Yours Truly

by Kirsty Greenwood

  “Put down the knife then!” he laughs, eyeing the massive vegetable knife in my hand with a comedy horror expression.

  He picks up a couple of unchopped carrots from the table and hands me one of them.

  “Your microphone, Miss Butterworth. I’ll be Sam. You can be Kevin.”

  “I can’t believe you know their names!” I chuckle. “No one actually ever knew their names!”

  “I think you’re underestimating the number of Color Me Badd fans out there, of which I was numero uno.”

  “Loser! All right then, which one is the lead singer? I want to be that one.”

  “That’s Sam. I’m being Sam. I bagsied Sam.”

  I tut. “ But -”

  “I’m teaching you, I get to be Sam. Come on. The song'll be over soon.”

  And so, with carrots as microphones, Riley and I sway and twist and on occasion thrust our way through I Wanna Sex You Up. Riley‘s size doesn‘t quite lend itself to graceful movement and it’s already common knowledge that my dancing is really crap, so we just end up tripping up (me) and laughing hard at each other’s dud moves.

  The playlist runs into three more nineties R&B songs, each one having a very specific dance according to Riley. He teaches me the moves to Jump Jump by Kriss Kross, Hold On by En Vogue and This Is How We Do It by Montell Jordan. I’m aware that he’s making each dance up, and something about his camp moves and willingness to embarrass himself in order to make me laugh just endears me to him even more.

  “You daft sod,” I chuckle, brushing the hair from out of my face.

  “You joined in!” Riley admonishes, shaking his head.

  The song changes. It's the super sexy, slow You’re Making Me High by Toni Braxton. The mood changes instantly. I try to jolly it back up again by singing along in my terrible voice but it doesn’t work and Riley is looking at me with that desirous expression in his eyes.

  Like peculiar human shaped magnets we edge towards each other.

  Are we really going to do this?

  That question, alongside Has he sorted out things with Honey? and Which knickers do I have on? are jostling for attention inside my brain, willing me to pay it attention, but I'm unable to focus on my brain. I can only focus on my body. My body that's already singing like a canary.

  “Again? Now?” I manage to choke out just before Riley's hands weave up into my hair, sending a sweet shiver down my spine.

  He answers me with a half grin and starts to pull up my top. Dazed by his touch, I reach behind me to lock the door, and right there by the fridge without any consideration for what is right and wrong, we make love.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  TEXT MESSAGE FROM: MEG

  Grt time recording. I've got something to tell you. I know this is a tease but wait until you hear, you won't believe it.

  I'm in the bath. I'm having a bath and considering the fact that it has taken only one day for me to become a woman of loose morals. There is no question about it. What I am doing is sexually acting out. Sex three times in less than twenty four hours is something I have never done in my life. Cripes, sex three times in a week was an occurrence as regular as a solar eclipse. And the worst thing about it is... I want more. Man oh man. I want more of this sex with Riley, because - and I've never really known this before - it really is bloody marvellous. Everything is louder and brighter and in sharper contrast. I almost feel sorry for myself that I didn't know about this before!

  Riley's back in the kitchen clearing up the pots and pans from what ended up being a most distracted cooking session in which only one dish - the Granny's Soup - was finished. And even though my hair is full of foam and the bath water has left mascara streaks down my face, I'm trying to send him a telepathic message.

  “Come to my rooooom... join me in the baaath...”

  Jeez.

  I don't know. Perhaps the horn attacking Riley and I is purely circumstantial; I'm stressed about my break-up and the whole mind control thing, and Riley is stressed about the pub. Maybe what's happening is that we are recognising that stress in one another and using sex as a distraction technique.

  I ponder this for a few seconds before realising that it's bullshit.

  The simple truth of the matter is this; We Fancy Each Other. I've never fancied anyone so much in my life. And the way he looks at me? I'm pretty sure he's never fancied anyone that much either. It feels good. Even the truth-telling feels good right now. Like I'm free. I can't hide anything anymore so why even try? It could be rather a lot of fun this way...

  I giggle to myself and duck my head underneath the water. I burst back up when I hear a knock on the door.

  I jump out of the bath - gleefully ignoring the tidal wave that slops over the sides of the bath - and wrap a fluffy blue towel around myself, leaving my hair to drip water sexily onto my shoulders.

  What?

  Meg's recording with Jasper and Dionne's not speaking to me - it's got to be Riley!

  I drop the towel slightly so that it reveals a bit more of my glistening skin and pull open the door with what I hope is an alluring grin. Only it's not Riley. It's Honey, and before I have chance to haul the towel back up, say hello or blink even, she leaps into my room, slams the door shut behind her, scrambles up and punches me in the neck.

  Ow.

  I'm having a fight. After twenty seven years of successful conflict avoidance I am now having a real, authentic fight. I've only ever seen real fights on Jerry Springer or once in Asda when these two women went into combat over the last reduced price cinnamon swirl, so I don't quite know what I'm supposed to do.

  After grabbing my arm and performing an unfeasibly painful mini pinch twist with her pincer like fingers, Honey grabs onto my hair and pulls. Only my hair is wet and her hand is unable to get a grip and slithers away. She stumbles backwards with the force of the botched hair yank and bounces off the wardrobe, snarling with sound effects. Oh crap. What has happened to her? Her floaty, tranquil composure has done a runner. She looks feverish. Her perfect hair is all mussed up and I'm quite sure that that is spittle resting on the corner of her mouth.

  Balls. I knew she was a lunatic. The signs have been there all along! While Honey recovers from the wardrobe bounce I see an opportunity for escape. I waddle very quickly backwards and reach out for the bathroom door behind me. My heart pummels loudly in my ears as I push down the handle and dive inside, noticing Honey's look of surprise as I do so. I lock the bathroom door behind me and rest my head on the tiled wall.

  The bathroom is so steamy that it's impossible to see anything, but even without looking in the mirror I'm pretty sure that my expression is one of simple, unadulterated terror. Man, I'm a yellow belly.

  “Come out of there! I know what's been going on.” Honey yaps from the other side of the door. “Come out and face the music, you sneaky bitch.” This time, her growls are accompanied by the sound of tiny fists pummelling at the door.

  Jeez. I have to open the door. This is stupid. I can't stay locked in the bathroom. But I don't want to go out there either. I'm scared!

  “I'll come out,” I call, my voice all wibbly. “But you have to promise, no violence! Violence is not the answer.”

  There're a few minutes of silence and then. “Fine. No violence.”

  Hands shaking, I pull open the door and step out. Honey is sat on the end of my bed, her hands folded gracefully in her lap.

  “Put some clothes on, sweetie,” she says, looking me up and down disdainfully.

  “I'm so sorry,” I say, shame colouring my cheeks. “I know you've only just split up and -”

  “Split up,” she hisses. “Riley and I are as together as ever.” She pats her hair and smiles serenely.

  My stomach lurches.

  “Um. What? No, he told me -”

  “He lied. He’s so stressed right now. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

  “No, he defin-”

  “Oh, Natalie. Natalie, Natalie, Natalie.” She gets up and starts to walk arou
nd the room. It's creepy. Why is she saying these things about Riley? He very clearly told me he had split up with her. That it had been on the cards for a while.

  “You're lying,” I say lifting my chin up stubbornly.

  For a moment I kid myself that if he'd still been with Honey I wouldn't have done anything with him. But deep inside I know that's not true. I couldn't help myself.

  “You're as stupid as that sister of yours. Though she does have her uses, telling me all about you and Riley. Idiot. Can you believe she felt bad for me?” She rolls her eyes giving a tinkly little laugh.

  “Yes, I can believe that, so shut up,” I snap. No one talks about my sister that way.

  “You really think he wants you?”

  “Yes,” I say at once.

  “A meek little nobody who thinks she's under a magic spell? A girl who wears those horrible cheap trainers and a puffa jacket?”

  “Yeah. He said that we -”

  “He's using you, sweetie. Can't you see?”

  I fiddle with the corner of the towel, wishing desperately that I had some clothes on.

  “What? How? I don't know what you’re talking about.”

  Honey's eyes glint maliciously. Wow. She is horrible! Clearly unhinged in some way.

  “He needs a chef.”

  “So?”

  “He needs a chef who will stick around here and work for free.”

  I screw my eyes up. What is she going on about?

  “Deary me!” She rolls her eyes. “Sweetie. All Riley cares about is his precious little pub, the only legacy his family has. He'll do anything to keep it. Including sleeping with a skank so that she'll stay and do his bidding. He thought he'd hit the jackpot when you wandered in here with your slutty friend.”

  I shake my head, unable to believe that she's spouting such ridiculous lies.

  “I knew about it,” she says, taking a pot of vanilla lip balm from her cardigan pocket and dabbing it on. “Please, I helped him to plan it. I just didn't expect him to go as far as to sleep with you, but that's for Riley and I to discuss. He really does love the Old Whimsy. It's worth an awful lot of money you know.”

  I don't know what to say to her. I can't help but tell the truth but my bullshit detectors are apparently weaker than Charlie Sheen's morals.

  “You don't believe me?” she says, her perfectly shaped red eyebrows arching upwards.

  “No.”

  I don't believe her. What's been happening with Riley may be 'just sex', fair enough. But that 'just sex' was real. I DIDN'T imagine his desire for me. I'm sure of it.

  Honey giggles, the tickling sound of it scratching my eardrums. “You poor, poor thing.”

  And without another word she floats off out of the room, leaving behind only the sickly sweet smell of her Chloë perfume.

  Shudder.

  I curl up on the bed for ten minutes, waiting for my heart to slow down its frantic racing. What is happening to my life?

  I dry my hair and get dressed. I need to speak to Riley right away. I need to know what the bloody hell is going on and why his ex - is she even is his ex? - has turned into a complete nutjob.

  I hurry down the stairs and into the kitchen, trying my best to hold back the tears. But I get there just in time to see Riley and Honey engaged in a very intimate looking hug. Riley is oblivious to me standing in the doorway, his eyes closed as he and Honey embrace. But Honey notices me standing there and gives me a slow 'I told you so' smile.

  Of course. Honey’s right. Why would he want messy, weak brained me when he's got beautiful, elegant, (slightly crazy but maybe in a glamourous way) her.

  I'm such an idiot! I'm such a gullible idiot. A strangled sob escapes me.

  This place is crazy. I've got to get out of here.

  On my way out of the pub I notice Dionne who is chatting away to a local while Jean-Paul Gaultier drinks from a bowl of water at the side of the bar.

  She catches sight of me and waves.

  “I had to tell her, Natalie,” she shrugs. “Honey's become a friend. Why should she have to be sad about breaking up with Riley when he totes is not sad about it? You don't, like, have the monopoly on telling the truth.”

  Jesus.

  “You're my SISTER!” I blast out so loudly that the entire population of the pub stops what they are doing to gawp at me in horror. “It doesn't matter what I've done, whether it's wrong or right,” I say, ignoring the whispering and offended tuts going on around me. “You're my sister. You're supposed to be on my side.”

  Dionne's cheeks colour.

  “You're mad at me?” she asks.

  Oh hell.

  “Yes!” I cry at once. And then the floodgates open. “You walk around in Dionne World, giving your loyalty to new friends, who you've known for less than a week and who, by the way, don't give a shit about you. You stick your nose in where it doesn't belong. You make everything about you! You don't know when to shut up.”

  “What are you on about?”

  “Telling Olly about the radio, telling mum about Olly, telling Honey about Riley and me!”

  Alan comes out from behind the bar. “Now now ladies. That's quite enough.”

  Dionne starts to cry. Big far tears plopping down onto her chin. “I was trying to help.”

  “No you weren't,” I scoff. “You like the drama. It's all a load of fun to you! You're a gossip, Dionne. Well I'm not laughing anymore.”

  And then, once I've said my piece, I flee the pub.

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Snow can kiss my larger than average arse.

  I'm on my way to find Meg and am halfway up the hill between The Old Whimsy and Hobbs Manor when it occurs to me that making this journey on my own, wearing trainers instead of wellies and without a coat isn't the shrewdest thing I've ever embarked upon. But then again neither was coming back to Little Trooley, agreeing to appear on the radio when my brain is totally compromised, or having kitchen sex with a virtual stranger. So freezing to death out here would be just about what I deserve for managing to get myself into such a gigantic, shitting mess.

  In another genius move, I'm finding my way to Hobbs Manor by the power of moonlight. I've been walking for fifteen minutes and didn't think about that fact that December weather means it goes from daylight to night-time at precisely five o’clock. It's now five-fifteen.

  I shiver and push on up the hill, focusing on the warm yellow lights in the distance.

  I pull out my phone and try ringing Meg again, let her know I'm on my way. But there's no answer. Totally frustrated, I can't help but have another little cry. The floodgates have opened. I have now become one of those girls who cry all the time. I feel like Gwyneth Paltrow. I don't think I'm just upset about the Riley thing. It's not like I love him. Obviously. But the being lied to is not nice at all. I feel like an idiot. It's like the universe is telling me to stick to what I know. I knew Karma would get me. The one time I decide not to be completely responsible and it comes to bite me on the arse.

  I think about Olly. Olly wouldn't have lied to me. Olly loves me. I bawl even louder at the thought of him. My phone jingles in my bag. It's Mum. Shit. I still haven't spoken to her since Olly called off the wedding. I consider not answering again, but she's only going to keep trying.

  “Hiya Mum,” I say, sniffing and shivering.

  She doesn't say hello; just gets straight to the point as usual.

  “I've just had a phone call from your Auntie Jan, telling me you're on the telly. I thought she'd forgotten to take her medication but I switch it on to Channel Manchester and she's right. There you are on the telly. What the bloody hell are you doing on the telly?”

  I'm on the telly? Why the… Oh wait... My stomach drops as I think about the YouTube filming of my interview with Barney. Well he's obviously kept that end of the bargain up, getting local media to pick up the story, something I only agreed to when I thought he was going to edit out all of the embarrassing stuff.

  “Shit, Mum. It's the radio intervie
w I did. I'm so sorry. How embarrassing. It's only Channel Manchester though, Mum. It's cable. No one watches it.”

  “Well I bloody did! You look ridiculous. And you sound ridiculous. You know they interviewed your boss? He seems to think you are in rehab for drug addiction. And Olly! They’ve been hounding him, as if the poor lad hasn’t been through enough.”

  “Oh God. Stone. Shit. I’m so sorry, Mum. Shit. What am I going to do? I don’t know what to do!”

  I start crying again.

  “What am I going to tell the women at bridge? My daughter has gone mental? My daughter has gone mental and then broadcast it on the telly? You've gotten yourself into a right flaming mess. No wonder Olly doesn't want to marry you. You're obviously having some kind of crisis -”

  Suddenly, I stop walking. I can't believe what I'm hearing. Mum is exactly the same as Dionne. They're cut from exactly the same completely selfish cloth. How is this about her? Why is that all she’s worried about? What, she can’t cope being on her own, and she thinks I can't either?

  “... I had to tell them that I no longer get to be mother of the bride. You have no thoughts for anyone else. You're just like your dad, Natalie. Self-centred.”

  “Mum, I’m sorry. I am. But now is really not a good time to have this conversation -”

  “Do you think it's a good time for me? I've had a terrible time of it. I'm weary and heartbroken. The only shining light was your bloody wedding! And now -”

  She goes on. And on. And on.

  And then something odd happens. She doesn't ask me a question so I don't have to tell her the truth. But I'm so angry. It's feels like unbearable churning in my chest and stomach. I've never felt so angry. I'm stuck on a massive hill in the middle of nowhere in the freezing cold, in need of a little comfort and here she is telling me off, telling me what a bad daughter I am. So even though the hypnotism doesn't force me to tell her the truth. I do anyway.