‘It’s a massage wand,’ I say, the words tumbling from my mouth. ‘It helps to relieve tension if you have stiff muscles. Look!’
I turn to face Nick and start frantically poking him with the wand. ‘There! I bet that feels lovely and relaxing, doesn’t it?’
Nick pulls away from me, his eyes widening.
‘Don’t go prodding me with that thing,’ he says, wrinkling his nose. ‘Who knows where it’s been?’
‘Oh. My. God.’ Scarlet narrows her eyes at me. ‘You are actually disgusting, Mother – are you aware of that?’
‘Who would like waffles for breakfast!’ I chirrup wildly. ‘Benji – why don’t you go and see if there is any maple syrup in the cupboard and then we can have a lovely Sunday morning breakfast together?’
Benji gives me a suspicious look but the allure of waffles makes him leave the room. I wait until he’s gone and then I turn to face my husband and daughter.
‘That wasn’t very helpful,’ I hiss at Nick. ‘You made that far more embarrassing than it needed to be and for your information, it hasn’t been anywhere.’
Nick has the good grace to look slightly sheepish.
‘Sorry,’ he mutters. ‘I just thought it was pretty funny that we were all searching for a wasp nest when really it was—’ He breaks off and gestures to the item in my hand. ‘That.’
Scarlet shakes her head. ‘You are actually deranged,’ she tells me. ‘What kind of mother leaves a vibrator in the living room for her kids to find? In fact, what kind of mother owns a vibrator in the first place?’ She flings herself into onto the sofa and rolls her eyes. ‘Honestly, I’m going to be scarred for life.’
I stand in silence for a second, staring at her.
I am a mother.
I am her mother.
But that is not all that I am.
‘Firstly, I agree that it is less than ideal that this has happened,’ I say, my voice quiet. ‘However, it was left here after the party last night and that is absolutely not the same thing as me leaving it for you to find.’
Nick clears his throat. ‘I might go and help Benji with the waffles,’ he says. ‘If I’m not needed?’
‘That’s an excellent idea,’ I say, not breaking eye contact with my daughter. I wait until he has left the room and then I step forward and stare down at her.
‘Secondly, and most importantly – you asked me what kind of a mother owns a vibrator? Well, I’m going to ask you a question. Do you think that this kind of item shouldn’t be available for women? Do you think that pleasure and fun are just for the men?’
I gulp slightly as I say it but then I square my shoulders and be the woman that I know I need to be. The woman I want to be. I’ve spent years telling the kids about the importance of making good choices and staying safe and consent but I’m not sure that I’ve ever let the word pleasure slide from my lips. And it bloody well should have done. Because what’s the point, otherwise?
Scarlet scowls. ‘No. Of course not! I’m a feminist and I think that women should be able to do whatever they want.’
‘Women who aren’t mothers though, yeah?’ I raise one eyebrow at her. ‘Women should be able to do whatever they want until they become mothers, at which point investing in their own happiness and pleasure is purely a selfish act? Actually – you said it was disgusting.’
‘That’s not what I said,’ insists Scarlet. ‘You don’t even understand.’
‘But it’s what you meant,’ I tell her, remembering how free I felt last night and how wonderful it was to spend the evening having fun and laughing about sex stuff without anyone being judgemental. ‘You talk all about the women you admire who are working for equality and feminism and recognition but you don’t even realise that you’re being a hypocrite and that feminism starts at home.’
She leans back against the cushions and appraises me. ‘You think you’re so liberal and with-it and woke but you don’t have a clue about what it’s like nowadays.’
And I snap.
‘I do have a clue!’ I wail, pointing at her with the vibrator. ‘And if you want to see a real-life example of feminism in action then open your eyes, young lady – because the real feminists are not just youthful, gorgeous, skinny legends with verified Instagram accounts.’
I turn away and start to pace the room, punctuating each point that I am making with another stab of the vibrator. ‘They are also the women in their forties who are working the triple shift of parenting and trying to maintain a home while holding down a job. They are the women who can’t have or don’t want children but are forced to explain themselves over and over again to a society who cannot understand any other role for them. They are the women born into the wrong bodies who have to fight every day just to be acknowledged. They are the invisible women who don’t think that being eligible for a pension should mean that they have to give up their sexual selves. They are called angry and hysterical and neurotic and bossy and they still don’t give up! They are every different size, shape, colour and age. They come from every walk of life. And none of them will stop fighting for equality and fairness until we live in a world where it is okay for a mother to own a vibrator.’
I pause to take a breath and see Scarlet cowering where she sits. I think that there is a slim possibility that I might have lost the flow there for a moment but it doesn’t matter because every word is true.
‘And also, I am totally woke.’
It’s good to end an argument with a strong statement. Unfortunately for me, I don’t know when to stop.
‘I am woke and I am with-it and I have the scars to prove it.’
Scarlet frowns at me. ‘Would these be metaphorical scars that you’re talking about?’
‘No!’ I howl, advancing towards her. ‘They are not bloody metaphorical scars. They are real, genuine scars that have been inflicted upon me by my offspring, actually.’
I brandish the vibrator in the air and heroically manage to resist yanking up my pajama top and showing her the scars that lick at my stomach like flames and which are the permanent result of my skin being forced to stretch to the size of a large beach ball three times to accommodate my quite frankly, completely huge babies.
‘I’m sorry, Mum.’ Scarlet stares at me with wide eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to make it sound like I don’t appreciate you.’
I deflate slightly and slump onto the sofa beside her, throwing the vibrator down next to me. I know that she’s trying to make an effort but I still feel churned up and cross. I don’t want her to appreciate me. I want her to see me. But I know that if I want that then I’m going to have to show her that I exist as a real person who has more to offer than just cooking the supper or doing the laundry.
I have to show her that I understand the current issues of the day and that it doesn’t matter how old we all are because being female is a lifelong condition. I’m also completely on a roll now and I don’t want to lose momentum. Who knows when I’ll have the opportunity to talk to her like this again?
‘I think that we should have a chat about genital waxing,’ I tell her, ignoring the way her mouth drops open in shock. Or horror. Or possibly a combination of both. ‘I hope you know that there is absolutely no requirement for you to wax that part of your body. Ever. Even if a boy says that he prefers it like that. In fact, especially if a boy says that he prefers it like that.’
‘Mum!’ Scarlet’s face lives up to her name. ‘We totally do not need to have this conversation now, okay?’
‘It’s important that we can talk about this stuff,’ I tell her. ‘I know you think the older generation has nothing to offer you but we’ve quite literally been there, done that. You can learn a lot by listening to the words of older, wiser women.’
Scarlet stands up and looks down at me.
‘I know.’ She flashes me a forced smile and starts to back out of the room, like I’m some kind of unexploded bomb. ‘That’s why I’ve been chatting to Granny.’
And then she’s gone, leaving me alone
with a dodgy vibrator that has started pulsating again, albeit with slightly less enthusiasm that it had previously. I pick it up and give it a good, long stare. I should probably give it back to Sandra. That would be the moral thing to do in this situation. Then again, I’m not sure what the returns policy is on sex toys.
I shove it back behind a cushion and wander out into the kitchen, wondering vaguely where I might find a stash of batteries.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I am on a roll. It’s like I have unleashed a whole new side of myself and I spend every spare moment feverishly writing about Bella Rose and Daxx’s new life in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I channel all the conversations that I’ve had over the last few weeks about the need to portray honest, real, messy sex and I let Bella Rose and Daxx take their relationship to a whole, new level. I still don’t think that I can be deliberately funny and I know that’s a potential problem but at least I’ve finally mastered sexy, so that’s something.
And success clearly breeds success, because yesterday I had a rather interesting email from Binky. She said that she didn’t want me to get overly excited because it’s all at the very initial stages right now and these things often fizzle out before they can ever amount to anything – but that a production company has enquired about the performance rights to More Than Sex and she wanted to keep me in the loop. She said that there probably wouldn’t be any more information for months and that I should put it of my mind, which obviously, I totally have.
And even better is that I finally have a title. It was right there when I woke up the morning after the sex party and it’s so perfect that I can’t believe it took me so long to figure it out. If my first book was called More Than Sex because it was supposed to be an exploration of the deep emotional connection that two people can have (well, that wasn’t my actual intention at the start but it sounds good now) then my second book is an expose on how those same two people can plunge the depths of their sexuality and learn about themselves in the process.
I’m calling it So Much Sex.
Because there is. So freaking much that it makes me want to squeal in excitement. I am a genuine writer of erotica and I am ready to embrace it all. I’m even imagining a life where my books are made into bonkbuster, blockbuster movies and I can spend my days wandering around on set, drinking Triple-Venti-Soy-No-Foam Lattes in an ecofriendly cup. I know that writing books hasn’t exactly made me a ton of money but I’m pretty sure that selling the performance rights would be a tasty deal. Especially when what I’m writing now is so damn steamy.
And who in their right mind wouldn’t want to see a scene like the one I’ve just written on the big screen?
Bella Rose was lying in bed reading her book when Daxx entered the room. His eyes lit up at the sight of her and she suppressed a small sigh. It wasn’t that she didn’t find him sexy – she really did. It was just that she’d got to a really good bit in her book and was reluctant to put it down.
‘What are you doing?’ murmured Daxx, sliding in between the sheets and moving his hand across her body.
‘What does it look like?’ she retorted, rolling her eyes. ‘I’m enjoying my book.’
Daxx flexed his arm muscles, which were becoming surprisingly well developed since he’d taken up competitive lumberjacking. ‘How about you enjoy me instead?’
Bella Rose peeled his hand off her thigh and shuffled further to the left.
‘Get back on your own side of the bed,’ she told him, trying to focus on the page. ‘You’re distracting me.’
‘We don’t have sides of the bed,’ Daxx said huskily, leaning closer to her. ‘We just have one giant playground of luuuuurrrrve.’
Bella Rose tried not to rise to the bait. He knew exactly how she felt on this subject. Only fools or psychopaths didn’t have their own side of the bed, everyone knew that. The jury was out on which one applied to Daxx, but Bella Rose rather suspected that he didn’t have the intelligence to be a psychopath.
She continued to read for another minute, ignoring Daxx’s presence at her side. There was a plot twist imminent, she could sense it, and there was no way that she could stop reading now. Clutching the book firmly in her hands, her eyes widened as she turned the page and eagerly scanned the words.
‘Who is King Duncan and why does Lady Macbeth want him dead?’ Daxx’s voice jolted her back into the room.
She lowered the book and glared at him. ‘Because he was an irritating sod who read her book over her shoulder.’
Daxx grinned. ‘I bet he’d have made it up to her if he’d had the chance.’
Bella Rose shook her head but she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.
‘Fine,’ she told him. ‘But it’d better be worth it.’
Daxx pulled her towards him and she closed her eyes, letting him do his funky thing. It wasn’t unrelaxing lying here, she mused to herself. Daxx was a creature of habit and, like a lot of men in Bella Rose’s experience, had a signature move. It was a bit like a sexual version of dot-to-dot – his hands went here and then they went there and in a second he would move down to—
‘Is that good?’ he asked, his voice laden with desire.
‘So good,’ Bella Rose replied, like she always did.
But then she had a thought. And it was a thought so radical that she almost laughed. She had no idea what Daxx would think and the last thing she wanted to do was make him feel insecure – but he was a big boy and he’d cope. And he had disrupted her reading time – he owed her.
‘Actually, Daxx,’ she muttered. ‘Move to the side, just a bit.’
He stilled and she could feel his panic.
‘It’s good,’ she assured him. ‘But it could be better. If you just move a teensy bit to the right.’
‘Better?’ Daxx seemed to be struggling to understand.
‘Better for me,’ she explained. ‘Sexier. Look – I’ll show you what I like and then you can copy me.’
Daxx’s head snapped up. ‘What?’
Bella Rose shrugged. ‘I know what works for me.’
Daxx blinked rapidly and then nodded. ‘Show me what to do,’ he breathed. ‘I want to pleasure you and send you to the headiest of heights. I want to be the greatest lover that you have ever had. Show me how to make you—’
‘Less talking,’ suggested Bella Rose, placing one finger on his lips. ‘That would be an excellent start.’
And then she put her hand on his head and gently guided him down the bed where she could only hope that he would be taking mental notes because as far as she could tell he wasn’t equipped with either pen or paper. Not that it mattered if it took him some time to get the hang of it. She would be happy to demonstrate for as long as was needed.
I spend the next week either writing or teaching and by Friday I am almost two thirds of the way through my first draft. Which means that I can allow myself to take a bit of time off and start preparing the house for the weekend. I drop the kids at school and then I race home and start the first load of laundry going in the machine before grabbing the vacuum cleaner and blitzing the entire house.
It. Takes. Forever. I know that I’ve been busier lately and haven’t had as much time to get housework done but I did have a big chat with Nick, Scarlet and Benji about them all pulling their weight and they assured me that they would. From the state of the house, however, I think it is safe to assume that they have mostly been pulling their weight from the sofa to the fridge and back again.
I’ve finished with the vacuuming and am making a start on the bathroom when Scarlet barges in through the door.
‘Can I have a shower?’ she asks, as way of greeting.
‘No.’ I turn and wave a sponge at her. ‘Nobody is using this bathroom before he gets here, is that understood? Also – how come you’re home so early again?’
‘I told you I had a free period, last lesson,’ she moans. ‘Honestly. Nobody ever listens to me around here. It’s like you all go deaf when I start speaking. Also – how would y
ou feel if I started dating someone who had a nasallang piercing?’
I bend back over the sink and resume my polishing of the taps. ‘I’m pretty sure that they’re called study periods, not free periods,’ I say, ignoring her other comment. ‘On account of the fact that you’re supposed to stay at school and do some studying during that time.’
‘Why are you doing all this?’ she asks, dumping her bag on the floor and perching on the edge of the bath. ‘I’ve never seen the house look so tidy, not even at Christmas.’
I rub determinedly at a lump of toothpaste that has clearly been attached to the tap for half a decade, judging by its refusal to be removed. ‘It’s his first weekend home,’ I tell her. ‘I just want everything to look nice and welcoming.’
‘He’s going to think he’s walked into the wrong house,’ mutters Scarlet. ‘You do know that he’s been living in a flat with seven other people, don’t you? I really don’t think he’s going to care about how shiny the bathroom taps are.’
‘I care,’ I snap back. ‘Now instead of hanging about here making stupid comments you can go and put the kettle on.’
Scarlet nods dolefully and stands up.
‘I should have known that it’d be like this. It was foretold in biblical times. The prodigal son is returning and so I, Cinderella, have to spend my time in the kitchen.’
‘You are aware that those are two different stories?’ I ask, moving onto the mirror. ‘And that Cinderella isn’t a character from the Bible?’
Scarlet shrugs. ‘Whatever. I’m going to my room, unless you’ve decided that Dylan should have two bedrooms and I have to sleep in the garden shed? Maybe I’ll just move in with Granny and make it easy for you.’
She picks up her bag and flounces out of the bathroom and I reminded again of the need to force my mother to tell me exactly why Scarlet has been asking her for advice.
‘Put the kettle on before you go!’ I yell after her. ‘And don’t touch anything else in the kitchen. And don’t eat any of the food – it’s for the weekend.’
Faking It: The most hilarious and laugh out loud page turner you’ll read this year! Page 24
