so dark out there.’
‘Oh, bless you!’ chuckles Miss Pritchard. ‘Pru and I have already ordered an Uber to take us into town.’
‘The night is young!’ adds Pru. ‘Even if we are not!’
Faking It: The most hilarious and laugh out loud page turner you’ll read this year! Page 22
