Lipstick and Lies

by Viggiano, Debbie

As Nell opened the door, a red blur shot out.

  ‘Heel!’ Nell commanded. Rocket goosed Morag before crashing back through the front door. ‘She’s very excited about going for walkies. Hello Morag. Here’s her lead Cass. I’ll give you Rocket’s coat, just in case she feels cold.’ Nell peered at the sky anxiously. ‘The weather forecast said there might be snow later.’

  ‘She’s already wearing a fur coat Nell,’ Morag pointed out.

  ‘Well I’d like you to take it nonetheless. And here’s a bottle of water in case she gets thirsty.’

  Morag took the bottle of Evian. ‘What does she do? Hold it in her paw and swig?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. You pour it into the palm of your hand, and then let her lap.’

  ‘But she’s all slobbery.’

  ‘All babies are slobbery,’ Nell smiled benignly.

  I gave Morag a meaningful look. She opened her eyes wide. I nodded. Rocket might be canine, but she enjoyed the same status as a daughter.

  Nell straightened up. She looked fit to burst.

  ‘No contractions yet?’ I asked sympathetically.

  ‘Not a twinge.’

  ‘If you want to bring on labour, you should have sex,’ said Morag.

  ‘Isn’t that an old wives’ tale?’ I asked.

  ‘Not at all. Sex releases oxytocin. It’s a hormone. It causes the uterus to contract. Also semen contains prostaglandins, which help to soften the cervix.’

  ‘Is that how you triggered your own labour,’ asked Nell, ‘by getting Matt to bonk you?’

  ‘Of course. Actually Henry was a bit prem. Possibly from too much bonking. But you know me. A bonk a day keeps the mistress away.’

  I grimaced as a sudden vision of Jamie – who was not even having a bonk a week – flashed through my mind. Ah yes. There he was. At work. With Selina by his side. Leaning across him. Letting her hair brush against his cheek. Passing a biro. Making sure her hands touched his. Wafting perfume. Trying to intoxicate him.

  ‘Ben’s at work,’ said Nell, ‘so right now sex is out of the question. Even if I wanted it. Which I don’t. We haven’t had sex for ages. It’s just too uncomfortable when you’re this big. And apart from anything else, Ben isn’t wildly turned on by my stretchmarks and swollen ankles.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Morag, ‘how about a bit of nipple twiddling instead?’

  ‘Certainly not!’

  ‘Nipple stimulation helps to bring on labour much the same way as sex does. It gets the oxytocin going.’ Morag paused. Frowned. ‘Hmm. Might take a bit more effort than the sex though. How about Cass doing one nipple and me doing the other?’

  ‘Geddoff,’ Nell slapped Morag’s hand away. ‘I don’t want sex and I don’t want my nipples twiddled. I’ll let Mother Nature see to it. Now are you taking my girl for a run or not?’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘You weren’t kidding when you said this dog was a lunatic.’ Morag grimly hung on to Rocket’s lead while I puffed along behind her.

  ‘She’s like her name. A missile.’

  ‘When we get to the park, can we let her off the lead?’

  ‘Yes. It’s well away from the road.’

  We jogged along for another fifteen minutes. It was a chilly, damp morning. Despite the cold, I was absolutely wet through with perspiration. Morag hadn’t so much as broken out in a sweat.

  As we entered the park, Morag unclipped Rocket’s lead. The setter took off, nose down, tail up. I ground to a halt.

  ‘Give me some of that water,’ I gasped.

  ‘I thought it was for the dog.’

  ‘Rocket won’t mind. She drinks from puddles when she’s thirsty.’

  I glugged from the bottle. It was one of those moments when water tasted like nectar. Wiping my mouth, I handed the bottle back to Morag. We set off again, power walking this time, and took a picturesque path through towering oaks. Bare branches soared into a sky the colour of milk. Rocket threaded her way through the trees, stopping every now and again to wee on piles of wet leaves.

  ‘You really are very unfit Cass.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re not out of breath. You don’t exercise. Not properly. And don’t give me all sexercise talk. That’s a load of baloney.’

  ‘Ah, but it depends where you do it,’ Morag smirked.

  ‘What do you mean where you do it? The bedroom. Like normal folk.’

  ‘The bedroom is for boring people.’

  Oh God. Wait for it. I was about to be regaled with stories of legs akimbo on dining tables or jumping off wardrobes. And there was me thinking my bathtub bonk had been avant-garde.

  ‘Well if we want a really good workout, we go to the stables.’

  ‘Are we still talking sex? Or horse riding?’

  ‘Sex of course. We leave Joanie babysitting Henry, and slip away on the pretext of checking the horses. And then we pop into the indoor riding school, and Matt puts me on the lunging rein.’

  ‘You do realise the pair of you are totally kinky?’

  ‘Of course we’re not kinky Cass. It’s a perfectly straightforward piece of cardiovascular exercise with a bit of pleasure thrown in. I slide out of my coat, and toss it onto the side rails. I’m naked. Naturally.’

  ‘Oh naturally. It’s the most normal thing in the world to be in an indoor riding school late at night totally starkers. Not to mention freezing.’

  ‘Oh I don’t get cold. Not at all. It’s straight into a brisk trot and concentrating on being schooled. Last week I was put through my paces and learnt how to tackle a series of cavaletti.’

  I boggled at an oak tree.

  ‘And what about Matt? Isn’t he a bit, you know, chilly around the nether regions? Just standing there while you trot around him in circles?’

  ‘Oh no. He’s a very fair instructor. He always jogs beside me.’

  ‘I see. So, let me get this straight. Together you run around the indoor school naked and leap over jumps?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m still not understanding the sex in this.’

  ‘I’m getting to that. Well because my cavaletti technique has improved, last night Matt put up a small triple and a wall.’

  ‘I see.’ I didn’t.

  ‘Now a refusal – three faults – means a light flick of the whip. Whereas knocking down a jump – four faults – means having your bottom gently smacked. But if you get a clear round, then you not only have a big pat – all over the chest – you get a chance to go to the stud farm.’

  ‘Don’t tell me. Matt’s the stud farm.’

  ‘Well of course he is. If anybody else was the stud farm that really would be kinky. And last night Matt covered me over the wall. It was brilliant. Although we did incur four faults.’ I arched a questioning eyebrow. ‘Quite a lot of the bricks fell down,’ Morag explained. ‘So how’s your own sex life coming along?’

  ‘Superb.’

  Now it was Morag’s turn to arch a questioning eyebrow. ‘How many times have you done it since New Year’s Eve?’

  ‘Oh for heaven’s sake Morag. We don’t keep count you know.’

  ‘I thought so. Nil. Have you telephoned my herbalist yet?’

  I scowled. ‘I’ve had other things to think about.’

  ‘I see.’ We emerged from the tree lined path and crossed a sweeping stone bridge. Beneath us the local river rushed by. Elegant swans and Canadian geese bobbed about on water the colour of a night sky. ‘And do these other things in fact translate as other person? A female whose name begins with S?’

  I scowled a bit more. ‘As it happens, yes.’ And suddenly, like the river we were walking over, I was gushing forth about Selina and her unwelcome return in our lives. ‘And to crown it all she’s invited herself to kitchen supper with us tonight.’ My trainer connected with a squashed cola can. I kicked it viciously.

  ‘Cass I know this woman was a bit of a fruitcake at one point, but let’s stop and analyse the situation. Selina is now engaged to Ethan. And Jamie is convinced she’s nuts about t
he guy. It’s Ethan who is pushing for his fiancée to work within the partnership. Selina’s trying to make the best of it. She’s invited you into her home. Welcomed you at her table. The upset tummy is just a coincidence. And she’s told Jamie she likes you and wants to be your friend. Let’s face it Cass, your hubby is earning big bucks. You have a great lifestyle. Don’t let a tiny fly in the ointment spoil things. No hear me out–’ Morag put up a hand to silence me, ‘you don’t have to be her friend, just tolerate her.’

  ‘I am tolerating her. Why do you think she’s coming into our home tonight? But that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. I don’t trust her Morag. Not one little bit. I know Jamie isn’t going to be charmed by her. He’s no Stevie thank God. But where Selina is concerned,’ I tried to find the words to explain my foreboding, ‘I just can’t put my finger on it,’ I finished lamely. ‘Fruitcakes don’t change their currants.’

  ‘Talking of fruitcakes, where’s that daffy dog gone?’ Morag stopped. Putting up one hand to shield her eyes against the low winter sun, she scanned the horizon.

  Suddenly there was a commotion of cackling and hissing. A group of swans and geese on the riverbank scattered as Rocket shot out of some bushes and pounced on them.

  ‘Rocket!’ I yelled. ‘Heel! Do you hear me?’

  A man on a bicycle appeared. He was peddling furiously towards us. ‘Is that your dog down there? It’s a ruddy menace. It chased me along the tow path. Put it on a lead or I’ll wallop it with my bicycle pump.’

  The swans and geese had now gathered as one. Wings were flapping. Beaks pecking. Rocket immediately went into reverse and charged towards us.

  ‘Good girl, come to Aunty Morag!’ Morag held her arms wide. Rocket, tongue lolling, ears flapping, galloped towards us – and then whooshed straight past. Her destination appeared to be the cyclist.

  ‘Oh no!’

  Behind us the air turned blue. Angry swearing was punctuated by the frantic rings of a bicycle bell.

  Morag chewed her lip. ‘What shall we do?’

  ‘Run,’ I advised.

  We fled.

  ‘Oh God,’ snorted Morag as we belted along the tow path, ‘I know it’s not funny Cass, but I can’t help it.’

  ‘Me neither,’ I gasped, hair flying. ‘Have you ever seen a dog trying to bonk a bicycle?’

  ‘Never. I didn’t think lady dogs were like that.’

  ‘Me neither. Perhaps Rocket is bike-exual.’

  ‘Oh don’t,’ Morag wheezed, ‘I can’t laugh and run.’

  A children’s playground loomed. We vaulted over the perimeter fencing, pounded up a ladder and hid in a playhouse on stilts.

  ‘Get your head down,’ Morag whispered hoarsely, ‘Bicycle Bill is coming this way.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes. And Rocket is in hot pursuit.’

  ‘Oh buggerations. What are we going to do?’

  ‘Try not to laugh,’ said Morag, and promptly convulsed.

  ‘Oi you bloody women,’ hollered the cyclist. ‘I know you’re both there somewhere. You haven’t heard the last of this. I’ll be reporting you to the police. Along with your dog.’

  Morag inched up slowly and peered over the wooden sill. ‘Rocket’s jumped the fence,’ she whispered wiping tears from her eyes. ‘She’s now running around the playground. But I think Bicycle Bill has gone.’

  From down below we heard whimpering followed by scrambling noises. I poked my head cautiously around the door opening. Rocket saw me and let out a series of joyful barks.

  ‘You naughty girl,’ I admonished.

  ‘Come on,’ said Morag, dropping to the ground. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’ She grabbed Rocket’s collar. ‘And as for you young lady. Your mother’s going to have plenty to say about this when we see her.’

  Rocket emitted a few more baritone barks as I snapped on her lead.

  ‘My legs are like jelly.’

  ‘Well sharpen them up because we’re not lingering,’ said Morag. She gave a furtive look left and right, then beckoned with one hand. ‘This way.’

  I didn’t need telling twice. Pounding after Morag, we fairly flew back along the tow path, over the bridge, through the oaks and towards Nell and sanctuary. By the time we walked into Nell’s cul-de-sac, we’d been gone for the best part of two hours. I rang the doorbell.

  ‘I can’t wait to get home and have a shower,’ I sighed. ‘And I might be totally decadent and have a whopping slice of choc–’

  The front door flew open.

  ‘Help,’ bleated Nell. Her stricken face said it all. ‘The baby’s coming.’

  ‘Oh my goodness, I’ll call an ambulance.’ I ferreted through my pockets looking for my mobile phone.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ said Morag, ‘it’s quicker to take her in the car.’

  ‘Okay. We’ll go in mine,’ I jingled my car keys.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere in your car Cass,’ panted Nell, ‘it’s full of rubbish. What if my baby makes a swift entrance into the world? I’m not having it delivered on a pile of McDonald cartons.’

  ‘Okay, we’ll go in Morag’s car.’

  Morag looked horrified. ‘I’m not sure I want a baby being delivered on my back seat. Henry did a pooh when he was born. There was black meconium everywhere. I don’t want to be scrubbing that off the upholstery.’

  ‘Well go and get a towel out of the airing cupboard,’ I huffed.

  ‘Don’t come into my house with those muddy trainers on,’ screeched Nell. ‘I’ve been cleaning this place rigorously for the last week. It’s spotless.’

  ‘Well you’ve got a muddy dog in here.’

  ‘She’s different,’ snapped Nell, ‘she’s my boofles.’

  ‘Well I think we’d better get your boofles out the way.’ I pushed past Nell and led Rocket into the kitchen. Shutting the door firmly after her, I turned to Morag. ‘I think you and I had better wash our hands very thoroughly. Just in case.’ I went into the downstairs cloakroom.

  Nell shut the front door. ‘I need to call Ben. He wants to be present at the birth. And I also need to call my mother and let her know she’ll have to pick up Dylan from school. And then I need to call the school and let them know–’

  ‘Yes, yes. I’ll get your mobile,’ said Morag drying her hands. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘It’s–’ Nell broke off and doubled over. ‘Argh!’

  I rushed to Nell’s side. ‘Look in the kitchen,’ I flapped an arm at Morag. ‘It’s usually on the table.’ Nell leant on me heavily. ‘Breathe!’ I instructed.

  Morag pushed her way into the kitchen. Rocket instantly bounded out.

  ‘Get back in here you bloody dog!’ yelled Morag.

  ‘Don’t talk to my boofles like–’ Nell screwed up her face. ‘ARGH,’ she screeched even louder. There was a funny popping sound. ‘Oh no, I think I’ve wet myself.’

  Suddenly amniotic fluid gushed all over the laminate flooring. Rocket began lapping up the puddle. Morag clapped a hand over her mouth.

  ‘Your dog is seriously gross. I think I’m going to throw up.’ She flung herself into the downstairs loo.

  ‘I want Ben,’ Nell wailed. ‘It hurts. I don’t remember it hurting like this when I had Dylan.’

  ‘Stay there.’ I propped Nell against the wall and charged into the kitchen. Her mobile phone wasn’t on the table. My eyes swivelled around the room. There it was, next to the kettle. I grabbed it and raced back to Nell. Shoved it into her hands. ‘Ring Ben. And as for you,’ I grabbed Rocket’s collar, ‘out!’ Rocket promptly keeled over making it extremely difficult to move her.

  ‘Go with Aunty Cass,’ Nell implored the setter.

  Rocket was now lying on her back, all four paws up in the air. I dragged her by the collar backwards. Bit by bit she slid down the hallway and into the kitchen. I opened the back door and hauled her unceremoniously into the garden. Shutting the door firmly behind me, I set about finding a mop and bucket. Morag emerged from the downstairs loo looking very pale.
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  ‘I feel ill.’

  ‘Oh for heaven’s sake Morag. I thought you were made of sterner stuff than this.’

  ‘I was fine when Henry was born. But then again, I didn’t look. Just kept my eyes shut throughout the whole thing until it was over.’

  ‘Go and distract yourself. Make us some coffee while Nell’s doing her phone calls.’

  ‘I don’t want coffee,’ Nell cried, ‘I want Ben. Ooooooh, I think I need the loo.’

  I put the mop and empty bucket down. ‘Come on,’ I led her toward the downstairs toilet.

  ‘No,’ gasped Nell. ‘There’s not enough room in there for my bump between the loo and the wash basin. I’ll have to go upstairs.’

  ‘Right. Fine.’ I reversed us back along the hallway and headed towards the stairs. Nell was stabbing her mobile’s touch screen as we puffed our way upward.

  ‘Hello?’ she squawked into the handset. ‘Ben! It’s me. I’m in labour. Yes of course I’m sure. My waters have broken. What do you mean you’re in Cambridgeshire? Well never mind Mr Bodwin’s emergency. There’s a far bigger emergency going on right here in your own home.’

  I steered Nell into the bathroom and left her to it. Back downstairs I filled the bucket and began mopping.

  ‘Coffee’s ready,’ said Morag putting mugs on the kitchen table. ‘Where does Nell keep the biscuit tin? I think I need some carbs to settle my tummy.’

  ‘On that shelf above you.’

  There was a crash as Rocket planted two paws either side of the back door. A red shaggy head appeared in the windowpane. She clapped eyes on the biscuit tin and began licking the glass.

  ‘That dog is a head case,’ Morag declared. ‘How on earth does Nell think she’s going to manage a newborn with that mutt bouncing all over the place?’

  ‘I’m sure she’s got it sussed,’ I said, not entirely convinced. I finished mopping the hallway and then whizzed the squeegee mop around the kitchen floor. When the last of Rocket’s paw prints were eradicated, I tipped the dirty water down the loo, put away the mop and bucket and washed my hands again. I took some hurried sips of coffee, scalding my mouth in the process. ‘Are you all right up there Nell?’ I bellowed. A series of groans filtered down by way of response.