by Emlyn Rees
‘To go fuck himself, because I’m certainly not going to. Not any more.’
With that, she’s gone, back into the house, swinging the door casually shut behind her, without looking round.
Good-looking young man . . .
The words follow me down the driveway like whispered rumours.
I slip the house key into my pocket and walk towards the Skip with my back straight, just like I imagine Sir Gawain might do. I feel good. I feel noble and brave. I feel like I’m on the way up, and I guess I am. After all, I have just started working for myself.
It’s only as I’m getting into the Skip that I realise that – even though it was Amy who put both of us in touch – Jessie didn’t mention her, not once, not once during the whole time we talked.
Neither did I.
7
Amy
Even Educated Fleas Do It
It’s eight o’clock in the evening and I’m knackered. Louis and Finny have been here this afternoon playing with Ben and, together, they’ve comprehensively detonated our flat. They’ve had all the toys out and the sandpit and topped it all with a food fight. I’m just scooping up the last of the blobs of jelly from the patio, when I realise Jack’s home and he’s crept up on me.
He enfolds me in a tight hug as I stand up and I turn in his arms and put my head on his chest. It feels lovely and I let out a long sigh. I always forget what an amazing hugger Jack is and how I fit him like a jigsaw piece. Being in his arms always makes me feel like a woman again and not just a robotic dustpan and brush. I listen to the regular, unruffled thump of his heart and, for one second, in my otherwise hectic day, I have a moment of unadulterated peace.
But I can’t stop for long. I’m too excited. I’m burning to know whether he got the job doing Jessie’s garden.
So I pull back. I’m just about to ask, when I notice his face.
‘What happened to your lip?’ His lip’s thicker at the top. It looks like it’s been bleeding too, like he’s been punched.
‘Oh, that,’ he says, touching it. ‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing? It doesn’t look like nothing. What happened?’
Jack wrinkles up his nose. ‘You know . . . oldest trick in the gardening manual. I stood on a rake and it whacked me in the face.’
I laugh and stroke his hair. ‘Oh, my poor darling. Did it hurt?’
‘It took me by surprise, that’s all. It was my own stupid fault.’
‘You’ve changed.’
‘I have?’
I pull at his T-shirt. It’s yellow and it’s got Close Encounters written on it. ‘Where’s this from?’
‘Oh.’ Jack looks down at it for a moment. ‘The other one got covered in blood. I had to go and buy a new one.’
‘It doesn’t look new.’
‘Er . . . well . . . um . . . it’s not supposed to. It’s supposed to look distressed. Retro. It’s the fashion.’
‘But –’
Jack leans in close. ‘Hey, forget about it,’ he interrupts, putting his forefinger under my chin and pulling my face up towards his. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
I always had a bit of a thing for Jack when he used to do his art. I used to find him so sexy when he was all covered in paint, his eyes tired and seductive from concentrating so hard. It was the same when he started working for Greensleeves. I liked him seducing me when he came back from work and was all rugged and dirty, but it’s been ages since he last did that. Seeing the question in his eyes takes me by surprise.
He kisses me. His lip tastes tinny and swollen. I pull away.
‘Ah . . . ah, you’re not going anywhere,’ he says, pulling me back.
‘Jack –’
‘Shhh.’ He kisses me again.
‘But –’
‘Where’s Ben?’ he asks, softly.
‘Asleep.’
‘And Kate?’
‘Out.’
‘Good.’
He kisses me harder. I put my hands on his chest.
‘Hang on. Stop-stop-stop-a-minute. Did you get it?’
‘What?’
‘The job with Jessie, of course?’
‘Uh-huh.’
I squeal with delight, and throw my arms around his neck. I’m so chuffed. ‘We’ve got to celebrate!’
‘Er . . . excuse me . . . but that’s exactly what I am doing, Mrs Rossiter,’ he says, picking me up and twirling me round. Then he starts kissing me and talking to me at the same time, as he walks me backwards, treading on the back of his boots to take them off and I giggle.
‘But . . . but . . . what happened?’ I ask between kisses. I need to know more. I need to know all about Jessie. This is too exciting.
‘When?’
‘At Jessie’s place?’
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he grabs my bum and pulls me up hard against him. There’s no mistaking what’s on his mind and in his shorts. He growls and I laugh.
‘What’s her place like?’ I persist.
‘OK.’ His voice is husky and urgent. He’s not taking much notice of what I’m saying.
‘Only OK? What about her, did you meet her?’
‘Uh-huh.’ He pulls at my belt and undoes the buckle.
‘And?’ I ask. ‘What’s she like?’
‘You know. Nothing special. A bit lumpy. On the turn.’
He kisses me again. ‘On the turn’ is Jack’s expression to describe older women, who, in his opinion, are irredeemably past their best. It’s a sexist, ageist, horror of a phrase, but I always find it funny, on account of the fact that he never says it about me.
Jack snakes his hand up my T-shirt and flips my bra strap open. I laugh and let out a yelp, as he manoeuvres me into the sitting room and towards the sofa.
‘I shall have you, wife,’ he says in a funny posh voice. ‘Prepare yourself!’
But I’m not prepared. He can’t just bust in on me like this. I’ve got to pee. I’ve got to change out of my comfy mummy pants and into something sexier. I need make-up, perfume, mouthwash . . .
Because, unlike Jack’s, my libido is still fast asleep. Despite being pleased with his amorous advances and wanting to respond to him, I find it much harder than him to flip into horny mode.
Don’t get me wrong, I adore having sex with him, but my sexuality gets constantly battered down by the sheer weight of domestic stuff I do every day. Because, for me, wanting to have sex is totally incompatible with nappy changing and feeding a kid and cooking and shopping and the endless cleaning up I do. It’s a whole side of my personality that gets lost and buried whenever Ben’s around.
Jack topples me on to the sofa and I yelp again as something digs into my back. Jack looks behind me, and pulls out the Bob the Builder truck from between the sofa cushions and wings it across the room.
‘Come here, gorgeous,’ he says, in his normal voice now.
I want to feel horny, I do, really. I want this. I want to be the girl Jack thinks of me as, but I can’t help it, my mind is still in daytime mode.
So as Jack moves on top of me, all I can think about is whether I’ve put the dishwasher on, and what we’ll have for dinner. I persevere, trying to think sexy thoughts, but I keep coming back to Prime Suspect and Strictly Come Dancing in my head, and then I’m on to internet shopping. Should I go for that little blouse on the Topshop site, or would I look ridiculous?
Jack must sense that my head is elsewhere, because after a while he stops. He goes into the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
I pull my knees up under me and smile at him.
‘So?’ he says and I know immediately that he understands me well enough to sense exactly what’s going on in my head. He pops open the wine and pours me a glass.
‘I wish you’d tell me more about your day, that’s all.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘You know what I want to know. Everything.’
Actually, what I want to know is whether Jessie mentioned me. Whether Jack knows what I’ve
been saying. Whether she dropped any hints about my rants on her show. If she did, Jack doesn’t seem too upset about it.
‘I mean, did she talk about the radio show?’
‘A bit.’ Jack hands me the glass of wine and comes back to sit next to me on the sofa. His hand wanders across my stomach and I instinctively breathe in. Jack leans up and kisses my neck.
‘Well? What did she say?’
‘I don’t want to talk about her. Not now. Later. I’m more interested in what we were doing,’ he says.
‘OK,’ I say, kissing his forehead. ‘But first . . .’ I say, raising my glass. ‘To you. For being the most fabulous husband in the world. I’m so proud of you, my Jack.’
We clink glasses and my stomach flips over as his eyes meet mine.
And my libido springs into action.
And I’m all his.
And suddenly, we’re lying together naked on the sofa in a sweaty tangle of limbs and it feels great.
‘You know, I was thinking . . . why don’t we put that DVD on?’ Jack whispers.
‘The porn one you got off Matt?’
Jack smiles and raises his eyebrows at me. ‘Why not?’
‘Oh . . . I don’t know. I’m not really –’
‘Come on. Don’t be a prude.’
‘I’m not.’
Actually, I’m just really getting into what we’re doing. I don’t need any distractions.
‘Because, believe me, everyone watches porn,’ he says, moving down between my breasts, kissing the skin across my ribs.
‘Do they? Really?’ I can’t imagine Camilla or Faith watching porn.
‘Of course they do.’
‘Well, I don’t know anyone who does.’
‘That’s because they don’t talk about it. Because it’s un-PC. No one wants to think that they’re doing something dodgy, or supporting something exploitative, but everyone does it all the same.’
‘But –’
‘Come on, it’ll be fun.’
I laugh, as Jack leaps off the sofa and sorts out the DVD. He comes back and sits next to me.
‘OK, pick a number, one to six.’
‘Five.’
‘OK.’
Jack points the remote, presses the scene selection and the film starts. He leans across and kisses me and I kiss him back, but I feel a bit ridiculous, especially when I see what’s going on behind Jack’s head.
‘What’s the matter?’ Jack asks.
‘Nothing.’
‘You’ve gone all tense. What is it?’
‘It’s just that bloke.’
‘Which one?’ Jack turns his head to look at the screen.
‘The one on the right . . . oh no . . . now he’s on the left.’
‘Beside the brunette?’
‘No, the one with the bunches.’
‘What about him?’
‘Well it’s just it’s his . . .’
‘His what?’
I bite my lip. ‘His, you know . . . willy.’
Jack looks closer at the screen. ‘Oh my God! It’s huge.’
‘No it’s not that. It’s just . . . well, don’t you think it looks a bit like Yul Brynner in a turtleneck?’
Jack bursts out laughing and moves from on top of me, to sit beside me. We watch for a moment and our heads both tip over in unison as we follow the lurching camera angle on screen.
‘That can’t be very comfortable?’ Jack says.
‘She doesn’t seem to mind.’
‘The one with the bunches?’
‘No, the one who’s just sat on Yul Brynner.’
I pick up my wine and take a sip. ‘Do you think they discuss it?’ I ask.
‘What?’
‘What they’re going to do. You know, the order they do it in. Like a dance routine.’
‘You mean with a choreographer?’ He watches the screen for a moment. ‘No I reckon it’s more improv.’
‘What, even the dialogue?’ I ask. ‘You don’t think someone’s scripted it?’
‘No, no Rudi,’ Jack says, in a ridiculous accent. ‘Cut. It is not lick pimp. Ve take it from ze top again. Ze line is “Lick my love pump.” OK?’
‘And what about afterwards?’ I ask, laughing. ‘Do you think they shake hands? And swap business cards. And congratulate each other on a job well done?
‘Or even a blow job well done . . .’
We both snigger like schoolkids.
‘Oh well, at least it has a catchy soundtrack,’ I say. ‘Do you think one could purchase it on Amazon?’
‘Now That’s What I Call Baltic Porn Classics Four!’
We’re having such a laugh, that it’s only when I hear a key turning in the front door that I realise that we’re both stark bollock naked.
‘Hiya?’ Kate calls. The front door slams behind her. Jack and I stare at each other, panic-struck.
‘Fuck! Fuck!’ Jack says, catapulting off the sofa and sliding to a stop against the living-room door, whilst I scramble into my jeans and shirt.
I throw Jack his shorts and T-shirt and he just gets them on as I dive for the remote control and manage to turn off the TV, a second before Kate enters.
‘Why’s it all dark in here?’ she says, turning on the light switch. Jack appears from behind the door.
‘That’s funny,’ he said. ‘I thought the light just blew and now you’ve made it work.’
He stares at me like a terrified teenager, before scampering into the kitchen.
‘Oh. Hi there. Had a good evening?’ I ask Kate. My voice sounds weird. I swallow hard, even more freaked out as I notice there’s a guy with her. He’s balding, but quite good-looking and is wearing a scruffy pinstriped suit with a T-shirt and dirty white trainers. I push my hand back through my hair. I must look a right old state.
‘This is Simon,’ Kate says. ‘He dropped me home.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ I say.
As he reaches out his hand for me to shake, I surreptitiously wipe my hand on my T-shirt first. Then he sits down next to Kate on the sofa.
I clear my throat. ‘Well . . . um . . . we were just having some wine. I’ll go and get some more glasses . . .’
I scoot into the kitchen. Jack’s by the sink.
‘You offered them a drink?’ he hisses in alarm. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘I didn’t know what to do,’ I hiss back.
‘Do you think she suspected?’ Jack asks.
‘Yes I do. And that bloke’s sitting on my knickers.’
‘Make an excuse. I’ll see you in the bedroom.’
‘No. No. Don’t leave me. You’ve got to go back in there,’ I beg him.
‘I can’t.’ He looks down and I follow his gaze to his shorts. I can see his point.
Literally.
But I’ve committed to entertaining these unwanted guests. I take another bottle of wine and some more glasses into the living room. It hits me that Kate has described my flat as her home, but I don’t have time to worry about that now.
‘So . . .? Do you work together?’ I say, trying to keep my voice calm. My heart is beating fast. Can they tell I’m sweating? I’m very aware of the fact that I’m not wearing a bra and look like I’m going to a peanut-smuggling convention.
‘Yes, Simon’s my boss. He and I worked on the new Adidas campaign,’ Kate says. She’s obviously showing off to him. ‘You know the one I was telling you about?’
I can’t think straight. I can’t concentrate. I rub my brow. ‘Um . . . yes, I think so,’ I manage.
‘It’s airing tonight,’ Kate says. ‘Hang on. If we turn on, we might be able to catch it and I can show you.’
I watch, in slow motion, as Kate picks up the TV remote and points it at the screen.
She presses the button.
And there we have it.
In Technicolor glory.
Goran and Rudi . . . now joined by another couple of girls with unfeasibly inflated breasts.
In close up.
Along with the so
und effects.
We all freeze. Simon, Kate and I stare at the screen.
Then Simon, totally unfazed, puts his hands behind his head, settles back on the sofa, and says, ‘I think the technical term for that is tea-bagging.’
Hey, Girlfriend
It’s odd listening to Jessie’s show, now that Jack’s met her. I feel so grateful to her for giving Jack a chance, because since his interview, he seems full of new-found enthusiasm and really serious about Branching Out, his own company.
I know it will mean Jack working longer hours and missing Ben’s bed times, but he reckons that if things go right, he’ll soon be earning enough to pay for a couple of mornings of childcare. Which means that I can start thinking about what I want to do.
It’s so difficult not having someone to discuss it with. I would tell the Vipers that I’m soon going to have a couple of mornings and potentially I could start a new career, but I know what their views on working mothers are: Immoral Whores of Babylon.
Nor can I tell them that I have a secret fantasy about getting into radio, because, even though Alex Murray is ‘bearing it in mind’, I know how far-fetched and star-struck it sounds.
But Jack meeting Jessie has given it all a fresh perspective. She sounds so normal. I always imagined her to be a bit of a vamp, but now Jack’s described her as lumpy and on the turn it feels different talking to her. I feel sorry for her too. It must be lonely being in her mother’s house, with only the plants for company.
Radio CapitalChat
Jessie’s Daily Discussion : Are you still close to your girlfriends?
Caller: Amy from West London
I don’t know, Jessie. Maybe it’s just because I’ve been married for a while, or because I’m a parent in my thirties, but the intimacy I once had with my girlfriends like some of the other callers this morning, has long gone. But then I no longer need to share every detail of my sex life, or endlessly discuss my problems on a four-hourly basis on the phone, and I don’t have time for girlie shopping days and lazy weekends away. There’s no vacancy for a female keeper of secrets, because I don’t have any secrets to keep.
Of course, I’d like to think of myself as someone who could go out every night drinking with the girls if I wanted to, but the reality is that after a day looking after Ben, most of my evenings involve flopping on the sofa in front of the TV with my husband.
