‘Oh good. Listen I’ve been given some extra books by a few neighbours. Could you pick me up in the morning and help me get them to school?’
‘Course I can. I’ll see you in the morning then.’
‘See you then.’
Niall is gobsmacked by my news about Monique. ‘If she rings, don’t mention it. I said I wouldn’t tell anyone.’
‘No secrets between us, love. She must know that. Do you think she’ll keep it?’
‘I’ve no idea, but I said I’ll be there whatever.’
‘Course, not a problem, you know if I’m around I’ll take care of Joe if she needs you.’
‘Thanks, Love,’ I say, and reach up to give him a kiss. Its familiar and I breathe in the remnants of his aftershave.
‘Do you want to come upstairs?’ I say.
‘Would you be offended if I said no, only I’ve been playing football with Joe and to be honest, I’ve pulled my groin.’
I reach out and stroke his cheek. ‘I could kiss it better?’
‘No, honestly, it really hurts,’ he says moving my hand away. ‘Do you want to sit on the settee with me and watch CSI?’
‘No, you’re alright, I’m tired from the trip. I’ll go on up. I need an early night so I’m ready for tomorrow.’
‘Oh yes, how could I forget. Me and Joe have a quid each ready to smack you upside the head with a sponge.’
‘I feel you are getting rather too enthusiastic about this.’
I power up the laptop to check all my messages. I am inundated with emails and Facebook notifications after ignoring them for thirty-six hours. I ignore them all and click into the secret group for Seb and I. I’ve named it ‘eBay queries’. I figured if I left it on by accident that would be too boring for Niall to click into. I read the list of messages.
‘Where are you luscious Lauren?’
‘I feel all alone :(.’
‘I’m tapping my fingers on the keyboard, still waiting.’
‘Bored now, gonna have to think of something to do.’
‘Oh, my hands have found something to play with …’
‘Hmmm right now I’m thinking about your hot tongue snaking around the inside of my mouth again. Now I’m imagining it somewhere else ...’
There were no more updates. I caught up with the rest of the emails and wondered what in the hell tomorrow would bring.
Chapter 11
We couldn’t have asked for better weather for the fair. It’s a bright day with sunshine, accompanied by a cooling breeze, so everyone who attends can join in without feeling like they’re going to melt. We arrive an hour before the start to make sure everything is in place. I spend the morning filling up balloons and tying up banners. Seb is there, dressed in black and grey stripy pyjamas, he smiles at me as I arrive and carries on with what he’s doing. I’d dressed myself as planned, with my swimming costume underneath my clothes. I’d just gone for black jogging bottoms and a black baggy tee. Not ideal clothing if it turned hotter later, but at least if it got wet I’d still look respectable.
I think back to when I used to take Joe to fun sessions at the local swimming baths, many children were almost left to drown by their dads as my costume barely fit my 36Ds. I had to go to M&S and buy a more respectable swimsuit, more akin to what a sixty year old would wear. My current costume has a decent bra bit to it, and the black makes my waist look a lot slimmer than it really is. It suits my figure, makes it look a bit fifties pin up, but that doesn’t matter today because I’m neither swimming nor bathing, so no-one will be seeing it.
Bettina is busy setting books out on her stall. Her blonde hair is loose and she must have used some tongs as it’s lightly waved. She’s wearing a floaty summer hat in pale pink and a vintage type tea dress with soft pink roses and bluebells on it; a dress I’d have killed for. With pale pink peep toe sandals and nails, and a large blue shopper style bag which matched the bluebells on the dress, she looks exquisite, and I feel dowdy and lifeless by comparison. I’d had to tie up my own hair in a bun, and had left my make-up off as I figured water didn’t mix very well with blow dried hair and a face full of slap. I walk over to her.
‘I really do adore that dress.’
‘I know, you said when you picked me up, but thanks,’ she twiddles with a piece of hair.
I watch as she pulls an embroidered tablecloth out of her bag, its patchwork, with loads of different vintage style squares of pretty florals. It’s divine, and I touch it. ‘Where did you get this from, it’s delightful?’
‘I’ve had it years,’ she says. ‘You’re not the only one who does vintage you know.’
I take a step back. ‘Well, of course. It’s just that I would have liked to get some for my shop if they’d still been around. I’m sure they’d have sold amazingly fast.’
‘I think I’m just about there with the stall.’ She looks away.
I gather I’m dismissed, so I head over to the kids canteen where the school cooks have kindly volunteered to cook us a breakfast before they start serving teas and coffees to the patrons of the fair. I turn back to Bettina but she doesn’t look up. She’s smoothing out the tablecloth. I watch her rip off a tag hanging down from it. I recognise it as a Dunbar’s tag, a store not too far away in Derbyshire – a store that opened last year.
Breakfast is so tasty and appreciated. Fried egg, fried bread, bacon, beans and fried mushrooms with a slice of toast and butter, and all washed down with a coffee. Why does it taste so much nicer when it’s cooked for you?
At ten-thirty Mrs Sullivan asks us to stand by our stations because some parents always turn up early in the hopes of getting the best bargains from the toy stalls. She is resplendent in a navy suit with a gold scarf, hair immaculate as always. She wishes us luck. I head over to the sponge stocks where Seb has pulled up two child-sized chairs to one side. I can barely sit on mine but it’s better than standing all morning.
‘You’re quiet,’ he says.
‘I’ve went to London with my friend. It was a nice break, I enjoyed it.’
‘You didn’t reply to my updates.’
‘You seemed to be doing okay by yourself.’
‘Would’ve been better if you were there.’
‘Oh I know,’ I wink at him, warming up to the idea of tormenting Seb for entertainment.
A young girl comes up with her father. ‘Morning Mr Kingsley,’ she says quietly.
‘Hi Deborah. Let me guess, you want to hit me with a wet sponge?’
‘Yes please,’ she giggles.
The sight of Mr Kingsley in his pyjamas is a target for all the young lads in the school, who can’t wait to turn their nerdy teacher into a soaking wet victim. However, without his glasses, and with his hair becoming wet and unruly, there’s a sudden surge of mothers drawn to the stocks. I watch as he peels off his pyjama top and replaces it with a dry one. He gives us all a quick reveal of his ripped body. The tattoo of a dragon stretches across his skin. Its body and tail snake around a muscled left arm, whilst its head comes to a stop just above his left nipple, sitting atop a defined pec. I swear some mothers actually swoon. I get so hot I imagine the dragon could have scorched me with its breath, and toy with the idea of switching the hose pipe we’ve been using to fill the bucket onto myself to cool down.
‘Hey mum.’ Joe is here and I sweep his gangly body up into my arms. I am so pleased to see him.
‘Put me down, that’s so embarrassing.’
Oops. Mother mistake made already. Hugging child in front of others at school. ‘How about a free go of the Sponge Stocks then? You can salvage your integrity?’
‘Don’t know what that word means, but can I have the sponges?’ he says.
Whilst I’m getting them ready I ask Joe where his dad is. ‘Oh, he’s gone to get a couple of coffees, says you’ll be ready for one by now.’
My husband is so right, I am desperate for a drink, and I could do with a wee too, listening to this water sloshing ar
ound is not helping.
I head over to Seb and ask him to put me in the stocks. ‘Oooh kinky,’ he whispers.
‘Shut it, Joe’s over there. He doesn’t need to know his future teacher’s a total lech.’
He mimes a stabbing in his heart. ‘I am wounded.’
I hate it in the stocks, I feel so vulnerable. I know it’s only a pretend thing, and I could break out of it if I wanted to, but I feel trapped and claustrophobic. I’m not a good swimmer and can hardly bear water on my face. I swim breast stroke with my head so far out of the water, I always have a bad neck when I’ve done; however this is for Joe, so I try to calm myself. ‘Okay. I’m ready.’
The first four sponges miss completely, although some spray still splashes me, but the fifth hits me squarely in the face. I can’t stand it. I shake my head and desperately want to wipe my eyes, but my arms are in the stocks. Niall has come up and I ask him to wipe my face with a towel. He knows how much I hate water, but tells me that would be cheating and then pays Seb a pound for another five sponges. I’m frustratingly unable to see what Seb makes of Niall as I’m stuck in these things. Niall walks in front and guides Joe’s hands to show him how to throw more accurately. ‘I’ll do the first one,’ he tells Joe, then raises his arm in an overhand throw as if he’s playing cricket and I’m the wicket. Whoomph, straight in my face.
‘Yeeeeeaaaaaaaahhhhhhh,’ he does a sad dad dance and slaps Joe’s hand in a high five. I find it remarkable that Joe is so caught up with the perfect shot that he lets his dad off with one of the most embarrassing jigs ever. Joe takes the next four shots and two of them are right on target, straight in my face.
‘Hey, what’s all this? Pick on your mum time?’ Bettina strolls over to us.
‘Shouldn’t you be on the book stall?’ I splutter, drips fall down my nose from my fringe.
‘One of the other mum’s is having it for ten minutes. I’m having a quick walk round and a coffee. I need the loo too. I just couldn’t resist seeing the always well put together Mrs Lawler looking like a drowned rat.’
‘You want to see her at home,’ chips in Niall. ‘She walks about in leggings and a tee shirt all the time, you know.’
‘Niall,’ I shout.
Bettina giggles. ‘Tell me more of her secrets while she’s locked up in the stocks.’
‘I’ll tell you what,’ says Niall, handing Seb another quid. ‘For every sponge you get in her face, I’ll tell you something embarrassing about her.’
‘Niall, no,’ I squeal. ‘Seb, let me out of the stocks.’ I wriggle, but it hurts my neck and wrists.
‘They’ve paid their pound fair and square,’ he says, then I feel him at my back, touching the stocks where my arms are, as if checking them. He whispers. ‘Your husband’s a moron.’
Of course, Bettina gets four of the five sponges right in my face. She does a girlish twirl, like a ballerina on the top of a music box, and asks Niall and Joe if they want to join her for a quick coffee so they can tell her four of my secrets.
‘I know some too,’ says Joe. ‘If you buy me a penguin biscuit, I’ll tell.’
Seb releases me from the stocks. My hair and the top of my tee shirt are soaking but will be fine with a towel down and ten minutes of sunshine. As I reach for a towel, I fail to see Tyler run up out of nowhere. He picks up the hose pipe and turns it on Seb. ‘I dare, I dare’. Bettina goes to knock it out of his hands, which turns the hosepipe towards me and before I know it I am absolutely drenched from head to foot, but worse than that, the water is freezing, so I scream.
‘Tyler Southwell,’ shouts Mrs Sullivan. ‘What on earth is going on?’
‘They dared me, Miss.’ Tyler points to a group of giggling schoolchildren.
‘Do you do everything you’re told to do? I think your mother needs to take you home.’
Bettina looks horrified.
‘No need,’ I say shivering. ‘Boys will be boys. If all their parents stick a couple of quid in the tub, we can let him off.’
‘That’s very understanding of you,’ says Mrs Southwell. She then turns to Bettina. ‘I realise you are on a stall, but you also need to be responsible for your son.’
Bettina looks at the floor. ‘Of course, Mrs Sullivan. He can stay on the stall with me for the rest of the fair.’ She digs in her bag and brings out a five pound note. ‘That’s Tyler’s contribution. It can come out of his pocket money.’
‘Muuum, that’s not fair,’ Tyler harrumphs. She drags him over to her stall and her furious face leaves no doubt about the fact that Tyler will be lucky to be given any more pocket money this month.
At least she didn’t get any inside info on my life, I think.
Mrs Sullivan decides that the sponge stocks have been a success, but in the circumstances it’s time for them to finish. We can dry off, get changed and have a wander around the rest of the fair ourselves. I spied some delicious looking chocolate cupcakes on the cake stall earlier and hope there’s still one there with my name on it. Niall tells me he’ll find me in a bit and heads off with Joe. I grab my plastic Tesco bag, containing my changes of clothes, hairbrush, towels, hairdryer and spare plastic bags for the wet clothes (Monique would throw a fit but hey she isn’t here) and head into Seb’s classroom, which has been set up as our changing area. He follows me in.
‘Erm, excuse me. I need some privacy to get changed,’ I tell him.
He leans against the wall. ‘I don’t think you do. I think you’ll need some assistance getting out of those wet clothes, and I can help you dry off,’ he replies.
‘Seb, my husband and son are outside.’
His tongue wets his lip. ‘That makes it even more fun, don’t you think?’
I’m trying to pull my t-shirt over my head but it’s so wet it rolls up and gets stuck. I sigh in frustration. He comes over and helps me take it off. Struggling with a wet shirt isn’t exactly like the clothes ripping off scenes you get on TV, but my nipples visibly harden under my swimsuit. I flush. ‘It’s the cold.’
‘No it’s not, Lauren.’
I realise at this point that I can take my gear with me, go and find Niall and we can go home. There he’ll no doubt re-enact the sponge stocks in the garden with my kitchen sponges and state that whilst I’m wet I might as well let them have another turn. I inhale deeply. ‘Lock the door.’
‘I already have.’
He comes towards me and grabs my wrist, leading me towards the storage room at the back of the classroom. As his classroom is at the rear of the school we are unlikely to be seen anyway but it’s good that he’s thinking of things like that, my own sense seems to have disappeared. He pulls me into the cupboard where he strips his pyjama shirt off and throws it to the floor. I put my hand against his chest and feel the cold, damp skin underneath my fingers. I stroke around the head of the dragon, tracing my fingertips around the outline. I’ve never seen a tattoo up close, the black ink is like a trail of temptation, of darkness. Seb’s breathing intensifies. I move my hand to his cheek and touch his face. I can feel the beginnings of stubble. I pause and look at him. His eyes darken as his pupils dilate. I can still leave, I remind myself, but instead, I lean into him, raising myself up on tip toes and lick the side of his neck, he tastes of water and salt.
‘You started it this time,’ he says, his voice gruff.
‘And at any time, I may well end it,’ I say, trailing tiny kisses down his chin. He catches my mouth with a groan and his tongue is strong and insistent between my teeth. He helps me remove my leggings and they join his shirt on the floor. I stand in just my swimsuit. Seb’s eyes appraise me as he takes in the curve of my breasts, with their slight swell over the top of the swimsuit. He places his body oh so closely next to mine, and then his mouth is on mine again. My breathing is getting raspier and I can feel his heart beating against my chest. He drops the strap of my swimsuit and runs his hand over my breast, caressing an erect nipple. I arch my breast into his hand, savouring the touch. His oth
er hand moves down my back, grabbing my ass and pulling me towards him.
‘Put your hand here,’ he moans, showing me the opening of his PJ bottoms, which had been fastened previously, but now give me a tantalising glimpse of what lays beneath.
I start to trail my hand over his stomach, touching the fine hair there, and move my hand lower.
My phone rings. Loud and shrill, playing the Star Wars theme tune, it reminds me that my son and husband are just outside. I leap for the phone whilst Seb tries to grab hold of me and keep me close to him.
I shake him off. ‘Hello?’
‘We’re done here and ready to go. We walked up this morning, so thought if you were nearly ready we could get a lift back with you?’ says Niall.
‘Yes, of course. I’ll just be a few moments. I’m just changing into some dry clothes.’
‘Don’t get too dry, I’ve promised Joe we’ll make our own sponge stocks at home.’
‘Yes, I thought you might.’
‘I’m allowed to be a little predictable at my age aren’t I?’ he laughs.
‘Of course. Well I’ll see you in a few.’ I end the call.
I daren’t look at Seb’s face. He comes over to me and lifts up my chin. ‘It doesn’t matter to me, Lauren. I just like spending time with you, though you’re driving me mad,’ he indicates the bulge in his trousers. He sighs, ‘Go on.’
I grab my things and leave to find my husband. As I get to the door he whispers,
‘I’ll contact you tonight, on Facebook.’
‘Please don’t,’ I say. My eyes beg him not to, before I close the door behind me.
I ruminate all afternoon. I can’t believe what I did. I feel guilty, yet it was exhilarating to be that naughty and abandoned. Why can’t it still be like this with Niall? After re-enacting the sponge stocks in the garden I go upstairs to shower. Niall comes in to use the loo.
I peer around the shower curtain. ‘What’s Joe doing?’
‘Building a Lego train we got at the fair.’
‘Well, come and get in here.’
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