No-One Ever Has Sex On A Tuesday: A Very Funny Romantic Novel

by Tracy Bloom

  She managed to drape herself around his neck, pressing her mouth right up to his ear.

  “Steal the bloody puffin,” she hissed. “Whilst I’m distracting everyone.” She withdrew to leave a visibly shaken Rick looking nervously around. She groaned again tugging wildly at his hand.

  Finally the realisation of what was happening dawned on Rick and a smile started to emerge. He turned to a frozen Braindead.

  “You get Katy to the car, we have towels and hot water there,” he shouted so the entire pub could hear. “Can someone help them please?” Those on the surrounding tables swarmed to surround Braindead and Katy whilst Rick idly stuffed Gloria up his shirt before going to find Ben.

  “Oh my god Katy. Oh my god. What the fuck. Are you OK? Does it hurt? What shall I do?” panted Ben as he skidded into the car where she was sitting quietly with a fully informed Braindead, the pub well-wishers having retreated inside.

  “Got ya,” Katy and Braindead yelled in unison.

  “Do we have Gloria?” asked Braindead, whilst a bewildered Ben looked from one face to another.

  “Of course,” said Rick from behind Ben, pulling the puffin out from under his shirt.

  “Katy, you are the absolute dog’s bollocks,” said Braindead, cradling Gloria on his knee. “And most certainly back in my top five, I don’t care what you say.”

  “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?” asked Ben. “Why aren’t you screaming?”

  “It’s all right, there’s nothing to worry about,” she said, feeling bad as well as pleased he looked so concerned. “I was just faking labour to distract everyone so we could kidnap Gloria,” she continued. “I thought I’d show you how I got my nickname, Queen of Steal,” said Katy to a totally confused Ben. “Not so sensible now eh?”

  Ben said nothing, just sat down on the gravel and put his head in his hands.

  “You alright mate?” asked Rick.

  “I think I’ve just had a near heart attack,” he said eventually. He looked up to see his two best mates grinning away giving Katy high fives.

  “But I guess I can let you off as I have never seen Braindead happier,” said Ben, finally seeing the funny side and collapsing into laughter.

  As they drove home, Rick and Braindead relived Katy’s fake labour over and over again for Ben’s benefit, who was now hysterically laughing whilst stroking her knee protectively.

  That night as they lay in bed Katy felt the need to apologise for giving Ben a fright even if it had given them all one hell of a funny pregnancy story to share.

  “No, I’m sorry,” Ben said in response. “I should have stuck up for you when Rick wouldn’t believe you. I know that you are more than capable of stealing anything if you put your mind to it.”

  “You must be so proud,” laughed Katy.

  “I’m always proud of you,” said Ben, serious for a moment. “More than you’ll ever know.” He leaned forward and gave her a boozy kiss before turning over to fall asleep.

  Katy lay there staring at the ceiling recalling her dramatic performance with a huge amount of self-satisfaction. It was such a relief to know that pregnancy hadn’t zapped her personality entirely. The real Katy Chapman was still alive and kicking and capable of anything. As sleep slowly started to claim her weary body the thought of the dinner party invitation was the only thing to dampen her revived fighting spirit. Tomorrow she would find a way to get out of it, she resolved as she drifted off. Tomorrow she would put Matthew firmly behind her and truly begin preparations for the arrival of her and Ben’s baby.

  Chapter 11

  Matthew had been sitting in his black leather executive chair in his home office for the past two hours staring at a blank spreadsheet on his computer. Occasionally his hands leapt into action and hovered in anticipation over the keyboard only to be pulled back at the last minute and rested back on the padded arms of the chair. Alison had popped in every so often to ask his opinion on possible menu choices for the dinner party on Saturday, such was her excitement at having the first guests over to show her house off to. In fact, as soon as they had got back from the class, she had disappeared behind a fortress of celebrity chef cookbooks. It was the sight of so many patronizing smiles from so many over fed, over paid chefs on the front of these overpriced passports to social acceptability that had forced him to retreat to his inner sanctum.

  Every time Alison had popped in, he bent his head hurriedly over a copy of Income Tax regulations, Volume 6 and asked her not to disturb him again.

  Finally at 11.04pm he selected a box on the screen, top row, two spaces in, and typed the word Katy before quickly deleted it.

  Come on, he said to himself through gritted teeth. He couldn’t understand it. Normally this was exactly what he needed to sort his head out. A beautifully mapped out spreadsheet usually had the capacity to transform him from a bumbling wreck to a master of his mind and faculties.

  It was Alison who had first led him to develop a fetish for this mind altering activity. In their early dating days she had been horrified that he didn’t know where he wanted to be in ten years’ time. His lack of focus in all areas of his life had driven her demented but eventually she had relished his indecision and taken it upon herself to turn him into the man she knew he could become.

  So, one evening, when he thought he was dropping by to pick her up and go to the cinema, she dragged him into her kitchen. There with the help of several pieces of A3 paper and a variety of coloured marker pens, she had bit by bit encouraged, cajoled and dragged out of him what he should do with his life. By the end of the evening he was exhausted if not a little emotional having admitted things to her that he hadn’t even admitted to himself.

  Two days later in the post came a beautifully-typed-up chart entitled MATTHEW’S PLAN complete with timelines and a to-do list. She had made it all seem so simple. So simple that before the morning was out he had picked up the phone and requested a prospectus from a college running evening accountancy courses. He had also rung the mate who was temporarily sleeping on his couch and told him that if he wasn’t out by the weekend he would be charging rent. The feeling of progress was so good that he soon found he was doing charts on the spreadsheet function of his computer for all manner of tricky situations. Which job offer to take once he had qualified as an accountant? His criteria for selecting his first company car? How to ask Alison to marry him? How they were going to afford endless fertility treatment? He had them all filed away on the hard disc under the title THIS IS YOUR LIFE MATTHEW CHESTERMAN. Password protected of course.

  But tonight the magic of the spreadsheet was failing him. Tonight its special powers would not work to focus his mind in the right place. He knew deep down that he had nothing to decide. Katy had taken care of it. She had called the shots and decreed that all possible consequences of their one night stand should be ignored. How relieved he ought to be feeling. How relieved that he didn’t need to construct the spreadsheet entitled TAKING CARE OF THREE CHILDREN ALL AT ONCE. But he didn’t feel relieved, that was the whole point, and the damn spreadsheet wouldn’t help him work out why. Or perhaps he just couldn’t bring himself to do a spreadsheet entitled, WHY KATY MAKES ME FEEL LIKE I GOT MATTHEW’S PLAN ALL WRONG.

  In the absence of a seriously soothing spreadsheet, Matthew found himself the following day pacing up and down the pavement in front of Katy’s office. After twenty painful minutes he finally walked through the doors and strode up to the pink-haired, pierced-lipped receptionist and asked to see Ms Chapman. She buzzed through to Katy’s PA via a headset and helped him negotiate with Louise the opportunity for him to wait in Katy’s office until she came out of a meeting. She did this whilst also whipping him up a decaf latte from the fully-equipped coffee bar that stood behind her.

  He was now sitting staring at a gilt-framed Smash Hits poster of Patrick Swayze in his Dirty Dancing days in Katy’s highly individual office. He could still picture the same poster on Katy’s bedroom wall all those years ago. It seemed to Matthew that
he’d spent a lot of time thinking about his teenage years since he had seen Katy again. It had been bothering him as to whether the teenage boy he was then would be impressed with the man he was now.

  He jumped as his phone buzzed at him from his belt clip. Unhooking it he saw Ian’s name flash on the screen.

  “What do you want? I’m busy,” said Matthew under his breath, afraid Louise, who was right outside the door, might hear.

  “Where are you? You sound funny?” asked Ian.

  “You really don’t want to know,” Matthew whispered.

  “Oh come on. The minute you say that then of course I must insist on knowing exactly where you are. But if you tell me you’ve gone down to that new lap dancing bar without me for a quickie at lunchtime, I will have to kill you.”

  “Believe me, I am not in a lap dancing bar.”

  Louise looked up far too quickly, making it obvious she had heard what Matthew had said. Matthew turned his back on her in what he hoped was a casual manner.

  “OK, so not a lap dancing bar. Are you with any attractive birds?” asked Ian.

  Matthew eyed the stuffed puffin perched on Katy’s desk warily. It had been giving him a very disapproving glare ever since he had sat down.

  “You could say there are birds involved, yes,” admitted Matthew.

  “Interesting,” said Ian. “Are they naked?”

  Matthew switched his gaze to the filing cabinet in the corner of the room on which stood the plaster cast of Katy’s pregnant belly and breasts. He knew it was her because there was a handy plaque on the plinth stating her name and, surprisingly, her newly acquired cup size.

  “Are you still there?” said Ian. “Come on answer the question. I’m enjoying this game.”

  “Well I guess you could say that at this particular moment I can see some kind of nakedness yes,” muttered Matthew, glancing nervously over his shoulder at Louise.

  “Wow, and it’s only half past eleven in the morning. You rock Matthew. So who is it? Come on tell me. Are you watching Sue from accounts take her cycling top off through that broken window in the second floor loos?”

  “No I am not.”

  “So who is it then? Tell me now before my head explodes,” insisted Ian.

  “Well I’m actually looking at Katy’s…” started Matthew.

  “Katy? The Katy? Bonus baby Katy?” interrupted Ian.

  “Shut up Ian. That is so inappropriate.”

  “Inappropriate? You can talk. You’re looking at her tits.”

  “They are not her real tits. Look, I’m in her office. I’ll tell you why later but there is this sort of sculpture of her naked pregnant body.”

  “Wow. Just give me a moment whilst I take in what you have just said,” said Ian.

  The line went quiet.

  “OK, I now have the scene in my head. Now concentrate, the next question is really important. Are you alone in the office?” asked Ian.

  “Err yes. Katy didn’t know I was coming so I’m waiting for her to finish in a meeting.”

  “Good. So tell me. Have you?”

  “Have I what?”

  “You have haven’t you?

  “Have what?”

  “You know. Had a quick squeeze of the tits.”

  “No I have not,” said a shocked Matthew.

  “Aw come on. No man alone in room with an inanimate object shaped like a naked woman is going to resist a quick grope.”

  “Not all men are like you Ian.”

  “Don’t give me that. I just have the guts to say what everyone else is thinking,” said Ian. “So come on. Don’t you at least want to know if they feel different now that she’s pregnant?”

  Matthew peered over his shoulder to see if Louise was still sniffing around. Her chair was empty.

  “Go on. Just a quick one for the boys Matthew. Are you a man or a machine? I’ll never let you live it down if you don’t,” continued Ian.

  “Oh for goodness’ sake,” said Matthew as he got up and strode over to the figure. “I’m doing it OK? Satisfied now?” he barked down the phone as he cupped the left breast with his right hand.

  “Oh totally and utterly,” purred a voice from the doorway.

  “Shit,” exclaimed Matthew, throwing his phone on the floor and pulling his hand away at lightning speed.

  “Don’t you think it’s just marvellous,” continued the perfectly posed man, one hand on thrust out hip whilst the other leaned against the door frame. “And to have such a fine specimen as yourself truly appreciate my handiwork is such a complement. I’m Daniel by the way. Creative genius behind the object of your admiration.”

  “Hi. I’m Matthew. I’m so sorry, I was just er…”

  “Matthew you say?” asked Daniel.

  “Yes Matthew. I’m just waiting for Katy.”

  “I see,” said Daniel, not hiding the fact that he was giving Matthew a good look up and down. “I’m impressed,” he said finally. “She never said you were so handsome.”

  There was an awkward silence only interrupted by the sound of Ian squeaking from the phone lying somewhere on the floor.

  “The brand manager for Crispy Bix is a complete and utter bitch,” said Katy as she swept past Daniel into her office.

  She stopped in her tracks at the sight of Matthew still hovering next to her naked body.

  “Matthew, what the hell are you doing here?” she said glancing nervously between him, Daniel and the plaster cast.

  “He was just admiring your baby shower present,” said Daniel with a smug smile. “You see some people appreciate true art Katy.”

  “No really, I wasn’t doing anything,” said Matthew. “I was just seeing what it was made of. Such an interesting texture. Yes, really interesting. You must tell me how you did it Daniel?”

  “Actually he was touching your breasts,” Daniel told Katy. “As if that didn’t get him in enough trouble last time.”

  “Daniel,” exclaimed Katy.

  “So must dash. I have other meetings to gatecrash,” said Daniel. “I shall speak to you later,” he said pointedly at Katy as he left.

  Katy shut the door firmly behind him.

  “My God, why on earth did you have to tell him?” asked Matthew, making his getaway from the proximity of the plaster cast and picking up his now silent phone.

  “Well I had to talk to someone and despite appearances I know can trust him.”

  “Really? Looked like your typical bitchy, gossipy gay guy to me,” said Matthew as he perched on the edge of the desk, causing the puffin to wobble alarmingly.

  “Be careful of Gloria,” said Katy, leaping over to steady the bird.

  “Gloria? It has a name? Why exactly have you got a stuffed puffin in your office Katy?”

  “We stole her last night.”

  “Who did?”

  “Me and Ben and a couple of his mates.”

  Matthew stared at her, saying nothing.

  “What? What’s the matter?” asked Katy.

  Matthew found he couldn’t get any words out.

  “Matthew, why are you standing there with a disappointed look on your face?” Katy asked eventually whilst eyeing a copy of Gina Ford falling out of his briefcase.

  Matthew hastily stuffed The Contented Little Baby Book back in his bag.

  “Alison gave it to me this morning and told me to memorise the 0-6 weeks routine over my lunch hour,” explained Matthew.

  “How super,” said Katy. “Very sensible of course. But please can you wipe that disappointed look off your face.”

  “I’m not disappointed in you,” said Matthew, turning away from her. “I’m actually disappointed that in no part of my life would I ever get caught up in stealing a stuffed puffin.”

  Katy looked confused.

  He spun back round to look at her. “I would have stolen a stuffed puffin though, wouldn’t I? When I was younger I mean? I was fun then wasn’t I?” he asked with a slightly desperate tone in his voice.

  “I don’t think you sh
ould be judging your life by your ability to steal a stuffed puffin,” said Katy, clearly at a loss at Matthew’s distress.

  “It’s just that I go to work and talk about stupid bloody tax all day and I come home and talk about baby routines and whether we should be bathing at 5.45pm or 6pm and other bullshit like that,” he said, kicking the side of his briefcase where the baby boot camp bible lurked.

  He was quiet for a moment, lost in thought. Katy fidgeted with her post-it notes.

  “And I don’t even have a plant in my office never mind a stuffed puffin or a cast of my naked body or a picture of Patrick Swayze,” said Matthew, pointing at the faded poster.

  “Well I will always love Patrick Swayze,’” said Katy quietly.

  “I know you will,” said Matthew, banging the desk with his hand making Katy and Gloria jump. “I’ve been sitting here thinking about us driving down to Devon and you making me listen to that bloody Dirty Dancing tape the whole way.”

  “I didn’t make you. You were singing your head off,” said Katy.

  “I know I was, and that’s just it Katy. I never sing anymore. What’s happened to me?” Matthew slumped in the chair. He was starting to think MATTHEW’S PLAN had some serious omissions.

  “So sing now,” said Katy.

  “What?”

  “Sing now.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Oh for goodness’ sake, Matthew. You complain about never singing anymore and now you won’t. Come on, we’ll do it together.”

  Katy stood up and cleared her throat. Thrusting her bump out proudly she began a shockingly bad attempt at the opening bars of I’ve Had the Time of My Life.

  Suddenly he was back in his dad’s Rover; windows wound right down, wind in his hair, music blaring and one hand on Katy’s bare knee as she sang at the top of her voice.

  He found himself laughing at Katy as she got more confident in her memory of the lyrics and began to sway a little as she built up to the chorus.

  “Come on then. Join in. Don’t be shy,” she gasped between lines.

  Matthew started to mumble the lines he couldn’t believe he could still remember. At the end of the chorus Katy fell back in her chair laughing.