by Jessie Jones
‘You’ve still got your work gear on,’ Kirsty reminded me.
I looked down at myself and realised that I did indeed still have my white button-up work dress on, complete with name badge. ‘Unbelievable,’ I gasped. ‘I was going to the pictures dressed like this?’
‘What’s wrong with it? I love a girl in uniform. It’s very, very … sexy.’
‘That’s because I am very, very sexy,’ I slurred.
In retrospect, that was the second rashest thing I have slurred in my entire life.
‘You’re so right,’ she whispered. ‘Will you kiss me?’
‘All right, then.’
That, in case you were wondering, was the rashest.
I was freezing when I woke up on the sofa. It didn’t take me long to figure out why. I didn’t have any clothes on. Kirsty, only half-clothed herself, was asleep next to me. It was nearly one in the morning.
What had happened? Had we had sex? Lesbian sex? I racked my brain, trying to remember, which only made my head hurt – the start of a hangover.
I did remember the first bit quite vividly. The kissing. I couldn’t believe it was happening. I was feeling like the sexiest woman alive and that everyone wanted me, everyone from men to women to transvestites, and even though I had no boyfriend or best friend or job, it didn’t matter because I WAS THE SEXIEST WOMAN ALIVE!
Things got hazy after that. I had a vague recollection of Kirsty pulling at the buttons on my dress while I laid back and thought of … What? Well, I was so busy thinking, ‘Arrgghh, I’m about to have lesbian sex!’ that it didn’t leave much room in my head for anything else.
After that? Blank.
So what had happened? My nakedness was a clue. Though I might have stripped off just to show Kirsty the birthmark at the top of my bum.
I decided not to wake her and ask. I gathered my clothes, tiptoed out and didn’t draw another breath until I was back in my own flat, the door shut behind me. My head was killing me by then. I got myself an aspirin and a glass of water. Then I went to bed and, as I drifted off to sleep, I decided that it would be best not to think about what had happened … ever … ever … again …
I spent all of Saturday morning with only one thought on my mind.
What the hell had happened the night before? I felt pretty sure that Kirsty had done her thing to me, even if I hadn’t returned the favour. God, did that mean I was a lesbian now? Maybe I had been all along, but just hadn’t known it. But I didn’t fancy women. Did I?
I ran a bath and sat in it for an hour. But even half a bottle of bubble bath didn’t wash the confusion away.
The doorbell rang as the water turned lukewarm. I ignored it, but whoever was there was insistent. After five or six rings, I wrapped a towel round myself and dripped across the flat to the entry phone.
‘I knew you’d be home,’ Simon said. ‘Let me in.’
‘You just got me out of the bath. I’m not even dressed.’
‘Nothing I haven’t seen before. Come on, open the door.’
When he got upstairs I was still wrapped in the towel, but it was so enormous he’d have had more chance of seeing Pluto through a rolled-up newspaper than of catching a glimpse of naked me.
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked grumpily.
‘That’s no way to greet a mate. Stick the kettle on and I’ll tell you.’
‘You stick the kettle on. I’m getting dressed.’
When I finally re-emerged, he gave me the once-over. ‘You still look rough. Here, I’ve made you a coffee. You look like you could do with one.’
I accepted the mug gratefully, glad that he knew his way around my kitchen. I looked at him and thought that actually it was a shame we had a history because he would have made a pretty decent flatmate. Unless I found myself a job pretty damn soon, I’d be needing one to help with the rent.
‘Georgina fired me yesterday,’ I told him forlornly.
‘No … What for?’
I told him about the scam. And about the fact that she thought something was still going on between us. He looked at me sheepishly.
‘What?’ I said. ‘What did you tell her about us?’
‘Nothing, I swear. She never even asked me about you.’
‘Why have you gone all funny, then?’ I asked.
‘Georgina went into one last night. She … er … found out about me and …’ He tailed off.
‘You and who?’
‘Me and Victoria.’
‘She already knew about you two. She told me at my interview.’
‘Yeah, but she didn’t know that we… er…’
‘You didn’t!’
He nodded, a naughty-boy grin turning up the corners of his mouth. ‘Just a couple of times… For old times’ sake kinda thing.’
I smiled then too. Justice had been done. ‘Was she very upset?’ I asked hopefully.
‘Went fucking mental.’ He pulled down the neck of his jumper and showed me two deep scratches. I winced. ‘No worries, I’m well shot of her. She was a borderline bunny boiler, that one. Anyway, too many women in my life at the moment.’
‘Oh, it’s such a burden for you, you poor thing.’
He missed my sarcasm. ‘You’re not wrong. Joanne found a text from Hannah the other day. She’s got me on a tight leash now.’
‘I’m surprised she let you come round and see me.’
‘I told her I was going to the gym,’ he smirked, ‘which I am when I’ve finished my coffee. There’s this girl, Hazel, just started there. Promised her a bit of, er, personal training.’
‘Way too much information, thank you. Anyway, I presume you didn’t just call round to tell me about your Robbie Williams sex life.’
‘No, I got a date for my PRMC. Week after next,’ he explained. ‘I’ll be in Lympstone for three days. I don’t want to leave my car outside mine. I wondered if I could stick it in your parking space.’
I’d never replaced my car after it had conked out at Heathrow, so there was a space going spare outside my flat.
‘I don’t see why not,’ I said. ‘Can I drive it?’
He looked at me through narrowed eyes. His BMW was more precious to him than any woman.
‘Must phone Joanne after you’ve gone to the gym,’ I mused idly. ‘Haven’t talked to her for years. So much to tell her.’
‘OK,’ he said. ‘But keep your speed down. And no going over traffic humps. It wrecks the shocks. Right, I’ll drop my keys off before I go, yeah?’
Just as he was about to get up and go, there was a tap at the door. I got up and opened it a crack. It was Kirsty. As I’d wallowed in the bath, I’d thought about the moment I’d have to face her again. But I didn’t think it would be then. With Simon ten feet behind me.
‘Hi … Do you want to talk or anything?’ she asked.
‘No, really, there’s nothing to talk about,’ I breezed insincerely. ‘Besides, it’s not a good time right now.’ I nodded my head in the direction of Simon.
She peered over my shoulder. ‘Ah, company …’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘It’s just that … Well, you left without waking me. Not a good sign. Usually.’
‘Well, you looked so peaceful,’ I lied. ‘Look, really, everything’s fine.’
‘OK. It’s just that … Well, it would be terrible if there was any awkwardness between us. So, er, nothing’s wrong, then?’
‘No, no, nothing,’ I protested really fiercely.
‘Sure? Still friends?’
‘Absolutely,’ I said, feeling intensely aware of Simon’s eyes boring into my back, but also wanting Kirsty to know that I still wanted us to be friends. Whatever had happened, I sincerely wanted that. It was just that after the previous night I didn’t want to see her ever again, that’s all.
Confused? You might say.
‘Let’s talk later, Kirsty,’ I said, with a date several years away in my mind.
‘Right. OK. Later, then,’ she said, heading back across the landing.
I
was blushing furiously when I sat back down. Simon was straight in with the questioning. I hope I’m never pulled in by the police for interrogation because, obviously, I’d crumble in seconds.
‘OK, out with it,’ Simon said. ‘What’ve you gone and done?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Liar. What was all that “Can we still be friends?” stuff?’
‘She’s an ex-art student. They say weird things like that,’ I gabbled. I could tell by the look on his face, it wasn’t fooling him. ‘Look at the time, Simon,’ I said, going for a different approach. ‘Poor Hazel will think you’re standing her up.’
‘She can wait. Something’s happened between you two. What is it? A row? Nah, it’s not a row. Look at you, you’re squirming like a – Hey! I know that look. It’s the one I do when I’ve been caught out … You’ve done it with her, haven’t you?’
The fact that I turned several more shades of red told him he had me.
‘You’ve shagged her! God, all that time, you knew I wanted to do it with you and another girl. As soon as we split up, what do you go and do? I can’t believe –’
‘Will you shut up!’ I shouted. ‘OK, we did have … er … a kiss and cuddle type thing. But it was just a silly one-off. I’d prefer it if we kept it to ourselves … Yes?’
‘My lips are sealed. So, what was it like, this kiss and cuddle type thing?’
Good question. I didn’t have a clue, did I?
‘Look, it’s none of your business,’ I told him.
‘Fair enough … How about you get her over here one night and the three of us can –’
‘Simon, will you please behave yourself! You and I are not going to be having sex again. Ever.’
‘All right, all right.’ He thought for a moment, then said, ‘How about if I just watch you two?’
‘Simon, gym, now.’
He stood up. ‘OK, I’ll give you a bell about dropping my car off.’
‘Sure,’ I said, forcing a smile. ‘Anything else I can do for you?’
‘I suppose a quick blowjob’s out of the question?’
I shoved him through the door so hard I broke two nails.
Then, I must admit, I did laugh.
I’d been fired and I’d had my first (unconfirmed) taste of lesbian sex. How many more shocking things could possibly happen to me in the space of a few days?
How about what happened to me next?
It was Sunday. I’d drifted through the weekend in a state of complete boredom and loneliness. I suppose those are the times you need your family round you, right? Since my family consisted of one solitary individual, it was inevitable that halfway through the day I called him.
‘What are you doing, Dad?’ I asked.
‘Just lighting a barbie.’
‘A barbie?’
‘I know, funny, eh? I’m learning some new tricks in my old age. Fancy popping round for a burnt banger?’
‘OK,’ I said.
I got my first shock when I walked into his house. I felt as if I was on the set of Changing Rooms. Gone was the flowery wallpaper that for years had clung for dear life to the walls. Likewise, the battered three-piece suite, the tiny TV and the old pine-effect video cabinet beneath it.
The walls were now a barely perceptible shade of beige. Two big, squashy sofas in a distinct yet complementary shade of beige sat on the new carpet. Which was also beige. A widescreen TV the width of a football pitch was in the corner. I half-expected that idiot Llewelyn-Bowen to jump out from behind the sofa, drape a floppy cuff around my shoulder and ask me what I thought.
‘Blimey,’ was all I said when Mitzy led me into the room.
‘Oh no, you don’t like it, do you?’ she said, her face dropping.
Well, I didn’t want to like it. She’d taken my dad’s familiar old front room – my familiar old front room – and transformed it into … something truly gorgeous.
‘No, I think it looks fantastic,’ I told her. ‘Just got a bit of a shock.’
‘I’m so glad. I was ever so worried about what you’d think. Your dad didn’t want to change a thing, but everything just looked so …’
Tired? Tatty? Like a shabby old bachelor pad?
She was too diplomatic to say. She made do with, ‘I thought a makeover would do the place good.’
As with everything to do with Mitzy, I was completely torn. I hated the way she’d swept into our lives and turned everything upside down with her superb cooking and her immaculate eye for tasteful beige. But I didn’t want to be negative. Over the last year I’d been trying hard to get on with her. It wasn’t exactly peace. An uneasy truce, I suppose. She and Dad had helped by not mentioning the M word again. They may have been living as a married couple, but they’d shown no inclination to make it official.
Mitzy led me to the kitchen to get me a drink. She opened the fridge, which for years had contained nothing more than a pint of milk and a block of cheddar but which was now stocked from top to bottom with tasty fresh produce. She handed me a can of Diet Coke and we looked at Dad through the window. Actually, we couldn’t see Dad; just his hand as it batted at clouds of thick black smoke.
‘I can’t believe you’ve got him barbecuing,’ I said.
‘Oh, he loves it. I think it’s awoken his caveman instinct.’
‘He doesn’t look like he loves it. It looks as if he’s choking to death.’ I tried to say this jokingly and not make it sound like what I really meant, which was, ‘Look what the poor guy has to endure just so you can live the suburban dream.’ See? I must have been growing up. I wouldn’t have been half as diplomatic a year ago.
Mitzy set about chopping up veg for the salad.
‘So … met anyone nice lately?’ she asked. She always asked that.
‘No, far too busy for all that.’ I gave her my standard line as breezily as I could. Over the past few months I’d been for a few rubbish drinks with a few rubbish blokes. Not really the kind of depressing stuff you make small talk of, is it?
‘Well, you’re young. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you,’ she said, concluding this bit of the conversation the way she always did.
She diced some cucumber into perfect little cubes and said, ‘How’s work? Waxed anyone famous lately?’
‘Work’s fine, thanks.’ With all the trouble Mitzy had taken to get me to go to work that first day, I’d decided I couldn’t tell them my job didn’t exist any more. ‘Although, I think I’m going to be getting out of there soon,’ I said, paving the way for when I did tell them the truth. ‘The place is going downhill a bit.’
‘Oh … That’s a shame.’
She went back to chopping. Small talk over.
‘Those sausages smell nicely burnt,’ she said at last. ‘Shall we eat outside?’
As it happened, the meal was lovely. The sausages were a crispy shade of black, but Mitzy’s selection of four delicious salads and the two bottles of very chilled white wine more than compensated. And Dad was relaxed for once – probably, to be honest, because I was. At the end of the meal, Mitzy went inside to make coffee. I sat with Dad and we watched the sun sink together.
‘I like what she’s done to the front room,’ I said.
He looked at me suspiciously. Despite me being on my best behaviour, he must have been waiting for me to pull the rug from under him.
‘It’s really …’ I searched for a suitably Llewelyn-Bowen word and came up with, ‘… soothing.’
‘She’s got the touch, hasn’t she?’ Dad said.
We watched the sun sink another inch.
‘You seem happy today, Dayna,’ Dad said.
‘Yeah… I am. It has been a bit of a weird weekend … But it’s ending nicely.’
He reached across the table and gave my hand a squeeze.
Mitzy reappeared with a tray of coffee. ‘Damn, I forgot the mints,’ she said.
‘I’ll get them,’ I offered, suddenly filled with the spirit of helpfulness.
‘Thanks. I got Bendicks. They’
re in the cupboard next to the fridge.’
I jumped up and scurried indoors like the perfect stepdaughter.
I found the mints easily enough. But I found something else as well. The box fell out of the cupboard and onto the kitchen counter as I pulled the chocolates from the shelf. It was a smallish, plain cardboard box, un labelled, not the sort of thing that contained food. Curious, I eased off the lid. It was filled with a stack of stiff white cards. Swirly print announced MICHAEL HARRIS & SUZY MITTEN REQUEST THE PLEASURE OF … I didn’t read the rest. I just skimmed it for the date … Less than six weeks away. I picked out the top invitation from the box and stared at the delicate gold leaf that trimmed the edge – a gilt-edged kick in the stomach.
I heard Dad behind me. ‘Have you found them yet?’
I spun round and looked at him and he saw what I was holding.
‘Look, we were going to tell you, sweetheart.’
‘Really?’ I spat. ‘When, exactly?’
‘Right now. Over coffee. Dayna, where are you going? Dayna –’
Whatever he said next was drowned out by the sound of the front door slamming.
6 cm
My watch tells me that it’s five thirty. Having had a good night’s sleep, milkmen will be starting their rounds, birds will be chirping the dawn chorus, newsagents will be stacking up the morning papers and … Sorry, I’ve run out of things that happen this early. That’s because, ordinarily, I’d be still asleep and I have no idea who else would be up at five bloody thirty.
The epidural has been topped up and Louise – aka teen midwife – has been popping in from time to time to check on my progress. She just left, actually, having given me the good news that I’m another centimetre on. Seven hours into my labour and I’m only six pathetic centimetres.
Emily stirs in her chair. ‘Sorry, Dayna. Must’ve dozed off. How are you doing?’
Dozed off? She’s had the full eight hours or thereabouts. ‘Dreadful,’ I tell her crabbily. ‘I’m tired and uncomfortable and I just want this to be over.’
‘Do you want something to read?’ She fishes about in one of her bags and pulls out a pile of magazines. ‘Ooh, Hello!. You can just look at the pictures.’