STOCKINGS AND CELLULITE

by Debbie Viggiano

  I had an inkling that I’d insulted Clive regarding the bible and compared Jesus to a magician. Had it been Paul Daniels? I struggled to remember. Had I, perchance, suggested that the Son of God wore a hairpiece and was married to Debbie McGee?

  Clive straightened up. ‘Ah, it’s you.’ He looked at me with disdain. ‘I presume you are over the limit.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ I sucked my breath in, outraged.

  ‘I seem to remember you being partial to excessive consumption of alcohol. No doubt you over-indulged earlier this evening and now your driving skills are impaired. Please furnish me with your insurance details.’

  ‘But there’s not a mark on either vehicle!’

  ‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ Clive narrowed his eyes. ‘God works in strange ways. He tests things. Can you guarantee that when I drive off the suspension won’t collapse as a direct result of your car’s impact?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I snorted.

  ‘My vehicle is of paramount importance,’ Clive’s chest swelled. ‘How else am I to get out and about, spread the Word and visit my people?’

  ‘Oh I do beg your pardon. I didn’t realise I’d reversed into the Pope Mobile.’

  Nell suddenly appeared on her doorstep. ‘Coo-ee. Is everything all right?’

  ‘No it’s not,’ snapped Clive. ‘This woman is a drunk driver and I’m calling the police.’

  ‘Surely there’s no need for that?’ Nell looked anxious. Wrapping her cardigan about her, she came over and began inspecting both cars.

  Clive whipped out a mobile phone from the depths of his cassock.

  ‘Well if you’re going to call the police then I will too!’ I trilled rooting around in my handbag. Viciously I punched out our home number.

  ‘Why don’t we all go inside and have a nice cup of coffee and discuss this like sensible adults?’ Nell reasoned.

  The line connected and started to ring. ‘Where’s Ben?’ I hissed in Nell’s ear. ‘Can’t you get him to sort this fruitcake out?’

  ‘He’s not here,’ Nell whispered back. ‘He’s at the pub. He’s not Clive’s greatest fan these days.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ I rolled my eyes. I could hear Clive talking urgently into his mobile demanding a posse of police to come to his assistance right now.

  ‘Hello?’ I heard Jamie’s familiar voice.

  ‘Oh thank God! Darling, please can you drive to Nell’s as soon as possible. I’m about to be arrested for drink driving.’

  ‘Cassie what on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘Just get here quick,’ I urged as a panda car glided into the cul-de-sac, blue light flashing ominously. I snapped the handset shut as the driver’s door opened. And out got Selina.

  Her eyes widened slightly when she saw me and then her mouth twisted into a grim smile.

  ‘Well look what we’ve got here,’ she mocked. ‘If you’re not causing chaos on ski slopes then apparently you’re causing chaos on driveways.’

  ‘How dare you!’

  ‘Oh I dare Mrs Cherry because I’m a police officer. And I’m on the right side of the law,’ she got out a notebook and pen, ‘whereas you are on the wrong side. Okay. Let’s start off with you Sir. Name?’

  Selina turned to Clive leaving me mouthing like an indignant goldfish. What a bloody bitch! Just at that moment another car swung into the cul-de-sac. I swooned with relief as Jamie got out.

  ‘Hello Nell,’ Jamie strode up the driveway, ‘Cassie what the devil is going on here?’

  Selina swung round to face Jamie. ‘Hello lover boy.’

  Lover boy?

  ‘Selina,’ Jamie nodded. He looked very guarded.

  Clive straightened up. ‘Are you a policeman too?’

  ‘Yes, albeit an off duty one.’

  ‘You’ve come as back up!’ Clive’s eyes lit up as he smiled adoringly at Jamie.

  ‘It’s all just a silly misunderstanding,’ Nell chimed in.

  Five minutes later one disgruntled vicar had been reassured and soothed.

  ‘Thank you so much Officer for explaining things to me,’ he gushed, hands fluttering about in a camp fashion.

  Selina was far from happy and wanted to throw the book at both Clive and me for wasting police time.

  ‘I’ll talk to you in the morning – darling,’ she hissed at Jamie before stomping off down the driveway.

  ‘Jeez Cassie,’ Jamie sighed when Clive had finally driven off. ‘How do you do it?’

  ‘Thank you so much for your support,’ I snapped. ‘I’ve had a lunatic vicar harassing me and on top of all that your charmless ex-girlfriend to contend with.’

  I rounded on Nell. ‘And what was that moron doing here in the first place?’

  ‘He came to talk to me about baptism.’

  ‘Well couldn’t you have popped along to his rectory to discuss Dylan being christened?’

  ‘Oh it’s not for Dylan,’ Nell smiled beatifically. ‘It’s for Rocket.’

  ‘Your dog?’ asked Jamie in surprise.

  ‘Yes! Clive is one of those trendy vicars who consider pets to be proper family members. He recently started up a funeral service and pet cemetery. Now he’s thinking of introducing a baptism service. Rocket is a pilot scheme.’

  Jamie scratched his forehead. ‘You mean Clive is going to splash water on Rocket’s muzzle and absolve her from chasing next door’s cat and failing to come to heel?’

  ‘Well there’s a bit more to it than that, but you’re on the right track.’

  ‘I see,’ said Jamie. ‘Well girls, if you don’t require me any longer I’ll be getting back and helping Mum.’

  ‘Helping?’ I asked. ‘What’s Edna doing that she needs help with?’

  ‘Oh nothing much really. She’s jig-sawing a horse shaped corkboard for the girls to hang their rosettes and pony stuff on. See you later.’ Jamie planted a kiss on my rigid cheek.

  ‘Great,’ I hissed after my fiancé’s departing back. ‘Just great.’

  ‘You are so lucky having a future mother-in-law like Edna.’

  ‘I must remember that the next time I feel like Edna has totally taken over my home, my fiancé, our children and our lives.’ I followed Nell down her hallway into the kitchen.

  ‘Oh Cass don’t be like that. Come on, park your bottom and calm down. I’ll put the kettle on. Here, have one of these too,’ Nell put a plate of gingerbread men on the table. ‘Who was the sultry female cop who seemed to know you?’

  ‘You’ve met her before.’

  Nell looked at me blankly. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, remember when we were uproariously drunk at your mate’s fortieth birthday bash several months ago? Selina was in the police car with Jamie when he took us home.’

  ‘I thought she looked familiar.’

  ‘She’s also Jamie’s ex-girlfriend,’ I snarled biting the head off a gingerbread man.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes. Oh.’

  ‘Well don’t let her bug you. You’re tonnes prettier than her,’ Nell said loyally. ‘Now let’s talk about Clive. Don’t you think he’s very distinguished looking?’

  ‘Guess what?’ said Jamie the following evening as I cleared the dinner table. ‘One of my colleagues is having a house warming bash in a couple of weeks. We’re invited.’

  ‘Ooh a party,’ I smiled happily whilst scraping leftovers into the bin, ‘I’ll have to buy a new dress!’

  ‘It will probably be more of a jeans and T-shirt thing in all honesty. I must say, all the lads are dying to meet you.’

  I suddenly froze mid-scrape. As a fellow colleague, Selina might be on the guest list. I was still smarting from our impromptu meeting yesterday, not to mention the ‘lover boy’ remark.

  ‘What’s with the sudden glum face?’ Jamie asked.

  ‘Oh you know,’ I shrugged and resumed the plate scraping, ‘this and that. My period’s late and I seem to feel constantly worn out.’

  ‘Come here,’ Jamie took the plate off me befor
e wrapping me in his arms. ‘Of course you’re tired Cassie. It’s only to be expected. After all, there’s so much happening at the moment.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well think about it. This year alone you’ve divorced, returned to work, met me, sold your home, moved house, committed to a large ready-made family and now we’re planning a wedding.’

  ‘Are we?’

  ‘Are we what?’

  ‘You said we’re planning a wedding. Are we?’

  Was it my imagination or did Jamie suddenly look shifty?

  ‘Well, figuratively speaking. I mean, as soon as we’ve settled into Lilac Lodge properly, then yes, definitely. It would be nice to know our wedding is the next thing on the agenda. And of course we have Morag’s and Matt’s nuptials coming up. Which reminds me, they want us to have a get together this weekend – social and pleasure – but predominantly to discuss a date, flights and so forth.’

  ‘What are we doing about the kids?’ I could feel my stress levels soaring. ‘It isn’t feasible to take them to the Bahamas with us.’

  ‘No, probably not. We’ll sort that side of things out in due course.’

  As Saturday night dawned, we left Edna – who still showed no signs of going home – with the four children and drove to Matt’s. Morag had now fully moved in and rented out her own place.

  ‘Fantastic to see you both,’ she trilled undulating over, her bosom reaching us several seconds before the rest of her caught up. ‘Mwah, mwah,’ she kissed the air between us just as Matt appeared from the kitchen where the most delicious aroma of garlic and herbs pervaded.

  ‘Cassie! Mac! Come in – grub’s almost ready,’ greeted Matt handing us both a brimming glass. ‘Get your tastebuds around this full bodied red. It’s almost as cheeky as my full bodied blonde,’ Matt winked at Morag who immediately smouldered and blew her fiancé a kiss. Jamie gave me a sidelong grin.

  ‘Stand back,’ he murmured, ‘Morag’s pants are possibly about to detonate. Cheers Matt,’ Jamie turned and took his glass of wine. ‘Here’s to our future bride and groom!’

  We all then knuckled down to the serious task of working our way through Matt’s scrumptious Spaghetti Bolognese. Eventually the topic turned to the forthcoming nuptials. Morag was absolutely determined everything was to be different this time around, not just for her but Matt too.

  ‘This marriage is for keeps. Forever and ever. A marriage made in heaven and betrothed in paradise.’ She dropped a brochure of the Bahamas on the table. ‘This is a complete wedding package and everything is so easy. All we need to do is agree a mutually convenient date. How about we fly out on the twenty-ninth of December with the marriage taking place on the thirty-first?’

  ‘Oh!’ I exclaimed, ‘that’s my fortieth birthday.’

  ‘Perfect. So we can also celebrate the Big Four Oh and New Year’s Eve at the same time,’ Morag clapped her hands delightedly. ‘Now then Cass, I would like you to look bridal rather than bridesmaid.’

  ‘Isn’t that inappropriate?’ I protested. ‘Two of us dressed in white?’

  ‘I thought cream with gold overtones actually, what with us both being blonde. I’ve told you before, this wedding is going to be different. No peach chiffon. No flower girls. What do you think of this?’ Morag shoved a thick magazine under my nose.

  Haughty looking models posed in everything from tight corsets to floaty meringues, feathers and even rags. Very expensive rags needless to say as my eye caught upon the Designer’s astronomical price tag. Ah, I see, there was a real diamond stitched onto each artfully frayed piece of fabric. Morag thumbed through the pages and stopped at a simple column dress, piped in gold. It was very Grecian and extremely elegant.

  ‘That,’ I salivated, ‘is without a doubt the most fantastic, totally incredible-’

  ‘Mm,’ agreed Morag, ‘and absolutely you. I thought this one here for me.’ She pointed to another column dress with a variation to the neckline, the main body spattered with a clutch of gold sequin. It complimented my coveted dress perfectly.

  ‘I’ll set up a fitting date. Next Saturday okay? Boys, you’re coming too – might as well get us all sorted out in one go.’

  ‘Aye aye Sir,’ Matt touched an imaginary forelock.

  Jamie smiled. ‘So that’s that. I had no idea it was so easy to organise a wedding.’

  ‘Surely you’ve missed something out!’ I spluttered. Where was all the hype? The fuss? Arguments over a photographer? A chap with a video camera on his shoulder promising to get under everybody’s feet? And could one even get a bouquet of roses in the Bahamas?

  Morag waved the brochure at me. ‘This is a complete package – everything is organised for you. All we have to do is fly there. Now then, who would like a deliciously gooey cream cake for dessert?’

  ‘Not for me sweetheart,’ Matt declined. ‘In fact, if you don’t mind girls, I’d like to take Mac down the yard. I’ve got a new horse I want to show off.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ Morag said as the men stood up to go. She went to the fridge and pulled out a laden plate.

  ‘Ooh yummy,’ my eyes travelled greedily over the high calorie goodies.

  ‘Shall we have one, two or three?’

  ‘Definitely three,’ I giggled. ‘Might as well totally pig out on the cream and risk cardiac arrest or Alzheimers.’

  ‘Do you know,’ said Morag taking a bite and looking thoughtful, ‘there’s more money spent today on silicon implants and Viagra than on Alzheimer’s research.’

  ‘That’s disgraceful,’ I crammed half a chocolate éclair in my mouth.

  ‘Mm,’ Morag agreed, hoovering up cream with her tongue. ‘In twenty years time there’ll probably be a geriatric population with large breasts and humungous erections but absolutely no recollection of what to do with either.’

  The following morning, feeling terribly bloated, I stood on the bathroom scales and felt shockwaves course through my system. Half a stone heavier? Surely yesterday’s cream cake binge could not have wrought such swift damage? Irritably I stepped off the scales. I’d have to go on a diet now. How tedious.

  But despite existing on nothing but tinned salmon and mixed salad over the next few days, by the following weekend I’d only lost one pound in weight. And whilst this was a very encouraging start, the weight loss was not enough to alter my body shape as I stood in the wedding shop’s dressing room stripped down to my pop socks.

  ‘That looks fabulous,’ Morag assured as the assistant shoe-horned me into the Grecian column dress.

  ‘My tummy’s sticking out.’

  ‘You have plenty of time to lose a couple of pounds between now and New Year’s Eve. Are you constipated?’ she asked bossily.

  ‘Morag!’

  ‘I knew it. Here.’ She rummaged through her jumbo handbag. ‘Take this.’

  ‘I’m not constipated,’ I hissed waving away the proffered chocolate medicine.

  ‘Marvellous stuff if you need to shift weight quickly.’

  ‘Really?’ I was suddenly interested. ‘You’ve talked me into it.’

  I snatched the chocolate bar and shoved it in my mouth.

  ‘Cass, you’re not meant-’

  ‘Mm. Mm. Not bad. Not as good as Cadbury’s of course.’ I nonetheless smacked my lips appreciatively. ‘What else are you hiding in that portable suitcase of yours? Got any high fibre bran? I need to shift six pounds for a party tonight. I want to be draped on Jamie’s arm looking thin and full of fragile beauty.’

  ‘Er, I think what you’ve taken will do everything required.’

  She wasn’t joking.

  Chapter Eighteen

  By nine o’clock we were ready to go.

  ‘Wow – love those jeans on you,’ Jamie nodded approvingly.

  ‘Do you think?’ I tugged at the denim. ‘They’re a bit tight.’

  ‘Well in that case they’re hugging all the right places.’

  Hugging was an understatement. I’d only managed to get into them by lying absolutely
flat on the floor. I sighed. Only a very small sigh however – I didn’t want the zip suddenly unravelling.

  The party was in full throb when we arrived. The hosts, Hugo and Ginnie Maxted, were friendly and charming. Ginnie pressed an enormous glass of punch into my hand. One could smell the kick on it at ten paces. I sipped cautiously, anxious not to upset my battered entrails. Suddenly I caught sight of Selina on the other side of the room. Exactly on cue, her eyes swivelled and met my gaze.

  She glared, open hostility marring her beautiful face. Unnerved I swigged the punch. To hell with it, there was no way I could get through tonight without a drop of Dutch Courage. The alcohol descended noisily through my guts, like washing-up water whooshing down the plughole. Somebody refilled my glass and I switched to autopilot, smiling and shaking hands as Jamie introduced me to colleagues and friends, moving around the room, another introduction, another drink, until the music’s volume went up a notch and suddenly I was getting on down. The punch must have been excellent stuff because my innards went numb. Along with my lips, nose and tongue.

  Much later I excused myself from conversation with Jamie and some florid faced colleagues and made my way unsteadily to the bathroom.

  Zipping my jeans back up was a challenge. I hopped around the bathroom struggling valiantly until the wretched zipper finally knitted together. Turning to the washbasin, I pumped soap into my hands. All four of them. Peering fuzzily at my reflection in the mirror, I realised a touch of lipstick was required. Extracting the tube, I applied colour to my shifting lips. I snapped the lid back on the tube, squashing the lipstick in the process. Lurching out of the bathroom I nearly tripped over Selina.

  ‘Cassandra isn’t it?’

  The chilly smile failed to reach her eyes. There was a short pause while my lips and tongue struggled to articulate a response.

  ‘Yeth,’ I stared at her defiantly.

  ‘I hear you’re engaged. To Jamie.’

  ‘Yeth.’