The Woman Who Knew Everything

by Debbie Viggiano

  ‘You need to talk to him,’ said Dee. ‘A frank sit-down-and-listen-to-me-you-moron sort of chat.’

  ‘Yes,’ Chrissie sighed. ‘You’re right. I’ll do that tomorrow. And what about you, Dee? Is everything all right with you and Josh?’

  Dee took a deep breath. ‘No.’ Now that she was admitting it to her friends, it somehow hit home harder. ‘I’d like us to move from our flat and buy something a bit bigger. An extra bedroom, for when a baby comes along. And a garden. I’d love a place like yours, Amber.’ Dee slowed the car, put the indicator on and pulled up outside Amber’s house. She looked across at the little property. It stood in the warm glow of footpath courtesy lights. To Dee, it was perfect. ‘But whenever I mention moving, Josh blanks it. And lately he seems to pick an argument over everything and anything. He’s also shredding my self-esteem to pieces.’

  ‘Never!’ Chrissie gasped. Dee had to be the most poised, self-assured and confident person she’d ever met.

  Dee gave a bark of mirthless laughter. ‘Apparently I’m fat, frumpy, unfashionable and have no conversation skills.’

  ‘He shed that?’ Amber slurred in outrage.

  ‘And like you two,’ Dee continued, feeling her face flame, ‘we haven’t made love in ages. He said,’ she hesitated for a moment, ‘that I was boring in bed.’

  Amber and Chrissie were gobsmacked. There was a resounding silence interrupted only by the tick-ticking of Dee’s blinking indicator, as they sat in the stationary vehicle outside Amber’s house.

  ‘I hate to say this, said Chrissie tentatively, ‘but maybe we should make an appointment to see Madam Rosa again.’ She didn’t really have a spare forty-five quid to give to someone who professed to know everything. The woman could be playing a very clever game of hoodwinking. But doubt had set in. It would be nice to see Madam Rosa one more time if only to be reassured, and dismiss her earlier revelations as utter tripe. ‘I don’t have her number though.’

  ‘I do,’ said Amber. She rummaged in her handbag and pulled out the stiff white business card. ‘I agree with Chrishie. We should see the old bat again.’

  Dee sighed and stared blankly at the windscreen. She didn’t know what to think. Right now, she was fed up and tired. This had not been a happy evening. ‘I’m not sure,’ she shook her head. ‘Maybe we should sit down with our men tomorrow, and calmly ask them what’s going on – whether they still want to be with us? We should tell them we feel anxious, and want to put things right.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Chrissie nodded.

  ‘Yesh,’ Amber agreed. ‘I already have a plan of action, starting tonight.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Chrissie and Dee together.

  ‘I’m going to roger him senseless,’ Amber declared. ‘Shtarting right now.’ She blew kisses to Chrissie and Dee, and wrestled with the rear door. It flew open, nearly whacking an oncoming car. A blaring horn made them all jump. ‘Shee you both on Mon’ay,’ Amber said, falling out of the car, ‘an’ let ush hope we all have good newsh.’

  Chapter Ten

  As Amber breathed in the cold night air, she experienced a wave of nausea. It made her realise how drunk she was. She teetered on her stilettos, delicately picking her way along the semi-dark footpath towards her house. Ice glittered underfoot, and a chill wind lifted the hem of her short skirt. Her body prickled with a spray of goose-bumps. Flipping heck. She needed to get indoors before her private parts suffered frostbite.

  Fumbling with her keys, she stabbed several times at the lock. Suddenly the door was yanked open. Matthew stood before her. He was glaring.

  ‘Drunk?’ His chilly tone matched the weather.

  ‘Don’ be shilly,’ said Amber indignantly. As she stepped over the threshold into the warm hallway, she shivered. The sudden change of temperature brought on another moment of nausea. She gulped uneasily, and bestowed Matthew with her brightest smile.

  ‘Dah-ling Math-yoo!’ she gushed.

  ‘Great, you’re definitely drunk.’

  Amber waved a hand dismissively as she shook off her jacket, but her arm hadn’t left the sleeve. She ended up looking like a large demented bird as she flapped the garment about in the small hallway. Matthew wrestled it off her and tossed it over the bannister.

  ‘Thanksh.’ Released from her coat prison, she staggered slightly. A moment of dizziness engulfed her.

  ‘Nice evening?’ Matthew enquired tersely.

  ‘Would’ve bin nicer if yewd bin wish me.’ Amber blinked owlishly at Matthew. ‘Why’re we shtanding in the hallway? Letsh go into the lounge an’ ’ave a nice chatty-poo.’

  ‘No thanks. I’m tired.’

  ‘Tired?’ Amber frowned. ‘But it’s only…,’ she squinted at her watch, ‘five to four.’

  ‘It’s twenty past eleven,’ said Matthew irritably. ‘Remember, one of us here went to work earlier.’ He made it sound like Amber was lazy for not going to the office on a Saturday. ‘My eyes are burning after going over all those figures.’

  ‘Look at my figure inshtead,’ said Amber coquettishly. She tried giving a seductive Mae West wink, but instead looked like she was trying to blink grit out of her eye.

  ‘I’m going to bed,’ said Matthew briskly. He turned and marched up the staircase.

  Oh goody, thought Amber, he’s dead keen to get to the bedroom. ‘Yeah, letsh go to beddy-byes.’

  She followed Matthew, gripping the bannister rail tightly. Good heavens. Had Matthew ripped out the staircase while she’d been out, and installed an escalator? Amber’s head momentarily spun. Steadying herself, she stepped off the moving stairs and trailed Matthew into the larger of the two upstairs bedrooms. He was shedding clothes at the speed of light, letting them drop in the usual untidy pile on the floor. Amber bit back words of complaint about her boyfriend’s slovenliness, and instead concentrated on being the most seductive woman on the planet. This was it! She was going to reclaim Matthew’s love and lust.

  ‘Oh Math-yoooooo,’ she cooed. Amber began wiggling her mid-riff, as if rotating an invisible hoop around it. ‘Wanna see me dance, babe?’ She moved away from the bed so he could watch the whole of her gyrating body, from the top of her jiggling breasts down to her sexy high heels. She lifted one side of her dress teasingly, revealing the lacy top of a hold-up stocking. When they’d first started dating, Matthew had always told Amber what lovely legs she had. She reached down with her other hand and tugged the hem upwards so both stocking tops were revealed, all the while constantly twirling her body. She threw her head back as if in ecstasy, and made what she imagined to be a sound of arousal.

  Matthew grimaced. ‘Are you in pain, Amber?’

  ‘Oh yeah, yeah, gimme some pain, hunny-bunny.’ She stuck her bottom out, in all its cheeky glory. Earlier, she’d put on her best thong with a diamanté heart where the string joined the top. ‘C’mon, Math-yoo. Get yourself over here and gimme some wanky.’ She shook her head. That didn’t sound right. It made it sound like she wanted Matthew to, well, wank. And she definitely didn’t want that. She wanted him to stride over, sweep her into his strong arms, then fling her down on the bed in a masterful manner. If he could do a bit of chest bashing like Tarzan, even better. Then he would look at her with intense desire and murmur, ‘Amber, darling. What a fool I’ve been for ignoring you. Part those beautiful stockinged thighs, and let me plunge into you before my balls burst.’ And if he could do that sooner, rather than later, even better. All this blasted gyrating was making her tummy feel like it had turned into a washing machine – and one that was revving up for a final spin. ‘C’mon, Math-yoo,’ Amber urged, ‘gimme some spanky. Oooh, yeah, baby. Spanky-spanky-spanky.’

  ‘Amber–’

  ‘Yes…say my name…say my name,’ Amber gasped, as a Destiny’s Child soundtrack began playing in her head. How annoying. She didn’t want to think about the lyrics – which might be dangerously close to the truth.

  She pulled the dress up her body, ready to discard it. She would toss it on top of Matthew’s pile of clothes. T
his would prove she wasn’t a nagging girlfriend, and instead just like him – slovenly. A slut! That’s what men liked in the bedroom, right? Her head briefly jammed in the dress’s narrow neck hole. Lipstick smeared across both the fabric and her face as she fought to free herself.

  ‘Look, Amber–’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, look all you like,’ panted Amber as she immerged, pink-faced, from the dress. She balled it up and chucked it across the bedroom. It sailed through the air and hooked itself on the ceiling lampshade. No matter, because now her Victoria’s Secret upholstered breasts were revealed in all their glory. She cupped the underwired fabric and wobbled her boobs about as she resumed gyrating. ‘Do you like what you see, Matty boy?’

  Matty boy? She’d never called her boyfriend “Matty boy” in all their time together.

  ‘Amber, I really wish you’d stop and–’

  At last! He finally wanted her to stop all this twirling about and get down to basics – good old-fashioned bonking. She giggled naughtily.

  ‘Are you ready, Matty man?’

  Matty man? The booze had done strange things to her vocabulary.

  ‘Truly, Amber, can we–’

  ‘Oh my darling Matalan.’

  Matalan? Wasn’t that a shop?

  Amber opened her mouth and attempted running her tongue sexily across her lips. She was so dehydrated from all the booze, her top lip chose that moment to adhere to her front teeth. She stabbed at it with her parched tongue. She looked like someone doing an impression of a hissing snake.

  ‘Oh for fuck’s sake –’

  ‘Yes,’ Amber squealed with delight, ‘fuckity-fuckity-fuck!’ At last, the green light! And boy did she need to get this over with. Sod her own sexual gratification. She wanted to impale herself on Matthew, salvage their relationship in the most natural way a man and a woman did these things, then lie down and sleep for a million years. Her head was whirling and, thanks to the continued gyrating, her stomach was rolling like a cement mixer. She mustered all her wherewithal and concentrated on the task in hand.

  ‘Are you ready to COME?’ Amber bellowed. ‘Because I AMMM!’ She took a running jump at Matthew, and belly-flopped onto his private parts. Matthew convulsed with pain. His head came up as his hands flew down to clutch throbbing testicles, causing him to nut his forehead on Amber’s jaw.

  ‘Jesus H Christ,’ he screamed.

  It was too much for Amber. As she opened her aching mouth to scold Matthew for blasphemy, she vomited all over his bare chest. A waterfall of regurgitated trifle and gin splattered over his skin, splashing outwards across the bedding. Amber’s last coherent thought, before she passed out, was that she still had some way to go before she won Matthew over.

  Chapter Eleven

  At about the time of Amber passing out, Dee was pulling up outside Chrissie’s crumbling maisonette.

  ‘Thanks for the lift,’ said Chrissie gratefully.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Dee replied. ‘I’ll watch you walk to the door.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Chrissie assured. ‘This place isn’t quite as bad you think.’ Both women knew that wasn’t true. ‘Catch you later.’ As Chrissie pushed open the passenger door, Dee’s nostrils twitched at the stink of weed. Goodness knows what it was like inside Chrissie’s home. Dee saw her friend’s soft mouth change into a hard line.

  Buzzing down the driver’s window, Dee kept her eyes on Chrissie. She could hear the men inside the maisonette effing and jeffing, followed by raucous cheers. Their bulky shapes were silhouetted behind the net curtains. Someone punched the air in triumph and let out a primeval roar. From next door came the sound of Chrissie’s neighbour, who Dee knew to be called Fran, yelling at her kids to go to sleep. This was followed by Fran screaming at the men to shut their gobs or she’d come around and do it for them. Chrissie’s body was visibly stiff with tension as she turned to wave to Dee. Seconds later she’d disappeared into the hallway. As the car window whirred shut, Dee thanked God and all the angels in Heaven that she didn’t live on an estate like this one.

  Inside, Chrissie took a deep breath. She told herself to count to three before she went into the lounge. It was important to stay calm and be reasonable. After all, it was Saturday night. After a hard week of doing sod all, it was only natural Andrew’s friends should want to unwind and enjoy a few funny fags. She just wished they didn’t do it in her home. The place stunk. She checked the time. Half past eleven. Would it be mean asking Andrew’s “guests” to leave at this hour? She dithered. Most working people, like herself, would think it late but not extraordinarily so. Midnight would probably be more appropriate for ending in-house entertainment. She sighed, trying to muster up some energy. If her body had been a car, the petrol tank’s gauge would be reading almost empty.

  For goodness sake, Chrissie. Get a grip. You’ve now been standing in this hallway for several minutes. Do something!

  Making a decision, she pushed down on the door handle to the lounge. Chrissie immediately bumped into Big Mick, one of the men Dee had harassed earlier, who was coming the other way.

  ‘Oh, h-hello,’ Chrissie stuttered. ‘Are you going?’ Her heart leapt with joy. With a bit of luck, the rest of them would follow. She could reclaim her home, tidy up, and be in bed a little after midnight.

  ‘Nah,’ Mick said, enveloping Chrissie in beer fumes. ‘I’m off to use yer bog. I need a crap.’

  Chrissie tried not to look disgusted. After all, it was a bodily function that all humans did. She just wished Mick kept such information to himself, and preferably went home to use his own toilet rather than ponging out hers. As he squeezed his bulk past her, one of his hands landed on her left breast. She froze.

  ‘Nice tits,’ he murmured. ‘Yer wasted on him.’ He jerked his head at Andrew in the gloom behind him. ‘Any time yer fancy a bit of rough, look me up. I’ll show yer a good time, darlin’.’

  Chrissie was so shocked she couldn’t move. Mick’s hand lingered for a moment longer, fingering her nipple through her worn-out bra before his bowels got the better of him. As he hastened off to the bathroom, Andrew appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Ah, good. You’re home. All right?’ he enquired. He didn’t bother waiting for a reply. ‘We’re starving. As it’s still early, can you make everyone some chip butties? That all right with you, lads?’ Andrew bellowed over his shoulder. From behind him came various grunts of approval. Chrissie could see at least ten men in there. Eleven if you included Mick who was currently enthroned on her toilet.

  ‘Andrew,’ said Chrissie, in a low voice, ‘even if I wanted to make chip butties at twenty-to-midnight – which I don’t – I would need half a dozen bags of frozen chips and several loaves of bread. Neither of which we have.’

  Andrew’s lip curled. When he next spoke his voice matched Chrissie’s in quietness, but not in tone. ‘You’re not going to show me up, are you?’ he hissed. His face was full of contempt. ‘There’s an Asda around the corner. It’s open twenty-four-seven. Get your backside over there, buy what’s necessary, and do it pronto. You need to learn some basic hospitality skills. Calum’s missus is a diamond. She waits on us hand, foot and finger, all night long, with never a cross word and a big smile on her face. In fact, all the lads have respectful wives. It’s just me who doesn’t.’

  ‘You’re forgetting something, Andrew,’ Chrissie growled.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I’m not your wife.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ Andrew rolled his eyes. ‘Is that what this is about? Hey, if the difference between you being obstructive or pleasant boils down to a ring on your finger, then let’s get married.’ Chrissie stared at Andrew in disbelief. In the space of two minutes she’d been groped by Andrew’s mate, had an invitation to have an affair, received an obscure marriage proposal, and been ordered to make umpteen chip butties at nearly midnight. What the hell was going on in her life? She desperately needed to claw back some control. ‘So can you hurry up and chuff off to Asda,’ said Andrew through clenched t
eeth. He gave her a push towards the front door. ‘Oh, and before you ask, no I don’t have any money for the shopping. I’ll reimburse you when I’m paid. Tonight’s been a bit expensive. In addition to all the booze for everyone, there were certain…er…things I had to buy for the lads. At the weekend they like their…you know… luxuries.’

  ‘I understand,’ Chrissie nodded.

  Andrew’s face lit up. This was more like it. A compliant Chrissie. It was amazing what the promise of marriage achieved. ‘Off you go then.’ He gave her another prod, but Chrissie stood her ground.

  ‘I too like certain luxuries at the weekend, Andrew,’ Chrissie murmured.

  Andrew sighed. It was becoming crystal clear. She wanted a bonk. ‘Sure, sure,’ he said, once again jostling Chrissie towards the door. ‘I’ll sort you out later.’

  Chrissie laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. She put up her hands to stop Andrew propelling her out into the night. ‘The luxuries I’m talking about, are coming home to a house that doesn’t resemble a cross between a pub and a drug den, being able to get into my own bathroom without the stench of Mick’s bowels polluting the atmosphere, sleeping in a fragrant bedroom without everything – including the contents of my clothes hanging in the wardrobe – reeking of weed, and not being groped by one of your hideous mates–’

  Andrew’s face darkened. ‘You dirty liar.’

  ‘–and finally, to have a boyfriend who behaves like a boyfriend and not some prat who–’

  There was the sound of a flushing toilet struggling to cope with the contents of its bowl. The bathroom door sprang open revealing Mick doing up his flies. It was evident no hand washing would be taking place. He squirted a lavender aerosol into the poisonous air, and waved one hand at the loo. ‘Sorry, darlin’,’ he said, addressing Chrissie. ‘Think yer loo’s blocked. Be a good girl an’ sort’ it out fer us. One big bucket of water should shift it.’

  ‘She’ll be right there,’ Andrew assured Mick, ‘and then my lovely fiancé,’ he said mockingly, ‘is going to do us all proud with a feast to make your eyes pop.’