Ice and a Slice

by Della Galton

  To her dismay, far from being reassured by her words Tanya put her head in her hands and burst into tears. Noisy, abandoned tears that were so out of control and so unlike Tanya that SJ was horrified. Wanting to cry with her, but doubting this would be very much help, she edged along the tree trunk and put her arm awkwardly around her friend’s shaking shoulders. Why was it so difficult to touch when a hug was one of the most basic forms of comfort you could offer? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d hugged anyone who wasn’t Tom.

  Tanya’s hair smelt of coconut shampoo and Classique perfume and fresh air. SJ hoped she didn’t smell too much like an old ashtray, but Tanya didn’t push her away, just carried on sobbing with her hands over her face.

  SJ didn’t say anything else, because there was absolutely nothing she could think of that wouldn’t have been patronising. Besides, crying was probably the best thing Tanya could do, and she didn’t want to make it any worse. She wished she was better prepared. It would have been good if she could have whisked out a nice clean hanky from her bag to offer, but she knew for a fact it was full of bits of tatty old tissues and a few dog biscuits and three cigarette lighters and several post-its to remind her of things not yet transferred to her diary, which she’d mislaid.

  Then, to her immense relief, Tanya stopped crying almost as suddenly as she’d started. She still looked beautiful – her eyes a little shiny, but no mascara smudges, none of the blotchy skin that afflicted SJ when she bawled her eyes out. SJ almost envied her – she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a good cry.

  “Feeling better?”

  “Much.” Tanya managed a glittery smile. “Thanks, SJ. I should have told you ages ago. I should have known you’d understand, but I haven’t told anyone. Well, I haven’t told anyone normal,” she added paradoxically, “but if I had, I’m sure they wouldn’t have said what you just said.” She retrieved a hanky from her own bag, unfolded its pristine white squares and blew her nose loudly. “About Michael getting in touch with his feminine side, I mean. You’re absolutely right, SJ. I’m sure that’s exactly what he’s doing.”

  “Yes, I’m certain of it,” SJ breathed, relieved to have said something right for a change. “What do you mean, you haven’t told anyone normal?”

  “I got in touch with this helpline – I found their number on the internet. And since then I’ve been talking to this girl called Candice in Wales – she recently found out her husband’s a cross-dresser.”

  “Oh,” SJ said. It was a shock realising that Tanya had chosen to phone an anonymous helpline rather than confide in her. She hadn’t realised they’d drifted so far apart. Tanya didn’t seem to notice her silence. Now she’d got started she couldn’t seem to stop.

  “Candice caught her husband out, too. Apparently, some of them do actually tell their wives. But most of them don’t because they don’t think we’re going to understand. They’re scared we’re going to think they’re perverts, or they want to be women or something.”

  “Hmm!” SJ didn’t much like the thought of Tanya pouring out her heart to this Candice person, day after day. It hurt. In some strange way she felt as though she’d lost something precious; something that, up until that point, had been hers alone.

  “What?” Tanya said.

  “Nothing.” She knew she was being childish. Rationally she could see exactly why Tanya hadn’t wanted to tell her. Scared of saying the wrong thing now she’d actually said something right at last, she said, “So how long ago was it that you found out?”

  “About six months. It was just after Christmas. A freezing cold day in January. Michael had the day off work. Remember that nasty flu virus thing he had? Well, I’d nipped back home because I’d forgotten something for a meeting. I was in a tearing hurry and I raced upstairs and…” She hesitated.

  “Go on, love,” SJ murmured, fascinated.

  “Well, he was in bed with the duvet pulled up round his ears, but there was this really odd atmosphere in the room. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first. To be honest I thought he might have been – you know – having a quick…”

  “Wank,” SJ supplied helpfully.

  “Yes. I could have coped with that. I mean, all men do it, don’t they? But then I noticed the drawer of my dressing table was slightly open. First of all, I thought I’d left it like that. But I knew I hadn’t.”

  “No,” SJ acknowledged, thinking that, had their positions been reversed, she wouldn’t have noticed an open drawer – but Tanya was Miss Organised. All the clothes in her wardrobe were hung in colour co-ordinated rows.

  “And when I went to close it – it was my knicker drawer – I saw all my stuff was in a mess, like someone had been rummaging through it, and I knew I hadn’t left it like that. And I could smell my Classique scent quite strongly. And I’d left home a couple of hours ago so I knew it wasn’t from when I’d put it on.

  “I went over to Michael and he was still holding the duvet up round his neck like he was hiding something. And he smelt of Classique. He must have put some on himself. He was looking at me really strangely. I pulled the duvet off him – half-messing around like you do – and that’s when I saw he had my bra on. My expensive white silk one that he’d given me for Christmas.”

  SJ nodded, trying to imagine what she’d feel like if she caught Tom in one of her best bras. She’d probably be more worried about him splitting it than anything else. She didn’t have much decent underwear and Tom was broad-chested.

  “So what did he say?”

  “Nothing at first. He just gave me this stricken glance and then his face kind of crumpled. It was awful, SJ. He burst into tears. I’d never seen him cry before – except at his mum’s funeral, and when we lost Maddie.” Her voice fractured and she swallowed hard before she could continue. “He was sobbing and sobbing and in between he kept telling me how sorry he was, how he’d been meaning to tell me for ages, but he was scared I’d leave him if he did.”

  “The poor love.”

  “I know, but I didn’t feel like that at first. The only thing that really registered was that it wasn’t just a one-off. He must have been dressing up in my clothes for ages and I didn’t know. How could he keep something like that from me?”

  “I don’t know,” SJ said honestly. “It must have been a dreadful shock.”

  “Yes, it was. I was so angry with him. I punched him.”

  “Bloody hell. Why?”

  “I’m not sure. But I felt so betrayed. We’ve been married fifteen years, SJ. I thought I knew him inside out. And he looked so pathetic, sitting up in bed, sobbing his heart out with one bra strap hanging over his shoulder. It was just gut reaction. I knew he was hurting, but I wanted him to hurt more. That’s terrible, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t think it’s terrible. I think it’s natural. I mean, he could have picked one of your old bras, couldn’t he? Inconsiderate bugger!”

  Tanya snorted and gulped and for a moment SJ thought she would cry again, but then she smiled. “You always see the funny side of everything, don’t you?”

  “I’m not laughing at you.”

  “No, I know. And actually I can see the funny side now I’ve had a few months to get used to it. Well, sometimes I can. Other times I just get depressed, but talking to other women in the same situation helps.”

  SJ had a sudden vivid image of Michael, his blue-eyed, boyish face, the way his fair hair flopped endearingly over his eyes. He was the same age as Tom – forty-two, but he could have got away with being early thirties, no problem. She’d always liked him – probably because of what she’d said to Tanya earlier. Michael was sensitive and gentle and always ready to offer a friendly ear if anyone was upset. He didn’t gloss over matters of the heart with a joke and a stoical shrug, as Tom tended to do. And he was great on feminine problems too.

  Tanya had once told her that Michael had searched the internet for an organic recipe guaranteed to relieve tender breasts (which she suffered from just before her period) and then he�
�d made it up for her.

  SJ couldn’t imagine Tom doing any such thing. He wouldn’t even buy Tampax – well, not from the chemist. He could manage if he was going to the supermarket and he could slip a box under the frozen peas.

  Tanya sighed. “I’ve felt a lot better since I got in touch with Candice. She’s been brilliant. We email each other most days and she texts me a lot, too.”

  SJ swallowed another little stab of jealousy. “And there was me thinking you were having an affair,” she said, and clapped her hands over her mouth – why couldn’t she remember to engage her brain before speaking?

  But Tanya didn’t look upset, just amused. “An affair? God, no. I couldn’t have an affair, SJ. I love Michael. I adore him. Even if he does get off on knicker nicking.” She gave a little laugh at the weak joke, and SJ found herself joining in. It was good to laugh; it chased away the pain, as laughter always did.

  “Does it affect – you know – sex and stuff?” she asked curiously.

  Tanya gave her a swift sideways glance. “Actually, it’s made our sex life better. Michael’s much more relaxed than he used to be. Although I do draw the line at calling him Lizzie when we’re in bed.”

  “Lizzie!”

  “Mmm.” Tanya went slightly pink. “That’s the name he wants to be called when he’s dressed up. I keep telling him I don’t mind having a friend called Lizzie, but I don’t fancy sleeping with her.”

  “No.” SJ looked at her thoughtfully and wondered if she was dealing with all this quite as well as she appeared to be. Granted, she had known about it for a few months – and she’d had a chance to get used to the idea. But it must have changed the whole dynamic of their relationship. It wasn’t as if Michael had just told her he’d like to tie her to the bed with pink fluffy handcuffs or try out a more adventurous position. “Are you really okay?” she asked softly.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” Tanya smiled a little too brightly. “I should have told you before.” She folded up her hanky and put it back in her bag. Then she reapplied her lipstick – putting it on perfectly without the aid of a mirror.

  SJ had always envied her ability to do that. If she’d tried to put on lipstick without looking at what she was doing, she’d have ended up with the mouth of a clown. Not that she wore lipstick much. She just bunged it on before she left the house and forgot about it. She certainly didn’t carry it around with her for repeated application.

  Tanya finished what she was doing. “It was worse than Maddie when I first found out,” she said. “Because Maddie had happened to both of us and this was something that Michael had kept from me. I felt awfully alone. Does that make sense?”

  “Perfect sense,” SJ said with feeling, and Tanya gave what SJ knew to be a sigh of utter relief – the aftermath of sharing a secret carried too long.

  She tried to imagine what they must look like, had anyone been around eavesdropping. Two intelligent educated professional women sitting on a rotting tree trunk in the middle of the forest discussing problems you’d usually only see bandied about on the Jerry Springer show; problems that had snuck up on them without as much as a by your leave. However had it come to this?

  Chapter Twelve

  Although SJ wasn’t planning to visit S.A.A.D again, she thought quite a lot about what Kit had said over the next few days. And there was one question he’d asked that particularly played on her mind.

  When had she first noticed she was drinking more than socially? This, she decided, was worth thinking about. She couldn’t remember getting drunk very much when she was younger, or even thinking too much about alcohol. As a teenager, she’d been to the occasional college party where she’d had a few too many, but she didn’t remember it ever being a problem.

  As she tried to recall the half-forgotten parties it struck her that in those days it had been Alison who was more likely to get into trouble with drinking than she was.

  When Alison was fifteen and SJ was eighteen, SJ had been persuaded to take her to a barbecue on Sandbanks Beach. Sandbanks Beach, according to the college friend who’d invited her, was the best place for a beach party on the whole of the south coast, if not the country.

  “Ali’s too young to go to a beach party,” she’d told her mother. “Everyone will be drinking.” And possibly smoking joints, but she’d thought it best not to mention that.

  “Well, surely you can keep an eye on her for a couple of hours?”

  No, actually. SJ was far more interested in keeping an eye on Jed Tyler, who had darkly attractive bad boy looks and a reputation to match. And she’d heard on the grapevine that he’d been asking about her. A beach party was the perfect place to get to know him better.

  “Either you take your sister – or you don’t go!”

  “Mum. That is totally unfair.”

  “I mean it, Sarah-Jane. It won’t hurt you, and your father and I are going out for dinner. I don’t want Ali on her own all evening.”

  SJ wasn’t surprised to hear that. The last time Ali had been left on her own she’d raided Mum and Dad’s drinks cabinet – and she and a boy from youth club had got legless. One of them had been sick on the stairs, which wouldn’t have been so bad if the stair carpet hadn’t been new and beige. Now there was a conspicuous stain which no amount of scrubbing would remove.

  “I don’t really have a choice then, do I?” SJ grumbled.

  “No, you don’t.”

  The day of the barbecue was the hottest of the year. SJ had half hoped it would rain and be cancelled. But as they got on the Bournemouth train she cheered up a bit.

  After all, keeping an eye on her sister didn’t mean they had to be joined at the hip. Maybe there’d even be other kids Ali could tag along with, although SJ wasn’t holding out too much hope of this.

  “So what’s his name – this guy you fancy?” Ali asked as they left the train station and walked to catch the bus that would take them the rest of the way to the beach.

  “Who said I fancy anyone?” SJ said, startled at her sister’s perception.

  “You spent twice as long as usual putting on your make up. And you don’t normally wear short skirts.” Alison heaved the rucksack she was carrying off her shoulders and rested it against the back of the bus shelter. It clinked suspiciously and SJ wondered just how many bottles of wine were in there – and who had helped her buy them. The off licence on the corner of their road was owned by a friend of Dad’s so she couldn’t have got them there.

  “I hope you’re not planning to get paralytic, Ali, because I’m not carrying you home. Where did you get the money from anyway?”

  “I used Dad’s emergency taxi fund. Well – we’ll be getting the bus back, won’t we, so we don’t need it.”

  SJ sighed. Luckily she had some money with her anyway. She’d got a holiday job as a chambermaid and she’d been saving for a dress she’d seen in Next. She’d nearly bought it today, but the girl had said it might well be in the sale if she waited another week.

  Alison smiled disarmingly and bent to tie up the laces on her Doc Martens. Neither of them was wearing the outfits they’d planned for the evening – they’d never have got past Dad if they had. Alison was dressed in her usual T-shirt and jeans and SJ had her old baggy (but very comfy) leggings on.

  “You did put my tights in, didn’t you?” SJ said, suddenly remembering Alison had whisked away the rucksack before she’d finished putting her stuff in – so she could sneak in the bottles of wine without their parents seeing.

  “Course,” Alison winked. “Do you want to see what I spent my birthday money on?” Alison gestured to her stomach and SJ gasped as she cottoned on.

  “You haven’t got a belly button ring? Mum will absolutely kill you if she finds out.”

  “She won’t find out.” Alison smiled artlessly.

  The bus arrived and SJ picked up the rucksack which was, she judged, at least three-bottles-of-wine heavy. Once they were installed in seats at the back, Alison lifted up her T-shirt and showed SJ the gold ring. “It mat
ches the ones in my ears.”

  “Isn’t it sore?”

  “Not really. Anyway, looking good’s worth a bit of discomfort, don’t you think?”

  SJ wriggled her toes in her favourite pumps, which were on the tight side but had been in an end of season sale, and frowned. “Sometimes, maybe.”

  They changed in the public loos in the car park just before they got to the beach. Alison produced a miniscule T-shirt from the rucksack and swapped it for the oversized one she was wearing. Then she tugged off her jeans, pulled on a miniskirt, even shorter than SJ’s black leather one, and slipped on a pair of very pretty sandals.

  “Hey, that’s my ankle chain,” SJ said, annoyed.

  “Is it? I thought it was mine.”

  “Course you did.” SJ tutted in irritation. “Well, just be careful you don’t break it.”

  Alison grinned and flicked gel through her blond hair. She looked stunning – and much older than fifteen.

  “Well, there’s no point in having a belly button ring if you don’t show it off, is there?”

  “No,” SJ agreed, picking up a tiny black T-shirt that was rolled up in the bottom of the rucksack and frowning. “I can’t see my tights.”

  “They’re definitely there.” Alison leaned across her and SJ caught a waft of alcohol on her breath. She must have sneaked a drink earlier. Oh dear, that wasn’t a good start.

  “Oh,” Alison said, as the T-shirt unravelled to reveal the words Rock Star in gold leaf on the front. “Sorry – I must have picked that up by mistake. You did say your black tights, didn’t you?”

  “I said the ones on the bed – the sheer ones!” SJ could have screamed with frustration. No way did she have the nerve to go bare – she hated her legs at the best of times and she didn’t even have a tan.

  “I didn’t do it on purpose.”