Bella Rose gently guided Daxx towards a conveniently placed haybale, pushing him in the chest with her newly manicured fingernail (because women are allowed to be empowered and independent and look damn good while they’re doing it if they so choose. They can also be all-powerful and look a right state – that’s okay too). He resisted for a moment, but she stared at him with her trademark fierce look, and so he sat down obediently and gazed up at her, his eyes hooded and dark.
Bella Rose stepped back and planted her feet apart. It was time. She was ready. She had rehearsed her moves until she could do them in her sleep. All she had to do now was unleash her inner goddess.
‘I thought it was time I showed you the real me,’ she purred, slowly undoing the buttons on her brown leather waistcoat. She was naked underneath, and truth be told, the leather was chafing, so it was with a sigh of relief that she eased the item from her shoulders and stood in front of Daxx, showing him all of herself. Well, all of herself from the waist upwards anyway. Bella Rose was not a total strumpet.
Daxx’s pupils dilated, which she knew could be a dopamine response or could equally be due to the fact that the sun had just gone behind a cloud, reducing the light inside the barn. Bella Rose was a pragmatist, however, and chose to take Daxx’s widened eyes as a good sign. She wiggled her shoulders slightly and stretched out her neck muscles. What she was about to do required flexibility and agility and excellent core strength.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Daxx, not unreasonably. Up to now, Bella Rose, the light of his life, the object of his desire, the wind beneath his wings, had held him at arm’s length, granting him only a kiss (and even that only happened when she was in a particularly good mood or when he’d remembered to put the bins out).
‘I have come to understand something over these past few weeks,’ breathed Bella Rose, prowling closer towards him. ‘Something life changing. Something incredibly simple yet astonishingly complex.’
‘And what this that, my angel?’ gulped Daxx as she reached him. ‘What do you now understand?’
Bella Rose put her hands on her hips and stared Daxx straight in the eye.
‘It’s just sex,’ she told him, shaking her head in amazement. ‘It’s, literally and figuratively, just sex. And if we can call it by its name then we can do anything.’
Daxx’s face contorted in confusion for a moment as he struggled to comprehend her words. And then, with a roar of delight and a gleam in his iridescent, blue eyes that seemed to Bella Rose as deep as the mighty ocean, he leapt to his feet and reached out his hand.
Together they fell to the floor, not caring a jot about the dirt and the hay and the unsanitariness of it all. And there, right in the middle of the barn, even though it wasn’t actually that comfortable and the only thing that Bella Rose usually enjoyed al fresco was an evening glass of wine, Daxx and Bella Rose finally—
‘Muuuuum!’
The cry comes from downstairs and jolts me out of Wyoming and back into my room.
‘What?’ I yell back. ‘It’d better be important.’
‘Dylan isn’t helping with the supper.’ Scarlet’s voice is shrill with indignation. ‘You said that we both had to do the cooking. And he isn’t.’
‘So he can go hungry,’ I shout. ‘And it’s not exactly cooking, Scarlet. I told you to make beans on toast.’
‘But it isn’t fair! He should have to help out too.’
She does have a point. Reluctantly I put down my laptop and ease myself off the bed. I’ve been up here for so long that my legs have gone dead and my first few steps across the bedroom floor are wobbly, like a newborn foal or someone who has been drinking since lunchtime, which I haven’t.
I lean out of the door and look down the landing towards Dylan’s room. I’ve been so engrossed in my writing that I hadn’t noticed the loud thudding emanating from behind his door but now I can feel it reverberating through my socks.
‘Dylan!’ I screech. ‘Come out here now!’
There is no reply. I try again and then admit defeat, padding down the hallway and knocking on the door. It’s a new thing, the knocking, and not a development that I am particularly fond of. However, now that Zoe seems to be a regular fixture at our house, I am keen to spare all our blushes; and after last week when I barged into his room in search of spare mugs, I am forced to acknowledge that closed doors are there to protect innocent parties. Like mothers.
I bang my fist against the wood. ‘Dylan! If you aren’t out here by the time I count to five then I’m coming in whether you like it or not. Fair warning.’
I start to count, as loudly as possible.
‘One. Two. Three. Four. Four and a half.’
No sign of my son. Damn it – I knew that I should have started with one third.
‘Four and three quarters.’
Still nothing.
‘Four and seven eighths.’
He is giving me no choice.
‘Five!’
I shut my eyes and turn the handle. A wall of sound hits me in the face and I take a tentative step forward, allowing my eyelids to crack open just a tiny bit, ready to clamp back down if the scene before me proves too distressing.
‘Hi, Mum!’ The music drops and when I squint, I see Dylan standing by his stereo system, grinning at me.
‘Hi, Hannah,’ pipes up Zoe. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, fully clothed and surrounded by schoolbooks. I quickly debate with myself what I think about being on casual first-name terms with my son’s girlfriend and decide that I like it. It makes me sound approachable and cool. ‘We’re just getting some revision done before the exams start next month.’
‘Very diligent,’ I say, casting my glance suspiciously around the room. The smirk on Dylan’s flushed face suggests that either a) she is lying or b) he has a newfound passion for algebraic equations. I turn to face him. ‘Why aren’t you helping your sister with supper, like I asked?’
He shrugs his shoulders. ‘I’m living my best life, Mum,’ he tells me. ‘That’s what you want for me, isn’t it?’
I shake my head. ‘Nope. Not in the slightest. I have no idea where you got that ridiculous theory from. What I want is for you to heat up a couple of tins of baked beans.’
Dylan grimaces at me so I smile sweetly and turn to his girlfriend. ‘You’re very welcome to stay for supper, Zoe. If baked beans tickle your fancy?’
‘That sounds lovely. But my mum’s cooking a roast tonight and I said that I’d be home by six o’clock.’
‘Of course, of course.’ I nod at her. ‘We’d normally be having something like that. You know, a roast dinner with all the trimmings or a three-meat lasagne with homegrown salad!’ I give a little laugh. ‘Mealtimes with all the family are the best, aren’t they?’
Is her mother actually insane? Who on earth cooks a roast dinner on a Friday night? Friday night is the one night of the week when you are genuinely entitled to feed the kids crap and heat up a frozen pizza to go with the copious amounts of Prosecco that need to be drunk. Why would any mother waste that guilt-free opportunity?
Across the room, Dylan makes a spluttering sound.
‘That’s a lie, mother,’ he says, outing me like the Judas that he is. ‘You hate eating meals with us. And you’ve never grown salad in your life!’
‘We grew cress once, when you were at preschool,’ I say, a touch defensively. ‘Don’t you remember? You sprinkled the seeds onto some kitchen towel and we watered them every day. Back when you were a nice child.’
Zoe twists round to look up at him. ‘My mum said that it’d be fine for Dylan to come back with me. For the roast dinner.’
Dylan leaps into action. ‘Excellent. We can continue with our revising after we’ve eaten.’
‘But what about the baked beans?’ I ask, standing back as they both move towards the doorway. ‘They aren’t going to heat themselves up.’
‘Scarlet can do it.’ Dylan shoots me a smile. ‘Zoe’s mum is the best cook. You don’t mind if I go, do
you?’
Yes. I do mind. I mind very bloody much that you’d rather be at her house than at ours and I mind that you’ve just told me about her mum’s culinary prowess. I might not be the world’s best cook but I have other skills and I’ll probably be able to remind myself of some of them in a minute when I’m not so busy minding.
I look at him. In just a few short months, he’ll have gone to university. His room will be empty and I won’t know what he’s eating or who he’s eating it with. And if I want him to come home in the holidays then I’m going to have to play nice.
‘Of course I don’t mind,’ I croon, following them out onto the landing. ‘Goodness me no! Why would I mind you going to Zoe’s house now that I know just what a fabulous cook her mother is?’
He gives me a quick look and I swallow down my pettiness.
‘And honestly, there’s no real choice is there?’ I grin at him, my pain-in-the-arse heartbreaker of a child. ‘I’d choose roast potatoes over baked beans any day of the week.’
It feels like I’m losing him, like he’s slipping away and the only thing I can do is smile and wave.
‘Thanks, Mum.’ He squeezes my shoulder. ‘I’ll make sure that I’m here all day tomorrow. I’ll even cook my world-famous spaghetti bolognese.’
‘That would be wonderful. But aren’t you forgetting something?’
Dylan frowns, his expression confused.
‘Your books!’ I point back to his bedroom, where the textbooks are still scattered randomly across the floor. ‘You and Zoe aren’t going to get much revision done without those, are you now?’
Dylan glances at Zoe and raises his eyebrows. It’s a move that is virtually imperceptible to the naked eye, but I am his mother. I know everything.
Quickly, before they can make their escape, I stride into the room. Now that I’m looking properly, I can see what I failed to notice when I first walked in. These aren’t books for revision. Dylan is studying Maths and Physics and Biology and as far as I’m aware, Zoe is doing the same three subjects. These books have clearly been swept off Dylan’s shelf in the vain hopes of fooling an unsuspecting mother. I pick up the pristine edition of My First Encyclopaedia that my mum bought him for his fifth birthday which has never been read. On top of that I pile a large hardback about dinosaurs and a paperback copy of Five Fail Their Exams as They Are Too Busy Snogging and Generally Getting Up to No Good.
Or Five Have Plenty of Fun, as it is more popularly known.
They weren’t up here revising. I knew it. However, I have no idea what I’m actually going to do about it other than to go along with the farce that is unravelling before me.
‘Here you go then!’ I turn and thrust the books at Dylan, who has reluctantly followed me. ‘Thank goodness that I reminded you!’
I bend down and grab another armful of paperbacks. ‘Zoe! I think you’re going to have to carry some of these too.’
‘Very funny, Mum,’ says Dylan. ‘You’ve made your point. Can we just go now?’
No. You can’t possibly go anywhere. Not now I know that you’ve lied to me about doing revision. Not until I can sit down and have another chat with you about keeping safe and being respectful and – oh my god, I thought that I’d be cool with all of this but now it’s actually happening I am not cool. I am not even a little bit cool.
And then I spot it, lying alone on the bookshelf. The information book that I gave to Dylan when he was thirteen and suddenly started sprouting the occasional lone hair out of his chin. The sunlight glints on the cover and it suddenly takes on all the significance of the Holy Grail. This could be my last chance to do some parenting, no matter how covert.
Dylan sees me see it and his face drops. ‘Mum, no!’ he mutters. ‘You wouldn’t.’
I don’t want to embarrass him in front of his girlfriend. This can probably wait until tomorrow.
‘Dylan, we really do need to head on.’ Zoe enters the room, her glance flickering between Dylan and me. ‘I’ve just had a text from Mum and she’s running late so we can get a load of revision done at my house before supper. It’ll be super peaceful and we won’t be interrupted.’
She gives him a meaningful look and I make a decision. I leap across the room, making it to the bookshelf a fraction of a second before Dylan does.
‘Just this one last book for you to take with you,’ I say brightly, whirling out of his reach and shoving it into Zoe’s hands. ‘You’re doing Biology, aren’t you, Zoe? Dylan has read this book many times – I’m sure he’ll be happy to summarise the main points for you.’
Zoe looks down at the book that she is holding.
‘Let’s Talk About Sex and Puberty,’ she reads aloud. ‘Oh!’
‘I’d have thought there are some pertinent points in there,’ I say, avoiding making eye contact with either of them.
‘Thanks very much, Mrs Thompson,’ says Zoe, quickly stashing the book into her bag. ‘I’m sure it will be very useful.’
It’ll be useful if you actually read it, young lady. I saw the look you gave my son when you told him that the house would be empty. And I’m Mrs Thompson now, am I? It’s probably just as well, if we’re going to keep this relationship professional.
‘I seem to remember page fifty-two having some very helpful guidance on contraception,’ I burst out, as Dylan ushers her out of the room. ‘You know, just in case it’s relevant. To your exams.’
I’m lying, of course. I can’t remember if it was page fifty-two or sixty-two. I just want to plant the idea of contraception in their hormone-filled teenage brains.
‘See you later, Mum!’ yells Dylan, propelling Zoe down the stairs. ‘Don’t wait up.’
‘Have fun, kids!’ I call back, as they ram their feet into the trainers that are strewn about the hall floor. ‘Not too much fun though, hey? Just the right amount of age-appropriate fun for two eighteen-year-olds. Who happen to be sitting A Levels in a matter of weeks. And who don’t want to mess up their entire lives with one daft decision.’
Scarlet heads out of the kitchen, brandishing a wooden spoon.
‘Aren’t you going to help me cook the baked beans?’ she snarls, spotting Dylan. ‘That is so typical. Zoe, do you know that you happen to be going out with a complete chauvinist?’
‘We’re leaving now.’ Dylan grabs Zoe’s hand. ‘I may be a while. And by a while, I mean that I’ll be back next week when you’ve all finished being so bloody hilarious.’
I’m not being hilarious. I’m being deadly serious. There is nothing about this that could even vaguely be classed as a laughing matter.
They scramble towards the front door, almost falling over Dogger in their haste to leave our house.
‘Make good choices!’ calls Scarlet at their retreating figures as they hurtle down the garden path. For once I don’t reprimand her for trying to wind up her brother.
Then she turns to me. ‘Mum? How illegal is it to say that someone else was driving if you get caught for speeding without a licence?’
I drag my eyes away from Dylan and Zoe and stare at Scarlet.
‘Do we need to talk about this?’ I ask her. ‘Are you in trouble? You can tell me, you know. I won’t be angry, I promise.’
I won’t be angry. I’ll go freaking medieval on you if you have been behind the wheel of a moving car.
She shakes her head. ‘No! I was just wondering, that’s all. It came up at school today and I wanted to ask you.’
‘Have you been driving a car, Scarlet?’
I have to ask.
‘Mum! I’m not insane.’ She smiles at me sweetly. Every single part of me wants desperately to believe her.
‘The answer is: highly illegal,’ I say, closing the door and walking towards the kitchen. ‘Just like all the other criminal activities that you’ve been enquiring about, okay? All very, very illegal with a high risk of life imprisonment. And life means life, Scarlet. Do you understand me?’
I’m way out of my depth here. Plus I have a sneaking suspicion that I am ly
ing. I think life imprisonment is actually something like twenty-five years and most people only serve half of that. But I don’t want to say anything that might make crime look attractive.
‘I understand, Mum! I was just asking!’ Scarlet gives me a grin and then heads into the living room, where Benji is watching a film. Arming myself with a glass of cold white wine, I go back upstairs where my laptop is waiting. I am ready to finish this book and then get very, very drunk.
Chapter 30
It is written. I finish the last paragraph on Saturday evening and then spend all of Sunday going through the pages with a fine toothcomb. I’m not entirely sure what the editing process requires but I’ve made sure that there are no spelling mistakes or grammatical errors and I’ve tidied up the plot in a few places so that it all makes sense.
I read it for a final time after work on Monday and change a few descriptions of Daxx, just to ensure that his character is well rounded and three-dimensional.
Then I read it once more after work on Tuesday and decide that it could probably do with a few more descriptions of Wyoming and the setting. It’s very important that the reader can vividly picture the scene, I know that.
I glance through it again on Wednesday night and realise that some of my sex scenes are possibly a bit much, so I make some notes like a genuine-ass, real writer, and today I’ve spent hours going over each act of passion and ensuring that it is as romantic and beautiful and accurate as possible. That’s probably been my biggest struggle, if I’m honest. It’s hard to write about realistic sex and make it sound glamorous. I can’t shake the feeling that maybe this is because I’m doing something wrong.
I sit down at the kitchen table and look at the stack of paper in front of me. Eight-four pages. Forty-three thousand words. My very first novel.
I’ve made a cup of tea and opened a packet of chocolate Hobnobs in honour of the occasion. Everyone is still at school and this moment is mine; all mine. I sit and I sip my tea and I read my book, starting with the title, which was the last thing that I changed before clicking save and printing out the manuscript.
Big in Wyoming.
More Than Just Mom Page 23