Cold Enough to Freeze Cows

by Lorraine Jenkin

  She could blame a lot of things on her mother – and in many of the cases that would be blame enough – but she knew deep down that the real reason that she was a person who just worked and got on with things was something that neither her mother nor anyone else knew anything about…

  Menna had found that Paul Morgan had become suddenly busy after her announcement about the pregnancy. Their Thursday night curry was now unpalatable to him, despite their having had one each week for the past three years. How did someone go off a chicken tikka masala on their 156th time of eating it, she wondered.

  Instead they ate with either Menna’s or Paul’s parents. Paul became very much in demand by other people. The early mornings that were part of a farmer’s life became something that needed a solitary night’s sleep in preparation. Saturday nights at the pub started later and later so that they missed their previous conversations on their own before the others turned up. Paul started giving lifts to people in a way that Paul the Neuadd would never have bothered to do before. Menna could simply never catch him alone. There was no chance of a serious conversation about anything.

  She would snatch ten minutes in the car and suggest that perhaps they speak to his parents – see if they could separate part of the vast house off for them, or maybe build something of their own on the Neuadd’s acres? Alternatively, there was her parents’ farm, Glascwm. There were plenty of options, but they all required them to get a move on! Seven months wasn’t long.

  “Yeah,” Paul would say. “Let’s just wait until we’re sure. You know, things happen.”

  “Do you want something to happen?” Menna would shout. “Is that what you’re stalling for? Are you going to feed me a bottle of gin and pop me in a hot bath? Hide behind the barn and jump out at me?” Paul would give her a pitiful glance and Menna would shut up.

  She was used to being in the shadow of Paul the Neuadd, or at least what everyone thought was Paul the Neuadd. So she allowed him more time to get used to the idea. To allow him to pick a moment to tell of the plans he had been thinking through. But how could there be a right moment, when George was always popping round or Paul was giving Samson a lift into town?

  Menna was getting desperate. She was doing her bit; she had cut back on her coffee intake and had stepped up on veg. She ate no pâté, blue cheese or nuts – she didn’t like nuts anyway, but she made sure that she ate no nuts. Yet Paul did nothing. He wouldn’t even allow her to contact a midwife as one of his many cousins worked on reception at the surgery and the secret would be out in no time.

  “But they are sworn to confidentiality!” raged Menna.

  Paul raised an eyebrow – confidentiality? Gayle Thomas? Come on… And he was right. Everyone in Tan-y-Bryn and its surrounding villages knew everything about their neighbours’ health – usually before the neighbour did, and it was all down to Gayle Thomas. In fact, she felt it was part of the service: secrets being no good for a person’s well-being…

  So Menna worried her way through weeks six, seven and eight. She devoured the book that she’d bought and then hidden under her bed. Ridiculous, a woman of twenty-two hiding books under her bed, but she wrapped it in a towel every night as the baby graduated from blastocyst to embryo to foetus.

  Louisa was back in her bedroom. She was creeping around it due to guilt, well, half guilt, half lack of interest…

  She knew that her father was, at that very moment, whitewashing the ceiling in her new flat covering his face in flecks of paint, in a way that would make his shoulders ache for the next two weeks. She knew because she had popped by on the way home and seen him at it.

  He’d taken his overalls with him in a bag that morning. Louisa had managed to “forget” hers and it hadn’t been long before she’d been given permission to go home – no point in ruining her work clothes was there? She’d feigned disappointment, but had reluctantly agreed having made sure that she fingered a paintbrush for long enough to have paint on her hands and a tiny little dab in her hair for authenticity.

  Her father had seemed to be enjoying himself, so she’d thanked him and left him to it. Neither seemed to feel it appropriate to mention that her overalls were only a fifteen-minute drive away and the job was at least four hours from being finished.

  It was completely obvious to Louisa that there was no way that she could muck about painting a ceiling, new flat or no new flat, when there were more important matters on the boil. Three times during the past week she’d had a message from him – Iestyn, he’d said his name was – which must mean that he was awfully keen! He’d repeated the comment about going for a Chinese meal – this time claiming he’d be able to show off his skill with chopsticks. She had cleverly sidestepped the previous invite, just in case he was only joking. Now it seemed that it was a formal request for a date – and that deserved an answer and she had been thinking about it, and discussing it with Doreen, and thinking about it and discussing it again with Doreen, all day.

  It didn’t seem strange to Louisa that someone who she had shared only about 1,000 characters with might, on the strength of that, wish to spend an evening with her. She had always believed that once given an outing, her wit and personality would shine through – and this was obviously the medium it was shining through. She also had no apprehension about meeting a stranger found on the Internet; bad things that happened on blind dates didn’t happen to people like her – only silly people who took risks. She knew his name and that he was a farmer near Tan-y-Bryn and that was reference enough, it wasn’t an area renowned for its serial killers.

  She heard her mum rustling around downstairs and felt another pang of guilt. I’ll get on with my – homework – tonight and then I’ll get stuck into the flat tomorrow night, she thought as she changed into her silk pyjamas. Perhaps her mum could just bring her a sandwich up for tea – rather than her feeling like she had to cook a full roast. She’d not liked the look on her mum’s face when she’d walked through the door that evening: she had certainly not been convinced by the paint in Louisa’s hair…

  She attacked the keyboard with verve, now that she actually had something legitimate to blog about. It would be great to post this, sort out a reply to Iestyn and maybe get another response from him again by the morning – and even Rosie or Rachel too? Maybe she should post something on one of theirs – something witty about marshmallows again?

  Hi, Everyone! Me back again – this time with paint on my hands and in my hair! Why is it that paint gets just everywhere especially when you try and be careful? It’s so exciting to have my own place and I can’t wait to move in, but the flat sure needs a coat of paint to hide the nicotine ceilings and something to cover the swirly green carpet! Why is it that the only places that are affordable come with wall to wall stains of dubious provenance…

  “Lou-i-sa! Tea!” came the call from downstairs. Louisa groaned in frustration – would they ever let her get on with her own life?

  “Uh, could you bring it up here please? I’ll just have a sandwich if it’s easier,” she called back, pushing her luck a little.

  Esther was obviously feeling brave as David was out of the house. “Louisa, it may have escaped your notice, but it takes me five minutes to get up the stairs without a plate of chicken with mushroom sauce in my hand. I imagine that you would find it just a little bit easier to come down? Also, if you think I am binning an hour and a half’s effort in the kitchen to make you a sandwich instead, you can forget it.”

  Louisa grunted, posted her new blog and sulked down the stairs. She put her and her mother’s plates on a tray and took them into the sitting room, plonked them onto the coffee table and clicked the television on. If her mum was going to be in such a foul mood, then at least she could have the television on to drown it out. Great, Springwatch adverts. Now her mother would be on about the bloody blue tits again…

  David had just finished the sitting room ceiling and was settling down on the floor to do a bit of skirting board undercoating. He’d felt cold, so had turned on the hea
ting – it was OK, he’d give Louisa a bit of cash for it to cover the bill.

  He was quite enjoying himself, having a bit of an adventure. Their modern house in Anweledig was great in that it needed little apart from routine maintenance, but you couldn’t beat the feeling of standing back and seeing the creation of a bright new room from what had been a dirty, dingy dive. The only problem was, it showed just how dated and grotty the carpet was; perhaps he could get an offcut and fit it for Louisa as a treat?

  He’d been disappointed that Louisa hadn’t seemed to want to stay and get stuck in. She’d been paying for the flat since Wednesday and hadn’t spent any time in it so far. There was plenty of work needed before she moved in, granted, but the only way to get things done was to do them and she hadn’t really seemed to grasp that yet. Maybe she’d be a little more excited when she came the following night with her overalls. Diane had been a bit scathing about Louisa’s eagerness to leave home and, annoyingly, it seemed that she might be right if tonight’s apathetic attempt at decorating was anything to go by.

  He’d tried to hide the paint from Diane when he’d given her a lift home, but her eagle eyes had seen him lugging it to the car park and secreting it in the boot earlier. “For Louisa’s flat?” she’d asked when he’d returned to the office.

  “Well, I thought I’d just help her out – it’s a lot of work for her, especially when she’s not done it before. Expensive too – I just thought I’d, you know, give her a hand, you know, until she’s settled.”

  He’d squirmed under Diane’s gaze and knew what she was thinking. “Well,” she had said slowly, “just make sure you don’t take over. You know – let her lead it. We all have to learn by doing, remember – we don’t learn by sitting back and watching our dads…”

  David had mumbled a reply and had been glad to be called away for a phone call.

  However, tonight it seemed that Diane had been right, but she was his only daughter and if he couldn’t do odd jobs to make her happy, what could he do?

  David had just masking-taped the carpet when there was a bang on the door. Great! She’d come back after all! He’d known deep down that she wouldn’t let him do it all by himself. Perhaps she’d been so long because she’d been making him a sandwich – good, he was starving!

  He put down his brush and checked his hands for paint – he didn’t want to get gloss on the door handles – and clomped down the stairs. To his surprise, he didn’t open the door to an overalled Louisa with a smile and a club sandwich, instead he opened it to a beaming Diane, wearing old clothes and clutching two packets from the fish and chip shop in her hands.

  “Hello! I thought I’d come by and help with the great adventure!”

  David feigned a smile and waved her through. He was embarrassed that she would find out that, as predicted, he was doing all the work whilst Louisa was sitting at home on her plump behind, quite possibly just finishing off a plate of Esther’s chicken with mushroom sauce. He waited for the smug question or the “On your own?” comment, with that raised eyebrow of hers.

  Instead, Diane accepted the guided tour with excitement and enthusiasm, glossing over the damp patches in the way that David had just glossed over a few spiders. “Lovely big room,” she said about the sitting room. “There’ll be a nice view here I expect” she muttered about the kitchen.

  It wasn’t long before he felt relaxed and glad that she had come. It was as if he could now share his excitement about the transformation from dingy dive to deluxe des res with someone who appreciated it. “Hungry?” she asked at last, holding up the two paper-wrapped parcels.

  “Not half!” he laughed and thanked her as she tossed him one. They opened them out on the work surface in the galley kitchen and the room filled with the scent of hot vinegar, finally something that could overpower the smell of the damp under the lino. They stood side by side eating their fish and chips, looking out the window at the potentially nice view.

  “You’ve got to have chips when you’re decorating,” said Diane, “it’s the rules!”

  “I agree; it’s the real reason I’m doing the painting!” said David and they started tucking into them with gusto. David felt almost joyous at being with a woman who enjoyed her food. Esther was naturally lean but was a miserable, self-denying person about food and was slightly obsessed by fibre. She didn’t ever think, “Ooh, that looks nice,” about something and then just eat it. In fact it would be hard to think, “Ooh, that looks nice,” about anything she ate.

  She would grind her way through home-made muesli of a morning and wash it down with a cup of nettle tea. Snacks were rice cakes or oatmeal biscuits. Liquid refreshment was usually hot water – and bucket loads of the stuff was needed to make all the bran she ate swell sufficiently to cleanse her colon.

  Her bowels were super efficient and she would sneer if she spotted David sneaking into the downstairs toilet with a newspaper, “See you in an hour then,” she would smirk. Although he appreciated that his varicose veins were as much to do with his constipation as the elastane in his socks, he sometimes wished that he had a partner who was easy to treat. Perhaps that was why he’d always spoiled Louisa so, in order to have someone to enjoy the simple pleasures with.

  He looked again at Diane as she licked her fingers. “Delicious!” she said and broke off a bit more fish, smiling at David as she wiped a bit of batter from her chin.

  He started chatting as if she weren’t the same occasionally acid-tongued Diane he sat next to four times a week discussing the weather. He told her about his plans for the place, as if it were his own first flat. He thought he’d take up the lino in the kitchen – it would only be thirty quid or so for an off cut and also Louisa could choose a blind for the window – or perhaps he’d get one of those blue ones for her from the shop window of Chives?

  He’d asked the landlord if he could swap the electric strip light for one of those rails with spotlights on and whether he could put up a few shelves, as there wasn’t a great deal of cupboard space.

  Diane laughed at him and said that he was like a boy with a new toy! She bet that the landlord was extremely pleased to have Louisa as her new tenant – “…does the place up as well as paying the rent!”

  Diane rolled up her chip wrapper and went to squeeze past David to wash her hands. As she tried to walk past him through the narrow galley kitchen, face to face, paunch to rather large bust, they got wedged.

  They both laughed, embarrassed at first, not knowing whether the other was more embarrassed at being a bit fatter than they ought. They, however, were just, well, nicely covered.

  Should Diane go back the way she’d come or should she push on through? Should David suck his paunch in that was nestling so nicely beneath Diane’s sturdy bosom or did he stay and enjoy the warmth for a few more minutes?

  He chose the warmth. And it was obviously fine by her.

  She wriggled this way and that, but it was more like a cat finding the best place to be stroked, rather than one trying to move away from a dog with a nasty streak.

  After thirty seconds of this strange dance, some spell took hold of them both. Diane looked up into David’s eyes and reached her chubby little arms up to caress his hair.

  David gazed back and swept his glossy, chippy hands around Diane’s back and they kissed. And they sucked. And they slurped. They both felt so warm and soft and so moulded together. Her fat points poured nicely into his leaner parts. Her breasts rested on his stomach and her belly snuggled under his straining belt.

  David had never intended to have a fling with anyone, and he knew that he shouldn’t be doing this, as when his wife’s face flashed before his eyes, it had that disapproving glare on it. Since the opportunity for flirtation so rarely came his way, he decided that for the good of his life-excitement ratings, he should embrace it. And – it felt so good! Kissing a fleshy mouth that tasted of chips. He compared it to Esther’s pursed dog’s arse of a mouth, usually with a bit of oatmeal floating around in it, and Diane’s won hand
s down. He moved on to her ears, where her perfume engulfed his senses.

  He felt himself stirring below and Diane must have too as she ground her tracksuited hips into him. He dropped his hands down her back and grabbed her buttocks, great substantial wedges of fat, cruelly cut into by a nylon panty line, but deliciously generous to a man starved on the lean rations of Esther’s barely-covered bones and white, ironed underwear.

  That was all the encouragement Diane needed and she dived into his trousers…

  Afterwards, they lay on the kitchen floor, sticking to the foul-smelling lino and giggled with each other. Their trousers were pulled down over their shoes and therefore their feet were joined together. Slowly and without embarrassment their clothes were retrieved and put back on and again David relished Diane’s unselfish pleasures. Her great breasts would have been easy to be self-conscious about, but she lay there with them wobbling and flopping about as she moved, talked and laughed. David felt in seventh heaven; she had neither washed her hands nor wiped up any spillages and he felt fantastically squelchy and alive.

  The cold eventually drove them on to work and they retreated to the lounge and by the end of the night they had painted it all, with only a coat of gloss needed on the woodwork. They cleaned the brushes together, chatting easily about previous decorating projects they had known, and the night came to a natural close.

  There didn’t seem to be a need to discuss what had happened earlier, or what might become of it; that would somehow make it furtive and wrong.