STOCKINGS AND CELLULITE

by Debbie Viggiano

  I cleared my throat and addressed Clive. ‘So, are you not in church today delivering sermons and converting lost souls?’

  Clive reluctantly tore his eyes away from Jamie. ‘Not until this evening.’

  Oh super. So we were stuck with him for several hours.

  Jamie directed everybody to the dining room. My failure to provide any sort of seating plan resulted in Stevie swiftly sitting himself next to Morag. Charlotte looked outraged and squeezed in next to Clive, wrongly presuming him to be flirt material. She’d have been better off sitting next to Matt. Nell, livid that a mere stripling had bagged a prime spot with her idol, instantly abandoned Ben and Dylan and positioned herself on Clive’s right. Morag, overjoyed to be sandwiched between her attractive fiancé and a handsome Casanova, was clearly high on alcohol and aphrodisiac pills. As she sat down, her bust overhung the dinner table. I pondered briefly how the patch of table before her would accommodate both breast of turkey and breast of Morag.

  Eventually everybody was served. Clive called for attention by tinkling his fork against his champagne glass.

  ‘Let us say Grace.’

  ‘Grace,’ Petra and Livvy giggled together.

  I shot them a warning look.

  For a moment or two all one could hear was the scrape and clatter of cutlery on china. The children had grouped together down the far end of the table and struck up conspiratorial chatter, Petra whispering about Midnight Mass at St. Michael’s.

  Clive’s ears pricked up. Crowbarring his way into their conversation, he proceeded to tell the Christmas story, all the while shovelling food in his pink mouth. Spitting bits of masticated runner beans across the tablecloth, he finally got to the bit about Mary finding herself with child.

  Livvy piped up. ‘Oh, I remember this, we did it school. Mary had an immaculate contraption.’

  Clive turned puce and choked on a roast potato. Nell quickly got up to pat his back adoringly, at the same time picking up the reins of conversation.

  ‘I love discussing the bible and talking about God’s rules,’ she beamed.

  ‘What rules?’ Jonas snorted, all set to ridicule.

  ‘The Commandments.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I know,’ chimed in one of Matt’s daughters. Her face bore a strong resemblance to a tomato and mozzarella pizza. Was her name Margarita?

  ‘Things like Thou shalt not admit adultery.’

  Nell tinkled with laughter. ‘Not quite, but jolly good try. Christians are meant to be loyal and true to their spouse. Who knows what this is called?’

  ‘Monotony,’ muttered Stevie.

  Morag, quite drunk now, creased up with laughter and slapped Stevie playfully on the hand. It was the perfect excuse for him to cosy up to her cleavage and laugh uproariously with her. Charlotte was visibly grinding her teeth.

  Nell tried again. ‘Who knows about the epistles?’

  Petra hesitated. ‘Um, I’m not sure, but weren’t they the wives of the apostles?’

  Meanwhile Clive had disentangled the remnants of roast potato from his tonsils and was raring to go again.

  ‘Here’s a nice easy question for you. What was the special name given to the people who followed our Lord?’

  Margarita stuck up her hand, for all the world looking like a contestant who’d reached the £250,000 question on Who Wants to be a Millionaire but used up all her lifelines in the process.

  ‘I’m going with The Twelve Decibels,’ she quavered nervously.

  ‘Oh bad luck,’ replied Clive as Margarita retreated in despair, out of the game.

  ‘Okay, who can tell me another name for marriage?’ Clive glanced around as the children conferred.

  ‘Acrimony,’ Stevie replied to which Morag gave such a burst of laughter one of her heavy breasts unexpectedly popped out. It bounced joyfully onto her dinner plate and wobbled in a puddle of gravy. Stevie was immediately the helpful gentleman, octopus hands everywhere.

  ‘Oops, hold it there Morag.’

  He brushed a carrot off her nipple and gently mopped gravy from her cleavage just as Matt, who had been in deep conversation with Edna, came alive to the situation.

  But Charlotte was one step ahead. Leaping to her feet she furiously flung her champagne at Stevie. Unfortunately her aim was appalling and instead she drenched Morag. Outraged, Morag lurched upright causing her second breast to make a break for freedom. Stevie, mesmerised, paused mid-mop to stare lustfully at Morag’s appendages. Matt, frantic to shield his fiancée, simply grabbed the tablecloth noisily upending everything on the dinner table.

  As plates clattered off and glasses tipped over, Rocket zoomed in to hoover up food remnants. Wallace and Gromit materialised from nowhere to join in the impromptu freebie lunch. But Rocket was having none of it. She turned on the cats, snarling like a savage. The cats puff-balled like porcupines and made a run for it. Rocket momentarily dithered, torn between food and a cat chase. The latter won.

  A furry red streak catapulted out from under the table in hot pursuit of Wallace and Gromit. Not missing a beat, the moggies nimbly shot up the wall of stacked presents around the tree in the hall. Failing to put the brakes on, thirty five pounds of dog crashed into the gift wrapped mountain which instantly fell, like the colourful marbles in a game of Kerplunk, scattering in all directions. The cats, utterly terrified now, disappeared into the branches of the Christmas tree. It began to sway violently, as if caught in the grip of some terrible storm. Within seconds the whole thing had toppled in a tinkling heap of smashed fairy lights and broken baubles.

  There was a moment of stunned silence. Edna carefully patted her mouth on a napkin covered in galloping reindeer before giving everybody an enquiring look.

  ‘I think we were all just about finished. Now who’d like dessert? There’s traditional Christmas Pud or Sticky Toffee Pudding.’

  ‘Edna me old darlin’,’ Morag slurred, ‘gimme some of yer Stiffy Tocky stuff.’

  ‘Never again,’ I exhorted over the cornflakes the following morning.

  I silently pondered how many other homes in Great Britain had ousted their Christmas tree as early as Boxing Day? It was amazing how quickly the mess had been created. From the moment Charlotte had lobbed her champagne to gazing with dismay upon a wrecked dining room and hallway, no more than thirty seconds had elapsed. Half a minute of mayhem but two hours to clear up.

  Livvy had been in tears. ‘Bloody Daddy flirting with Morag.’

  Bloody Daddy had immediately apologised, but not for his behaviour. Good heavens no. He had apologised for Charlotte’s behaviour.

  ‘Don’t know what came over the stupid girl,’ he’d shaken his head in bewilderment. ‘I’d better go after her.’

  Within moments Matt had given the nod to Jamie that he was taking Morag home. Margarita and the other children followed in their father’s wake. Ben immediately stood up, retrieved Rocket and declared that the time was getting on and they’d better drop Clive off at St. Michael’s.

  I slammed the coffee pot down on the table. ‘Everything was spoilt,’ my voice wobbled dangerously.

  ‘Hey, it was only a bit of mess,’ Jamie leant across the breakfast paraphernalia and kissed my cheek. ‘I can’t remember the last time Christmas Day was so entertaining. Do you know what the best bit was?’

  ‘Spare me,’ I shuddered.

  ‘The best bit was having you there by my side Cassie,’ Jamie took my hand in his. ‘I couldn’t have cared less if the whole house had imploded. Just so long as you and I are together, then every day is Christmas.’

  After that, I really did cry.

  That evening I telephoned Nell.

  ‘I’m so sorry about Christmas dinner ending in upheaval. Was Rocket okay – no sickness after gobbling up the Christmas tree’s chocolate decorations?’

  ‘Not at all. She’s fine, frisking all over the place!’ I could hear the smile in Nell’s voice.

  ‘And you?’ I asked cautiously. ‘Are you frisking all over the place?’

  �
�I am as it happens.’

  ‘Nell,’ I sighed heavily, ‘you can tell me to mind my own business, but I couldn’t help noticing yesterday that you seemed terribly smitten with Clive. Is everything okay with you and Ben?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she chuckled. ‘Everything is just fine between me and Ben – now,’ she added. ‘Your invitation to dinner was an absolute blessing.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Well I’m not ashamed to confess that I did have the tiniest crush on Clive.’

  ‘I’d never have guessed,’ I said dryly. ‘I’m sure he’s gay Nell.’

  ‘Yes, well, you could be right about that. Anyway, Ben couldn’t help noticing me looking at Clive all starry eyed over the Brussels sprouts and later – after quaffing quite a bit of your lovely champagne I hasten to add – I made a disastrous pass at Clive.’

  ‘No! When?’

  ‘When we dropped him off at St Michael’s.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I insisted on kissing Clive good-bye.’

  ‘Well there’s no harm in that.’

  ‘Except I wrestled him to the ground and stuck my tongue down his throat.’

  ‘Oh God!’

  ‘That’s what Clive kept shrieking.’

  ‘Whatever did Ben do?’

  ‘He was absolutely furious. The minute we got home and Dylan was out of earshot, Ben demanded to know what the hell I’d been playing at.’

  ‘So what did you say?’

  ‘Everything just tumbled out Cass. All the hurt and anger I’ve been carrying these last few months since the miscarriage, the ever widening emotional chasm between us and the fact that I felt he just didn’t care any more. Ben ended up in floods and said I meant the world to him and he couldn’t live without me. Actually he said some really heady stuff and before I knew it we were kissing passionately and declaring how much we loved each other.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that,’ I breathed. ‘And has Clive forgiven you?’

  ‘He has now. He staggered into St Michael’s thoroughly traumatised and was assisted into the vestry by Burly Barry who happened to be passing by.

  ‘Who’s Burly Barry?’

  ‘The verger. He also does a regular stint with the Samaritans as a counsellor.’

  ‘So he gave Clive an impromptu spot of therapy?’

  ‘It would certainly seem that way. They’re going to the pictures together tomorrow tonight when Clive’s finished drafting his sermon.’

  ‘So everything has worked out for Clive too!’

  ‘Yep. And even better – remember me telling you about Ben’s client that went bust? Well he’s back in business, has repaid Ben all the money he owed and stumped up a hefty advance against the next project. Things are booming again – so much so that we’re going away on a last minute romantic holiday to the Caribbean.’

  ‘Oh Nell that’s fabulous news! I’m so pleased for you – both of you. Have a marvellous time. On New Year’s Eve make sure you have your mobile phone on and I’ll ring you.’

  ‘Ah yes, a very special day if I’m not mistaken.’

  ‘Don’t remind me,’ I groaned mockingly. ‘It’s just another birthday.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Nell chuckled.

  Returning to work, I felt as though I’d gone back for a rest. The delicious realisation that the day would be spent parked on my butt instead of bog deep in domestic chores had me bursting through Hempel Braithwaite’s doors with a broad grin on my face.

  In Reception Julia was fizzing with excitement. Leaping off her receptionist’s stool she shoved her left hand in my face.

  ‘Look at my ring!’ she pointed happily to a green plastic monstrosity on her wedding finger. ‘You’ll never guess where that came from!’

  ‘A Christmas cracker?’ replied Morag striding into Reception.

  ‘Yes! But it came from Miles’ Christmas cracker and he’s given it to me.’

  ‘But I thought you and Miles were finished?’ I asked, puzzled. ‘You told me you were spending Christmas with your family.’

  ‘We were and I was,’ Julia’s eyes were dancing. ‘But on Christmas Eve, just as I was leaving for the station, Miles turned up on my doorstep. He implored me not to go, said he’d made a terrible mistake and wanted us to get back together.’

  ‘And?’ Morag and I chorused together.

  ‘He begged me to talk to him over dinner at Farrugia’s.’

  Morag gave a low whistle of appreciation. ‘Very nice.’

  ‘It was. The tables were laid up beautifully with festive candles and Christmas crackers. When we pulled Miles’ cracker this ring fell out. He took my hand, slipped it on my finger and asked me to marry him. I said yes!’

  ‘Oh Julia that’s wonderful news!’ I threw my arms around her. ‘Congratulations!’

  ‘And at the earliest opportunity,’ Morag smiled, ‘get that ring changed for a three carat jobbie. Meanwhile Cass,’ Morag turned to me, ‘have you packed yet?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Well get a move on.’

  The thought of flying to the Bahamas filled me with dread. A nine hour flight wasn’t something I relished. Nor travelling such a distance from the children. In fact, the moment I started to consider the invisible umbilical cord being stretched thousands of miles, my bottom lip started to wobble.

  I gave myself a mental shake and told myself not to blub.

  But the following day all I did was blub. It was my final day of employment with Hempel Braithwaite, a workplace which – one way or another – had seen rather a lot of drama.

  At five minutes to one, the entire staff squashed around my desk as Susannah Harrington dispensed largesse and hugged me hard. Moments later an enormous bouquet was pressed into my arms accompanied by a Sorry You’re Leaving card. I immediately burst into tears. As I stood there clutching my flowers and crying, for a brief moment I felt like an award winning actress at the Oscars. Gushing like an oil well I thanked everybody for everything, from the remaining senior partner who I’d barely exchanged a good morning with, down to the office cleaner who I’d almost certainly never met.

  And suddenly it was All Systems Go, and go we did. To Gatwick Airport. Eventually anyway. In the car, I buzzed down the window and waved frantically.

  ‘Good-bye. Bye. Be good. Miss you. Bye-ee.’ As I mopped my eyes, I had a sudden flash of deja-vu. I seemed to be doing another Oscar winning performance. How strange. Perhaps I’d been an actress in a past life?

  Edna, framed in the doorway of Lilac Lodge, had an arm apiece around Jonas and Petra. Stevie stood close by, having come to see us off before taking the twins back to his place. They all waved and grinned manically. Tears streamed down my face as I blew frantic kisses. Yes, very probably an actress in a past life.

  ‘Bye-ee. Don’t squabble. Don’t forget to clean your teeth. Oh God, I love you all so much.’

  Stevie looked a bit startled at this.

  The arm waving was flagging a bit and we hadn’t even left the driveway. Jamie finally started the engine and the car rolled backwards.

  ‘Stop!’ I screeched.

  Jamie hit the brakes so hard I nearly head banged the dashboard.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he cried in alarm.

  ‘I need to kiss my babies one more time,’ I choked.

  ‘Oh God Cassie. Go on then, hurry up.’

  I leapt out of the car. Everybody looked slightly unnerved as I hurtled towards them, arms outstretched. Definitely an actress in a past life. Probably a damn good one too.

  ‘My babies!’ I swooped theatrically on Livvy and Toby who looked mortified.

  Eventually Stevie prised my fingers off the twins and I flung my arms around an unsuspecting Petra and Jonas.

  ‘I’ll miss you two as well,’ I snuffled and snorted attractively.

  Jamie tooted his horn. With great reluctance on my part and huge relief on everybody else’s, we finally drove off.

  We joined up with Morag and Matt at the airport but a
t boarding time I took one look at the size of the plane and nearly went into reverse. How the devil was that enormous lump of metal going to get off the ground?

  ‘I need a whisky,’ I bleated.

  ‘Come with me,’ ordered Morag hauling me off to the Ladies. She shouldered me into a quiet corner, shielding me from onlookers with both her body and massive handbag. ‘Hold out your hand.’

  ‘What’s this?’ I screwed up my eyes suspiciously.

  ‘Really Cass, you are terribly ungrateful at times.’

  ‘You’re giving me three?’ I gasped. ‘Are you trying to kill me?’

  Half an hour later, as the aircraft charged down the runway and threw itself into the sky, I smiled serenely and slipped into a drug induced slumber.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I wasn’t entirely sure what time we eventually arrived at our hotel. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep off jet-lag and tranquillisers.

  Much later, when we awoke a little less bleary-eyed, we were able to fully take in the unadulterated opulence of our villa. We had slept in a vast four-poster bed, canopied and curtained in rich emeralds and gold. Two enormous cream sofas bearing a row of plumped up pointed cushions snuggled up to an occasional table bearing flowers, a tray of sweets and an overloaded crystal fruit bowl. French doors issued onto a large bright balcony affording stunning views of white sand, pale turquoise sea and an abundance of softly swaying green palms.

  ‘Paradise,’ I murmured, leaning over the balustrade and drinking in the vista.

  ‘Let’s go and explore,’ said Jamie.

  The hotel was a vast architectural structure designed like a sultan’s palace, its stone walls constantly changing colour according to the time of day and angle of the sun. The colossal building stood against a backdrop of white sand and turquoise ocean.

  In the hotel’s grounds – a mere seven acres – there were half a dozen pools each with swim up bars offering mouth-watering Caribbean cocktails. The pools were watery works of art, meandering under an assortment of ornamental bridges through lush tropical gardens.

  Morag preferred the recreation of the water park, treating fellow swimmers to the spectacular sight of a large breasted woman hurtling down water chutes and slides squealing her head off with girlish excitement. Wherever Morag ventured, a rush of enthusiastic males discreetly followed in her wake.