What Holly's Husband Did: A laugh out loud romantic comedy with a twist!

by Debbie Viggiano

  ‘Well at least it was for the school disco and not bloody Stringfellows,’ I said tartly.

  ‘No doubt your brother had ideas about borrowing the skirt himself.’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, Alex. He’s gay. Not transsexual. And so what if he was, and wanted to borrow the skirt? What is your issue with my brother?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Alex, mutinously. ‘I’m going upstairs to change. And I’m not hungry anymore.’

  I stared at his retreating back, my eyes narrowing, just as his mobile pinged with a text. The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  ‘Hurry up and read your message, Alex. It might be Queenie again, wanting to rub you all over, which is more than I bloody get to do.’

  Alex froze. For a moment he remained motionless, facing the other way, but then swung round. His face was a mask of fury.

  ‘That old chestnut again, Holly? You’re like the proverbial stuck record. How many months has it been? But you can’t let it drop. At least once a week you have to bring up the subject of an unhinged ex-patient. Nobody is rubbing me all over, and since when did you want to anyway?’ He stalked out of the kitchen.

  ‘You’re right!’ I yelled after him, ‘because I’d like something a bit more than that.’ I chucked the spoon down and turned off the hob. Moments later I was striding after him. ‘I’d like some SEX,’ I shouted. ‘Do you hear? SEX-SEX-SEX-SEX!’ I charged into the hall – only to come face to face with Simon and Sophie who had just arrived home. From the shocked look on their faces, it was obvious they’d heard every word.

  ‘Darling hearts, are you having a cheeky little row?’ asked Simon, attempting to lighten things for Sophie’s benefit.

  ‘Oh no, Uncle Simon,’ Sophie snarled, ‘that will be Mum practising her Am Dram lines again. She’s something of a drama queen these days. Eh, Mum?’

  ‘A Drama Mama?’ he sniggered, before arching a newly-waxed eyebrow at me. ‘Whatever next, Holly?’

  ‘Oh sod off, Simon,’ I muttered.

  ‘I can see I’m not wanted, so I won’t stay,’ he said, tossing his head. ‘Lovely to spend time with you, Sophie darling.’ He kissed his niece on both cheeks. ‘If things get too heated here, give your uncle a call. You can always come and live with me.’

  ‘I heard that!’ Alex’s voice drifted along the landing, before the sound of our bedroom door slammed. Great. No doubt Sophie would be joining in shortly too.

  ‘Simon, please,’ I hissed. ‘And do you have to wind Alex up?’

  ‘He winds himself up, the pompous pleb.’

  ‘Bye, Uncle Simon,’ she said, gathering up her shopping bags, and following in her father’s wake. Moments later her own bedroom door banged shut.

  ‘So many tempers in this household,’ Simon tutted. ‘What’s going on, Holly? One minute you’re reading about seduction through the art of burlesque, the next you’re chasing your husband down the hallway angrily demanding sex. Are you a frustrated dominatrix? Is there a whip hiding in the cupboard, alongside the ironing board and vacuum cleaner?’

  ‘Can we drop the subject, please?’ I said, now thoroughly rattled.

  ‘This marriage is plainly in trouble.’

  Rupert slunk past, his tail wagging apologetically, as he disappeared up the stairs to find a quiet spot.

  ‘Look, you worry about your own relationships,’ I told him irritably. ‘Thank you for taking Sophie out, and I’m sorry you caught Alex and me having cross words.’

  ‘I would kiss you good-bye, dearest, but you look all sweaty in the face after shouting,’ Simon wrinkled his nose. ‘And if you’re hoping to get your leg over tonight, shave them first, dah-ling. They’re hairier than mine.’ And with that my brother minced off, leaving me inwardly seething.

  I stalked back to the kitchen to clear away food nobody wanted and, just to let my husband and daughter know they were in good company, slammed the kitchen door so hard the very foundations of the house shook.

  8

  I woke up on Friday morning knowing that there were two things I absolutely had to do. The first was pay the events lady at the golf club my entire savings for Alex’s fortieth birthday party. The second was to inject some calm into my marriage.

  Alex and I had gone to sleep last night with our backs to each other in the dark, bodies tense. Both of us had been doing the sort of enforced slow breathing that indicated we were fast asleep, untroubled, and entirely oblivious to each other, even though we both knew we were lying there awake, seething with ill-temper.

  When I awoke in the morning, Alex had already left the house. I got out of bed and drooped off to the bathroom. Stepping into the shower, I realised how ridiculous the situation was. How could we have fun at a big celebratory party when we were constantly sniping at each other? I stepped out of the shower and wrapped the towel around me, padding back into the bedroom. Reaching for my mobile phone, I sat down on the edge of the bed and tapped out a message to Alex.

  Sorry to mention Queenie. Again. I guess I’m just a jealous old bag. I love you.

  Seconds later, there was a reply.

  Let’s put it behind us. See you later x

  I exhaled, partly relieved that I was forgiven, partly sad that he’d not ended his message with the three magic words, as I’d done. Still, I pondered, looking at the text, he’d ended it with a kiss. Just the one. Nothing over the top. Sighing, I went back to the bathroom and quickly finished drying off. I wanted to cook Sophie a proper breakfast before she went off to school. It hadn’t escaped my attention that our daughter was watching what she ate. I was well aware that her classmates did the same, trying to emulate the latest reality star. I wasn’t quite sure why they thought a pin-thin body and lollipop head looked alluring, but they did, and that was that.

  Twenty minutes later, Sophie came into the kitchen looking mutinous. She obviously wanted to let me know she’d not forgotten my shameful outburst in the hall last night. Regrettably life didn’t come with a rewind button, so I took the next available option, which was to pretend it had never happened. I ignored my daughter’s reproachful stares as she sat down at the kitchen table, and smiled brightly as I set the full English before her. I’d also decided that diversionary tactics were a possible solution to Sophie forgetting what she’d heard.

  ‘Can you keep a secret?’ I said cosily, beaming away.

  Sophie looked up from her plate, a mixture of curiosity and rebellion imprinted upon her features.

  ‘Depends what it is.’ She speared a sausage and dipped it in egg yolk.

  I pulled out a stool and sat down opposite her, hoping to eat my own breakfast companionably with her. There was a time when we’d done so. It seemed long ago.

  ‘It’s Dad’s birthday next month.’

  Sophie shrugged and bit into the sausage. I wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know.

  ‘It’s his fortieth,’ I pressed on, ‘which is quite a big deal, so I thought I’d throw a party to celebrate.’

  Sophie looked at me, ready to ridicule. ‘Here?’

  ‘Most definitely not,’ I replied, suppressing a shudder. Years ago, I’d had a house-warming party, and spent the entirety of the following day deep-cleaning, including bleaching bathroom walls from dreadful aims by drunken men, to shampooing the carpets after two women I’d vaguely known had upchucked all over the new Berber. I’d vowed never again.

  ‘If not here, then where?’ asked Sophie, puzzled.

  ‘Well, at a venue. The golf club have a fabulous function room available.’

  Sophie’s face lit up. ‘You mean, a proper party? With a DJ and strobe lights?’

  ‘A band, actually.’ I saw her expression of delight waver. ‘A karaoke-band,’ I ploughed on. ‘They’ll sing popular songs for everyone to dance to, but also do a stint where the guests can sing with professional backing.’ Sophie’s eyes widened with astonishment, and then her whole face became wreathed in smiles. For a moment I basked in her evident joy, and privately thought ho
w pretty she looked without the habitual sneer.

  ‘Omigod, that is so cool, Mum! Will I be allowed to sing a song?’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘I’m going to be the envy of my class. Everybody’s going to want to come, but,’ she paused dramatically, ‘only those who are in favour with me will receive an invitation.’

  ‘Ah. Just remember this is Daddy’s party. Invitations will be to his friends.’

  The sullen expression was back in a flash. ‘Oh. So it’s an old fogey party. No worries. I’ll stay over at Lucy’s house for the night.’

  I immediately back-pedalled. ‘Obviously you can invite one or two friends,’ I said hastily, ‘I want you to have a great time too.’

  ‘Only one or two?’

  ‘Okay, maybe three or four,’ I nodded, anxious to recapture the sparkle and fizz of just a few seconds ago.

  ‘Mum, I have heaps of friends. There are six of us in our exclusive group, but I’m also pretty good friends with Lucy. I’d like her to come, but if I ask her then Tierney will expect an invite. And if the two of them come, Nicole will demand an invitation. And I can’t invite Nicole without Jasmine. She’d have a total bitch fit otherwise, and turn everyone against me in a nanosecond.’

  ‘Oh. Well, I wouldn’t want that to happen,’ I said, biting my lip, remembering my own school days and the fragility of friendships. ‘All right, let’s say ten friends.’ Excellent, Holly. If you can’t agree, compromise. Ten friends was a generous offer.

  Sophie instantly reverted back to beaming at me over the fry-up. I mentally sighed with relief. Her good mood continued throughout the school run. She even kissed me good-bye when I pulled over, illegally on yellow zig-zags, to let her out of the car.

  ‘Bye, Mum. Love you.’

  I was so shell-shocked at the endearment, I nearly burst into tears on the spot. Instead I blinked rapidly and kissed my daughter as a car horn, somewhere behind, blared angrily at my dire parking.

  ‘One more thing,’ I said to Sophie, as she released the door handle, ‘not a word to Dad. It’s a surprise – my present to him.’

  ‘My lips are sealed,’ she nodded, before catching sight of some friends and scrambling out of the car to be with them. ‘Hey, guess what!’ I heard her shout. ‘I’m having a party, and you’re invited!’ I lingered for a moment on the zig-zags, watching my feisty teenager having a moment of glory as she held court to her delighted mates. I suddenly felt very emotional. I was so used to ducking Sophie’s verbal missiles that now, with hostility temporarily suspended, I wanted the moment to be repeated. To last longer. I fought an urge to get out of the car, race after her, and hug her tightly. That would never do. She’d be so embarrassed. A rogue tear spilt from one eye, startling me. I marvelled at how quickly emotion could be conveyed from the heart to the brain, and then on to the eyeball. Swiping it away, I signalled to pull out – and nearly ploughed into Caro whose vehicle was already swooping in front of mine. Joe and Lizzie tumbled out, pavement side. Moments later, Caro’s driver door opened – and was nearly removed by a lorry thundering past.

  ‘Holly!’ she called, hastening over to my driver’s side and taking her life in her hands as a result. She flattened herself against my vehicle as rush-hour traffic sped past. ‘We need to discuss Alex’s birthday. David and I haven’t a clue what to buy him. Come over for coffee. I’ll give Jeanie a ring too.’

  ‘Okay, lovely,’ I said, conscious of a pile of ironing awaiting my attention. To hell with it. I’d do it later. ‘Give me half an hour. I have a party to pay for,’ I grinned. ‘It’s going to be at the golf club.’

  ‘Ooooh, the golf club,’ Caro let out a low whistle. ‘That won’t be cheap.’

  ‘Well, it’s not every day your husband turns forty,’ I shrugged. ‘There was a bridal cancellation, but I need to pay for everything now to secure the date.’

  ‘Okay, I won’t hold you up. See you soon.’

  Caro scampered back to her car, nearly knocking a cyclist off his bike, but attracting the attention of a man driving a white van who buzzed down his window and whistled loudly.

  ‘Nice arse!’ I heard him shout.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, I parked between a Bentley and a Jaguar, acutely aware that my dented and dirty vehicle looked very out of place. Once inside the building, I adopted a confident expression – as if frequenting golf clubs was all in a day’s work – and made my way over to Reception. The events manageress just happened to be behind the desk and greeted me warmly. For one surreal moment I thought she was going to kiss me on both cheeks, continental style.

  ‘So, Mrs, Hart,’ she concluded, after running through an A4 sheet of neatly typed costings, ‘all I need from you now is a cheque for this amount.’ Her manicured finger pointed to a figure that momentarily made my bowels lurch.

  ‘Super!’ I said brightly, immediately cringing. Who said “super” these days? Possibly drivers of shiny Jags and Bentleys like those in the car park, but most definitely not owners of battered four by fours. I reached for my bag but, as I unzipped it, my nostrils twitched as the golf club’s reception area filled with the pungent smell of garlic, tomato and basil. ‘Ah,’ I said, fishing out yesterday’s empty jar in front of the wide-eyed manageress. ‘Could I possibly trouble you for a bin?’

  9

  I arrived at Caro’s just as Jeanie was pulling up.

  ‘Coo-ee,’ said Jeanie, momentarily struggling to get out of her car. ‘I’m going to have to go on a diet for this fabulous party you’re organising. Caro phoned me from her car and let slip you’ve booked the golf club. Very posh.’

  ‘Nothing but the best for my hubby,’ I grinned.

  Jeanie linked my arm companionably as we walked up to Caro’s front door. ‘And quite right too. Alex deserves it.’ She lowered her voice, whispering conspiratorially. ‘Between you and me, I didn’t sleep much last night. I was all steamed up after you telling me about Alex and his superior bonk.’

  I laughed good-naturedly. ‘Did you get Ray to oblige?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jeanie nodded, ‘but I think he wondered what the hell had got into me. I wanted to be a bit more, you know, adventurous, which was rather at odds with the way I looked.’

  ‘A vision in curlers and face cream?’

  ‘Something like that,’ Jeanie giggled. ‘But he rose to the challenge magnificently.’

  ‘What challenge?’ said Caro, opening the front door.

  ‘I’ve just been telling Holly that Ray and I are practising the superior bonk,’ Jeanie winked, stepping into Caro’s hall.

  ‘Is that why you look a bit peaky today, Holly?’ said Caro, shutting the door after us. ‘Were you at it again last night, by any chance?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I nodded. Well, it was only a small lie. We’d certainly been at each other’s throats. That counted for something, surely?

  Caro led the way into the warmth of her kitchen. The weather had cooled dramatically in the last twenty-four hours. I let out an involuntarily shiver, rubbing a hand over one bare arm, flattening the little hairs now standing up as a result of rapid change of temperature from outside to indoors. I’d been stupid enough to leave the house without a jacket or little cardi.

  ‘Chocolate cake?’ asked Caro, removing from the larder a monster creation covered in rich fondant and sprinkles. I automatically began salivating – a sure sign that every mouthful contained a thousand calories.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Jeanie, looking torn, ‘only seconds ago I told Holly I was going on a diet for Alex’s party.’

  ‘Tomorrow is another day for diets,’ said Caro.

  ‘You’re right. Fill it up,’ said Jeanie, nodding at the plate Caro had set in front of her.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on while you’re cutting us both a slice,’ I said.

  I stuck the kettle under the tap and, while it was filling, gazed out of the kitchen window. Damn, it had started to rain. Nor had I come out with an umbrella. Ah well, at least my filthy car wo
uld get a bit of a wash. I plugged the kettle in and sat back down next to Jeanie, leaving Caro to do the beverages.

  ‘So, give us all the details,’ said Jeanie, looking terribly over-excited. Admittedly, it wasn’t often us girls got out these days. A film here. A restaurant there. But never a boogie. We lacked the confidence to strut our stuff anywhere other than at a rare wedding or very occasional party. ‘Will there be a disco?’

  I could imagine Sophie, if she’d been here, ridiculing Jeanie, telling my friend that the word “disco” went out with Noah’s Ark.

  ‘Yes, there will be music and, hopefully, lots of dancing.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ Jeanie clapped her hands together, eyes shining. ‘And what sound?’

  ‘Eh?’

  * * *

  ‘You know… eighties… nineties… techno… trance… garage?’ Jeanie stood up, and dropping chocolate cake crumbs from her lip, did some voluptuous wiggles. ‘Should I be dancing like this?’ She then flung her arms wide, brought them together across her ample bosom, dropped the elbows down and started voguing around the kitchen table. ‘Or maybe like this? I can do a great impersonation of Madonna – obviously not the figure though, only vocally.’

  ‘Jeanie, sit down,’ I laughed, ‘and save your energy for the party. And no, it won’t be a disco because I’ve booked a band.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes! And,’ I added, enjoying the look of delight on her face, ‘it’s a karaoke-band, so guests get to sing if they want to!’

  ‘Yay!’ she squeaked, flinging her arms wide again and nearly sending the chocolate cake flying. ‘I’ll definitely do a number. Maybe several.’ She squirmed with happiness on Caro’s kitchen chair. ‘Do you remember when I used to be in a band in my early twenties?’

  ‘How could we forget? said Caro, good-naturedly.

  ‘My speciality was Christina Aguilera,’ she beamed. ‘Back then I used to have platinum blonde hair and a figure to die for. However, despite the boobs and stomach succumbing to gravity, the voice still has it.’ She warbled a few notes by way of demonstration. ‘Tell you what,’ she said, her eyes lighting up, ‘I’ll sing a song just for Alex. It can be his birthday present from me.’