Chapter Eight
Annie’s eyes were wide open. Things hadn’t exactly gone to plan, she thought as she lay in bed and listened to Tony’s rhythmic breathing. Despite the humiliation the evening had wrought, she could still muster up irritation at the way he could always sleep no matter what had transpired prior to bedtime—be it a barny or a bonk. And it certainly hadn’t been a bonk. She’d been doing such a good job of shaking her little bobtail around, too.
Oh, it wasn’t bloody well fair! She rolled over again, this time onto her back. The curtains weren’t shut properly and car lights snuck in through the crack between them. As she gazed up at the ceiling with its speckle of dancing lights, she was reminded of a 1970s disco, except the debauched goings-on at Studio 54 were a far cry from what was currently going on in her bedroom. As Tony emitted a tiny snore, she threw back the duvet cover in frustration. It was no good: her mind raced. She’d be better off making herself a drink and reading a book than just lying here getting more and more agitated by the fact she couldn’t sleep. She shrugged into her dressing gown and slippers, and padded through to the kitchen to pop the kettle on.
The living room was still warm but she grabbed the throw rug off the side of the couch anyway and snuggled under it before she opened her book with her mug of tea at her side. She’d been enjoying the story so far. It was a bit of a bodice-ripper but tonight as the words swam in front of her eyes, she really couldn’t care less what happened when Ava got home to find her philandering husband Gregory in bed with her best friend. She could write her own novel after what had happened to her tonight, although it would be far from a bodice-ripper. A sudden thud made her drop her book. She realised the source of the noise had come from outside, so she got up and pulled open the curtain, fairly certain she knew what was behind it.
Sure enough, an angry ginger face was squished up against the frosty window; one beady yellow eye glared back at her. She had to smile. Bloody Jazz didn’t miss a beat. Oh well, it was his lucky night; he could come in for a bit because she was in need of a bit of a snuggle-up just as much as he was.
She scooped him up as he mewled his utter joy at being let back in. “Quiet down, you, if you want to stay in,” she whispered and carried him back through into the lounge. She rearranged the blanket over herself, and she patted her lap. It was all the invitation he needed and he joyfully leaped on to his rightful place in the world before he began his kneading ritual. Having clawed his mistress satisfactorily, he stood up, turned around twice and flopped back down again, finally happy. Annie leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “You’re a funny old thing, Jazz. I love you, you know that?”
He purred by way of reply.
“And I know you love me, too, but I am beginning to wonder if Daddy does.”
Scratching behind the nonplussed cat’s ears, her face grew hot at the memory of what had transpired earlier in the evening. It was a memory she knew had just gone straight to the number-one spot on her top-ten most embarrassing moments ever. “So Jazz,” she whispered, “coming in at number ten is the time I tripped over on the steps on my way up to the stage to collect that stupid certificate in the fifth form.” God, that had been excruciating at an age when maintaining one’s cool was oh-so-important. “Number nine was the day I dived into the pool at swim sports and lost my top.” The question still remained as to why she had opted to wear a bikini to school swim sports. In hindsight, Annie thought her sixteen-year-old self had been trying to impress Christopher Jenkins. Well, she had certainly managed to do that; in fact, she had been very popular with most of the lads at school for quite some time after that incident.
She stroked the purring cat’s knobbly back and then to his chagrin paused as she cast her mind back to those agonising teenage years when everything was so new and raw. “Um, number eight would have to be when Mum dropped me off at my first ever party with Tessa Roche and then sat outside the house and honked until one of the boys came in and announced in front of everybody that my mum was still parked outside and that she wanted to see me. All she wanted was to tell me that Dad would pick me up at eleven p.m. sharp, but Jazz, it wasn’t a good look. Still I can’t blame her, really; she had more reason than most to be strict.” The memory of that agonising eleventh birthday party Roz had crashed raised its head and she squashed it. It was far too horrible to be embarrassing and she swiftly moved her list along.
“At seven, we have choking on a cigarette down the back of the school field.” She’d been desperately trying to impress the circle of so-called cool kids. “I am glad I didn’t persevere with getting the hang of that, Jazz, and anyway, I should have known better. Let me see, oh yeah, next would have to be that awful haircut just before the sixth form prom.” Annie’s hand inadvertently flew up to check her hair was still there the way it always did when she conjured up that haircut. She had thought her world was ending when she arrived home the day before the dance from the hairdressers with what amounted to a red afro. “I said a trim, Jazz, not a butcher, and I tell you what—if it was something we did in this country, I would have sued.” She shook the memory away and decided to leave the teenage years in the past where they belonged.
“I think number five would be the time Tony and I went camping by Lake Brunner, and I got bitten on the eye during the night by a mosquito. I could hardly see out of it the next day and all our fellow campers spoke really slowly to me all day.” She remembered how Tony had thought it was hysterical until one of the campers had squared up to him and pass remarked about it taking a weak man to hit a woman. After that, he refused to be seen with her unless she wore her sunglasses. “Number four is the day I asked a client when her baby was due and she told me she had him three months ago.” The look on the woman’s face still made Annie squirm; she’d felt terrible for days after and had learned a hard lesson.
“At number three, we have the time I got the roll of loo paper stuck to my shoe and trailed it right across the office and into a client meeting.” Still, at least Mel had found it funny, even if the client hadn’t. Annie smiled at the memory; had Attila been there, she would have spontaneously combusted. “Number two, of course, is swanning around the Rugby Clubroom’s on prize-giving night with my dress tucked into my knickers.” She had not felt like a winner that night and her face still flamed at the memory despite three years having passed. These days she hardly ever frequented the clubrooms. It wasn’t just due to the catcalls of “Hey Annie, nice knickers!” she could pretty much guarantee getting from Tony’s teammates. It was more that she felt disconnected from that whole scene. It was Tony’s thing, not hers.
“And taking the prize at number one, Jazz, we have being busted by none other than Ngaire while wearing a Playboy Bunny outfit.”
Jazz let out a tiny blissful sigh as Annie stroked him again. She’d had such grand plans, too, as she’d stood at the filing cabinet at work that afternoon and envisaged how the evening would play out.
She would dress up in her little outfit and surprise Tony when he arrived home from work. Keeping in character, she would offer him a drink and then run him a shower—if he’d been unblocking loos again, she didn’t particularly want to canoodle until after he’d had a chance to clean up. Knowing Tony, too, she always got further with him on a full stomach so while he showered, she would rustle up his favourite meal. Steak, egg, and chips. She’d even cook the chips in the deep-fryer the way he liked them instead of the lower-fat version of oven-baked chips she normally served up. Then when he was totally relaxed with a proper drink in hand as befitted the occasion and not a can of beer, she’d bring up the subject of their wedding and when it was likely to happen. Later, of course, well, if he played his cards right...
Things had gotten off to a great start, too, with the gods being on her side for once as she drove home from work and struck every green light going on the way. It had meant she arrived home ten minutes earlier than normal. Plenty of time to make herself beautiful, she had thought as she unlocked the front door and h
eaded straight for the bedroom with a spring in her step. She pulled the bunny outfit out from its hiding place; she’d laid it out on the bed and scanned the room as though she searched for hidden video cameras. Satisfied she would not one day find herself on America’s Funniest Home Videos courtesy of Carl sending in footage, her gaze resettled on the tiny garment splayed out on the bed.
As she gave it the once-over, she frowned, suddenly unsure as to how she would squeeze into the bloody thing. It looked awfully small laid out as it was, almost Kylie-like in its proportions—and Miss Minogue she was definitely not. She hadn’t wanted to try it on in the shop because she’d been in far too much of a hurry to get out of there. Now she regretted her haste. She stripped off and gritted her teeth; she reminded herself that if she set her mind to something, she could do it. Look at her Julianne Tigre dress—she’d managed to get into that, hadn’t she?
Wiggling her goosy flesh into the satiny all-in-one strapless, corset-topped leotard, she also wished she had a heat pump in the bedroom. The one out in the hall was not sharing the love. With a breath in, she managed to wrest the side zipper into place without too much difficulty and exhaled. “Did it!” With her bow tie clipped into place, she turned her attention to the mirror and gave herself the once-over. “Right—first things first. You need to slap on some fake tan, my girl.” She had some of that instant stuff in the bathroom, which was fortunate—otherwise Tony might think he had come home to an albino rabbit!
She swivelled around for the rear view. She looked over her shoulder at the little white pompom tail and giggled. Annie stuck her bottom out and gave it a waggle. Okay, so Hugh probably wouldn’t give her a job unless she dropped a few pounds but all in all, she didn’t look too bad—faintly ridiculous but not too bad. Now, though, it was time for the final touch and she opened her sweater drawer to produce the headband with its bobbing bunny ears. She placed it on her head and asked in her best breathy Marilyn Monroe voice, “Can I get you a drink, sir?” She wondered randomly whether Mr Hefner had ever had a red-headed bunny at the mansion before. Surely in these enlightened times they weren’t all blondes? She fluffed her hair out, and cursed its stubborn curliness for the trillionth time.
Hoping she could keep in character and keep a straight face, she leaned into the mirror to make sure her cleavage was up to standard. It passed muster and rifling through her make-up bag, Annie vowed to pick up mascara next time she was at the supermarket because her current one was getting manky. She swept the wand over her lashes before fishing out her red lippy and smacking her lips together when she finished applying it, she took a step back to admire her handiwork. Oh, she’d have to do; Tony would be home any minute. She heard his wagon pull up the driveway and took a deep breath.
“Surprise!” Like one of those girls popping out of a birthday cake, she had popped—not hopped—out of the bedroom and into the hallway as soon as she heard his key in the lock. Tony, having just that minute stepped in the door, was not expecting his very own Playboy Bunny to appear and his eyes were out on stalks as he dropped his work bag in shock. Annie spotted Ngaire bringing up the rear. As she peered around Tony’s broad frame to see what had rendered him immobile, her face registered shock at the sight of her son’s fiancée clad in next to nothing with bunny rabbit ears on top of her head at five forty-five on a Tuesday evening.
“What the f*** are you wearing?”
In a reflexive action, Ngaire slapped her son around the ear. “Don’t swear.”
Annie shut her mouth, turned and raced back into the bedroom. She heard Tony say, “Was that a rabbit tail on her butt?”
Annie had leaned against the bedroom door, her hands pressed to her hot cheeks. “Oh my God, that did not just happen.” Tony murmured to his mother in the hallway. She cursed and glanced down at her attire. It had been a stupid, stupid idea! What did she think she was doing? She wrestled her way free of the costume, kicked it across the room before she slid into the safe fleecy confines of her Onezee. She flopped down on the end of the bed to wait until the coast was clear. As she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she swore softly. She still had the damn rabbit ears on.
Tony had opened the door cautiously as simultaneously Annie heard a car start up outside the house. “I suppose your mother is off home to spread the word about what she saw tonight?” Not giving Tony a chance to answer, she got up and pushed past him. “And don’t you say a word. I don’t want to talk about it.”
She’d still served up the steak for dinner—that wasn’t going to go to waste. To be fair to Tony, he hadn’t made a fuss about the long, curly red hair that had found its way into his egg white either, but he had snickered every now and then between mouthfuls. Annie refused to see the funny side of Ngaire catching her out. How was she to know she’d pick that evening to call in to pick up her stupid jacket? It had been sitting here for weeks, so why tonight of all nights? Because it was her rotten luck, that was why, and although she knew she would laugh about it one day, for the moment she needed to wallow in her humiliation. In the meantime, she knew how to wipe the smirk off Tony’s face. Oh yes, indeed the time had come for her to broach the subject of marriage.
She’d begun with, “I think we are procrastinating, Tony.” She leaned earnestly across the table towards him. “I mean, as your mother is always telling me I am not getting any younger and well, I suppose I just don’t know what we are waiting for anymore.” Annie held her hand up before he could interrupt. “I know you say we should have our own home first but a wedding doesn’t have to cost the earth. We could keep things simple and do it in a Registry Office with a low-key reception afterwards.” She didn’t add, so long as she got to wear her beautiful Julianne Tigre dress, she didn’t really care how she got that gold band on her finger.
Tony had drained his beer, belched before he stated his case and Annie had tuned him out. There had been no need to listen: he said exactly what she had known he would say.
Now, snuggled under the blanket, she scratched behind Jasper’s ear. “His excuse is that his mum would kill him if we got married in a Registry Office, Jazz. I reminded him that it is actually my day, not hers, but that didn’t go down well. He lives in terror of that woman. Mind you, I do too, and oh crap! I just remembered we have to go to dinner there tomorrow night.” She sighed deeply. Jasper opened one weary eye at the stuffing going out of his cushion. “Oh well, I suppose I will have to face her sometime. Better to get it over and done with sooner rather than later.” Annie pushed the picture of the bleached blonde harridan away. “Tony reckons we will be in our own home by the end of the year, if we tighten our belts a bit but do you know what I think?” Jasper didn’t reply; he had overexerted himself by opening that one eye. “I think all that will happen then is, we will have a mortgage to pay and rates and insurances and all that stuff that goes with owning a house and Tony will have the perfect excuse to keep on stalling where a wedding is concerned.” Annie sighed. “Do you know what else I realised tonight? We have never discussed kids. I mean, I am officially over thirty and I know that people are having their families later in life so I suppose I just assumed we would get married and then start a family. But we have never even talked about it apart from when we have been joking around about Ngaire wanting to hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet. I mean, after six years together, we have never got further in planning our future together than buying a flipping house! What does that say about us as a couple?”
Jasper just stretched and closed his eyes.
Chapter Nine
Annie was woken by the sound of the shower running and she stretched languidly for a moment, having forgotten about the events of the night before. She happily floated in that lovely warm abyss between sleep and wakefulness where the running water from the shower wasn’t Tony going about his morning ablutions but rather the rushing flow of a waterfall on a tropical island. Then the water had gone off and a moment later Tony had banged back into the bedroom and issued a reminder to her that they were due at Ngair
e and Doug’s for six o’clock sharp that evening. He’d added that he’d meet her there as he had a big job on and it was way over the other side of town before he slunk out the door, not giving her a chance to protest.
Wide awake now, Annie lay there for a moment and cursed because despite her decision that facing the music was the best course of action last night, in the cold light of morning she really did not want to. If she had her way, they’d stay home so she could pursue the wedding conversation with Tony. She needed to chip away at his defences bit by bit, not head over to the Goodalls’ place for scintillating chatter about car parts (Doug) or how shocking the amount the hairdresser charged these days was (Ngaire) followed by a meal of meat and three veg.
God help the woman, she would not be responsible for her actions if Ngaire mentioned what had occurred last night or brought up the subject of weddings, Annie vowed as she sat up and rubbed at her eyes. They felt scratchy like sandpaper but then, it had been after two a.m. by the time she’d popped Jazz back out and crawled into bed next to the snoring Tony. He’d gone to bed with his nose well out of joint because she had refused to dress up in the bunny suit for a second time. She caught sight of herself in the dressing table mirror now and recoiled. God, she looked a fright! Her hair was all over the place, thanks to a night spent tossing and turning, and she had the pallor of an albino rabbit. Enough of the rabbit references, Annie! She then pondered whether she should call in sick. It wouldn’t really be a lie because from where she sat, she certainly looked sick but then she realised that with Attila on the warpath, she’d probably demand she produce a doctor’s certificate. Nope, better not give her any more ammunition. She tossed the duvet aside and padded towards the bathroom. A hot shower and a hot coffee in that order, followed by lashings of make-up, was the prescription needed.
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