Chapter Nine
Dora
Wed 14 December 2016
I see the name displayed on the ringing phone and groan. I can’t ignore her though with only a week until Pussies Galore arrives.
“Hi, sis,” I answer. It’s a pretty good response seeing as she’s like a terrorist with her constant interrogation.
“Dora. I was expecting to hear from you or Camille by now. Where am I staying?”
“You’ll have to come to ours. Cam needs the spare room to store the stuff for the party. Did you get your invitation?”
“Yes, if Christmas wasn’t expensive enough for everyone, now we need to buy engagement and housewarming presents.”
“I’m sure she won’t mind if you don’t get her one. Our Cam’s not the slightest bit materialistic.”
“I’ll be sticking to the proper etiquette for the occasion, thank you,” Miranda snips.
I roll my eyes. Not that she can see me.
“Anyway, that’s not the only reason I’m phoning.”
“No?” I dread to think what’s coming next.
“No. I’ve been having one of my feelings, so I went to see Brenda. She confirmed the pregnancy.”
“You’re pregnant?” I shriek. It seems Christmas really does involve miracles.
“Not me. I said it was one of my feelings. My psychic ones. Someone in your family is having a baby.”
“I doubt it very much, Miranda. Cam’s busy with the business and Lindsay and Tyler aren’t that serious.”
“Well, maybe it's you then?”
“I’m on the coil.”
“I’m just reporting what I felt, and I’ve had it confirmed by Brenda.”
“Brenda from the vets?”
“Yes. She’s a medium. Does the church hall once a month. Very insightful. She sees a trip in my future too. Says she sees my future connected with books, and a pool, but not until February time.”
“Well, that’s about right because you start swimming in February, hoping to get a Valentine’s off that lifeguard, whose name is, let me recall, Keith Wright. So there you go, you will obviously go arse over tit in front of him.”
“I wish you’d take things more seriously, Dora. Anyway, so I’m coming to yours?”
“Yes. The spare room’s all made up. It will be a bit cosy for you in there with three cats though.”
“Well, it’s only for an evening, isn’t it? The rest of the time we’ll be downstairs with you.”
I make a mental note to take up every opportunity to get out of the house from the 23rd December through to Boxing Day.
“Anyway, don’t forget to keep an eye out for pregnancy signs.”
“Miranda, no one is pregnant. Remember last Christmas? You told me I would die.”
“So you deny what happened at the Murder Mystery game we played after dinner?”
“But you knew I’d set that up and was to be the victim.”
“I have to report what my feelings tell me. I felt that you died and you did. In the kitchen with a frying pan.”
“Fine. So we’ll see you the afternoon of the 23rd then? Do you want me to get anything nice in for tea?”
“Oh no, don’t go to any trouble. It’s only your sister coming around.”
God, she’s so sarky. “I meant anything specific, as you well know.”
“Can we have a Chinese?”
“Absolutely.”
“Right, now go check your contraception.”
“Miranda,” I cry with exasperation.
She laughs down the other end of the phone. “Stop, you’ll hurt my feelings.”
“It’s just an excuse, you know? There’s no way Camille couldn’t keep her stuff in the garage.”
Tim sighs. “You can’t expect to offload your sister onto your daughter.”
“Why not? They’ve always been close.”
“Because your daughter is extremely busy with her business.”
My eyes narrow. “What about me?”
“You are also busy with your business, but it’s your sister and you’ve already told me that Beth’s closing the kitchen from the 24th to the 27th, so you’ll have plenty of time, whereas the play centre’s opening on Boxing Day.”
“My daughter is far too clever. I’ve taught her too well. She knows parents will be desperate to offload the kids for a few hours come Boxing Day while they eat a mince pie and have a cuppa. She’s also won the who gets Miranda competition. Unless…”
“Whatever it is running through your mind, forget it.”
I smirk.
“I’m serious, Dora. Let the thought pass. Remember your Big Magic book? Thank the idea for passing and let it go, away to someone else.”
“Don’t you quote Liz Gilbert out of context. Fine, we’ll keep Miranda here. By the way, she’s listened to Brenda after having one of her feelings. I’m going to get pregnant, if I’m not already. Also, she’s going on a literary adventure in February. Somewhere with a pool. It’s in her future.”
Tim chews on his lip.
“You are on the coil, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“How effective is it?”
“It’s like almost impossible to get pregnant effective.”
“Almost?”
“Tim, I’ve been on the coil for six years. Do you see a cluster of unplanned children around here?”
“Does it have to be checked though?”
“I can’t remember. I think there’s a card in the back of my purse.”
I stomp over to my handbag and ferret through my purse until I unearth the card behind other old crap like my bingo club card. The writing on it, once written in biro, has faded. “Bugger, I can’t see the date, now I’ll have to call the bloody doctors.”
I press speed dial and get the nice sounding receptionist thank God. I ask her about my coil and go through the usual identity questions.
“We’ve written to you a few times about this, Miss Evans. It needs replacing as soon as possible.”
“I’ve not received anything.”
“Well, we’ve written to you three times. It says so on your records.”
“You’d better book me in then.”
“I’ll get you an appointment. The doctor who does it comes in every Friday, so the next appointment will be…” I hear the click of keys. “We’re booked until Friday 30 December.”
“I’ll call it a late Christmas present, shall I?” I moan.
“Better than the alternative. Speaking of which, you need to do a test before you come.”
“What test?”
“A pregnancy test.”
My heart thuds. “Why?”
“Because the coil lasts five years, you’ve been using it for a year without full protection. It loses half its efficacy after that time.”
I feel my heart drop to my stomach. No way in fucking hell am I going through all that again. Not at forty-five years old.
“Okay, well I’ll see you on the 30th.”
I put the phone down and smile at Tim. “Sorted. Everything’s fine, but they said it’s a good time to get it replaced, so thank you for making me check.”
“Well, better that than we end up knee deep in nappies again. They’d call you a geriatric patient like they did Bridget Jones.”
“I should have gone to see that film on my own.” I purse my lips.
“I wish you had. I might not have been so mortified at the orgasm noises you made every time Patrick Dempsey came on screen. Jesus, I thought I was going to need to phone an ambulance when he jumped in the pool. You’d gone all clammy like you couldn’t breathe.”
I don’t tell him that with it being the late showing, and with us being in the back row, that I’d had my hand under my pants, hidden by my handbag.
“Right, so everything’s sorted. Miranda’s coming here. You’re getting your coil replaced, and we’re going to our Cam’s for Christmas. A nice simple Christmas for us this year.”
I bloody hope so I think
to myself.
I take myself to my drawer. The one we all have in our kitchen. The big drawer we fill with crap. It’s where I throw post in when I think I’ll open it later. Here is where I keep all my credit card bills. I have a direct debit that takes care of the balances. I don’t believe in getting in debt, but neither do I believe in making sure they’re correct when I could be watching The Fall. With Tim firmly ensconced in front of the television, I lift out a handful of envelopes and commence opening them. Sure enough, I find letters from the doctors.
I gaze down at my stomach. It’s as tight as a virgin’s pussy from my gym sessions.
There can’t be a baby in there.
Can there?
I decide to put it out of my mind until after Christmas. It’s extremely unlikely with how often we’ve had it lately and my age. Yep, better to pretend this last hour or so never happened.
Instead, I busy myself making mince pies.
Chapter Ten
Tyler
Friday 16 December 2016
Jesus, I daren’t open my mouth. The minute I say anything, Lindsay chews off my ear.
She’s obviously pre-menstrual, but when I asked her if she wanted a couple of paracetamol from the manbag she snatched it out of my hand, stomped to the back door and threw it in the garden.
She’s been like this since her YouTube idea flopped. She did really well in the competition we had with each other earlier in the year, and I think she expected to beat me again. Except for the fact that months on, I’ve learned all about video-editing. I reduce the background noise, take out my waffle, have my intro and outro ready to go. Mine look professional and Lindsay’s don’t. She’s wondering how I manage to record my videos without making any mistakes because it’s taking her so many tries to get it right. If she spent five minutes researching what she needed to be doing instead of trying to copy me, she might get a bit further. I’m not giving up my secrets so she can outshine me. Not a chance in Hell. She beat me at our last challenge, and she beat me to the promotion at Smith’s. This time she can take a back seat.
I’ve found something I’m good at. I send myself up, and I’ve moved into having a video gaming channel too. What I’d like to do is have Lindsay in the background of my Vlog again, but since she’s turned arsy she says I can’t record her. I record her anyway, and I’ve been telling all the men out there that at certain times of the month you just can’t win, and redirecting them to the gaming channel. Blokes are identifying with me as mystified creatures who want to make their woman happy, and yet despite their best intentions, are still in the doghouse. The number of emails I get is ridiculous. I asked Linds if she wanted to give up Smiths to be my PA, but she snarled at me and said she needed a job with employment rights as mine could vanish at any moment. Nothing like having faith in your boyfriend is there?
I was going to ask her if she wanted to move in after Christmas but I’m putting it on hold until I see where her mood’s headed. Once a month I can cope with, but if she’s planning on being a grumpy, miserable bugger for the rest of her days, then I’m going back to single life and my right hand. I actually tear up thinking about being without Lindsay. Fuck, where’s that come from? I decide to go back downstairs and give her a cuddle. She might have been having a rough day.
She thumps me in the arm. “Get off me. I’m not in the mood.”
“I’m trying to give you a cuddle.”
“Yeah, right. You just want your end away.”
“I don’t. I want to make you feel better. What’s wrong, Linds? You’re acting weird.”
She bursts into tears in front of me. Tears. Help me. My manbag with the tissues inside is still in the garden. I’m stuck with a hysterical female and no escape route.
“It’s my h-hormones.”
The H-bomb has been deployed. I repeat. The H-bomb has been deployed. Stand back, detonation imminent.
“Look, why don’t you go to bed and I’ll get my bag and make you a hot water bottle.”
Her bottom lips wobbles. “Are you going to d-ditch me?”
“What?”
“W-when you get all mega famous. Are y-you going to finish with me and take up with a woman video blogger?”
“It’s Vlogger.”
“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. I don’t even know the terminology. How can I compete?”
I’m moving backwards and forwards as I take one step towards my manbag and then one back towards Lindsay. Then I remember she doesn’t want a cuddle, so I go toward the manbag. But she’s looking at me like she’s about to find out she has three minutes to live.
Fuck it. I take a deep breath.
“Linds?”
“Yes?” she gulps.
“I’ve been wondering if you’d want to move in with me?”
Her arms fall to her sides and her mouth drops open. She lifts her hand and wipes tears from her eyes, then grabs a piece of kitchen roll and makes a noisy blow that an elephant would be proud of achieving.
“You want me to move in?”
“Well, I did until you went a bit mental. I’m not sure now.”
Her demeanour totally changes. I wonder if she’s become one of those multiple personality people.
“Oh my God. I’d love to. When? Can it be before Christmas? I promise I’ll totally support your Vlogging, and I’ll try not to get jealous of the other females, although I can’t promise I won’t try to kill them if they come near you. Oh, my God, Ty. I’m moving in! We’re moving in together!”
“So you’re alright now then?” It’s like a miracle has been performed before me. I’m checking for Holy Water in the tap.
Lindsey deflates, “Well, actually, I’m still feeling a little delicate with my hormones, so if it’s okay, can I still have the hot water bottle and maybe a large bar of chocolate, and a cup of tea and erm, a back rub?”
She must think I fell off a log. Manipulative woman.
“Of course you can, love,” I say and direct her upstairs. Anything for a quiet night. Once she’s asleep, I can get back to my Vlog.
Sat 17th December 2016
“You and Linds are moving in together? Really? Tyler, that’s wonderful. She’s a lovely girl. I’m very pleased for you.”
“Thanks, Mum. You’ll always be my number one lady though.”
“Right answer, even though it’s a pile of crap as you blokes are all ruled by your dicks.”
I love my mum. You can talk to her openly. She’ll listen and either tell you you’re a genius or a knobhead. It’s straight talking, but I know where I stand, unlike most women’s language where you’re supposed to guess what they’re trying to tell you while they get exasperated and sigh a lot.
“So things must be going really well if you’re moving in together?”
“Mainly.”
There’s a pause. “What do you mean?”
“She’s jealous of the Vlogging stuff. Wanted to beat me at it and now she says she’s scared I’m going to go off with a female Vlogger. It’s daft.”
“Not to her it’s not.” Mum sighs. “You’ve been the same Tyler for as long as she’s known you. Even when you weren’t together, she knew what you were doing because you were at work together or chatting as mates. Now she’s in Sheffield, and she doesn’t get to see what you’re doing all day, only that you’re becoming successful. She’s threatened by the unknown.”
“Well, I’m not sure what I can do about that.”
“Just give her time. I’m sure she’ll feel better now you’re moving in together.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Anyway, how’s things with you, Mum? Got any buns in the oven?”
“Pardon?”
“Buns. Biscuits. Baking?”
“Oh yes, yes of course. Yes, lots of biscuits in the oven and a few mince pies to go in later. Not much call for buns at Christmas.”
“Well if you have any spares, drop them round, will you?”
“Course I will, darling. In fact, I’ll bring some Monday.”
&n
bsp; “I won’t be in; I’ve got a meeting with the book people.”
“That’s okay, I have my key. I’ll leave them in the kitchen.”
“Thanks, Mum, you’re a star. Love ya.”
“Love ya too, son.”
Monday 19th December 2016
When I get home from my meeting I discover a Funko Pop elf on a shelf next to my computer. There’s a note underneath it.
T.
I’m a simple elf, sitting on your shelf.
I come bearing advice.
Show your woman on TV.
Say “You’re everything to me.”
She’ll not need telling twice.
I phone my mum.
“Thanks, Mum.”
“You found them then?”
“Them?”
“The biscuits. I left them on the kitchen side, like I said.”
“Oh yeah, they didn’t last two minutes.”
“You saved some for Lindsay, right?”
“Erm.”
“Oh, Tyler.”
“Psyche. Jo-king.”
“Tyler, please remember you’re no longer twelve. I don’t speak the language of youth.”
“No, I meant the elf.”
“What elf? Have you taken drugs? Are you hallucinating.”
Oh, so I’ve got to play along. “Oh, right, yeah that must be it. Well, Mum, I’ve been tripping, and I’ve seen an elf, and it’s telling me to make a fuss of my girlfriend on my channel and I think it’s a great idea.”
“Sounds like a highly intelligent elf.”
“It sure is. Well, I’ll see you next week at Cam’s.”
“See you then.”
“Hey, Mum.”
“Yep?”
“Has anyone else got an elf? Do I need to keep my hallucinations a secret?”
“I think that would be wise, son. But did your elf tell you he was a very special limited edition elf?”
“Really?”
“One that no one else has visiting them, so shh, or he’ll run back to the shops.”
Jingle Balls (Ball Games #5) Page 5