The Not So Perfect Life of Mo Lawrence

by Catherine Robertson

  ‘Phil?’ Chad was sitting at the table, resisting the impulse to grab his knife and fork and suspend them skywards like fighter planes ready to zoom down on the food. ‘Phil who?’

  ‘Phil at your work.’

  Chad paused in the act of willing a plate of pie to appear right now in the space in front of him. ‘Why would you possibly want to talk to Phil?’

  ‘I don’t.’ Michelle said. ‘I want to talk to his wife. You know — what’s her name.’

  ‘You want to talk to her but you can’t remember her name?’

  Michelle turned and faced him. His plate of pie was in her hands, emitting a mouth-watering savoury steam. The message was clear: co-operate or watch this sucker congeal.

  ‘Connie,’ he said. ‘Phil’s wife is Connie.’

  ‘Great.’ Michelle placed the plate in front of him and flashed a bright smile. ‘You can give me their number after dinner.’

  ‘You’re going to call Connie?’ Even pie now safely within reach couldn’t distract Chad from the alien nature of this concept.

  Michelle joined him at the table. ‘I’d like to make up for the other night.’

  ‘You mean — apologise?’

  His wife gave a casual shrug. ‘I guess.’

  Chad felt an urge to look around to see if there was a camera crew hidden in a corner. He studied his wife’s face, but that held no clue either. She was already getting stuck into her own plate of pie.

  Oh, what the hell. Chad picked up his fork. ‘OK. Well. Good.’

  Devoting his full attention to his plate, Chad failed to see his wife give a quick triumphant pump of her fist.

  After dinner, Chad didn’t retire immediately to the living room, but helped Michelle stack the dishes. Michelle ignored the surreptitious, questioning glances he was giving her. Act as if nothing is awry, she told herself. Even though your skin is crawling at the thought of talking to that acid-peeled freak, this is how the new good wife will be from now on. Until he and I are back on an even keel again, of course. Then I can go back to being a potty-mouthed, demanding harridan.

  ‘So, um …’ Chad set the dishwasher as Michelle gave the kitchen bench a final wipe. ‘How’s the new nanny working out?’

  Michelle suppressed a smile. After his initial protest, Chad had not asked her one question about Benedict. She suspected he’d asked Harry lots, but knew that her young son adored Benedict almost as much as he did his hero, Gulliver, and would most likely have exalted him to the skies — doubtless to his father’s irritation.

  ‘He’s great,’ she said. ‘A natural.’

  ‘Is that code for “not trained”?’

  ‘No, he’s had some training,’ said Michelle. ‘In Australia, I think.’

  ‘I thought you said he was English?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Michelle shaped her smile to be admiringly wistful. ‘He’s very well travelled. A worldly young man is our Benedict.’

  Judging by Chad’s expression, ‘worldly’ fell into the classification already occupied by ‘free love’, ‘unwashed’ and ‘organic’.

  ‘And the children love him,’ added Michelle, her expression innocent.

  ‘You should still have done a background check,’ muttered Chad.

  ‘He came recommended,’ said Michelle. She pulled open the fridge door and extracted a beer, which she handed to him with a smile. ‘I’d have thought you’d be more worried about the fact your wife is home alone with an eligible young man.’

  Chad took the beer and gave her an even stare. ‘How do you get time alone without the children?’

  ‘Ha. Funny man.’ Michelle slipped her arms around his waist and gave him a hug. To her gratification, Chad bent his head and kissed her more intently than he had for some time. Michelle responded in kind, and Chad quickly set his beer on the bench so he could have both arms free to pull her to him.

  ‘Bed?’ he murmured.

  ‘Too far,’ breathed Michelle, and began hastily to unbutton her jeans.

  Michelle knew that Chad’s upbringing had convinced him that sex in any place but the bedroom was testing all moral, societal and probably most legal boundaries. The first time Michelle had persuaded him to do it in the back seat of the car he’d spent a week refusing to open the front door in case it was the pervert police. Michelle knew that moving quickly was the trick — he must be given no chance to change his mind. A hand in his pants wasn’t subtle, but it instantly redirected the blood flow from an anxious brain to parts that were less conflicted.

  ‘Lift me up,’ Michelle instructed. ‘And — oh God. Yep. That’s it.’

  As they were nearing an energetic end, the phone rang. It was right next to them on the bench, within easy reach.

  ‘Don’t you dare stop!’ Michelle hissed.

  Even if Chad had been capable of a reply, events swiftly overtook him. Neither of them registered when whoever was calling gave up.

  ‘Your knees are shaking,’ Michelle observed after a while.

  Chad’s voice was muffled by her shoulder. ‘Any wonder?’

  The phone pealing again made them jump.

  ‘If that’s your mother,’ warned Michelle, ‘I intend to describe exactly why we couldn’t answer before. With luck, the thought of kitchen hygiene being compromised will kill her.’

  Chad stretched out a hand towards the receiver.

  ‘Oi! Buckaroo! I thought we’d agreed that you do not speak to your mother when you are inside your wife!’

  Chad grinned. ‘We agreed I wouldn’t stop to talk to her.’ He ran his free hand up under her top. ‘Hello?’

  He frowned. ‘Sorry, who?’

  He rested the receiver against his shoulder. ‘Darrell’s boyfriend. Calling from England.’

  His wife made a throat-slitting gesture, but Chad just smiled. ‘Here she is,’ he said into the phone, and passed it over.

  Michelle had no choice. ‘Hi there!’

  ‘Hi.’ Anselo’s voice was uncertain. ‘Um, look, if this isn’t a good time …’

  Chad had resumed running his hands up under her top and nuzzling her neck. But despite the distraction, Michelle recognised that on the phone was a man in quite another kind of need. A desperate man, in fact. Why else would he be calling a woman who lived over five thousand miles away, whom he knew only as a tiny face and belligerent voice on a Skype screen?

  ‘No, it’s fine. Just hang on a minute.’

  She hit the mute button and put a hand on her husband’s chest. ‘Come on, shove off.’

  Chad continued to nuzzle. ‘He can call back.’

  ‘He needs to talk. I can tell.’

  ‘You’re a trans-Atlantic agony aunt now?’

  ‘Come on. Please. You know you’ll need at least another hour to recharge, anyway. My backside will be completely numb by then.’

  Chad lifted his hands away from her. ‘OK. Fine.’

  Michelle winced as he abruptly extracted himself.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, as he zipped his pants.

  But he snatched up the beer and headed off to the living room without a word.

  Michelle swore under her breath and quickly straightened herself up. She hit the talk button and barked ‘Right. What can I do for you?’

  There was a pause. ‘This isn’t a good time, is it?’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ Michelle repeated. She checked her watch. ‘But — my God, it’s like four in the morning where you are! What the heck?’

  Anselo hesitated. ‘I wanted to be sure Darrell was asleep.’

  ‘And this is to do with Darrell?’

  ‘Shit.’ He expelled a breath. ‘I shouldn’t be calling you.’

  ‘Well, you have now,’ said Michelle heartlessly. ‘So, go on — what’s up?’

  ‘Has, um — has Darrell said anything to you lately?’

  Michelle was glad of the five thousand miles between him and her guilty blush.

  ‘What kind of thing?’

  ‘Anything that she was worried about?’


  ‘Why do you think she’s worried?’

  ‘She’s just — I don’t know — really distant, preoccupied. Like she’s got something serious on her mind. I suppose it could just be my usual rampant paranoia,’ he added, ‘but … she definitely hasn’t said anything to you?’

  There was no way Michelle could betray Darrell, but if she didn’t smash it home, this verbal lob-fest might go on all night.

  ‘OK, here’s a starting point,’ she said. ‘What would Darrell consider serious?’

  There was a long silence. ‘I don’t know. Me, maybe. Whether I’m right for her.’

  ‘Jesus!’ Michelle pinched her nose. ‘Men! Why does it always have to be about you?’

  Anselo bridled. ‘Well, what else could it be?’ Then he said, ‘Shit. You mean — you don’t think she’s sick, do you?’

  Michelle could hear the panic in his voice and her heart went out to him.

  ‘Anselo,’ she said. ‘Have you actually tried talking to Darrell?’

  ‘Yeah, of course! I ask her how she is all the time. But she just says she’s fine.’

  ‘That’s what everyone says when you ask how they are. That response is trained into us from the womb. I mean — have you told her how concerned you are?’

  ‘Not as such,’ he said after a moment. ‘Not … directly.’

  ‘Look,’ said Michelle, ‘mostly we don’t talk about the stuff we’re worried about because we’re afraid to. I think mainly we’re afraid that if we let our fears out into the open, somehow that will ensure they come true.’

  The pause was so long Michelle wondered if the connection had been broken.

  ‘I’m terrified of losing her,’ he said. ‘And I’m terrified that she’s trying to find a way to tell me to get lost. If that turned out to be true, I don’t think I could bear it.’

  ‘Talk to her,’ Michelle ordered him gently. ‘Be honest. It’s the only way.’

  ‘Like removing a Band-Aid? Do it quick and it’s supposed to hurt less?’

  ‘That’s the theory.’

  Michelle heard him breathe deeply, in and out. Then he said, ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’d say I’ve been sod-all help,’ she replied. ‘But — you’re welcome.’

  Michelle hung up the phone and leaned against the bench for a while. Here she was, she thought, giving advice about honesty when the only way she could see to get back into her husband’s good books was through deviousness and manipulation.

  Oh, well, she decided. Each to his own. Now what scam could she pull that would get Chad off that couch and onto his knees, begging for more?

  14

  Aishe was sitting in Nico’s office, trying to damp down the small hotspots of lust that always flared up in his presence. Lust and its origins being uncomfortably uppermost in Aishe’s mind, it occurred to her that her passion for big men had indeed started with Frank. Before him, she’d most definitely preferred them lean and well muscled. Aishe decided Frank’s impact on her had been so dramatic that it had transformed her perception of the ideal male physique.

  A small voice suggested that it was perhaps less a physical attraction and more a desire to re-experience how Frank had made her feel about herself. The small voice was quickly smothered.

  ‘So is it yes or no?’ she said.

  Nico lay his tattooed forearms on the desk. ‘Can I ask why you want another shift, Aishe?’

  He could ask, she thought. But she would never tell him that the real reason was she needed more legitimate excuses to avoid the whey-faced wastrel.

  Aishe had not in fact slept with Benedict more than a handful of times since that first afternoon. But it had been too many times for comfort. Her intention had been to be fully in control of when and how often she let him into her bed but somehow, every time they were alone, and he began to kiss her, touch her …

  Goddamnit! Aishe had already spent many a spare moment berating herself. How the hell could she possibly be enjoying sexual congress with that chinless nonce-magnet? How dare he know exactly what to do to bring her to the point of begging like one of the shelter’s stupider and less particular dogs? How did a boy like him manage to last so long? OK, so he was twenty-nine, hardly a boy. But still — he looked as if he had no juice in him whatsoever. Aishe had expected to wring him dry and discard his wizened husk. As it was, she was the one who lay there afterwards, in a delicious, languorous torpor, while he smiled down upon her with amused satisfaction.

  ‘Aishe?’

  She’d lost track of how long Nico had been waiting for her to answer. ‘Embarrassing waste of brain space’ was added to Benedict’s list of crimes.

  ‘What’s wrong with wanting another shift?’ she said.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Nico. ‘But we have plenty of good people on our volunteer waiting list, and while I have to acknowledge that your conduct has improved out of sight lately, I’d also like to know why I should favour you over other potential candidates.’

  Because they suck, was Aishe’s first response. Reluctantly, she decided it would not be a politic one.

  ‘The animals here are unsettled enough,’ she said. ‘They get to know me during the week and then they have to deal with complete strangers. I just thought a bit more continuity would be good for them.’

  Nico stared at her for what seemed a very long time. Aishe couldn’t believe how close she came to dropping to her knees and pleading. She couldn’t work out if it was desperation to find a reason to stay away from home — and temptation — or to receive his approval. Neither potential motivation did much for her sense of self-worth.

  ‘Look,’ Nico finally said, ‘I know this is none of my business — but don’t you have a child at home?’

  ‘He’s fourteen,’ she said. ‘Not a child any more. Besides, he has band practice on Saturday afternoons.’

  ‘What does he play? Please tell me it’s the sousaphone. I’ve always wanted to meet a real sousaphone player.’

  ‘Not a marching band. A rock band. He plays the bass.’

  ‘I played the drums for a bit when I was a teenager.’ Nico’s expression was wistful.

  ‘Why did you quit?’

  ‘Because I was terrible.’ Nico grinned at her. ‘Really. All the subtlety of Animal from The Muppets, but without his sense of rhythm.’

  Aishe had to smile. ‘That’s pretty bad.’

  ‘Yeah, it was like listening to Hulk Hogan falling onto a load of corrugated iron. With a single cymbal clash at the end.’ Nico shook his head. ‘Always the damn cymbal.’

  His smile faded, and he stared at her again. ‘OK, you can work Saturday afternoons too. But it’s a trial.’ he added. ‘One complaint and — well, you know.’

  Aishe couldn’t help it. She jumped to her feet, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the cheek.

  The dark red blush that crept up from his neck and suffused his whole face made Aishe feel so much better. He wouldn’t be embarrassed if I were a fat elastic-pants cow, would he now?

  ‘Sorry,’ she lied. ‘That was inappropriate.’

  ‘Yeah, well.’ Nico rubbed a hand over the back of his head and frowned up at her in a way that was more perplexed than annoyed. ‘I still don’t know why you want this shift so badly.’

  ‘The animals,’ said Aishe at once.

  ‘Right.’ Nico nodded slowly. ‘The animals.’

  He leaned back in his chair and cocked his head to one side. ‘Aishe, this is even less of my business, so feel free to tell me to take a running jump. But you know what? It takes a damn sight more courage to ask for help than it does to tough it out on your own. Took me years to figure that one out, but I’m glad I did. So just letting you know —– my door’s always open.’

  Aishe’s expression had not flickered once during this speech, and it didn’t change now.

  ‘OK,’ she said.

  The corner of Nico’s mouth rose. ‘I’ll go practise my running, huh?’ To save her having to reply, he tapped his hand lightly on the desktop.
‘Start this Saturday, yeah?’

  ‘OK. Will do.’

  As Aishe walked swiftly from his office, she heard him start to drum both hands on the desktop. He’s right, she thought. He has no sense of rhythm whatsoever.

  She recalled what Jonas, a genuinely talented drummer, had said: guys without rhythm can’t fuck. Well, Jonas, Aishe thought, you weren’t too shabby in the sack, that’s true. But you were also self-obsessed, and that could make you thoroughly disappointing at times. She bet that Nico was incredibly unselfish in bed. She bet he was thoughtful and patient and would never put his own satisfaction before his partner’s.

  No, Aishe decided, that thing about rhythm is a crock of shit, something Jonas tended to be full of. She didn’t believe there was any foolproof way of telling who would be a good lover before you jump into bed with them. Look at—

  Goddamnit!

  Aishe decided it was a good thing her shift at the shelter was over for the day. In this mood, she was more than likely to take one of those spiky doggie chew-toys and make use of it in a way the manufacturer never intended.

  It was also a good thing that Benedict would not be there when she got back. He had to leave dead on five today, he’d told her. Somewhere he had to be.

  Aishe had not given it any thought at the time; she’d been concentrating on getting out of the house as quickly as possible without making it obvious that she was doing a runner. Now she began to wonder about this unnamed somewhere that Benedict would probably be at by now. Her first instinct was that he had another woman, and she was appalled to feel a cold clutch of dread at the prospect.

  Get a grip, she told herself firmly. It was only because he was more useful to her as a sex slave that she was worried. And not that it mattered, but let’s face it — how many other women does he know? As far as she was aware, the only other woman he spent any time with was Michelle.

  Goddamnit!