S xx
I re-read, my jaw fell open and I grabbed my phone.
“Guess what?” I said before Carla had even finished her ‘hello’.
“You’re pregnant? Michael was killed in a tragic rafting accident?”
“Pregnant! And sadly not. Stefan wants me to join him for a week’s holiday.”
“What?” She screeched so loud I had to remove the phone from my ear.
“Stefan wants me…”
“Yes, I heard. When? Where? Oh my God, Jayne, what did you say?”
“When, I don’t know. Where, I don’t know either, although I suspect the cottage in Cornwall, and I haven’t replied.”
“You haven’t replied? Get the fuck off the phone and answer him.”
“He emailed, I can talk to you while I reply. What shall I say?”
“You say, ‘No, I’m sorry, I can’t possibly spend time with the man I’ve been fantasising over for nearly a year’.”
“Huh?”
“You say, ‘Yes, when and where’, obviously.”
I didn’t answer.
“Are you still there?” she asked.
“Yes. I don’t know what to do, Carla. I mean, what if he doesn’t like me in real life, what if he’s changed? So much has happened over the year. What if we don’t get on?”
“You’re kidding me, right? Of course you’ll get on, but if you don’t, you come home. What do you have to lose? Please, Jayne, do it. I’m coming over tomorrow and we are going to plan.”
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’m not going now. I’m hanging on the line until you reply.”
“I need to think. Ben and Kerry are moving in next week, did I tell you?”
“Don’t change the subject, type.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake. Hold on.”
I spoke as I typed a reply.
To: Stefan
From: Jayne
Date: 10 October 2014
Subject: Wow!
Congratulations on the contract! I know you’ve worked so hard for that. I’m thrilled for you. And a cottage on a beach? I’d love to, thank you for inviting me. When? Where? Or can I guess? :) Are you sure?
J xx
“Did that sound okay? Not too desperate?” I asked Carla.
“No, perfect. You make sure you let me know what he says. This is so exciting!”
“It’s fucking terrifying. Please don’t tell anyone. I feel sick at the thought now. Oh, God, I wish there was a way of retracting emails. I need to think about this.”
“There’s nothing to think about. I’ll be over in the morning.”
We said goodbye and I sat and looked at the email I’d sent. Holy fuck, he wanted to meet! After nearly a year, he still wanted to meet. I was stunned. No—I was scared, terrified.
I drummed my fingers on the table, unsure if I wanted him to reply immediately or not.
To: Jayne
From: Stefan
Date: 10 October 2014
Subject: Cornwall
You sent me the details; I went online and booked. The week in November was still available. Can you make that date?
S xx
I didn’t reply immediately. My heart was hammering in my chest. A hundred questions ran through my mind. What if he didn’t like me? I wasn’t as confident in real life as I was in our emails. I thought back on some then let my head fall into my hands. Oh God! I’d sent some smutty comments over the past year. What if…? No, I wasn’t going to go there.
Carla was at the front door before I’d even finished dressing the following morning. She walked through to the kitchen, shouting up the stairs that she’d brought breakfast. I joined her just a few minutes later.
“Well?” she said as I grabbed the mug of tea she’d placed on the table.
“Well, what?”
“What did he say?”
“He’s booked a week in November. I need to check because he didn’t specify a date but it’s mid-month, I think.”
“And?”
“And he wants me to join him.”
Her face broke out into a wide smile. “This is so exciting.”
“This is so terrifying.”
“We need to get you pampered, get your hair done. When was the last time you had your hair done?”
“Months ago. I can’t afford those luxuries.”
“I can. I’ll book the appointments. We have much to do, my friend,” she said with a laugh.
“I don’t know that I can do this.” I couldn’t drum up the level of excitement Carla felt.
“Why?”
“What if…? What if he wants, you know. I can’t do this.” I was getting upset.
“If he wants sex? Is that what you’re worried about?”
I nodded my head.
“First, you don’t know that he isn’t just looking at this as two friends on holiday, and second, if he does, why not? Don’t you think you deserve some affection?”
“Carla, I haven’t had sex for years, and I mean, years! I doubt any of it works.”
“But you’ve…”
“No!” I cut her off before she could finish her sentence.
I could see she was trying not to laugh, until she realised I was serious. Tears formed in my eyes.
“I’ve acted like a slut online, what if that’s what he’s expecting?” I whispered.
“You haven’t. Jesus, Jayne. It was a little flirty. If you think what you wrote was raunchy, you really have led a sheltered life.”
She took hold of my hands.
“Just go with the flow. Don’t have anything in mind, and if it happens, it was meant to be. Just be prepared, that’s all. And you know what? You do all this ‘Scarlet did it’ crap, but that’s you. Maybe that glass of wine was the confidence booster that allows you to be you.”
“I’ve lied, though.”
“No, you haven’t. You haven’t told him anything that isn’t true. So you were braver online, maybe he’s done the same. Don’t overthink this.”
“I told him my fantasy.” I cringed as I spoke.
“Then let’s hope you get to play that out. Unless it was the one where you get locked in the basement after being kidnapped and tied to a bedpost for days. You didn’t tell him that one, did you?”
“Oh, fuck off.” I laughed, although being tied to the bedpost sounded appealing.
“Seriously, don’t overthink it. What will be, will be.”
Carla left after devouring the pastries she’d brought. I envied the fact she could eat like a horse and not put on weight. One sniff of a pastry and my hips expanded. We made plans to meet up the following week for a little shopping and ‘pampering’, as she called it. Maybe she thought I needed more ‘work’ on me than I’d realised. The holiday was two months away; I couldn’t think about it. I had Ben and Kerry to worry about first.
I spent the rest of the week clearing out and cleaning the two bedrooms. They were full of memories. Casey’s old bedroom had boxes of school books, toys from when she was a child and photograph albums. I sat on the floor flicking through one. I came across a photograph of her; it wasn’t in an album and was taken maybe just a few years ago. I didn’t recognise the photo as one I’d taken. She was sat on a wall, a sea defence wall I imagined, and looking out to sea. It was a side profile of her and she appeared to be unaware the picture had been taken. She looked so sad. I touched the picture and wondered what had made her look so pensive.
I turned the photograph over. Written on the back in black ink and in handwriting I didn’t recognised was a date and place.
‘Broadstairs, 2012 – Think of me sometimes, and soften your heart. Too soon your life will be over and you’ll have missed it. I can’t love you all the while you hate the world.’
Broadstairs was a beach town not far from where we lived, and I wracked my brain to remember a time in 2012 we’d been there. The sky was grey, the sea angry, so I guessed it to be winter. I read the inscription again. Who wrote that? Was
it a quote from a book or a personal message? I placed the photo to one side and continued to box up her things.
I was unsure what to do with Michael’s things. He had left some clothes that I folded into a suitcase. When I sat and thought, other than the winter clothes, there was nothing of Michael anywhere in the house. He’d been moving out for a long while before he actually did.
Ben would put the boxes in the loft and move any furniture they didn’t need to the garage when they moved in.
I decided to take a walk into the village. As usual, Dini protested about being on the lead but over time the village had grown, there were more cars speeding through the country lanes than ever. I passed what used to be a hairdresser and noticed a new sign, black and silver, advertising a beauty parlour. A young girl was standing outside, she handed me a leaflet. Perhaps I looked like I needed their help, as she seemed to ignore other people passing by.
I read as I walked. Waxing, massage, pedicures and manicures, and make-up lessons were just some of the treatments on offer.
I heard my name being called from across the road. Carla came power walking towards me.
“What on earth are you doing?” I asked.
“Exercising, obviously. What’s that?” she said as she looked at the leaflet.
“A new beauty parlour. The girl forced it on me as I walked by.”
She took the leaflet and scanned. “You might want to book some treatments before your holiday,” she said.
“I was thinking that. What do you suggest?”
“How about a little waxing? When was the last time you had a trim up?”
“I shave my legs and armpits, of course.”
“I’m talking down below. They do a Brazilian.”
“A what?”
“A tidy up, that’s all you need to know. Want to book in?”
“No. I’m not having my ninny waxed!”
She spluttered a little, I wondered whether her power walking had affected her lungs.
“Go in there and book some treatments, and don’t, whatever you do, ask for a ninny wax.”
“I’m not having my ninny waxed,” I said, raising my voice then glowing red with embarrassment.
“You want him to go down on you and get a mouthful of pubes?”
My mouth fell open. I spun on my heels and ‘power walked’ in the opposite direction, desperately trying to avoid the glare from old Mrs. Jones, the florist.
Carla’s laughter followed me and I was nearly at a jog to keep some distance. She’d closed the gap with her silly walking thing.
“I’m kidding. Well, actually, I’m not, but you know I’m just teasing. How about a coffee?”
“I can’t, I doubt they’d let Dini in.”
“They do in the pub. Come on.” She grabbed my arm and ushered me across the street.
I hadn’t visited the village pub for a long time. In fact, the last time it had been a dingy, brown painted ceiling, smoking den. It was a surprise to walk into a bright room, one end housed tables and chairs for diners and the other comfortable looking leather sofas.
I pointed to Dini when the bar lady looked over. She nodded and told us to take a seat, she’d be right over.
“So, I need waxing. I’ve never been waxed before. Why can’t I just shave or trim with scissors?” I asked.
“You can shave, if you want to end up looking like you have a nasty rash. And do you trust yourself down there with a pair of scissors?”
“I doubt very much we’re going to have sex, let alone…that!”
She smirked at me. I hated when she smirked at me because that usually meant I was totally out of the park on my thoughts. The bar lady brought over some cups and a jug of coffee. We hadn’t asked for them but I thought it a nice touch. She laid a couple of lunch menus on the table.
“Why don’t we start with a pedicure at least? He may want to suck on your toes.”
I spurted the coffee I had just taken a sip of across the table. Carla squealed as the hot liquid hit her designer power walking outfit and Dini jumped to his feet, assuming I was being attacked.
I stared at her. “I’m not going.”
“You are, I’m kidding,” she said between fits of laughter.
“I’m not. Seriously, Carla, this is terrifying me. I might have it all wrong, and I just know I’m going to make a complete fool of myself.”
She rested back on the sofa and sipped her coffee.
“How do you feel about him?” she asked.
“I like him, probably more than I should. I know I use him as an escape but there is a friendship there too.”
“Then don’t blow this chance. It might be the only one you get to meet up.”
“What will people think?” I whispered.
“Is that what’s really bothering you? You’re separated, Jayne. You’re cheating husband left you for a job thousands of miles away.”
“I know but not that long ago.”
“Is there a time limit then? We’re not talking about being bereaved here; you’re single, not legally, but still single. No one needs to know, Jayne. We’ll keep it just between us.”
We finished our coffee and decided to skip the lunch. Carla had another mile of power walking she’d told me, and I didn’t relish the idea of eating beside Dini. His drool at one sniff of food was enough to put anyone off a meal.
“When are the kids moving in?” Carla asked as we made our way back out.
“Next couple of days, I think. I’m looking forward to it. I’m painting the nursery this afternoon.”
“I’ll pop round in a couple of days and give you a hand.”
We said our goodbyes and I watched her backside sway vigorously from side to side as she walked off. Dini and I casually strolled back home.
A week later the nursery was finished. Ben and I painted the walls a soft cream and I surprised myself with my artistry skills. I’d taken lots of photos over the years of animals while on my walks and I created a woodland theme on one of the walls.
“It looks amazing,” Kerry said. She had been ferrying items from their house in the car, much to Ben’s annoyance.
“I wish you’d sit down,” he said.
“I’m pregnant, Ben, not disabled,” she replied.
After some shelves had been fixed, I placed a photograph of my dad on one. We stood and remembered him in silence. I wanted to have him in the room; he would look after the baby when the time came for him, or her, to share the room.
“He would have been here nagging us,” I said.
“I know, but I bet he’s smiling now,” Kerry answered.
A day later the rooms were furnished. Ben and Kerry had stored most of their things in a friend’s garage, only bringing bedroom items, the baby’s things and some small kitchen appliances.
“I have an idea. How about we clear out the study? No one uses it, and you can put your sofa, TV, whatnot in there. It will give you your own space, some privacy,” I said.
A second day of moving furniture was arranged.
Ben had driven to the fish and chip shop. We were all exhausted and I sat with Kerry at the kitchen table.
“I’m going back down to Cornwall in November, so you’ll have the house to yourself for a week,” I said.
“Oh, sounds lovely. I’ve always preferred the beach in the winter.”
She didn’t push on who I was going with and I was glad; I’d hate to have lied to her.
“Ben did tell you he was picking nan up from the airport tomorrow, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he’s leaving early to avoid the traffic.”
“I’ve missed her. I’ll be glad to see her home.”
Mum’s stay in Scotland had extended way beyond the week she’d originally planned. I’d popped round to her bungalow on occasions to make sure everything was okay and I’d organised for some shopping to be delivered. We also had the dreaded task of packing up my dad’s clothes.
Mum had mentioned in our last phone call that she wanted to take his
things to the charity shop. I’d told her there was no rush but there was no right time to do that, I guessed.
October made way for November, and as the weeks wore on, so my nerves began to fray. Both Ben and Kerry constantly asked what was wrong, mum would look at me with a brow furrowed in question and Carla’s smile got broader.
“You booked the appointment?” Carla asked as we sat with a glass of wine.
“Yes, in the morning. I can’t fucking believe I’m doing this,” I replied.
“You’ll probably need to do it again before the holiday.”
“Well, let’s see how this goes first.”
“Can I come and watch?”
“No, you bloody can’t. Now go home, I need to have a bath, apparently.”
Carla laughed as she collected her coat and bag and made her way out the front door. I had already bitten my newly manicured nails down to the quick in panic.
I took a long bath, shaved my legs and armpits, plucked a stray hair from my chin and then panicked more would grow as its replacement. Once done, I climbed out and wrapped myself in a towel. I attempted to shape my eyebrows while I waited for the bath water to drain away. I laughed as I looked in the bath; it resembled a sheep-shearing marathon.
I entered the beauty parlour and immediately wanted to step back outside. The reception resembled the waiting room at the doctors, except most of the patients looked healthier than the three women who turned to look at me. I smiled at the receptionist, gave my name and took a seat next to a small coffee table. I picked up an out of date copy of Hello magazine and flicked through. Victoria and David Beckham’s wedding was being covered that week. I closed the magazine to check the date. 1999!
As I looked around the room, I swallowed down a chuckle. One of the occupants would have been better off at the local hardware shop with a hedge trimmer such was the length of hair on her legs. Even in the depths of winter when I preferred to grow a fur coat, I’d never had hair that long.
Perhaps it was nerves, but the chuckle turned into a stifled laughter as I saw the moustache on lady number two. But then I remembered why I was there. I looked towards the door. I could make it out unnoticed if I crept, or I could pretend to have left my purse in a car somewhere and promise to return, then run. Before I could make my mind up on what exit strategy to use, my name was called.
A Virtual Affair Page 15