Some Like it Hot

by Amanda Brobyn

  Clive knelt down on both knees, leaning into the boat’s exterior to analyse the winter damage to his baby. Beneath the water he could see the endless cockles, urchins and other marine life which had attached themselves to the keel but, bar that, she was in super condition and he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her. His knees creaked as he stood up and stretched out his back which was stiff from spending the day with his head bent down, immersed in endless paperwork.

  He was pleased with how she looked, delighted in fact. The Trophy was only two years old so it was only fair that her condition be superior to many of the older yachts moored at the marina but it didn’t give his team any more of a winning edge, given the years of experience many of his fellow yachtsmen had gathered under their belts. Some of them could sail a raft with an old sheet attached to it with winning skill.

  The official racing season kicked off after May Day, taking place weekly on both Tuesday and Thursday nights and Clive already had his eyes on the prize trophy for this season – the one he never got his hands on last season.

  Clive always wanted more, regardless of what the more was. He wanted nothing but the best. He had to come first in everything he did and he definitely came first when it came to getting his hands on Jude. But it was still not enough for him. Nothing was ever enough for Clive Westbury even though he had already won. He’d won when he got his hands on the ultimate trophy over fifteen years ago. She was at home.

  Jude pored over the contract.

  Sophie was right, she had done her no favours in terms of her consistently high standards and demanding timescales, but what Sophie had done for Jude was the biggest favour of her life since the twins had been born. She had offered her the salvation she had been craving for years now. She had created an opportunity for Jude to fill the void which had eaten away at her with carcinogenic speed. But more importantly in Jude’s mind, she had shown her that she had listened to her intently, and Sophie was the only person with whom Jude had dared to be truthful. She had been right to place her trust in Sophie Kane.

  Sophie knew that Jude rarely opened up the way she did with her and as such when the timing was right for them both, Sophie swore that she would bring her friend back from the dead – like Jesus did to Lazarus – only Sophie knew that she held no higher biblical powers. But what she did hold was the power to resurrect her friend from the soporific life she lived. A life she had lived for everyone else but herself. It was time for her to take a little bit back.

  The yacht club was heaving and Clive spotted Will at the bar surrounded by tanned, leggy women. While he was smiling and appeared to be immersed in great company, Clive knew that Will would be grimacing inside and that his act was nothing short of a disguise intended to humour the bimbos surrounding him.

  Both of the men knew only too well that most of the models who hung aroung the place were only after one thing: money, dosh, lolly, whatever you wanted to call it and Will despised that in them. But many of the older members liked signing in these stunningly beautiful girls with their fake breasts and peroxide hair. It gave them kudos, took years off them – inwardly at least – and it made them instantly popular with plenty others of the male species who also owned impressive vessels just yards from where they sipped champagne, or Pimm’s and lemonade. It gave them sex too. For a premium.

  Clive squeezed his way to the bar, stopping to shake hands or offer a peck on the cheek to the people he liked. He was no fool and Clive held little regard for those he didn’t feel an instant chemistry with. To those people, he simply nodded. It was all very civil and certainly courteous enough. He and Will played a good game.

  “What are you having, mate?” Will thumped his pal on the back with genuine affection.

  “I’m in no hurry tonight, Will, and I’ve dumped the Jag so I’ll order a bottle of wine, I think.” Clive beamed at Will until his mouth was wide with delight. As wide as it could go. His perfect teeth were recently bleached and he carried an all-year-round pale tan which he had worked on over the years. He wasn’t blessed with Jude’s olive skin but he tried to maintain a constant glow. In truth, much of it was down to windburn.

  Will looked keenly at his friend, noticing that Clive’s brown eyes carried something surreptitious. Will waited patiently for his friend to make an announcement. To him, it was obvious that Clive was ready to spill some sort of breaking news. He was still in the fixed grin he had broken into a minute earlier and there was no sign of it budging.

  “Well then, Clive? What’s the craic?”

  “I’m celebrating, mate.”

  Will raised his eyebrows and then frowned thoughfully. As he did so, the brows met in the middle where they fell into a deep inset decorated with a mass of tiny blonde hairs. He grinned back at Clive knowingly. “Jude’s pregnant!”

  “Christ, no! I hope not anyway, mate.” Clive shuddered. He had life just where he wanted it. “If she is it’s not mine!”

  “Nor mine!” Will added as he thought for a moment before slapping his thigh. The penny dropped. His memory wasn’t great but he did recall Clive mentioning it to him earlier on in the year. “You got it, didn’t you?”

  Clive nodded, scanning each side of him warily.

  “I did!” He punched the air in an awkward, understated way, conscious that no-one could know until he broke the news to Jude.

  Will had no such discretion. “A bottle of Dom Perignon, Mick!” he shouted across the bar to the silver-haired barman who had worked there ever since he could remember. “And one for yourself, mate.”

  Jude was more nervous than she had been in a long time – and she did know why.

  The glass dining table had been washed and dried until it gleamed and Jude had decorated it with a theme of black and deep reds which complemented perfectly the high-backed Italian black-leather chairs and the single wall painted in a deep crimson colour.

  The ample dining room opened out onto a huge orangerie, the two areas separated by sliding glass doors. She stood back to examine the glass table once more. Ever the perfectionist, she ducked her head this way and that way, trying to catch out the remnants of hidden fingerprints from Tom or Anna. They might be fifteen but Anna was still a slob and she loved being waited on hand and foot and, in the name of perverse motherhood, Jude also loved to fulfil Anna’s charged expectations although she knew that from now on things would have to change. Anna would need to learn to undertake more domestic chores herself.

  Satisfied, Jude scanned the rest of the room taking in the other two walls, noting their opulent, warming blaze of orange. She loved to experiment with paint, applying different shades to different walls, all of which matched harmoniously of course, such was her talent.

  Clive had gasped when she told him she wanted to paint the three walls in different colours, a rich blend of crimson red on the main wall, with fiery orange on each of the side walls. He had eventually caved in, allowing her to steer away from his own choice of magnolia. And of course, she had been right. With the sterility of the plain glass and the harshness of the stiff-backed black-leather chairs, the blazing walls were an explosion of colourful heat spilling out an ambience of the natural elements.

  The dining room was her favourite room of the house and she was grateful that, since the Curry Club, the room was used at least once every five weeks. Sometimes more, and Jude loved the life which the women had brought to it – each in their own unique way.

  She was still not sure about the words read out during the event she had last hosted. It shouldn’t have bothered her. But it did. Still.

  The house was luxuriously spacious with every room large enough to host a party, but it was the kitchen and dining room which made Jude the happiest. She was happy when she was entertaining others and giving them whatever she had to give.

  It was still cold for April and Jude decided to keep the orangerie doors closed this evening. She wanted intimacy and comfort tonight, and to share the news of her career resurrection with her husband. She couldn’t wait to see
how proud Clive would be of her.

  She chilled a bottle of Muscat Grand Cru 2006, which was given to her by Roni on her last birthday. ‘She’s probably just pulled it from her own wine rack,’ Sophie had bitched, but Jude was touched that Roni had remembered and that was all that mattered to her.

  Jude smirked as she recalled Sophie’s catty tone. There was a side to Sophie which she herself thankfully had never been at the receiving end of.

  Clive and Will walked along the path to where the taxi was waiting. It was gone eight o’clock and Clive knew not to be late for Jude’s cooking. It was too good and with all the excitement of the day he was desperate to see her.

  A silver Mercedes waited patiently as the gentlemen climbed in, a little tipsy and giddy with the cheer of good news. News which meant they could trade in The Trophy for something bigger and better.

  Helena cursed as she panted louder with each step. She knew she had to give up smoking but, the problem was, it was her only vice and ten times a day for five minutes a go she could switch off and remove herself from her own mundane life.

  Weighed down by the load, she muttered about the crappy apartment block they lived in where once again the lift was out of order. Damn it.

  As she reached the fourth floor, panting furiously, Helena kicked at the front door hoping that Nathan would hurry to answer it before the indents of heavy carrier bags in her hands became permanent. She waited patiently, listening for sounds of life, then kicked the already scuffed white paintwork again – only louder and more aggressively.

  “It’s going cold!” she yelled at the door.

  Nathan’s face appeared within seconds, carrying a put-out scowl until he saw her laden with food.

  “What’s this?” His eyes lit up at the sight of carry-out as the cartons of food bulged through the white plastic which was close to splitting.

  “Din-ner, dah-nah, din-ner?” Helena laughed at her own stupidity as she sang her new song, inhaling the sweet smell which made her salivate instantaneously.

  “Indian or Chinese!” Nathan guessed with insatiable excitement.

  “Chinese!”

  Nathan reached out to Helena and pulled her towards him. For a moment she thought he might kiss her – and he did – on the forehead.

  “My Helena.” He beamed at her. “This is absolutely brilliant.”

  He rescued her from the weight and Helena shook out her hands with relief. She had carried it for the past fifteen minutes and she hoped it was still warm enough to eat without reheating it. Nothing ever tasted the same reheated.

  She thought about how long it had been since herself and Nathan had eaten anything that wasn’t marked down with an ugly yellow label and an insulting barcode and would be thrown to the dogs if people like themselves didn’t buy it. But it was all they could afford and Helena was momentarily proud of how she had pleased Nathan. No matter how shortlived it might be.

  Jude stood back and took a last look at her reflection in the cheval mirror which was angled to perfection in the corner of the huge sweeping bedroom. A hanging rail attached to the rear of it carried an arrangement of outfits selected for the evening and underneath it was a drawer packed with cosmetics and dozens of closed boxes. Jude was a neat freak to the point where much of her make-up was housed in compartmentalised boxes, labelled and as neat on the inside as on the outside. Jude loved boxes and anything trinket-like, but there had to be something special about them to win a place in her stylised home. The only make-up or cosmetics she allowed to sit loosely in the drawer were the things she needed to get at fast: her moisturiser, her deodorant, her naturally shaded lip-gloss, her Clinique mascara and her rose-coloured blusher which tinted her tanned cheeks whenever she felt they needed a little lifting.

  Jude edged closer to the mirror, checking out her eyes – too subtle. Pulling out a silk-covered lilac box from the open drawer, Jude opened it, selecting just one eye shadow from the guts of one hundred, her hand making a direct beeline for a small round container – her MAC eyeshadow–which was by far her favourite. Its smoky grey shades set off her colouring to perfection and enhanced her stunningly green eyes and even she felt sexy in it.

  With her olive skin and regal looks, Jude needed little make-up bar a touch of mascara and a double dose of Mother Pucker Lip Plumper which always made her giggle when she read its label. Her mother had once asked her what she was wearing because Jude’s lipstick had made Hattie’s lips tingle. Jude knew she could not tell her and so she lied to her. Not a big lie but a small white lie. There was absolutely no way Jude could say the words mother-pucker to her mother without being sent to her bedroom, even at thirty-nine years of age.

  Tonight she wanted to remember what it felt like to dress up like she was actually going to work, to apply her make-up to perfection and to select her outfit with such regard that she became her own immediate business card. Jude Westbury was back and open for business and in her mind’s eye she had already become the creator of ‘Westbury Interior Design’.

  Jude, for the first time in as long as she could remember, was excited about the rest of her life and more than excited about sharing her joyous news with Clive.

  Helena opened the button of her navy work trousers. The material was bobbled and pulled from careless activities and although she possessed two identical pairs, Helena wore only the one pair for work. The other pair she kept in her wardrobe, new and pristine in case she ever needed to look smart for forthcoming interviews – preferably relative to her academic qualifications.

  She heaved a sigh of relief as her stomach escaped from the pressures of the waistband. She wasn’t used to the waistband touching her waist, it was usually slung around her skinny hips but she had been unable to stop eating tonight, greedily devouring the Asian feast until her stomach bulged and she felt content yet gorged at the same time.

  Nathan let out a roaring, lengthy belch and Helena stared at him in disgust.

  “That was revolting.”

  Nathan, as usual, displayed no embarrassment. “Better out than in I say.”

  Helena chose not to continue the conversation. She could never win and she had long given up trying.

  The remnants of Chinese food sat on the chipped walnut coffee table. Its sticky sauce had spilled over the foil cartons onto the scuffed wood where it had set like gelatine.

  Helena cast her eyes over the food, already sick of the sight of it, but she was determined to put on a little weight. She probably had in the past half hour, she reckoned. She was far too skinny, but hey, that was what empty pockets did for you. Her salary came in and went out on the same day every month by the time she had paid for the rent, rates, water, gas, electricity, car insurance and petrol, and what little was left went into the food jar. The fuel for their bodies was ranked bottom of the list. Second to the roof over their heads.

  “Where did you get the money from, Hel, to pay for the Chinese?” Nathan asked without actually looking at her. He continued his focus on University Challenge.

  “I got a bonus at work. We had a sales campaign where we had to sell income-protection policies and I sold the most.”

  Nathan looked at her for the first time since he kissed her at the front door. He slid his hand towards hers with genuine affection and the hairs on Helena’s arms stood to attention. She hadn’t seen that loving expression for far too long. She leaned towards him, mirroring his devoted gaze and as his hand squeezed hers, she parted her lips in preparation for a kiss.

  Nathan used his free hand to ruffle her hair, oblivious to the fact that the woman who sat next to him was yearning for his attention. But that was as romantic as Nathan got these days and Helena was affronted as she snapped her mouth shut. More so, she felt humiliated.

  “Oh, Helena, my Helena! If only you could get more bonuses at work you would able to buy me more time to perfect this board game. I’m nearly there, H, I’m on to something big here. This could be the next Deal or No Deal.” He paused. “Hey, is there any money left from your bo
nus? We could go to the pub if there is!”

  “It’s going in the food jar, Nathan,” she told him sternly. “For next week’s food and even the week after if we manage it well enough.”

  “Fine,” he answered sulkily.

  Nathan turned back to watch the television, leaving an abashed Helena to fix her tousled hair. She had felt like a dog being patted by its owner for good behaviour and now he had the audacity to ask for more time! The pressure was becoming too much for her. She had held Nathan’s career in her hands for long enough now and more time meant more money. Something neither of them had.

  Helena’s heart fluttered and her stomach churned, making her feel nauseous and dizzy after all the food she had gorged on. She couldn’t cope with it all, there was only one of her. Why should she be the one to carry his burdens both emotionally and financially? No, she couldn’t cope with it.

  But the more she thought about how impossible life was about to become, the harder it appeared Nathan’s grip had become on her bony hand. It was as though he could read her every thought.

  Helena excused herself and hurried to the bathroom.

  The place was filthy, awash with Nathan’s hairs which were embedded on the bottom of the bath. The toothpaste he had so obviously spat out that morning had dried into a pulp as it slid towards the plughole and his towel was left in a collapsed heap on the floor. Nathan Bream was a lazy slob.

  Helena splashed her face with ice-cold water and stared at herself in the mirror. She had once felt beautiful, been beautiful in fact, but now she was dangerously thin with sunken cheekbones and her teeth had yellowed from excessive cigarettes – most of them bummed from other people – her colleagues, strangers in a night club. Anyone.

  What she had done today was the only secret she had ever kept from Nathan bar her smoking. He knew everything else about her and if he could smell smoke on her, he had never said. She was surprised that he didn’t spot it.

  Helena tried to erase her mind of thought. Nathan need simply stare at her and she could feel him absorb the information which was stored in her brain, allowing it to transfer to his through a form of telepathy which only he could control. He had only to look at her and she spilled out the truth in unspoken words but she certainly had no idea what was going on in his head.