‘We had one tin of G&T and that was seventy-five per cent sugar. Are you having fun?’
I pause. ‘I am.’
‘Latte with a hazelnut shot. One sugar.’
‘How did you––?’
‘Maddie.’
‘You also like Maoams.’
‘I do.’
Six
638 days since Meg threatened to cut off Simon’s bollocks
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Well, when you hear your sister’s fallen down the stairs and there was blood everywhere then you make the effort to ensure she hasn’t done herself any serious injuries. You numpty.’
It’s 7.45 a.m. in the morning. I’m not sure how I’m still standing but I am here in my eldest sister’s bedroom having travelled through the night to check in on her well-being. That said, my mother does have a flair for the melodramatic. The way she described it, I expected Meg to be lying here as an amputee. Instead she stands next to her wardrobe hobbling about, which lets me know this is just a bad sprain and that she’s doing that Meg thing of not listening to advice. She should be lying down and that leg should be elevated.
I look around her bedroom with a strange sense of déjà vu. That Christmas when my marriage ended, Meg dragged me up here to get me and the girls out of London and away from Simon. Meg had always been like that, the protective mother hen sort who took it upon herself to give us all the guidance and support which my mother lacked. She relegated her husband Danny to the sofa and she would sleep beside me every night like we were kids in our shared room, spooning me while I cried myself to sleep. Her and Danny would take me on bracing walks up hills and she asked her mother-in-law to make me one of her famous trifles, which only I was allowed to eat. We saw in the New Year in their living room with a bottle of port, copious amounts of cheese and a log fire into which Meg threw a letter Simon had written to me trying to persuade me to give our marriage another chance.
I adore Meg, and hate her a tiny bit for not being in London anymore – we all blamed Danny for that really. As I look at her now, she still looks the same, if slightly broken and unwashed. She has always had this effortless style about her; she can wear a man’s T-shirt and bundle her hair on top of her head and still look cool. Her and Lucy match in that sense, the way they can wear trainers with dresses and have more than two earrings per ear.
However, although usually bright and confident, today fatigue and emotion shine through. My instinct tells me this is not as bad as I thought. Still, what happened last night? There’s no blood or evidence of her having fallen down the stairs but Danny was surly and non-conversational with me downstairs when I arrived. If Dan has hurt my sister then I will gut him – and I know how to do that. I always thought their marriage was strong and stable. It’s the polar opposite of mine. There’s love and true friendship. It always seemed so straightforward for them, but then I guess marriage rarely is. Also, what has happened to that chest of drawers? It lies in a heap in the corner.
Normally, I would launch myself at her with hugs but I’m clutching her youngest, Polly and her other daughters, Tess and Eve, are doing that for me. These girls are different to mine; I’m not sure if it’s because they’ve been raised in the North but they’re a little bouncier and carefree. Tess’s wild blonde curls swing through the air as they engage with their mother while Polly, the baby, drools down this white dress that I’m still wearing. I make a note to tell Lucy that her youngest niece didn’t approve.
‘There’s also a man called Jag who has Maoams in his pockets. He came with Aunty Ems. Can I go now?’ chirps Tess.
Oh. Jag’s name jolts me back to the present. Meg looks over at me. I look out the window clinging to Polly for dear life, pretending I need to study the drizzle outside. Tess and her sister vacate the room and I hope Meg might be in such a state of fatigue that she didn’t hear the last bit of that sentence.
‘So… all OK?’ I ask.
‘Jag?’ She did hear that. I’m going to have to explain, aren’t I? So yeah, I’m glad you’re OK and still have a leg but me coming here prompted one of the most bizarre evenings of my life: a date in a Kia with a man called Jag who I literally met like twelve hours ago. I just got in a car with a mere stranger and did everything I was told not to do as a young girl. And it was all done in profile watching him drive up the M6. Taking breaks in deserted services with shiny floors and bad lighting where we had coffees and wandered around WHSmith bulk buying travel sweets. Bursts of conversation about hospitals and house prices. Taking it in turns to drive so the other could nap. The discovery that he snored lightly, the hope that I didn’t. All his music being that sort of early noughties chillout stuff that Beth used to be into. But it’s too early for that. Instead, I put Polly down to have a crawl and pretend to do my doctorly thing and examine her ankle. Definitely twisted. Her knickers are also on inside out but she doesn’t need to know that.
‘You’ll have to shower with your leg in a bin bag. Any pain, warmth? And how did you fall?’
‘None of the above and I didn’t fall, Danny dropped me.’
I widen my eyes. He did hurt you? Why was he carrying you? Like a fireman’s lift? Or cradling you like a giant baby? Because you were drunk? I think about what she confided in me earlier in the day. ‘Because… you accused him of cheating on you?’
She sighs. ‘Because we were having sex and it turns out he can’t stand up and support the weight of big old heifer me.’
I can’t quite take that last sentence in. Sheer panic that she may have been abused turns into relief, almost laughter. I am here because of a sex injury? This is incredibly funny, no? When can I tell the sisters? How do I tell our mother? They were standing up? We still do that at our age? What sort of sex are my sisters having that I seem to have missed out on?
‘Right, which is why he had all the sex toys?’ I ask, slightly horrified remembering her revelation that she’d also discovered he had some stash of sex toys. I think about the gruff flat-capped man stood in the hallway this morning and how he’s possibly turned my sister into a deviant. I knew that’s what they did up in these parts.
‘No.’
She’s about to divulge the truth when we are interrupted by someone at the door carrying tea. Darn it and you. Jag, this is a lovely gesture but you were supposed to stay downstairs chatting up Meg’s mother-in-law because now she will direct all the questions at me.
He smiles on seeing me. Whereas my hair is frizzy and my lips dry and lizardy, his thick dark hair remains unchanged and his skin is extraordinarily bright.
‘Oh, this is Jag.’
‘A pleasure to meet you.’ Meg looks at him curiously. Maybe I can palm him off as a very enthusiastic taxi driver.
‘Hello? My daughter mentioned you but I thought…’
‘Jag and I were having a drink when we got a call saying you’d fallen and yes, we are both here now.’
They engage in small talk and he’s polite and all the types of things you want someone to be when meeting a relative for the first time. But then he looks over at me. And there’s a moment. That was the strangest first date ever, no? And we spent most of it in silence and in the romantic surrounds of the M6 services. I can’t even recall half the conversation now. I think we talked about quite liking Coldplay, trying to work out if that was fashionable or a guilty pleasure. And all that time, he never mentioned Simon once, speaking to me like a human whose past had not been tarnished by hurt and heartbreak.
Meg watches on and her mood softens. I wonder if Jag’s knack for making people feel at ease is due to him being an anaesthetist. Maybe this is years of training from putting panicked people under. He leaves the room and winks at me. I attempt to wink back but look like I have a strange facial twitch.
‘Follow him,’ whispers Meg, angered by my hesitancy.
‘But I was going to stay, I have some days off…’
‘I mean to the door. He just drove six hours through the night to get you here. Go
to him…’
She shoos me away like a pigeon. To be fair, it’s not like he’s driving away at this precise moment. I have time to hear the rest of her story with the sex toys. And I want details but not too many details if it involves bodily fluids and sex stuff I don’t understand. But I will coax that story out of her later.
‘Ungrateful cow.’
‘You love me really.’
I do. And she’s alive and intact which is important. I pick up Polly and head for the door as her phone rings.
‘Mum,’ she replies. I taunt her with widened eyes. ‘Oh yeah, Emma is fine. Someone drove her up her… a friend… from the hospital. Oh, he’s very handsome.’
I take it back about loving her. I shake my head at her. Revenge will come later when I can help shower her and misjudge the water temperature.
I escape into the hallway and spy the family pictures that line the walls including one of when Meg and Danny got married. Our weddings had been very different. It wasn’t a competitive bridezilla situation – only to our mother as Meg had got married up here in a barn which Mum had hated. Animals belong in barns, Meg. Why can’t you have a wedding more like Emma’s where all the dresses match and I don’t have to wear wellington boots? All I remember is her wedding being fun. We all got so drunk that Beth fell into a cowpat and had to be hosed down by a farmer. The groom didn’t shag any of the wedding guests which is always a bonus too.
I study the picture for a moment. It feels strange to be here now. I mean, it’s great to see Meg and the girls but this all feels so impromptu which is very unlike me. I don’t even have a toothbrush or spare underwear and this dress is too thin to provide warmth up in these colder climes. I go through a list of everything I need to do today: I’ll drop the girls to school, make sure Lucy knows to hand the girls over to Simon. I may have to go into town and buy some clothes, some first aid supplies. I need to sleep.
Polly looks up at me. Christ, I don’t half miss you tiny blonde one. She barks at me and snot bubbles out of her nose. Yikes, that is some bad croup. We need to sort that today too, eh? I go into the bathroom on the hunt for a flannel or some tissues. But as I open the door, a person stands there in just their pants over the toilet, a long stream of wee emerging from them. Polly giggles.
‘Oi oi!’
I knock my head back to avert my eyes and close the door on my face awkwardly. Polly laughs again.
‘Ouch, yes, sorry…’
The person in their pants is Stuart, Danny’s brother. One of those crossover relatives that I’ve met at weddings and such. The only other thing I know is that he travels a lot and I believe he has slept with Lucy at one point. He answered the door this morning when we arrived, dressed exactly as I find him now so if anything, I applaud his bravery given the temperature. I really twatted my forehead so stand there rubbing it.
‘What did you do that for?’
‘Well, you caught me by surprise?’
‘Heard of knocking?’
‘Heard of a bathroom lock?’
Stuart hasn’t been particularly amused to see Jag and myself this morning and there’s an antagonism there that I can’t quite read.
‘You’re still here.’
‘Why are you peeing for so long? That’s not normal.’
I look at him at this point, which I shouldn’t as one of his balls hangs out the side of his underpants. I cover Polly’s eyes, fleeing the bathroom in shock. Even as a doctor, I don’t see bollocks that often and they really aren’t very pretty, are they? I take a deep breath in the upstairs hallway to steady myself but then hear two little girls laughing. Both Polly and I peer over the banister. Downstairs, Jag is surrounded by Tess and an Eve who appears to have a beard made solely of dark berry jam. He clocks me and smiles.
‘We like him, Aunty Ems. Can he stay? What’s Jag short for? It’s a brilliant name,’ asks Eve, her fondness of him obviously driven by the fact he’s packing sweets. I descend the stairs as Polly checks him out.
‘It’s short for Jagpal,’ he replies laughing. ‘I mean I’d love to stay but I’ve just told your mum I’ve got to be back at work.’
Tess smiles at him. ‘Are you a doctor too?’ she asks.
‘I am.’
‘Are you Muslim?’
I panic at the forwardness of her suggestion. Twelve hours with this man and even I don’t know that much.
‘I am not,’ he replies. I am grateful for the cheer in his reply.
‘OK, because we have bacon today and that would have been awful if we couldn’t have given you breakfast.’
He smiles at the invitation.
‘Is he your new boyfriend?’ asks Eve.
I grab a hairbrush from a shelf, and hand it to her so she knows hair is the priority at this moment, no more questions.
Luckily, Jag intervenes. ‘We’ve only been on one date.’
‘Well, I prefer you to Uncle Simon. Mummy calls him very bad names,’ she continues, unabashedly.
‘I can imagine,’ I whisper.
‘Now you’ve been on a date you can be boyfriend and girlfriend, you know? Charlie asked me in the playground to be his girlfriend and I said yes straightaway.’
Jag laughs, trying hard not to catch my eye. I pretend to wipe the snot from Polly’s face.
‘Why did you do that?’ asks Tess.
‘Because he’s nice and he shares his raisins with me.’
‘He sounds awesome,’ says Jag.
‘He is,’ says Eve, glad to be vindicated. I love how this makes perfect sense to her and she sees relationships so clearly. There are calls from the kitchen that see Tess and Eve ushered in. It leaves Jag and I standing in that hallway, Polly watching us both curiously.
‘I liked how your nieces mugged me for the rest of my Maoams.’
I laugh. ‘And you thought South London was bad for crime.’
‘I’m glad your sister is alright. I mean, that’s a relief she still has a leg.’
‘I feel stupid. I thought it was more serious.’
‘Well, I’m glad your mother gave me an excuse to spend more time with you.’
I go quiet.
‘That was too much. I was going to share my raisins with you next and then ask you to marry me.’
I am still quiet although glad he’s able to joke to try and diffuse the tension.
He continues, ‘I think my favourite part of the date was that second coffee in the services that had a name.’
‘Richard… Charnock Richard.’
‘Like James Bond. But not.’
I chuckle. ‘I liked the first services with the soundtrack of the floor buffers and the scent of KFC in the air.’
‘Eau de Hot Wings.’
‘I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘No, thank you. I once had a date at a meat auction where a man elbowed me in the face for some prime rib so you’ve beaten that. And I go on far too many bad drinks and cinema outings.’
‘Do you have to go?’ As the words leave my mouth, I realise they sound needy and a little desperate. Please follow me around for a bit longer and keep me company. Except I don’t know how to say it. I’ve liked your company.
He looks through the cracks of the door of the kitchen where little girls bounce off the counters. ‘I’m going to grab a sandwich as Granny Morton looks like she fries that bacon until it’s crispy. And I can help out for a bit but then I really should go so you can be with your family.’
His understanding makes my heart glow. Polly smiles at him and he gives her a baby high five. She studies his face and he looks her in the eye.
‘Lord, you are cute. Can you tell your aunty something?’
Polly looks at him blankly. I don’t actually talk much mate but I think I know where you’re going here.
‘Tell her that I had the best night and that she’s amazing?’
Polly looks at him and smiles contentedly. I think you just did that yourself.
But then Jag leans into me, grazing my cheek with his a
nd gives me a kiss. I can’t. I step back. I freeze not knowing what to do. My heart. Why has my heart stopped working?
Oh.
Seven
I can’t really make out Lucy’s words as she’s busy laughing over FaceTime hearing how our eldest sister was dropped during sex. Beth is also in on this chat and baby Joe babbles away. It is a joy they’ve teamed up to help me out but I can see a stack of unwashed bowls next to my sink and I am wondering if it’s rude to tell them they need to soak them first before they go in the dishwasher.
‘Did the girls get to school alright? Did you remember to send Iris in with her lacrosse stick?’
‘We did,’ Beth replies. ‘But we didn’t know what one of those looked like so we had to google it.’ Chances are they’ve sent her into school with a net we use for rockpooling. ‘How is Meg?’
‘She’s fine, it’ll just take a week or so for her to recover.’
‘So Dan’s not cheating?’ asks Lucy.
I keep my voice down as the mother-in-law is still in the house getting the girls ready for bed. ‘No, I think he was just trying to introduce new things to the bedroom and it freaked Meg out.’
‘OMG, was he using the dildo on her and she got so shocked that she fell over?’ asks Lucy.
‘There was a dildo?’ questions Beth.
I’m not sure what to tell them next as I know the actual truth. It turns out it was all a strange misunderstanding and Danny has found himself a new hobby which involves sex toys and being an erotic artist. Meg has just found out. She’s not prudish about it but she’s worried it was a secret in their marriage. A little pep talk from me made her realise that secrets in marriage can come in different shades of grey and if we were ever going to be playing that game then I would win, hands down, no contest.
It’ll be weird to see Danny tonight though knowing he’s very skilled at drawing penises. At least it makes him a touch more interesting. All his other pastimes involve hill walking with sticks, bedecked in muted khaki fleece. However, if I divulge this secret now then these sisters before me would not be discrete. They would blab to our mother, not now but somewhere down the line at a family gathering under the influence of alcohol. I’m going to have a hard-enough time making sure they don’t tell the world that Meg was dropped during sex.
Can I Give My Husband Back?: A totally laugh out loud and uplifting page turner Page 10
