by Kiki Archer
A pang of regret hit Andi hard. “Oh Zara, I’m so sorry. What did I ever do to deserve you?”
Zara looked over her shoulder and smiled. “No, I’m sorry. I should have come with you, sweetie. No one likes dealing with the police on their own.”
Andi frowned. “Don’t be daft. I wouldn’t have let you come.” She placed the two bags onto the huge kitchen table and smiled. “Anyway, it looks like you’ve been busy.”
Zara tapped the wooden spoon against the side of the ceramic pot and placed it in the black bowl next to the Aga. She walked around to the other side of the table and encased Andi in a full bodied hug. “I should have come with you. I’m sorry. You know me. It didn’t even occur to me until you were long gone.”
Andi felt her shoulders relax. She exhaled heavily. “This is why I love you, Zara.” She looked up at her wife’s make up free face, naturally rosy from the heat of the cooking. “You look beautiful.”
Zara tutted and moved backwards. “No I don’t, sweetie, I look old.”
Andi pulled her back in, wanting to savour the moment. “This is when I love you the most.”
Zara pulled away and marched defiantly back to the stove. “Enough! I’m almost forty, my Botox needs a top up, and I’ve started to sag.”
“Not that I’ve noticed,” grinned Andi, chasing her back around the table and laughing as she caught her from behind. She held onto her wife’s waist and nuzzled into her back. “You look cute in your hoodie and joggers.”
Zara couldn’t help but smile. “You’re so soppy, Andi Armstrong.”
“I know, but you love me.”
Zara twisted around in Andi’s arms and looked down at her wife’s wide eyes. “I do.” She smiled, stroking the short blonde fringe to the side of Andi’s forehead. “But I’m not sure if I’ve made you feel guilty enough yet for deserting me.”
“Did you get stuck with Melody?”
Zara maintained the eye contact. “No. I have to be honest, I’ve actually had a lovely day. I had one more coffee and then I came back here, had a bath and spent the afternoon relaxing,” she tilted her head in the direction of the simmering pot, “and then of course slaving over this hot stove.”
“You could make that dish with your eyes closed. It’s your speciality and you know it’s my favourite, so thank you. You’re very thoughtful.”
“You didn’t say that last week when I was getting told off for,” she paused, “what misdemeanour was it?”
Andi smacked her wife’s bottom and grinned. “That was last week. This is now. And right now you’re being incredibly thoughtful.”
“See, I do learn! And now I’m going to ask you to take a seat and tell me all about your afternoon.” Zara gave herself a congratulatory smile and nod of the head, before pulling out one of the padded black chairs from under the table and signalling for Andi to sit down. She reached for the almost empty bottle of red wine, warming by the stove, and poured the remainder into a glass, placing it in front of her wife.
Andi looked flabbergasted.
Zara pulled out another seat and angled it so their knees were almost touching. “Seriously, Andi. I should have offered to come with you this afternoon. I was walking home on my own and I realised that it was a perfect example of me not thinking and me not showing you that I love you.”
Andi took a long sip of the rich red wine and shook her head. “No, this afternoon showed me how you are right and how my work does always get in the way of everything. I understand why you get so frustrated with me and I can only apologise for having such a demanding job. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
Zara took her hand and squeezed it softly. “You can’t control your job, but I can control my behaviour.”
Andi laughed. “What’s happened?! Please bring back my hard faced wife! I miss her quick witted put downs!”
“Forgive me?” said Zara.
“Oh stop it.”
Zara gave the hand a final squeeze and jumped up to fetch another bottle of red. “I’ll remind you of that next time you’re moaning about my thoughtlessness!”
“You, thoughtless? Never!” Andi laughed, relieved at the turn of events and warmed by the spark still present between them. She took another sip of the wine, enjoying the relaxing sensation that each slow mouthful brought. “Well, I thought I was being thoughtful.” She signalled to the two bags full of goodies from the delicatessens. “I didn’t imagine for one minute that you’d be cooking, so I bought a load of cheese, patés and crackers.”
“...And olives, and caramelised cashews,” Zara was lifting the extortionately priced items out of the bag and placing them on the table, “and quails eggs and bilinis.”
“Starters?” suggested Andi.
“We’re not all naturally tiny and slim like you, sweetie. You’ll be asking me to get lipo next if I eat all of these.”
“What do you mean, next?”
“Botox first, lipo next.”
Andi gasped, enjoying the teasing. “I never told you to get Botox!”
Zara twisted the lid on the almond stuffed olives and popped one into her mouth, enjoying the smooth saltiness and textured crunch. She swallowed and tried to frown. “Yes you did. You said you thought the age gap was looking more noticeable between us.”
“Stop it, Zara.”
“You did, sweetie.”
Andi sighed. “No I did not. Come on, sit down. Let me tell you about the latest crazy, bigot stalker, we have at Proud Unity.”
Zara touched the front of a bespoke worktop drawer, causing it to slide open on command. She lifted out a black and white chintz bowl, which, like the rest of their crockery, matched the theme of their kitchen, from the black and white floor tiles to the white Aga and black hard stone sink. “She’s not called Melody, is she?”
Andi laughed. “Did you notice that too?”
“Of course, sweetie. She was practically pushing those dreadful fake tits right up your nose.”
“She seems harmless enough. I can’t quite picture what she does at your firm though.”
Zara emptied the olives into the bowl and returned to her seat, taking a sip of wine and pausing in thought. “She’s actually quite a ball buster.”
“Really?”
“Yes, but she only busts them after she’s bonked them.”
Andi pulled a face. “Ooo, nasty image!” She placed her wine back on the table and looked at her wife. “I’ve had a really frustrating afternoon.”
“Come on. I’m listening. Let it out.”
“Really?” asked Andi.
“Yes, but don’t drag it out and don’t be all dramatic about it.”
Andi ran her fingers through her short blonde hair and couldn’t help but smile. “I think a box of offal and a note saying: ‘Shut it, Armstrong,’ is dramatic enough, all by itself, don’t you?”
Zara smirked. “Shut it, Armstrong?”
Andi laughed. “I know. But it really was disgusting, and it stank! Poor Jerry was in a real flap, asking if I wanted a lift home and telling me to keep an extra special eye out.”
Zara popped another olive into her mouth. “Just a random sicko, or something more sinister?”
Andi waved away the suggestion, “Don’t be daft. It’s that same old bunch of bigots, using anything they can to try and knock us off kilter. They’re working their way through the hierarchy and it just happened to be my turn. Did I tell you that Janet had the word sinner scratched onto her car last week?”
Zara tutted. “And criminal damage, that’s not a sin?” She took a large gulp of wine. “That’s what gets me the most. The hypocrisy of these people.”
“I forgot that your nickname was Saint Zara.”
Zara lifted her nose. “I’m serious. They’re a joke, and so are the police! They don’t care about a box of offal! They’re just covering their own backs.”
“I know, I know, but it’s all sorted now. I’m just sorry it took so long.” Andi paused, inhaling the wonderful smell of her wife’s famed beef
bourguignon. “You didn’t see any weirdos lurking around the butchers when you bought that beef did you?”
Zara smiled. “No, only a vicar standing at the counter writing a post-it note that said, ‘Shut it, Armstrong.’” She coughed. “I doubt it’s related though.”
Chapter Six
Andi sat up in bed and adjusted her plush eiderdown pillow, angling it so she could rest without any pressure on her stomach. Zara’s beef bourguignon dinner had been wonderful, as had the starters and desserts, contributed from her visit to the delicatessens, and now both she and Zara were relaxing in a satisfied, if slightly uncomfortable, state of contentment. She watched as Zara reached into the bedside cabinet drawer. It was the same every evening. They would get washed, changed, and ready for bed, side by side, before getting comfy and reaching for their alternative evening’s entertainments. Tonight, Andi had the files of the two candidates shortlisted for her recently vacated personal assistant role; and Zara, as always, had the remote. Andi watched as her wife snuggled into the luxurious pillows and cushions, triumphantly pressing the red button and making her nightly statement.
“This is the best thing we’ve ever bought,” announced Zara as the widescreen television slowly appeared out of the bottom of their bed. It whirred upwards, before making its final clunk, signalling that it was in position and ready to be fired into life. Zara pressed another button and the screen lit up with a complicated menu of choices.
Andi realised that she had no idea how to get the thing going, but then again, wondered when she would ever find the need. All too often she spent her time in bed reading through files, or preparing speeches, or grabbing whatever bit of time was left from the day to finish things off, before waking up and starting the process all over again. She smiled as her wife selected the latest episode of Rizzoli and Isles. “You know I love this, Zara! It’s going to distract me.”
“Good,” said Zara, turning up the volume.
Andi shook her head and opened up the first brown file, nodding at the high rise television. “That, is the worst thing we’ve ever bought.”
“You loved the bed.”
Andi lifted her eyes. “Yes I did. It was a wonderful surprise to arrive home to this huge, bouncy, super-king-sized piece of luxury, perfectly matching the regal-ness of our sprawling bedroom.” She frowned. “But then you had to go and press that button and transform it into the latest state of the art home cinema.”
“Actually the latest version has surround sound, with speakers implanted in this headboard.” Zara tilted her head backwards against the expensive brown leather. “Do you think we should upgrade?”
Andi laughed. “Get back to Jane Rizzoli. Look, she’s showing her stomach again.”
“Ooo, let me freeze frame.” Zara paused the picture. “Come on, sweetie, put that work down. We’ve had a lovely evening. Watch this with me?”
Andi passed one of the brown files over to her wife and smiled. “You tell me who to appoint as my PA and I’m there.”
Zara took the file and flipped it open. “Go for the one with the biggest tits.”
Andi tutted. “They’ve only got head shots.”
“Okay, go for the sexiest one.”
“Which one’s that?” laughed Andi, lifting up her photo of candidate number one, Elizabeth Burns.
“Well it’s not her!”
“Don’t be rude.” Andi studied the photo. “I actually think she’s got nice eyes.”
“Oh, I love you, my wife. You manage to find the good in everybody.” Zara grabbed the photo of Elizabeth. “Her eyes are far too close together and she’s got a mono-brow. Not to mention the tomb stone teeth and crazy orange hair.”
Andi read the headlines that Stella had put together and thought back to the briefing she had been given on both candidates. “The panel seemed to like her and she’s got an impressive CV.”
“But it’s not her CV you’ll be looking at every day, is it? It’s those peg teeth.”
“You’re a cruel, cruel, woman.”
“No, I’m not. I’m just honest.” Zara pulled herself up and adjusted her pillow. Propping herself against the brown headboard and reaching for Elizabeth Burns’s CV. She scanned the details. “She’s straight.”
“I know.” Andi edged in closer and followed Zara’s tapping finger to the personal statements section.
“She says, ‘My husband and I are keen to show our support for our LGBT comrades.’ That, is a definite no right there!”
Andi frowned. “Not everyone who works at Proud Unity is LGBT.”
“Yes they are, sweetie. And anyway, Elizabeth Burns, seems far too hung up on her own academic prowess.”
Andi took the sheet and returned it to the folder. “It’s a CV, you have to sell yourself. And why are you giving Elizabeth Burns that posh voice?”
Zara lifted her nose. “She sounds up herself.”
“Right, switch the television back on. Your input is not helping me!”
Zara smiled. “No, I’m enjoying this. Let’s look at the other lady.”
Andi dropped Elizabeth Burns’s file to the floor and snuggled into Zara’s shoulder. “They’ve both obviously got something about them. They’re the final two.”
“And you haven’t met them yet?”
“No. Stella and Janet did the first two rounds of interviews, and said both candidates would be perfect for the role. It’s just a case of deciding who I’d prefer. I’m actually quite excited about Monday. They’re arriving at nine and I have the whole day scheduled in to interview them.”
“What on earth are you going to do for a whole day?”
Andi grinned. “You know me. I like to keep things interesting and unique.”
“Stella’s trying to stitch you up with old mono-brow over there.” Zara flicked through the papers in the second file and lifted out the photo. “Ooo, but you might be onto a winner here.” She turned the picture over and read the name scribbled on the back. “Pippa Rose.”
Andi laughed. “Now why has Pippa Rose got a seductive voice?”
“Look at those dark brown eyes, they’re practically begging for bed.”
Andi took the photo and studied it closely. “She looks clean cut, fresh and smiley ... with quite a cute dimple in her right cheek.”
Zara snatched it back. “How can you summarise this alluring, dark eyed siren, with that mass of curly brown come to bed hair, as fresh and smiley?”
Andi reached over and took the summary sheet, reading Stella’s headlines quickly. “She’s quite young.”
“Even better,” moaned Zara. “How old exactly?”
“Twenty two.” She scanned a couple more points. “And she doesn’t seem to have an awful amount of experience.”
“I can help her with that.”
“Stop it, you dirty old woman!”
Zara spun around onto all fours and pretended to grab a handful of hair. “I’d take her from behind, pull that mass of bouncy brown hair into a pony and ride her all the way to heaven.”
Andi collected the papers and folded them back away. She dropped Pippa’s file to the floor. “It’s a good job you’re married because your seduction style’s not a winner.”
Zara lifted herself onto her knees and stuck out her chest. “That’s what I miss about you.”
“What?”
“Your hair. Since you’ve had it cropped there’s nothing to hold on to anymore.”
Andi lifted herself onto her knees, mirroring her wife’s position. “You could always look into my eyes as we make love instead?”
Zara pushed her wife backwards, sending her down onto the bed. “No, that’s far too boring. I like it spicy. Now turn over.”
Andi looked up and spoke softly. “Come here.”
“What?”
“Just come here.” Andi reached out and beckoned her wife to come down on top of her.
“What?”
Andi reached out for Zara and gently pulled her down, enjoying the feeling of her weight on to
p of her. She looked into Zara’s dark eyes and stroked her cheek. “Let’s make love. Just like this. With you on top, looking into my eyes.”
Zara glanced away.
“Zara, please, look at me. Make love to me.”
“Okay, hang on.” Zara rolled off Andi’s body and reached above the bedside cabinet to flick the light switch off. The room plunged into darkness, softened only by the gentle glow of the paused television. Zara picked up the remote and accessed the digital menu, selecting the recorded programmes from her favourite channels. She scrolled down the extensive list and finally pressed play.
A busty blonde women burst into life, giggling and moaning and almost swallowing a huge plastic dildo.
“Oh Zara! Turn this off! This isn’t what I meant.”
Zara placed the remote back on the bedside cabinet and propped herself against her pillow. “It’s a new one. I recorded it yesterday.”
“I don’t care! It’s disgusting. Look at it. Eugh! It’s clearly made for men. Come back here and make love to me.”
Zara wriggled out of her pyjama bottoms and kicked them to the floor. “I will, I will, but look, there aren’t any men in this one, only women.” She pulled off her top and glanced at Andi. “Get naked then, sweetie.”
“I know it’s just women, but look! How many lesbians spend time in bed giving blow jobs to their dildos?”
Zara straightened her hair. “Don’t be such a prude.”
“I’m not! This just doesn’t do it for me.” Andi glanced at the screen where the woman was now squeezing her own tits and begging for a big fat cock.