STOCKINGS AND CELLULITE

by Debbie Viggiano

  ‘Cass,’ Morag said, suddenly shy, ‘over the last few months you’ve been a wonderful friend to me and I’ve come to regard you as the sister I never had.’

  ‘That’s a lovely thing to say,’ I smiled at her warmly and squeezed her hand.

  ‘So I’m very much hoping you will agree to be my Maid of Honour?’

  ‘Oh my goodness, yes please!’ I clapped my hands with delight. Things were seriously looking up – the promise of both a rock and a frock!

  ‘And you’re the best man,’ Matt nodded at Jamie, ‘so you’d better get yourselves a couple of tickets to the Bahamas.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘Because that’s where Morag and I are planning on getting hitched.’

  ‘Fantastic,’ I squeaked, absolutely horrified. No way could Jamie and I afford an engagement ring and a trip to the Caribbean.

  ‘Darling,’ I broached the subject tentatively on the drive home, ‘I don’t see how we can possibly muster up the funds to attend a wedding in the Bahamas or an engagement ring when we’re planning on buying a home altogether.’

  Jamie gave me a sideways look and squeezed my thigh with his free hand. Was it my imagination or did he look faintly amused. ‘Fancy doing a bit of shopping next weekend?’

  ‘Well, okay, what do you want to buy?’

  ‘Ooh let me see now,’ he pretended to ponder, ‘what about a diamond ring for starters?’

  A couple of days later Morag telephoned me with a hot property tip. One of her legal cronies wished to downsize the family home. It had six bedrooms.

  ‘You must go and see it,’ Morag urged. ‘It’s in Lavender Hill.’

  ‘Lavender Hill?’ I gasped. ‘ We can’t possibly afford a property in that area.’

  ‘Well there’s no harm in having a nosy-parker Cass. I’ve been inside and it’s a stunner.’

  ‘How much is your friend selling for?’

  Morag mentioned a figure so colossal my eyes watered.

  ‘The house is called Lilac Lodge and actually overlooks Lavender Common – spectacular outlook but on a private unmade road. There are a few potholes here and there but that’s all part of the charm.’

  When I relayed Morag’s tip-off about Lilac Lodge to Jamie he was delighted.

  ‘But that’s great news!’ he enthused. ‘Why don’t you check it out tomorrow?’

  ‘Don’t you want to know the price first?’

  ‘Cassie just go and give it an initial once over. You might hate it.’

  ‘And if I love it?’

  ‘Then we’ll view it together.’

  ‘But what’s the point when it’s too pricey?’

  ‘We’ll negotiate.’

  In the end I did check it out of course and, as Lavender Hill was only a twenty-five minute walk away, I took Rocket for company. After all, I reasoned as I strode across Lavender Common, a woman with a dog on a leash would look completely natural to any Neighbourhood Watch vigilantes…whereas an individual walking backwards and forwards in front of a house could be misconstrued as casing the joint.

  ‘Be a good girl for Mummy,’ Nell instructed as she handed me Rocket’s leash. For one ridiculous moment I thought she was talking to me. She playfully grabbed the setter’s ears and waggled them backwards and forwards.

  ‘Aw, you’re such a cutie tootie boofley woofley-’

  ‘I’d better get a move on Nell,’ I gently prised my neighbour’s fingers off Rocket’s hearing apparatus.

  We catapulted off, Rocket’s nose instantly zig-zagging across the ground. Twenty minutes later, I puffed my way around the rugged green edge of the Common and Lilac Lodge curled into view.

  The house was one of six imposing red-bricked Victorian properties, all standing behind their own individual gated systems. I noticed that four of the properties, including Lilac Lodge, had CCTV cameras discreetly tucked into nooks and niches. A natural screen of privacy was provided from enormous oak trees that hugged the Common’s borders. The sprawling pile was, by any standards, pretty striking. As the name suggested, climbing vines of wisteria grew up from one side of the main portal and clambered along strategically placed wires. Large locks of mauve blooms tumbled around enormous sash windows which gazed out at the Common’s stunning vista.

  I breathed in deeply, closed my eyes and briefly permitted myself a secret day dream. Ah yes, there was our newly acquired family wagon – which looked a bit like a clapped out mini-bus, but never mind – bouncing along the rutted road. Now it was sweeping over the gravelled driveway and parking just…about…there, under those weeping willow fronds. And now the children, our children, were scrambling free of the vehicle to race each other to the front door, hair flying, broad grins on their faces as they shot indoors. Nice. Very nice. But there wasn’t a chance of it happening – not with that price tag dangling off the terracotta chimney pot.

  ‘So what did it look like?’ Jamie later asked.

  ‘Gorgeous.’

  ‘Tell you what. How about you and I take a stroll over there together in the morning?’

  ‘But what’s the point?’

  ‘I thought the idea was to buy a house together.’

  ‘Of course, but preferably one that’s affordable.’

  ‘It’s only window shopping. No harm in that.’

  Oh well. I could do window shopping. Not a problem.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Three months later I was very much Lady of the Manor. Or rather Lady of Lilac Lodge. I ran a finger over the granite worktop of my incredibly tasteful bespoke kitchen, enjoying the sparkles that shot off my engagement ring as overhead halogen lights caught the diamond. Jamie had insisted on buying our wedding rings too.

  ‘Nothing like forward planning,’ was all he’d said on the subject as he later tucked them away in his underpants drawer.

  The irascible Martin Henniker, who I still hadn’t managed to shake off at Hemple Braithwaite, had taken one look at the diamond ring and curled his mouth into a mocking smile.

  ‘Ah, I see you’re betrothed Mrs Cherry. Congratulations. Quite an accomplishment to be engaged to Husband Number Two whilst still officially married to Husband Number One.’

  Bastard.

  But that had been prior to the divorce becoming Absolute.

  Stevie hadn’t been too thrilled about the house move or engagement. When the ‘For Sale’ board had gone up on the marital home, he had arrived on the doorstep one evening in high dudgeon.

  ‘A quiet word if you don’t mind,’ he’d hissed barging straight past me.

  ‘You can have several noisy ones if you like,’ I’d quipped following him into the kitchen.

  Stevie had leant against the kitchen worktop, feet planted wide, arms folded belligerently across his chest.

  ‘What’s with the sale board?’

  Just at that moment the twins had burst in shrieking with delight upon hearing their father’s voice. After initial hair ruffling and bear hugs, Stevie had suggested they go and have their showers.

  ‘I need to talk to your Mum for a few minutes but I’ll pop up in a bit to say goodnight.’

  As soon as the twins had disappeared upstairs, Stevie had slumped down on a stool and stared at me abjectly.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Well surely it’s pretty obvious. The house is on the market.’

  ‘And what about me eh?’ he’d snarled, jabbing a finger at his chest. ‘Have you thought about that? I’ve just bought a fucking house to be near my kids and suddenly you’re upping and leaving.’

  ‘Look Stevie, you knew this was on the cards. And we’re not going far. Jamie and I talked to you about-’

  ‘Don’t you mention that berk’s name to me! You’re not thinking straight – rushing into the arms of some goon you’ve known all of two minutes-’

  He’d abruptly halted his tirade upon catching sight of the gleaming engagement ring.

  ‘You’re marrying him?’

  ‘Well not just yet obviously but-’

 
‘You’re married to me!’

  ‘Stevie, this is absolutely ridiculous. Jamie and I talked to you about our plans, remember? You were with Simone.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The marine biologist lady.’

  ‘Oh her. I’m seeing someone else now.’

  ‘For goodness sake!’

  ‘Cass, don’t marry him. Please. No other woman truly matters to me – not like you – they don’t compare. I still love you! We can put this behind us and start again. I’ll have some counselling. Check into one of those sex clinics like Michael Douglas did. He was a bit of a lad wasn’t he? But he’s all sorted out now, married to the lovely Catherine Zeta-Jones and had some babies. We could do that Cass. Have another child. You’d like that wouldn’t you, hm?’

  ‘Stevie we’re practically divorced. You spent almost the entirety of our marriage hopping from one woman’s bed to another. That’s not love. You don’t constantly hurt somebody over and over again if you love them. What you did was repeatedly the ultimate betrayal. And yes, I might have known Jamie for a short period of time, but by golly I don’t need a ruler to measure the depth of his love. He cherishes me in a way you couldn’t begin to comprehend.’

  ‘Don’t do it Cass. And please don’t move.’

  ‘We’re only going a couple of miles away. Nothing will change. The children will still see you just as they do now.’

  Toby had re-appeared, hair damp from the shower. His impromptu diversion had let me slip away. I’d quietly locked myself in the bathroom and had a long hot soak. When I’d come out, Stevie had gone.

  Days later the Absolute had arrived through the post. I’d stared at the innocuous piece of paper in detached fascination. It was over. I was officially divorced. Once again Stevie had turned up on my doorstep, but this time meek and conciliatory and clutching a bottle of chilled Chablis.

  ‘Peace offering?’

  ‘Okay. Fancy sharing it?’ Just to show I could be magnanimous too.

  The next hour or so had been a little surreal. Together we had sat at what had once been our kitchen table in our family home, peeling away the layers of a past which had been our family life together. And as we’d sat together, we’d reminisced about the years we had collectively shared. The good times. And the bad. But no blame. Which one of us had been culpable of what was no longer relevant. As Stevie shared the last of the wine between our glasses, we put the lid on long-ago and instead toasted the future.

  ‘Cass, I wish you all the luck in the world. I truly mean that. Your Jamie isn’t a bad guy, I know that really. I’m sure he’ll make you extremely happy and no doubt be a good step-father to our kids, just as you’ll be a great step-mum to his two.’

  I’d looked at this man, the father of my children, now ex-husband. Incredibly we’d found ourselves smiling at each other with genuine warmth.

  I think what we achieved in that moment was called closure.

  Sighing contentedly I rummaged around in the huge American fridge and pulled out a couple of vast shepherds pies that my future mother-in-law had made. Edna had been staying with us in the few days since moving into Lilac Lodge on the grounds of ‘helping’. I twiddled some knobs on the kitchen range and shoved the trays inside. I knew Edna was fiercely independent and didn’t want to live with us. Despite that, she currently showed no signs of going home.

  I sensed that Jamie was anxious for his mother and I to bond, but Edna’s presence petrified me because she was so damn good at everything. She was either whisking up delicious home cooking, weeding umpteen flowerbeds, plumbing in the new washing machine or assisting Petra with trigonometry homework. Super Gran. Even now she was probably hastening into a telephone box and twirling around, emerging seconds later with a pair of red pants over her support tights. Why did I always get that sinking feeling when I thought of my future mother-in-law?

  The telephone rang. I banged the range door shut and picked up the receiver.

  ‘Hello?’

  I was met with a lengthy wall of silence until the connection clicked off. Frowning, I replaced the receiver. There had been several dropped phone calls since moving into the new house and they were starting to rattle me. It touched a nerve and reminded me of the past – like whenever Stevie had been having a fling.

  Outside Jamie was barrowing early November leaf fall down to the compost heap. I smiled at his retreating broad shoulders. My man was everything Stevie wasn’t. He’d nurtured my shattered trust and bolstered the shaky self-esteem. Jamie treated me like priceless porcelain – and I loved it.

  I moved to the window and watched my fiancé tip leaves from the barrow. He shook it a few times before trundling back towards me.

  ‘Coffee?’ I mouthed when he was close enough to lip read.

  He smiled and gave the thumbs up.

  I took the lid off the kettle and ran it under the tap. The other wonderful thing about Jamie was that he was financially solid – unlike Stevie who’d periodically nagged me to release my money bond so he could help spend it.

  ‘We could put the money towards a bigger house,’ he’d once suggested.

  ‘But I like living here,’ I’d countered.

  ‘Well let’s go on a few Caribbean holidays.’

  ‘What’s wrong with Majorca?’

  ‘Do you know Cass, sometimes you are such a boring old fart. You want to live a little – you could drop down dead tomorrow.’

  ‘Gee thanks.’

  ‘I’m just hypothesising. After all, you can’t spend money up there.’

  Every spare penny Stevie had earned had been frittered away on gadgets and boys’ toys without much consideration for the rest of the family.

  Thank God Jamie was different. When Philly had died so tragically, he had collected a substantial sum of money on life insurance. When he’d emotionally recovered enough to deal with monetary matters, Jamie had taken financial advice. A number of highly successful investments had been made with lucrative returns. That money, together with my not inconsiderable bond, had resulted in us being able to buy Lilac Lodge outright. The financial future was looking even rosier because Jamie had New Year plans to go into partnership with an ex-officer offering specialist security consultancy to major City banks.

  ‘If this comes to fruition Cassie,’ Jamie had said only last night, ‘and I’m pretty sure it will, then we’ll be living like pigs in clover.’

  Well I was all for that. The more clover the better.

  The phone rang again. I plugged the kettle in and hastened to the handset.

  ‘Hello?’

  Another wall of silence.

  ‘Who is this?’ I demanded.

  The response was whispered so softly that at first I wasn’t sure I’d heard correctly.

  ‘Bitch.’

  My jaw dropped. ‘Wha-?’

  But I was talking to nobody. The line had gone dead.

  ‘Who was that Cassie?’ asked Jamie coming in through the back door. Cold air from the updraft blasted my bare arms making the tiny hairs stand up.

  ‘It was that silent caller again. I’ve had two in the last ten minutes.’

  Jamie frowned. ‘They’re getting to be a bit of a nuisance.’

  ‘The person spoke this time.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘She called me a bitch.’

  ‘She?’

  ‘Yes, it was a woman.’

  I felt thoroughly upset. Stevie’s teenaged girlfriend had come at me all emotional guns blazing earlier in the year. Was it her calling me? But surely not. She knew I couldn’t care less about Stevie any more. So if it wasn’t somebody to do with Stevie, was it perhaps somebody to do with Jamie? And, if so, whom?

  ‘Why is a woman ringing this house and why is she calling me a bitch?’ I asked shrilly.

  ‘Steady darling,’ Jamie put his arms around me. ‘If the calls are getting distressing then it might be best to change our telephone number. I’ll sort it out,’ he dropped a kiss on my forehead. ‘Meanwhile something smells good,�
�� Jamie rubbed his hands together in anticipation. ‘One of mum’s shepherd pies eh?’

  ‘Yes. Good old Edna,’ I smiled gamely. ‘After dinner I thought I’d pop over to Nell’s for a catch up. Is that okay?’

  ‘Of course it is. How is she?’

  ‘Well okay on the surface but,’ I hesitated searching for words best to describe my old neighbour’s current frame of mind, ‘she’s just not the same since that miscarriage business.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well for starters she’s bonkers about that loopy red setter of hers.’

  ‘Ah yes. Raucous Rocket.’

  ‘The very one and same. And to be perfectly honest I’m wondering if she and Ben are going through a rocky patch.’

  ‘No way,’ Jamie pooh-poohed. ‘Ben adores Nell.’

  ‘Yes I’m sure he does. But I’m not so sure Nell adores Ben anymore.’

  A few hours later I turned into my old cul-de-sac, bumping slowly over the sleeping policemen whilst looking for somewhere to park. The road was full of stationary vehicles at this time of night. Reaching the end, I negotiated an awkward five point turn before driving back towards Nell’s house. Oh good. It appeared she had some extra space on her driveway after all. Grinding the gear into reverse, I shot backwards straight into a parked car.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ I screeched as I lurched towards the windscreen and then back into my seat. ‘What was that?’

  I appeared to have driven into a visitor’s dark motor that had been invisible in the blackness of night.

  Gnashing my teeth in fury, I slipped out of the car intent on a discreet inspection. There wasn’t a blemish on either vehicle. Thank God for small mercies. Suddenly a man shot out of Nell’s house, arms waving like windmills.

  ‘Hey you!’ he yelled. ‘What have you done to my car?’

  ‘It’s okay. There’s no damage.’

  The man fussed about, peering intently at an area over the front bumper, examining the chrome, standing back and then immediately leaping forward again to rub an imaginary scuff from the nearside headlight with the sleeve of his cassock. I did a double take. What I’d originally thought to be a long black overcoat was indeed a cassock and – yes – around his neck was a Roman collar. He seemed horribly familiar. My brain whirred backwards through memory cells, defining data. Vicar. Quite a few months ago. Matchmaking attempt. Self-righteous prat. Clive! Oh hell.