Under Purple Sheets

by Coco Houston

  We decided that we better get up, moreover, go to prepare the Christmas dinner. Just at that, someone is furiously knocking on the front door. I quickly throw on my robe, running down the stairs in a panic. The desperation of the person who is banging it off its hinges for an answer on a Christmas morning, is making me worried that something awful has happened or is seriously wrong as the glass on the front door get desperately rattled even harder. I pass by front door at the bottom of my hall, I saw through the frosted window, a shadow which looked like the young boy from up the road, he brings me a Christmas card and one chocolate every single Christmas morning. I go out of the back door, then hurry around the side of the house; to my surprise, I see an old lady standing on my doorstep. She turns on hearing me approach. I recognised her instantly from the photographs I had seen in their marital home, it was Brad’s wife. What the fuck was she doing at my house on Christmas morning?

  She stays put, gaping over at me for a moment as if considering her next move, suddenly flinging her arms way up in the air while holding her handbag; she comes marching down the steps wearing a look of madness. In a very high-pitched shrill voice she comes towards me, waving the bag and screaming, “Who invited you to Meg Blake’s funeral?” She yells so loud that the whole fucking street can hear her. “Well, who invited you, what right have you got going to her funeral?” I just walk away but she follows me; she pushes me with the bag into a bush, then the bag attacks me, knocking me onto the wet grass in my bare feet, it isn’t even worth a response. I should have just got my wand though and landed her on her fucking old arse!

  Stupid, squealing banshee of a decrepit woman with this dangerous bag, wearing bright blue eyeliner, which is just as horrendous as her! She obviously has no idea of the close relationship that I had with Brad’s mother, besides it was her wish that I be there, because that is what Brad’s mother had told me she wanted. The other reason was that Brad’s mother always claimed she considered me to be her daughter-in-law now and not this fucking squawking crow doing karate with a clutch bag. Brad’s mother was a wonderful woman with an extraordinary personality; she loved all the secrecy of the affair. She had been on holiday to Megan’s with me and Brad and she wore my coats. I loved her like she was my own, but there was no point in explaining this to Brad’s wife because she had clearly arrived at the door early on Christmas morning hell-bent on causing trouble despite everything else that has been going on. I thought this was shocking behaviour, especially as Brad’s mother had just died. I am horrified at her performance, Brad even more so, he is totally mortified, his face bright red with embarrassment at this nonsense. Megan is getting the blame of it all, as usual. I said it has nothing to do with Megan but she continues insisting that it is and her fault. Her carry on is deplorable, demanding information, asking personal questions about Brad and me, which if I had answered truthfully, would have destroyed her illusions very much, so for her sake they went ignored.

  I just go round the back again into the house, closing the door behind me on her face, so rude I thought. She now bangs at that door blaring to be let in in a voice similar to the singer Kate Bush, when at the top of her range. Fuck me; the whole town will hear her. I am about to open it and invite her in when Brad appears behind me in his robe. Brad answers it and she barges into the kitchen. Brad talks to her a while but regardless of that, she is still demanding blatantly to speak with me.

  “Who invited you to Meg Blake’s funeral?” piercingly her voice shrieks he question s again as I enter my kitchen.

  “My mother-in-law did,” I say sternly, taking a step forward; Brad comes to stand beside me.

  “I already told you my mum invited her to the funeral,” Brad adds, backing me up. Glancing at me and then Brad, she scowls.

  “Is he sleeping in your spare room?” she squeals. “Are you kidding me?” Apparently not, as she is very serious asking me this question too, clearly looking for an honest answer. I glare at Brad, “Is she having a fucking laugh?!” wondering if this is what he has told her or told somebody else, who has then forwarded this information on to her. I am speechless, I don’t know what to say and I certainly don’t want to hurt her on Christmas day if this is her belief, “This is like, like a script for a soap opera, you, you are like a character out of EastEnders!” I acknowledge in referral to her. This statement adds further fuel to her fire, as she screams even more mortified at the comparison, still demanding to know if I am sleeping with him. I am confused, looking at Brad and back to her again. I can feel his sperm running down my leg. Is she fucking asking me this for real?

  “Don’t even answer that, your face says it all!” she yells hysterically before storming out, slamming my door behind her.

  After ensuring she was gone, I discuss with Brad whether or not I should go to the funeral if his wife and family were going to create issues. Brad reassures me that I am going to the funeral with him and that they can all go and fuck themselves because we were honouring one of his mother’s last wishes in doing so.

  I really did not expect this on Christmas day, when we were trying to make it as normal as possible. What the fuck is normal about a time like this? Despite everything, I tell Brad to go after her to see if she is all right. He takes the presents from us to the house of the horrid, deplorable step-grandchildren informing me they are as ugly as her as is their mother. Brad expects that the Craw will also be there. She isn’t. Brad assumes she has gone to her first husband’s grave as apparently she had always done this at Christmastime. This is surreal, I look at him in disbelief, this script should be written for television drama right enough. We have Christmas dinner with my son, River, accompanied by a very expensive Chardonnay he bought for us. It is lovely meal, unusual but nice. We have all the trimmings but no turkey; it got put in the freezer as we were unsure of what was going to happen under the circumstances. Still I just have extra of the luxury Christmas pudding with homemade sherry cream. With chocolates and more wine, to the Lord I be thankful for a frozen turkey.

  Afterwards I sit thinking about how much Christmas had changed. Not so long ago on Christmas mornings my children Jet and River would be up at the crack of dawn opening all their presents in front of the log fire. Fairy lights and candles would glow everywhere in the house. All the rooms would smell of cinnamon from the warmed mincemeat pies. We would all sit around the table for a fancy dinner, served in the best china crockery. Then I would quickly tumble everything into the dishwasher to sit down with some of the leftover wine and truffles to watch the old movie ‘Gone with the Wind’. When as a child I always wanted a dress like Scarlett O’ Hara’s, my daddy used to say I was enough trouble without wearing that. It wasn’t like that anymore with the kids all grown up now and my daughter far away from home. I just wish for one minute I could turn back time, just for this one day, as it has been the most terrible of Christmases for us all, I guess. Would have been even worse for the Christmas morning squawking eejit of a crow Brad announced, if she’d been taken into my lounge as she would have noticed the wife Christmas card Brad gave me, with all the expensive romantic gifts which she never at all got from him, not once. Then there is sitting beside the fox a beautiful loving photograph of Brad and me and the pictures of his mum and dad, all in old-fashioned expensive dark wood frames; she would’ve freaked and her answer to her questions would have truly been answered.

  Brad and I share a relaxing bath together before he had to get ready for his night shift. Given everything that has happened today, I just want to spend the night cuddled into Brad. Our relationship, well that’s another story, anyway tonight we both should be at work. The mental health unit needs Brad and I feel I need the mental health unit, so it is our first Christmas night together spent apart, with Brad in a forensic ward and me not going in to work to the most horrible job I ever had in my life. The staff rota was changed to suit me. So I stay home drinking my Christmas bottle of Champagne, eating chocolates whilst watching a movie, happily relaxing under the fairy lights of the Christmas
tree.

  Boxing Day to Hogmanay 2012

  Boxing Day comes and goes; we have our turkey for dinner with an amazing sherry trifle with bramble cream for dessert. Trying to get through the week, we have a lot on our minds. It certainly isn’t the rosy festive period we had wished for, spending our first Christmas living together as husband and wife. It didn’t really matter that much to me as we had other years to play Mr and Mrs Blake in a romantic Christmas fantasy. Brad’s mother just wanted this Christmas, which she didn’t get and now all her Christmases were gone forever just as she was. Gone forever.

  I spend a lot of time making sure Brad is okay, being supportive, making sure not to slip into pointless arguments, which just made matters worse for everybody concerned.

  As the New Year approaches, I realise that a few people apart from attacking crow, also disapproved of me attending the funeral, another one person in particular, a member of his family, definitely did not want me to attend on January 4th, but there was no way Brad was denying his mother her final wish, so he tells me we are going and that is final. “We will stand at the very back of the crematorium with River, so we are the last people to go in and the very first out as we will leave through the back exit. Fuck them all, Coco.” He meant every single word he said.

  The New Year Bells, 2012–2013

  We decided not to go out partying, so we would just watch the Edinburgh ceremony bringing in the New Year on TV instead. Sharing a couple of glasses from an exclusive bottle of Pommery Cuvee Louise Rose champagne (a little luxury I became acquired too that I first tasted in Dorchester Hotel in London many years ago) that Brad had bought for us. At midnight the bells rang as we say goodbye to the old year holding our crystal flute glasses in a toast to all we have loved and lost. May God bless all of us left behind on earth, until in Heaven we meet again. So the New Year came in bringing with it hopes, dreams and promises to change our lives but most of all, reminding us never to forget we only have each other on borrowed time. Champagne finished as hand in hand we climb the stairs, sadly wishing to find happiness amongst all the hurt, as we go to bed.

  Lying in bed staring out the window, I can’t sleep. As fireworks from the celebrations explode loudly wakening up the night, sprinkling the dark sky in a rainbow of glittery colours, my mind wanders back over the past few years. Remembering in such clear detail everything that has happened, from making the decision to have an affair with a married man, leading up to Brad next to me sound asleep. Then on to him leaving his wife for me. What a whirlwind this relationship is, wrong description. My feelings have been up and down as much as my knickers have been. Being a mistress was amazing sometimes, no, not really as it came with a lot of emotional turmoil, with the correct description of this affair being that wisdom begins with wonder…

  Chapter II

  The Beginning of the Affair

  October 2008

  The Mediterranean air is hot and humid. Even with the air con on, inside the apartment it still feels all clammy, causing these chocolate coloured silk sheets to cling to my body, the expensive body lotion is melting leaving me all covered in a sticky slime. Thunder is booming outside with rain battering hard against the patio doors. In the tropical storm large shadows are waving in front of the window in the dark, making it a very ghostly picture outside tonight. I realise it’s just the palm trees swaying in the wind. Fuck, I came to Portugal for the good weather! Unable to sleep, I decide to get up and go out onto the balcony. The lightening is streaking across the sky, which lights up the bay in a beautiful pale purple hue. The raindrops are warm as they land on my naked body, yet still it is a refreshing change from the suffocating heat indoors. Going back inside, I notice the floor is wet where the rain has marched in through the open doors.

  This is my luxury timeshare apartment in Praia D’ Oura; it costs a lot of money but is very much worth it. Football players with other high-flyers stay here. Who would have thought Coco from the council estate could afford all this fancy shit… yet I feel so comfortable here in this amazing very expensive space. I feel that I do belong and could stay forever in this exotic place. I feel very comfortable in the world of the rich. Sometimes however, just at certain times, but not always, I just wish I had a husband to share it all with. Perhaps I should attempt to find one soon these are my final thoughts before heading back to bed to sleep. I finish a glass of pink champagne, the Dom Perignon Rose was taken from a complementary wicker basket containing two bottles, the other was a Brut, and they were left with Rose Champagne chocolates along with a crate type box filled with other luxury foods which I received on arrival.

  I wake up the next morning to sun shining brightly high in the sky. I can hear drunken singing outside, likely guys just getting back from their night out, Welsh boys I presume, because it sounds like they are singing the Welsh national anthem I am out here with my son, River, who accompanies me to the restaurant downstairs. Mother and son, out for another champagne breakfast together, with nobody bothering about River being under age though, besides he looks over eighteen that’s for sure. I hope everyone thinks brother and older sister. Wishful thinking! The food is always delicious and so fresh, there’s such a lot of variety to choose from.

  River and I then proceed to have a wonderful two weeks living in this luxury lifestyle. We explore modern places as well as go into the old town with its old-fashioned cobbled streets, where little unusual shops had found a hideaway. I enjoy being with River, he is having a fucking ball! Champagne breakfasts, lunch on little tables outside on the pavements of exclusive little restaurants, where they served some the best wines in Portugal with their expensive food. More wine with dinner in the evenings, the way of life here is so laid back and is a world away from back home. The wicker baskets in the apartment are filled with different expensive champagnes each day, not inclusive in the price of course, you pay for what you drink. Anyway River had to be limited in the amount of alcohol he had, I was floating never mind him. Still as much as I loved my son, I can’t help thinking again I’d like to be here with a husband. This place is so romantic. I’m very independent though, so perhaps I could find myself a married man to share it with instead, one who would spoil me by whisking me away to other luxurious places like this, someone to love and share things with but without the constant rules and tediousness of a full-time partner. Yes, that is what I decided to do. That night as I paddled along in the warm sea, on the beach at sunset, I smirked wickedly thinking, I will have an affair. Cast spells asking for an illicit lover who will spoil me. What about love? What’s that?

  Soon it was time for River and me to pack up to head back home to my everyday life in Scotland, but by then I had declared my decision that I no longer wanted a husband, instead I desired to experience the glamorous life of being a mistress… with glamorous being the thought. I will approach it like a business contract, the terms and conditions designed to suit both of us, and with self-discipline will most definitely not fall in love with him. Now I just have to find the right married man to negotiate my proposal with. If Coco sets her mind to do something, then she will do it, as she always does exactly what she wants.

  Upon returning home, I find a letter offering me an interview at a forensic mental health unit. I guess that now I will attend as the plan I had of being able to set up my own business of opening a strip club in Portugal was at present no longer an option. The club was not available for sale anymore, so this job would be great in the meantime, until I find more suitable premises. I attend donning my new expensive suit, whereupon I’m delighted to learn that I got the position applied for. I start work almost immediately. A few days into the new job, I’m informed that from the 16th of the month I will be working with a Bradford Riley Blake, who will be returning from his holiday in Canada back to work soon.

  16th October

  Well, tonight I head to work as normal and on entering the ward, I notice a new face sitting on the chair by the window staring at me. I subtly lean over to a colleague, asking if the
person is a new patient.

  “No, Coco that is Brad Blake, your new night shift partner,” my co-worker replies, giggling.

  Glancing back over at Brad, he is still watching me intensely, our eyes lock. It is slightly uncomfortable, so I look away. After or during the report, due to the ignorance of the staff, nobody introduced us, so everybody then left, leaving me and Brad alone in the room.

  “Hi, you must be Brad. I’m Coco, I’m your new night shift partner or so I’m told,” I say confidently, introducing myself whilst presenting my hand to Brad.

  “Yes, I’m Brad, pleased to meet you. Yes, it looks like we will be working together for a while anyway, according to the staff rota. I thought the guys were winding me up when they’d told me your name was Coco, apparently not,” he responds smiling, shaking my hand.

  “No, it’s different,” I reply.

  “Yes, you are!” he answered, turning his back then walking out the duty room door.

  17th October

  The nurse in charge this evening suggests that Brad show me the role of security nurse with the responsibilities it involved. Once we get upstairs, Brad attempts to inform me about all the different types of security keys. Whilst he is doing this, I just keep on staring up at him. Thinking that me looking at him indicates that I don’t understand what each key is used for, he starts the explanation all over again. I understood perfectly, I was paying attention; however, I was seriously thinking that I just wanted to kiss him – like there and then. I watch how his dark green gypsy eyes sparkle in the low lights of the hallway; I feel his full lips are just waiting to be kissed as he stares back at me. Although we have just met, the connection in the atmosphere is intense, my feelings for him are so dangerous… well maybe, but was this not what I wanted after all, as in Portugal I’d decided I wanted to be a mistress, so Brad Blake, being already married, was perfect a candidate for my plan, was he not?