Where on earth had that harem idea come from? Still, it seemed to have worked anyway, which was a stroke of luck. She had spoken so totally off the top of her head, it could just as easily have been disastrous. What if she’d said: ‘cartoon characters. Bringing cartoon characters into the living room from the television.’
The idea made her laugh out loud. Fortunately, it happened when the others were laughing at something – Janet had no idea what – that Marie had just said, so she got away with it without comment. But later, after she and Estelle had left the others with much air kissing and ‘nice to meet yous’ and were walking a little drunkenly along the High Street, Janet told her about it.
‘You are taking the mickey,’ Estelle said, and suddenly they were both hooting with laughter. ‘The idea is downright Goofy.’
Janet’s stomach hurt. ‘Oh don’t!’ she said, stopping to clutch it, laughing helplessly.
‘Thanks for tonight,’ she said after she’d recovered enough to walk on. ‘It was fun. Your friends are– ’
‘Absolute bitches,’ Estelle interrupted.
It was nothing but the truth. ‘Well…’ she said, but broke off as Estelle pulled a face.
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I know what they’re like. More than ever perhaps since I met you.’
Drunk as she was, Janet still detected an edge of emotion in Estelle’s voice. She linked her arm in hers affectionately. ‘You’re nice to me,’ she said. ‘Really nice.’
‘I’m not sure I know how to do nice,’ Estelle said as they walked along together companionably.
‘Don’t run yourself down,’ Janet wanted to say, but it seemed such a ridiculous thing to say to confident, successful Estelle that she didn’t.
‘Of course you do,’ she said instead. ‘You’re a natural.’
‘My female employees wouldn’t agree with you.’ Estelle said. ‘They loathe me.’
‘Oh, I’m sure they don’t!’
‘Believe me,’ Estelle assured her, ‘they do.’
Janet suddenly remembered when Estelle had regarded her as if she were some sort of insect de-serving of being ground underfoot the time she had dropped the baguette on her foot in the sandwich shop. ‘Perhaps they’re just jealous,’ she said. Because she had been jealous of Estelle. Still was, really. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to be so self-assured and successful. ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘what about the men who work for you?’
‘There aren’t too many of them,’ Estelle said. ‘Only my sales director, Mark. Haven’t got a clue what he thinks of me.’
They had reached the taxi rank. Janet stopped. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’m sure he likes you.’
Estelle smiled at her. ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘Look, don’t go yet. Come back for a nightcap.’
Janet hesitated. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Debbie was quite upset about me going out tonight.’
‘She’ll be in bed by now then,’ Estelle said.
That was true. But there was still Ray. ‘I’d better not. Ray will be wondering where I am…’
Would he though? He still wasn’t even really speaking to her. Stuff him, as Kate would say! ‘Well, all right,’ she said in an abrupt change of mind. ‘I will!’
Estelle looked at her with pleased surprise. ‘Great!’ she said. ‘I thought I was going to have to work on you.’
Estelle wasn’t nearly so surprised as Janet was herself. What was happening to her lately? Here she was, going behind Ray’s back, defying him even by still attending the workshops. And the thing was, it felt…well, good.
‘You know,’ she said to Estelle, linking her arm in hers, ‘I think you’re good for me.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ Estelle said.
Estelle’s apartment was the opposite of harem style. Decorated in minimalist pristine white with splashes of tasteful colour here and there, it was a tranquil, sophisticated space. A space that went with perfect make-up, manicures and understated, designer clothes.
Janet looked at the acres of white with trepidation. ‘I’d better switch to white wine if you have any,’ she said when Estelle offered her a drink. ‘I’d be terrified of spilling red on this sofa.’
‘Nonsense,’ Estelle said, opening a bottle of red in the kitchen area.
The room was large and open-plan, with a vast window overlooking the sea. Janet couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have such a room all to yourself. No television on unless you wanted it to be on, no nosy neighbours popping in on any flimsy pretext, no husband reading the paper and demanding meals …
‘What’s your husband like?’ Estelle asked as if on cue, handing Janet her wine.
Janet held the glass carefully. ‘Oh, he’s very hard-working,’ she said loyally. ‘An efficient provider.’
Even to Janet, it didn’t sound very exciting, and Estelle obviously agreed.
‘Bossy?’ she asked.
‘Well…’
‘Come on,’ Estelle persisted. ‘Is he bossy?’
‘Yes.’ God, how bossy he was.
‘Parental?’
Janet traced the rim of her glass with her finger. She found it difficult to say bad things about Ray, even if they were true. ‘I suppose he is, yes.’
Was Ray as loyal about her? Or did he say, ‘My wife’s hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.’ Well, one thing was for sure, he wouldn’t be saying: ‘you’ll never guess what she’s gone and done now! Only joined an orgasm workshop! Can you believe it?’
‘But I can be pretty useless sometimes, you know,’ she said. ‘I expect I encourage such treatment.’
Estelle ignored this comment as not being worthy of acknowledgement. ‘Ever thought of getting shot of him?’ she asked casually.
‘No!’ It was an instinctive, truthful reply. She hadn’t. ‘How would I manage?’ she asked.
Estelle looked at her cynically. ‘You mean, how would you manage without being bossed about and bullied?’ she asked. ‘Very well, I imagine.’
Janet sipped her wine, feeling suddenly depressed. Estelle was right of course. She wouldn’t miss either of those things.
But it wasn’t as simple as that. She’d never lived on her own. She’d swapped her mother’s house for Ray’s house. It was the only way of life she knew, and if she lived as Estelle did, with only her own thoughts and inefficiencies to keep her company, she’d probably go crazy.
Wouldn’t she?
‘Feel free to tell me to mind my own business if you like,’ Estelle said, putting her bare feet up on the other sofa. ‘What do I know? Never married, never in a relationship for longer than six months; a proper emotional defective, I am.’
Janet responded to the carefully hidden sorrow in Estelle’s voice. ‘Oh, Estelle…’ she said. ‘I’m sure that isn’t true.’
Estelle smiled cynically. ‘You haven’t met my lover,’ she said. ‘Or you might revise your opinion. Look, just don’t underestimate yourself, that’s all I’m saying. Anyone who can work for Carol De Ville for six months without chucking a bathroom fitting at her must be a bloody tough cookie.’ She took a sip of her wine. ‘Anyway, you haven’t told me how you got on with your mirror. Were you a rose or a sea creature?’
Janet smiled, grateful for the change of subject, and the rest of the evening was fun and light-hearted. That was, until Janet got home. When she did, Ray was waiting for her, his expression anything but light-hearted.
‘What time do you call this exactly?’ Tie askew, whisky in hand, he regarded his wife sternly from his armchair.
Janet had never had a father to give her grief about late nights out during her teenage years, but she imagined it might have felt quite a lot like this if she had.
The room was swaying ever so slightly, so she planted her feet firmly on the carpet and used slow, careful movements to look at her watch. ‘Two a.m.,’ she said, an edge of defiance in her voice.
Ray’s expression was scathing. ‘You look like a prize slut,’ he said dismissively, and instantl
y Janet felt most of her confidence begin to slip away.
Feeling suddenly old and ridiculous as well as distinctly unsteady on her feet, she flopped down onto the sofa. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘At least it’s got you talking to me again.’ She closed her eyes. When she laid her head back the room began to spin.
‘Don’t count on it,’ Ray said with contempt. ‘I’m going out.’
Janet quickly opened her eyes. Too quickly. The room gave a dangerous lurch. ‘Where?’ she asked, clutching her head. ‘It’s the middle of the night!’
But Ray just stormed from the house without bothering to reply. Not that it was likely that Janet would have heard him anyway; she was too busy running to the downstairs loo to be sick.
* * * * *
Estelle was still up. For some reason, she didn’t feel relaxed enough to go to bed yet. The events and the conversations of the evening were still running through her mind. In a way, Janet was lucky. OK, so she had a pig of a husband and a whiny daughter, but even so, the world was hers to discover, provided she could find the courage to do it. Janet was raw material waiting to be developed.
The same could hardly be said for herself. The material she was made of had been modelled and shaped and shoved in the back of a kiln to cook for so long it was hard as rock. She was solid; solid and flawed. And sometimes she thought the only way she was going to be able to move forward was by smashing herself into pieces.
The door buzzer rang. Maybe it was Janet back again. Maybe she’d had a Road to Damascus moment on the way home and decided to leave that shit of a husband of hers.
But when Estelle looked at the image provided by the entry camera, she saw it wasn’t Janet at all. It was RT. She pressed the buzzer to let him in.
‘Hope it’s not too late,’ he said. ‘I saw your light.’
In Estelle’s drunken, philosophical mood, his words seemed charged with significance. Was it too late? Or was there a chance of light at the end of the very long, dark tunnel of her life?
‘That’s OK,’ she said. ‘It’s nice to see you.’ It was, actually, if only to save her from being alone.
This wasn’t the reply RT had expected, she could tell. He was far more accustomed to her being cool and condescending; the type of woman who grants favours rather than begs them. His glance was suspicious. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Sure,’ she said, filling her glass up again. ‘Never been better. Want a drink?’
‘What I want,’ he said, ‘is you.’ And he reached out to take her glass from her, putting it safely out of the way on the coffee table before taking her into his arms. Lowering his mouth, he got stuck in.
He needed a shave.
Estelle moved away, taking a slug from her glass and putting it down again. ‘All in good time,’ she said. ‘First of all, I want to entertain you.’
‘There’s only one sort of entertainment I want right now,’ he said, reaching out to pull her hand into his crotch.
‘Ah,’ she said, swirling out of his reach. ‘But that’s because you haven’t seen me belly dance before. Look.’ And she pushed her top up and her skirt down onto her hips and began to wiggle her pelvis, arms lifted above her head.
‘You’re pissed,’ RT said.
‘Not at all,’ she said, wriggling and twirling in front of him.
‘As a proverbial newt.’
She ignored him, concentrating on getting her hip movements right.
‘What is it with you women these days?’ he said. ‘It used to be the men who got wasted on a Saturday night.’ And he went over to her glass and quaffed the contents in one.
Sulky bloody bastard. Suddenly running out of steam for belly dancing, Estelle sank back on the sofa. Which was exactly what RT wanted. The predatory smile returned at once and he sank down beside her, his mouth tasting of her wine as he moved in for another snog.
Giving up, Estelle lay back and let him get on with it. But RT didn’t even seem to notice that she was more passive than usual. And by the time her lover gave his final orgasmic grunt, Estelle was right in the heart of her dark tunnel and the light at the end of it looked too dim to be reachable.
Eighteen
‘Imagine you’re in your bedroom. The curtains are drawn, gently flickering candles light the room, and the temperature is perfect. Instead of your usual bed, there’s a sumptuous four-poster covered in exotic, shimmering drapes…’
Seated next to Reenie and the others in the church hall with her eyes closed, Kate tried her hardest to visualise the scene Jade was describing. It was difficult to imagine a four-poster in her cramped bedsit though, try as she might. And even if she did have a four-poster, the covers would still be an ill-assorted collection of rumpled sheets strewn with crumbs, cat hair and the paraphernalia of in-bed TV watching. That was simply the way her life was. Or at least, the way it seemed to have become, post-Ian.
‘You’re dressed in silk lingerie,’ Jade was continuing. ‘A soft, sexy basque perhaps, and French knickers. Clothes to reveal and to skim and to tantalise.’
Oh yes, the kind of clothes she had drawers and drawers of! Not.
‘And you’re kneeling at the foot of the bed, observing the man you’ve invited for the occasion…’
Moving on in her mind from a very vague picture of her lumpish body clad in outsize lingerie, Kate looked towards the head of the ‘bed’ to see who was sitting there watching her make a complete dick of herself. It was Ian, inevitably, dressed in his police uniform, oddly with one sock off. One bare foot and one dirty great policeman’s boot defiling the sumptuous bed; an expression of utter scorn on his face as he looked at her cavorting in her skimpies. Yes, that’d be true to life, the slimy, treacherous bastard!
* * * * *
‘He’s naked, his body is glistening with oil, and you’ve tied his wrists to the bed frame with silken scarves, making him powerless to move.’
Next to Kate, Reenie was also having trouble imagining the scene. At least, she could imagine it all right, because she liked wearing lingerie, so long as it was comfortable, and she’d always fancied a four-poster. No, it was Ted she was having trouble picturing, or at least, Ted as macho hero, anyway.
‘Your man is helpless; completely at your mercy,’ Jade said. ‘He can only lie there and watch as you begin to pleasure yourself.’
The Ted in Reenie’s head just wasn’t being obliging. He was doing the helpless bit all right, but it was laughter he was helpless with, not lust.
‘Sorry, Reen,’ he was giggling. ‘Sorry! I just can’t help it!’ And off he went again; giggle, giggle, giggle. More silly-schoolboy than aroused stud.
* * * * *
The four-poster in Janet’s mind was one she’d seen on a visit to a stately home once; all gilt and golden canopy, probably too small for a comfortable night’s sleep, since it was common knowledge that people had been shorter in those days. Maybe because of the period the bed came from, Janet was wearing a white muslin chemise instead of silk or satin, and her hair was longer than it was in reality, tumbling down over her shoulders in sexy, youthful waves.
‘Slowly and gently, you begin to stroke your body through the silk of your lingerie,’ Jade said. ‘Your hands smooth their way delicately over your ripe breasts…’
As if in an out-of-body experience, Janet watched as she stroked herself through the gauzy fabric of her chemise, her pink nipples standing out clearly through the fabric, tingling as her hands came into brushing contact with them.
‘…and down to the soft swell of your stomach…’
The woman in Janet’s mind moved her hands down from her erect nipples. But instead of the soft, sexy swell Jade was describing, they encountered her stretch marks and then her operation scars, causing the hands of her imaginary self to spread in an instinctive act of concealment.
‘You have no thoughts of any imperfections,’ Jade said, just as if she had read the imaginary Janet’s mind. ‘No thoughts of being too fat or unattractive in any way. You accept yourself u
tterly as you are.’
Eyes tightly closed, Janet forced the woman in her mind to move her hands, lifting the chemise until the blemishes were in full view.
‘You have never felt so good about the way you look in your entire life.’
The woman’s hands glided over her less-than-perfect stomach.
‘You feel inspired. Beautiful. Powerful. You are a temptress, a goddess, perfectly confident that, when the time is right for you, you will drive your man to the heights of ecstasy.’
Janet didn’t allow her imaginary self to look up towards the head of the bed. She didn’t want to see Ray and his cynical, impatient expression or to hear him say ‘for God’s sake, cover yourself up, Janet!’ She wanted to be free of Ray. She wanted to enjoy the moment.
‘Finally,’ Jade said, ‘with your man avidly watching your every movement, you reach down to your well of delight.’
The real Janet’s face was hot. The impulse to open her eyes to see how caught up the other three women were in this fantasy was almost overwhelming, but she resisted it. Before she had started this course, Janet had never seen her ‘well of delight.’ It had just been something Ray pounded into once or twice a week. Something, prior to her hysterectomy, into which she had had to insert sterile white tampons during her period. Something that smelled if she didn’t wash herself carefully. A place unmentioned by name by herself or anybody else on the earth, least of all by the doctor who had delivered Debbie.
‘I’m afraid it will have to be a Caesarean, Mrs Thornton,’ he’d said, and that had been that. No discussion, no arguments.
But now, because of the course, Janet had studied this place very thoroughly with her hand mirror.
‘Your fingers are knowing and utterly tender. You love this person you are making love to; really love her. And why shouldn’t you? She’s gorgeous.’
Nobody had ever loved Janet like that, least of all herself, and there was a part of Janet that could have just buried her face in her hands and wept and wept at how very sad that was.
The Goddess Workshop Page 13