Chocolate Mousse and Two Spoons

by Lorraine Jenkin

  She felt the need for a fag and made as if to go outside but thought, “Sod it.” Malcolm was on one of his naff boys’ nights away in some characterless hotel, the staff of which would already be putting up with their lecherous and revolting behaviour as their bar tabs rose. The least she deserved was to smoke a fag in her own living room, rather than standing outside in the rain like some schoolkid.

  She had a feeling of déjà vu as she harked back to her life in London – her finishing up the last of the washing-up or pairing socks while Malcolm was out enjoying himself. Jill had been distraught when she’d first suspected his dalliances, but his denials and her own erratic working hours had almost convinced her that all was well. Deciding that what he wanted was a successful, professional woman, the same as the ones he lusted over, she decided that that was what she would become.

  She had pushed herself harder and harder. Longer hours in the office and the gym paid off as she climbed the corporate ladder. She’d found her niche in the boardroom and the buzz she got from winning clients and getting praise from her boss very nearly made up for the inattention and lack of appreciation dealt her by her husband.

  Ironically, it was an “Evaluation and Goal Achieving for Winners” seminar that stimulated the nudge to action. One of the exercises was to imagine one was having an out-of-body experience. The attendees had to float above their lives and look down, assessing what they were doing and set goals to progress their five-year plans.

  As Jill had floated above her own life, she was shocked by the pitiful image it evoked. She saw herself working late, night after night, volunteering for evening meetings and delighting in sending emails after midnight. She saw visions of herself walking wearily up the grand steps to their dark green front door, clutching bundles of files and struggling to undo the shiny gold locks. The light beaming through the stained glass panes didn’t mean that her husband was home to welcome her after her weary day; rather that it was after eight-thirty and the time switches had clicked on.

  Looking at their bedroom, she had seen the motivational and self-improvement books on her side of the bed, compared to the adventure novels on Malcolm’s. And she heard him sneaking into the house late as she pretended to be asleep. It wasn’t a good image.

  The course provider would have been amazed by the effectiveness of his workshop (particularly as it had had no real impact on him when he had attended a rival company’s course and secretly taped the whole day, six months before). He’d told the clients in the first session that some of the exercises were quite powerful, but he didn’t believe it. He was therefore most surprised when the lady with the immaculate grey suit and the weary eyes had staggered to her feet and fled from the room. He was even more surprised when her colleague came to retrieve her briefcase later that day and told him that she’d handed her notice in with immediate effect.

  Malcolm had been far easier to persuade to move out to the country than Jill could ever have imagined and she felt immensely grateful that he obviously cared deeply for her well-being. The ease of the decision proved to her how great a strain he had been under as well; but his outlet had obviously been late nights and a need for feminine company.

  Somehow, things seemed to be slipping back… He wasn’t so interested in the restaurant anymore and just kept whingeing about the name. “Well, CHANGE it,” she would snap in exasperation. “Call it Malcolm’s Caff, The Effin’ Teacake, Dun Cookin’, I don’t bloody know, but just DO it.” But he would shrug off her outburst, roll his eyes at her immaturity and walk away leaving her feeling frustrated and annoyed.

  So an evening out with his friends really seemed par for the course. No doubt they would now be chatting up a selection of lovely ladies who didn’t have five cakes to ice, or twenty china dishes to fill with butter, before morning.

  Jill sat and debated – butter and cakes, or wine and a chat. Sod it. She decided that she would pop round and see Lettie – perhaps she would swap shifts with the absentee and, anyway, thought Jill, it would be nice to have company, a bottle of wine and a moan. She selected a nice bottle of Chardonnay from the rack, grabbed her coat and, checking her pocket for her cigarettes, set off through the dark and determined rain to Lettie’s house.

  Although it was only a five-minute walk, the wind drove the rain through her flapping mac and the scarf that she had draped over her head did little to protect her hair. Ah, good, the lights were on in the sitting room; Lettie was in. Jill knocked on the door and then quickly banged it harder as the rain poured from the blocked gutter above, down the back of her neck. Hearing music from within and assuming she had not been heard, she tried the door and found it unlocked.

  “Hello!” she called, unwrapping her scarf from round her head and throwing her dripping coat onto the rack in the hall. She knocked gently on the sitting room door and pushed it open, but, although the lamp was on, the stereo was playing Ravel’s Bolero to itself. She saw a light upstairs and, assuming Lettie had gone to the loo, she pushed open the door of the kitchen and felt for the switch.

  Three sharp intakes of breath were heard and three people didn’t know where to put themselves. Jill was the quickest to recover and stood aghast, leaning against the door frame and considering the mildly ridiculous scene before her.

  The kitchen table had been pulled into the middle of the room and, previous to Jill’s introduction of undimmed electric lighting, the room had been lit very softly and carefully with candles. Facing each other, although now dumbly staring up at Jill, were Malcolm and Lisa. In the middle of the table was a large bowl of chocolate mousse and two spoons. However, the spoons hadn’t been touched; instead, greedy fingers had dragged the mousse from the bowl and it was plain to Jill that it hadn’t been for hunger of the dietary kind.

  Malcolm sat in his best T-shirt and, although he quickly pulled the once-white tablecloth over his knees, Jill could see that his trousers and the silk boxer shorts that she had bought him were down around his ankles, hanging pathetically over his shoes. Jill could guess from the chocolate handprints on the insides of his white legs and the smears on Lisa’s lower face, that the tablecloth was hiding a fast-fading erection. His face, however, was the very image of a man in shock – mouth open, eyes wide.

  Lisa looked just as ridiculous, sat there like a child who has been given too big an ice cream. Her hair was beautifully dressed with seductive tendrils falling softly around her neck. She couldn’t have done that herself, Jill thought, rather bizarrely considering the import of the scene in front of her, and she clutched defensively at her own wet mop; she’ll have been to that new hairdresser’s in town. Lisa’s pale pink top had been completely removed and Jill could see it dangling from the shelf that was usually home to Lettie’s cookbooks. That must have raised a laugh when it happened, she thought dryly.

  The navy blue silky bra with wide straps had obviously been delved into and Lisa’s generous breasts were hanging over the top of the lace, smothered in chocolate mousse. A large blob of squirty cream covered each nipple and, as Jill watched, one of the blobs slid gently down and landed with a splodge on Lettie’s already ruined tablecloth.

  “Well, well,” said Jill slowly. “This is cosy.” This broke the spell of mortification and Lisa, her face burning a deep red, started fumbling with her bra, trying to pile her breasts back in. Malcolm spluttered into action, having not been able to resist another look at Lisa as she manhandled her treasures back into their hiding place.

  Diving for his trousers and banging his chin on the table in the process, he started blathering, “Look, love, this isn’t what it seems…” But then he saw Jill’s eyebrow go up and he realised the stupidity of his comment. Yes, of course it was what it seemed; how could it possibly be anything else?

  Malcolm slumped back into his chair and Lisa caught her breath: Love? Love? she thought, as she rescued and struggled into her top, not noticing that it was inside out. “But, Malcolm,” she spluttered, “you, you said…” and the silent tears that welled out of combined
embarrassment and distress, were used to start washing the stupid, stupid chocolate mousse from her face. She stood with her back to the wall, her hands covering her face as if trying to protect herself from the man across the table and opt quietly out of the domestic that was inevitably coming.

  “Oh, he’s spun you a line has he, love? Now, there’s a surprise.” Jill turned again to Malcolm, now with his head in his hands, his elbows on the sticky table, like a naughty boy caught next to a warm puddle at school.

  “What was it last time – Love?” The word was spat out. “You remember – when I found you making a ‘surprise’ lemon meringue pie? It apparently burnt, yet I still found an unexplained sticky mess on your shirt? And then I had an odd phone call a week later, from our business advisor – one I didn’t know we had – who, for “tax purposes”, wanted to clarify our relationship.

  “Oh, yes,” she continued, looking back to the shaking Lisa, “he should be on the Olympic committee the amount of games he organises. I think when he was wooing me, we played the Guess What Part of the Body Game – but ours was just strawberry jam – nothing this elaborate; he’s obviously refined it for you – well done, you should be touched by the effort he’s put in.” The cynicism in her voice chilled Lisa as if she had been standing naked in the howling wind and rain outside.

  The three of them stayed in the same position; none of them knowing how to break the spell. Lisa wished Jill would just go – surely she should storm out now and slam the door, leaving her and Malcolm alone again? Malcolm wished Jill and Lisa would go: give him a bit of time to think. Jill wished she could just go, but she didn’t know how to; didn’t know what to say. Instead, she took out a cigarette from her handbag, staring intently at Malcolm as she lit it and blew the first puff in his face. This allowed Malcolm to move – her cigarette smoke had long since repulsed him, even if he had thought it mildly sexy during the days of the Guess What Part of the Body Game. He moved to the kitchen sink and leant on it heavily, staring out the window into the stormy night, his back to Jill and ignoring Lisa, who had now slid down the wall and was sitting on her high heels, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

  Jill looked thoughtfully around the room, pursing her lips and inhaling deeply. Eventually, she exhaled and turned to go, but after a hesitation, she turned back and delighted in saying, “Oh, Debbie called in sick; she can’t do tomorrow’s early shift.” As a final parting shot, she ground her fag butt into the chocolate pudding.

  Malcolm flinched as he heard the hiss of the cigarette extinguishing in the gooey morass. He stood helplessly as he watched his wife of fifteen years turn sharply on her heel, carefully gather her coat and walk confidently out of the front door.

  His deliberations about what he should do were almost pointless. He simply knew that his time was up. He had been rumbled and he deserved it. Jill had always accused him of such behaviour, but had never known for sure. She had been upset by her suspicions on many occasions, but whenever she had challenged him, she had always been ever so slightly wrong, so he had been able to truthfully deny everything, feel justifiably wounded, and she would end up apologising. But to be caught so obviously and shamelessly – nope, that would be it. Jill may be insecure in some ways, but she had her limits and he had just trampled straight over them.

  A few seconds after Jill’s departure, both Malcolm and Lisa unconsciously gave a sigh of relief feeling the pressure lifting. As the tension dissipated, Lisa burst into loud sobs and clutched her beautifully set hair with her chocolatey hands, meaning that it wouldn’t last nice and soft until the next morning, as had been the plan.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Jill, er, Lisa…,” snarled Malcolm as he stormed out of the kitchen and stomped up the stairs to wash the gunge from his face and crotch.

  Chapter 48

  Indigestion

  The sex between Malcolm and Lisa later that night was routine, even tinged with nastiness. Lisa cried after it and this sent Malcolm back downstairs in irritation. Lisa knew that they shouldn’t have done it; their first time together should have been special. It had seemed like fate – Lettie babysitting for the night at a friend’s house and Rizzo on a rare trip away. Then Jill had gone and ruined it all by barging in on them like that. But, Lisa didn’t want to lose Malcolm just yet, and, also, if Jill was going to be out of the picture, well, that’s what she had wanted, wasn’t it?

  Malcolm hadn’t wanted to do it either, but he couldn’t have faced going home, and his car was parked in a housing estate in the next town, he had got a taxi from there in order to hide his activities from Jill, so he couldn’t really go anywhere else. Also, his penis thought that if Jill were going to be throwing him out for a while, Malcolm might as well start enjoying life a little.

  So, it had been Lisa that had woken with him and the sex the next morning had been a little more generous. The dawn allowed her to put on her new pearl pink satin dressing gown that barely came to mid-thigh and certainly gave plenty of opportunity for gaping, and bring him a tray of freshly prepared coffee, orange juice and hot croissants. They had eaten them together, scattering crumbs over the bedlinen and kissing apricot jam from each other’s mouths. Somehow, though, it just wasn’t as exciting as it should have been.

  Malcolm left early and rather sulkily, rubbing his eyes and preparing a tale of having spent the night weeping whilst walking on the beach. He did not look back to appreciate the scantily clad Lisa who saw him to the door. Instead he was thinking about how he was going to cope with the bollocking that he was bound to receive; Jill wouldn’t care that he had only had a few hours sleep.

  To his relief, the flat was empty. Jill had gone out, leaving only a small note saying, “I have gone. You are a bastard and I will be in touch regarding our assets – your loving Jill.”

  Malcolm was devoid of emotion as he read the note. He knew he didn’t deserve any pity, even from himself.

  As agreed, he phoned Lisa to inform her of Jill’s departure. Lisa was surprised that she didn’t feel as pleased by the news as she thought she should. She quickly tidied the house, putting Lettie’s tablecloth on to soak, with a full pack of pre-wash. Hopefully there would be no hint of the previous night’s activities when Lettie returned in time for her three o’clock shift. After only a little contemplation, she then dug out a makeshift waitress’s outfit, delighted at the opportunity to flaunt herself in a low-cut blouse and fitted skirt in Malcolm’s presence all day, surely sealing their relationship by filling in for the absent waitress at such short notice.

  Then she headed off to the restaurant in order to set about trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.

  Chapter 49

  Strawberries and Cream

  Richard popped into Alex’s shop on his way to fetch the children from their grandma’s house. He sat on the stool in the corner whilst Alex busied herself with her customers, wrapping their flowers and advising on what went with what. He loved watching his wife working and was very proud of her and the business that she had built from nothing.

  He slurped noisily on his ice cream and bantered with the customers while she hurried around getting exactly what they needed to show their love, thanks, or the depth of their guilt.

  “Boy, you must have done something really bad,” he said to a middle-aged man in a suit and a worried look who was collecting a huge bouquet. Alex stared at him, her lips twisted trying not to laugh, but luckily the man broke into a chuckle.

  “Actually, I have! I’m off to the fudge shop after this as well and then the humble pie shop.” Alex relaxed; Rich always gauged it right – why did she ever doubt his judgment? “The costs for a forgotten birthday just escalate, don’t they! I was rather hoping I could blame it on the kids for letting me forget, but it doesn’t seem fair really, both of them being under three…”

  Alex laughed and quickly wrapped two buttonhole sized bouquets in smaller squares of paper. “Here, two from the kids – on the house – from a wife who hasn’t yet been forgotten, have I, d
arling?”

  “No, not yet, my dear, but don’t get cocky, there’s a good soul. Sometimes,” he added, looking back to the contrite husband, “it’s good to forget them; stops them getting complacent.”

  The man left the shop, raising his free hand to the calls of “Good luck,” and “Remember, the best form of defence is attack,” from Alex and Richard respectively. Alex closed the door and went over to Richard. She leant against him and helped herself to a nibble of ice cream. He put his arm around her and kissed her forehead gently, motioning as if he were wiping the rich Chideock Chocolate from his mouth into her hair.

  “See, love,” he stated, his finger in the air, “you may think I am a crap husband, but I haven’t reached those depths yet!”

  “But, my dear, there are many ways to skin a cat; I bet he doesn’t hold his wife’s head under the duvet and play Guess What I’ve Eaten?” Richard smirked sheepishly. “But, that brings me nicely onto my next announcement,” she said, standing back up straight. “I have decided that everyone needs their very own Richard… Their very own cabbage-eating, birthday-forgetter to clutter up the bathroom and drink the last of the milk.”

  “Oy, that’s not fair,” he interrupted, “I bought bread yesterday…”

  Alex gave him a scathing sideways look. “Yes, very good, Rich, and the cat brought a mouse in, but listen – I have decided that I am going to phone Dougie. I’m going to explain about the crash and about anything else I can think of and then I am going to shut up about it. But I’ve got the feeling that he’s the one for my little sis’ and that’s too rare to let go”.