Limp Dicks & Saggy Tits

by Tracie Podger

  “Well, we’ll just have to find someone else that we think Danny will dislike then. When is your date with Ronan?” Joe asked, as he gave me a hug goodbye.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “You make sure to ring me before you meet up, at least once during, and as soon as you’ve left him, okay?”

  “Why?”

  “Security, Lizzie.” He sighed. “He might murder you, this way I’ll know he hasn’t. If you don’t call, I can ring the police.”

  “What if I forget to call?”

  “Put a reminder in your phone. And dress in layers, much harder to get through.”

  I pushed him from the threshold and slammed the door. “Layers, murderer…” I mumbled to myself. “No wonder you’re single,” I shouted, knowing he wouldn’t hear.

  I sat and nursed the remnants of the wine as unease settled in my stomach. What if he was a murderer? I grabbed my phone and set three alerts to ring throughout the evening. As for layers, by the time anyone got my Tena Lady pants off, my tights, my body sculpture corset thingy that was supposed to give me back the shape I had twenty years ago according to the saleswoman, they would be too exhausted to do anything awful!

  Yes, I was safe from being attacked, I decided, I just had to make sure not to be murdered.

  Chapter Five

  Thursday morning meant a hair appointment. While I sat with my head being massaged, which was really just an excuse to charge another twenty quid while the conditioner had time to soak into my brittle split ends, I had my nails painted a bright coral colour.

  “Are you going anywhere special this evening?” the nail girl asked.

  I didn’t know her, and I wasn’t about to chat with her about my date. I hated that she cracked gum and blew bubbles. I hated more that her nails were awful, bitten down and dirty. She really wasn’t a great advertisement for a nail technician.

  “No, I just like to get my hair and nails done regularly,” I replied. I hadn’t opened my eyes; I was enjoying the head rub.

  I heard her crack the gum and sighed.

  “Is that nice?” Kelly, the young girl who washed my hair, asked.

  “It is, thank you. What’s not is listening to gum chewing and bubble blowing.”

  There was no reply, and although there was no more noise, I did wonder if, once I opened my eyes, I was going to find polish all over my cuticles or fingertips.

  As the day wore on, so my nerves increased. After soaking in the bath, I sat in my robe with a glass of wine. I had an hour before Ronan was due to collect me. I checked my alarm settings to cover the, ‘I haven’t been murdered’ thing, and I double, and then triple checked the text message from Ronan to be sure I had the correct date.

  I tried to remember the last time I’d been on a date. Of course, I was early teens, and it would have been with Harry. I still struggled when I thought of his name. My stomach knotted, and I took a deep breath in to relax myself. It had been nearly two years. I had to move on, and my first date was going to be the start of it.

  I carefully applied my makeup and then dressed. When I was done, I stood in front of the mirror and smiled. I looked, and felt, a little like my old self. Although I wished the jowls weren’t there—and the few lines across my brow and around my eyes. I didn’t look as haggard as I had the previous couple of months. Yep, I was looking good.

  I emptied my ‘day time’ handbag and then loaded my ‘night time’ handbag with a few panty liners, my lipstick, phone, my purse, a pen and small notepad, my keys, a packet of tissues, and some headache pills. Before I slipped on my shoes, I added a spare pair of knickers in case of accidents. And flip flops.

  I texted Joe that Ronan was due in a few minutes and this was the first of my check-ins. Then I waited.

  I sipped some more wine, and I watched the clock. When it was time, I pulled my handbag closer to me and kept my phone in my hand. I watched the clock some more.

  I’d refreshed my wine glass while the hands on the clock moved past the time Ronan was due and continued to move until it was half an hour, then three quarters, and then an hour later. At that point, I emptied my night time handbag and gently placed the items back in my day time bag. I stood and walked into the bedroom, placed the bag back in the wardrobe, and kicked off my shoes. I picked them up and put them back in their protective cloth bag before storing them away. I unzipped the dress and hung it back up. I slipped off the panties and bra and walked to the shower.

  I stood under the jets of water and let a couple of tears leak and mingle with the droplets before soaping a sponge and washing the makeup, the perfume, body lotion, the ‘date’ from my skin.

  With my wet hair piled on top of my head and my fleecy jammies on, I walked back into the kitchen. I wasn’t so low that I resorted to Horlicks, but I did scour the cupboard to see if I had any hot chocolate. When I didn’t find any, I made myself a cup of tea and then panicked.

  I picked up my phone to see a missed text and then a missed call. I replied:

  Nothing to panic over, he didn’t show. I took a shower, and now I’m sitting with a cup of tea xx

  My phone vibrated with an incoming call, and Joe’s name appeared. I wasn’t up for talking, so I held it while I walked to the sofa. I pulled a comforter around my shoulders, curled up, and turned on the TV.

  I wasn’t angry. I was disappointed, and I was sad. I had been looking forward to my date. I liked Ronan, and the thought that someone liked me, and wanted to take me to dinner had boosted my bruised ego no end. I sighed. It obviously wasn’t to be, but I didn’t think that Ronan was the kind to make a plan and then just not show. Something had kept him away, but a call or a text could have saved me from sitting clock watching and wondering.

  A text arrived from Joe:

  Honey, I’m so sorry. I tried to call. Do you fancy some company?

  I smiled as my best friend was offering up his Thursday card night with his friends for me:

  No, it’s okay. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. I can’t imagine he’d be someone who just doesn’t show. I’m going to have an early night xx

  Joe was quick to reply:

  I think you’re right. I tried to call, his phone is off, and I texted. He might be caught up somewhere with a dead battery – sleep well, my lovely xx

  I didn’t respond; there was no need. I sipped on my tea, and I watched some trashy reality show. I hated them, but they were compulsive viewing sometimes. I pitied the ‘stars’, having to be on show constantly. Just layering that amount of makeup on my skin every day would be tiring enough without tottering about in heels made for inhuman beings and wearing daft outfits in the middle of the wrong season. Car crash TV, perfect for my non-date night.

  I woke with a stiff neck and a chill. Although I still had the comforter wrapped around me, I’d fallen asleep on the sofa, and the timer had kicked the heating off at ten o’clock. I glanced at my watch; it was closing in on midnight. I rose and stretched my arms above my head, deciding on another cup of tea and the comfort of a mattress. It was as I was standing, waiting for the kettle to boil that I heard laughter from the hallway.

  I crept to the door and placed the side of my head against the wood. I could hear a female. I looked through the spy hole to see Danny with a blonde teetering in impossibly high heels, a skirt that was probably no more than a belt, and a tank top. It was way too cold for that kind of attire normally, let alone this time of year. I did notice her Michael Kors handbag, of course. There was something about the way she swayed around that made me suspect she wasn’t completely sober. It was the first time I’d seen Danny since his trip and the dead cat episode, and there was something about him that had me on alert. He was home a day earlier than I was expecting and he hadn’t thought to notify me of that. He looked a little inebriated as well, but he also looked unkempt—something that wasn’t the case on the previous times we’d met. His hair was greasy; he had stubble around his chin and not the designer kind. It was the type that meant the owner of the stubbl
e hadn’t had access to a razor.

  Although he wore a suit, his tie was skewed, and the front of his white shirt looked dirty and very crumpled. I watched as he inserted his key, and his companion giggled some more as the door was opened. They walked in, and I saw him kick it closed. I mentally wished them a good night with the handcuffs and whatnots.

  I had just settled into bed an hour later when I heard doors banging and stage whispers. It was the first time I’d noticed how thin the walls were and how much noise could filter from the hallway. Obviously, Danny’s guest was leaving, and she wasn’t going quietly. I thought it very inconsiderate and although I didn’t want to be that neighbour, I was here first, and I was going to mention it in the morning. I picked up my phone to check the time, and while I was there, I thought I might as well check any messages.

  “Bollocks to you, Ronan,” I said out loud when I saw nothing from him.

  Although I was of the same mind as Joe in that something must have happened—fifty-year-olds didn’t just fail to turn up for a date—I was still pissed off.

  Other than a death, there was no reason I’d accept for the lack of communication.

  Unusually, I woke late the following morning. No matter what time I go to bed on an evening, I’m normally an early bird. I took a quick shower and dressed before grabbing my phone and heading for the kitchen.

  I was munching on a piece of toast when I thought to check my messages.

  Hun, I heard from Rich that his mum died. I guess that’s why Ronan didn’t make your date. I think their mum lives in Scotland somewhere.

  Joe finished his text with a sad emoji.

  I replied:

  How come Rich can find the time to tell you yet Ronan can’t tell me?

  Then I regretted the words.

  Joe’s replay came:

  I don’t know, sorry xx

  I shook my head as guilt niggled at me:

  Don’t apologise. I feel terribly sorry for them both.

  I immediately wracked my brain for any mean thoughts in case I’d hexed Ronan with them. While I continued to munch on my toast, I toyed with the idea of texting him my condolences. I didn’t want to disturb him, and I certainly didn’t want my text to remind him about our missed date and for him to feel bad. Before I could make a decision, I heard Danny’s front door open and then slam shut.

  I rushed from my seat. “Danny, do you have a minute?” I asked as I opened my front door.

  He wore a black t-shirt and jeans with dark glasses on a dull morning. He smiled but didn’t speak.

  “I’d like you to be a little more considerate when you bring your guests home. The walls aren’t as thick as they should be in this building.” I placed a hand on my hip to indicate I meant business.

  “Ah, I’m sorry. She’s a bit loud,” he replied, pushing his glasses up to his forehead.

  I was little confused by his reply. “I’m sorry?”

  “She’s so loud. I mean, she even gives me a headache sometimes. I end up gagging her.”

  I know I let my mouth flap open, but I quickly shut when he winked at me, slid his glasses back over his bloodshot eyes, and turned to walk away.

  “What a prick,” I said, as I closed my front door.

  I heard him laugh as he entered the stairwell. He hadn’t even mentioned his prank with the cat and that annoyed me too.

  The more I thought about Danny, the more I wondered why he was such an arsehole. There was no excuse for his comments or his behaviour. He didn’t know me. We could have been friends, and we were neighbours. I’d have thought that fact alone would have warranted some form of respect. Still, I’d be leaving soon enough, and he’d have to start all over again with a new neighbour and an unsavoury one from what Joe had been planning.

  A few weeks had passed when I received a call arranging a meeting with my solicitor. I guessed the final day of being married was here. I was both pleased to wrap up that period of my life, and sad that period of my life was wrapped up. It hadn’t been the case that my husband had fallen out of love with me. It was simply that he couldn’t find it in himself to hide any more, and I respected that, to a degree. What hurt was the speed and method he’d embraced his new identity. I made a decision that I wasn’t going to dwell on it; I wasn’t going to let it make me a bitter and twisted woman. I fought that, sometimes, but I was trying, and with the final appointment, I’d be able to take that deep breath in and let it all go.

  I hadn’t heard a word from Ronan, and I hadn’t seen Danny, either. I was sad about one, happy for the other. Joe had discovered that Ronan’s mum had been poorly for some time; it wasn’t an unexpected death, although it had happened quicker than they were prepared for. Right or wrong, a little niggle formed that he could have sent a quick text message—I would have done so, had it been me.

  Later that day, as I left the flat to head to the solicitors, I decided I would send Ronan a text message. I would be the bigger person. I sat in the back of the taxi and typed:

  I’m sorry to hear about your mum. I would have messaged earlier but thought you’d be so busy. Just wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you and your family right now – Lizzie

  I switched my phone to silent and placed it back in my handbag. Of all my friends, I was probably one of the last to own a mobile phone, and I still had the iPhone 5s that I’d bought as new and had caused me all sorts of headaches to learn. There was no way I was going to upgrade, despite the constant bombardment from my network provider and the ever-slowing apps and fast-depleting battery.

  It was with a deep breath that I pulled open the door to the solicitor’s and was shown through to a waiting area. I was told Mr Thompson would be with me shortly and I hoped that to be the case. The man was charging me enough, and on the previous meeting, he’d been nearly an hour late.

  “Lizzie, it’s good to see you,” he said, holding out both hands as if I was a child about to be swung around.

  I ignored the outstretched hands and rose from a particularly low grey uncomfortable sofa. “It’s good to see you, too, and on time,” I replied with a smile.

  He laughed, but it was tinged with awkward embarrassment rather than genuine mirth.

  “Please, follow me.”

  We walked to his office, and I was shown to a chair and offered coffee or tea, which I declined. I was keen to get the meeting underway and could see the bulging folder with a smart white envelope on top, which I suspected that contained his invoice.

  Since it was payday, for both of us, I guess any tardiness went out the window.

  He cleared his throat as if about to make a monumental statement, perhaps something as profound as Martin Luther King since he had a framed poster of the great man on his wall.

  “It’s done,” he said, then beamed a smile at me.

  “I gathered that, but maybe you’d like to be more specific?”

  “Oh, yes. He agreed to everything, as you know. He has deposited the money with us, so if you’re happy, you just need to sign off this invoice, and you’re finally free.”

  He gently slid the white envelope across the desk to me, and I opened it. It contained their invoice, and I tried not to baulk at the fee.

  “This is a little higher than expected or quoted even. Can you explain?” I asked, pointing at a forty-five-pound figure.

  “That’s a bank transfer fee. Standard amount,” he answered with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  I really didn’t have much choice but to sign off the document since the money was already sitting in their account. It pissed me off when solicitors, or lawyers, or estate agents even, demanded a fee to transfer money when there certainly wasn’t any bloody cost at their end. And if he even tried to quote the Money Laundering Act at me, I’d smack him one.

  I slid the document and his pen back to him, and it was rather disconcerting to see him pick that pen up and roll it over his upper lip as if sniffing it.

  I shuddered. “When will my money be transferred to me?”

 
; “It takes three working days.”

  “And those are all the documents?” I asked since he hadn’t actually given me my divorce papers.

  “Oh, yes, of course. Will you be celebrating?”

  “Celebrating? What a strange choice of words to offer someone who has just dissolved over thirty years of marriage,” I said. I gathered the documents and stood.

  “I didn’t mean to offend,” he said.

  “Well, you did. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be off to celebrate!”

  I left his office a single woman with a million and a half pounds in the bank. Technically not in my bank, but it would be. And technically, it would be minus their fee and the blasted bank transfer.

  It sounded a lot of money, especially when I whispered the amount as I walked along the road towards a taxi rank. Living in London, though, meant that extra half a million would just about buy me a small apartment. If I moved out of town, I’d get more for my money, and I did long to move away.

  I’d lived in London my whole life, and there had been a time when I’d loved the hustle and bustle, the fumes and the honks of car horns at all hours. I’d loved to be able to walk to a deli or coffee shop.

  Over the past month or so, though, I had begun to long for some fresh air, some quietness, and open space.

  I opened the door to a waiting taxi and gave my address. As I settled back, I pulled out my mobile and saw a missed call from Joe, and a text wishing me luck with my appointment. I texted him:

  I am officially a single woman as of this moment.

  He replied:

  That’s a great thing, isn’t it?

  I didn’t reply immediately. I wasn’t sure it was great. It certainly wasn’t where I expected to find myself at fifty-years-old. I placed my phone in my bag and stared out of the window. Terraced housing lined either side of the street; cars were parked, causing bottlenecks in places. We passed black bags of rubbish sitting at the kerb, waiting to be collected. Some of those bags had been ripped open, probably by the many urban foxes that had been lured in by good-willed homeowners who thought they needed feeding, and the loss of their natural environment, of course.