‘Miss Mitchell?’
Kate peered at her. Beneath the caked-on foundation and eyeliner, she could just about detect Alison Weatherby, one of her BTEC Catering students. Great.
She nodded. ‘Alison.’ Then she walked past her, successfully this time, finally reaching the tiled sanctuary of the Ladies. Only it wasn’t a sanctuary at all, not with all those mirrors. Mirrors that showed her exactly why Big-Ego-Full-Wallet had been so amused back in the bar. She was a fat, pissed-up cow who looked, drank and behaved like a man. A freak.
No wonder Ian had left her for Jennifer. Why wouldn’t he? Turning to the cubicle, Kate went inside and resolutely locked herself in. Only of course, she couldn’t stay in there forever, even if she had made a prize tit of herself. So finally she had to venture out into the bar again, keeping to the shadows and dodging behind pool players in an attempt to avoid drawing attention to herself. But in the end, she needn’t have bothered, because nobody looked at her. Not even the lads when she got back to the table. They were chattering excitedly about something and laughing in the lewd kind of way they usually held back a bit from when she was around.
Kate was slightly offended by their lack of attention. They were supposed to be her mates, and it wasn’t everyday she almost got into a fight. The incident definitely deserved a bit more shelf life than that. Then at last Geoff looked up and noticed her. ‘Katie,’ he said, clapping her on the shoulder. ‘What took you so long? You missed everything.’
Somebody had kindly got her a pint in, and Kate set to work on it. ‘Missed what?’ she asked.
‘The most amazing woman has just been in here.’
‘And this is something I’d be interested in?’ she said scathingly, but the boys weren’t to be put off.
‘A film star,’ Tom said dreamily.
‘An American,’ Geoff said.
‘Hate to break it to you,’ she said, ‘but not all Americans are film stars.’
‘This one was,’ Tom said with conviction.
‘Or if she wasn’t,’ Geoff added, ‘then she deserves to be. She was bloody gorgeous.’
‘She had a… what d’you call it? Aurora.’ Tom said.
Kate looked at him nastily. ‘She had flashing green lights?’ she asked.
Tom looked puzzled. ‘What you talking about?’
‘He means aura,’ Geoff said. ‘She had an aura. And he’s right. She did. She was special.’
‘If she was so flaming special,’ Kate asked, ‘what was she doing in this dump?’
Geoff slapped a piece of paper down on the table in front of her. ‘Came to dish these out,’ he said. ‘That’s what.’
Kate picked the piece of paper up and looked at it. It was a flyer. From what she could make out, it was advertising some kind of workshop about female sexuality.
‘You should go,’ Geoff said. ‘You could come and tell us about it afterwards. It’d be a laugh.’
‘You bloody go to it!’
‘It’s for women only,’ Tom pointed out.
‘Well, according to big lugs over there, I’m not a woman anyway.’
‘He’s just an ignorant bastard who has to make himself feel good by hanging out with kids young enough to be his daughter,’ Geoff told her. ‘Don’t worry about what he thinks.’
Kate risked a glance over at the bar and saw that, sure enough, Big-Ego had both Alison Weatherby and her mate drooling all over him. Why, for God’s sake?
‘Tell you what,’ Geoff was saying now, stabbing a hairy finger in the direction of the leaflet. ‘I challenge you to go to that class.’
Kate opened her mouth to tell him where to get off, but Geoff held up a hand to silence her.
‘Wait a minute; hear me out. You go to that class, and I’ll do something embarrassingly girly. Knitting or something. Make-up. Something that will totally humiliate me.’
‘Get lost,’ Kate said, although the thought of Geoff with a pair of knitting needles surrounded by gossiping women was quite amusing.
‘What are you afraid of, Katie?’ Geoff asked, and she shrugged.
‘I’m not afraid of anything.’
‘Well, prove it then,’ he said. ‘Do the course. I’ll even pay for it if you like. And while you’re at it, you can put in a good word for me with that gorgeous woman if you see her again.’
It was, Kate thought, time to go home. And she downed the rest of her pint in one and left Geoff and Tom to it. It wasn’t until she got home and took her jacket off that she found someone had stuffed one of the flyers into her pocket with a scrawled note across the top. Dare you!!!
Yeah, right.
Reenie
‘That was good, that was.’ Ted Rodgers rolled off his wife and laid on his back to get his breath.
Reenie smiled at him with affection, sitting up and arranging the covers comfortably over her large breasts. ‘Good,’ she said, and then she reached for the cigarettes on the bedside cupboard and took two out. She didn’t bother to ask Ted if he wanted one, because they always had a cigarette after sex, and, apart from for one-off occasions like death or childbirth, they always had sex on Saturday nights.
Of course, when they’d been a bit younger, it had been more often than once a week. But now they were pushing sixty, Reenie thought once a week was pretty good going. Lots of their friend didn’t get up to anything at all anymore, and Reenie thought that was sad. Even after all these years, she still liked to be physically close to her husband. He might have a bit of a gut, all right a lot of a gut; but after bearing four babies, so did she. And sagging breasts to boot. Less of the Marilyn Monroe and more the African tribeswoman these days, they were. But Ted still liked to bury his face between them, and that was all that mattered.
Ted wriggled up in bed and Reenie passed him the lit cigarette. ‘Ta, love.’
They sat smoking, shoulders touching, not talking. Unlike Reenie, Ted wasn’t one of life’s big talkers. He was a doer instead – DIY, gardening, fishing, darts; anything active. But he did seem to enjoy a bit of a chat after sex, so Reenie generally tried to keep quiet and wait for him to introduce the topic of conversation instead of jumping in about the girls at bingo or what one of their daughters had been getting up to.
‘You know my mate George from darts?’ he said finally.
‘Wife had a fling with the fishmonger?’
Ted smiled, amused as always by the way Reenie remembered people by the juicy titbits of their lives. ‘That’s the one. Well, I saw him tonight, and he says there’s some saucy course coming to the church hall. He’s seen a poster.’
Reenie frowned. ‘What’s he mean, saucy?’
‘You know,’ Ted said, ‘women’s stuff.’
Reenie was no further forward. ‘What d’you mean, women’s stuff? Some sort of cookery course?’
‘No,’ said Ted with a grin. ‘Not the cooking sort of sauce.’
Reenie looked at him. ‘You mean… the sex sort?’
‘Yes, he said. ‘Sex. Orgasms, he says. To help women have better ones.’
‘Orgasms?’
‘Could hardly believe it myself. Doesn’t seem like something the vicar would agree to, does it?’ And he started laughing. ‘Liven them all up a bit, won’t it?’ he said. ‘The Parish Council.’
‘Blimey!’ Reenie said, starting to laugh herself. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘I know,’ said Ted, putting out his cigarette and lying down.
Putting out her own cigarette and moulding her body to Ted’s in the darkness, Reenie giggled. ‘Well, fancy that,’ she said.
After a moment, Ted cleared his throat. ‘You could go on it,’ he said.
‘What?’ Unable to believe her ears, Reenie sat back up and clicked the light on again to look at him.
Ted gazed back at her and gave a sheepish shrug. ‘I just thought… no, it’s daft. Don’t worry about it. Just thought you might be interested, that’s all. Only want you to be happy.’
‘I am happy,’ Reenie protested, and he gave her a kis
s.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s all right then, isn’t it? Night night.’
‘Night.’
Reenie lay in the darkness brooding. She and Ted had been married for over forty years. They’d never been anyone else for either of them, and despite all the ups and downs they’d had to weather together over the years, they were just about as happy together now as they had been on their wedding day.
At least, Reenie was. But perhaps Ted wasn’t?
‘How long have you been worrying about me not enjoying sex?’ she asked him, but Ted didn’t answer. He was asleep.
A course. She’d never done a course of any sort since school, let alone a course about sex! The idea was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? Besides, education didn’t seem to have helped Marcia, their youngest daughter. She’d been chucked off her college course, and now she spent her days moping about the house. When she wasn’t out doing God only knew what with her no good friends. Reenie had hoped Marcia would meet people with a bit more ‘go’ about them at college; people who didn’t think work was a dirty four-letter word. But, in the end, she’d had only lasted four weeks on the course. ‘The teacher was a prize cow, Mum,’ she’d told Reenie. ‘And everyone looked down their noses at me.’ No, education wasn’t for the likes of them.
Reenie closed her eyes and settled down to try to get to sleep. But her last thoughts were of their neighbours Kay and Marcus. Night after night, she and Ted had had to stuff pillows over their heads to block out their sounds of rapture. What did it feel like to experience so much pleasure you had to scream out loud about it? The nearest she’d ever got to that was the roller coaster at Great Yarmouth Pleasure Beach.
After that, Reenie seemed to see the posters for the course Ted had mentioned wherever she went – at the post office, in the foyer at bingo, even in the window of the newsagents near the school when she went to collect her grandson, Petie. At least, she knew it must be the poster Ted was on about, with all its talk about fulfilment and wild dreams, though the word orgasm never actually appeared anywhere on it. As it was, the poster didn’t seem all that threatening. In fact, it seemed as if the course might be fun. Or if not exactly fun, then maybe something she could have a laugh with the girls about afterwards.
Ted didn’t bring the subject up again, and when Reenie told him she was thinking of doing it, he gave her a searching look.
‘You sure, Reen?’ he asked.
She smiled at him brightly. ‘Why not?’ she said, ‘It’ll be fun.’
‘Yeah,’ he smiled. ‘It might at that. I can’t wait to hear all about it.’
And suddenly Reenie wondered what on earth she’d got herself into.
The Visitor
The motorcyclist parked her bike up at the seafront and took off her crash helmet. It was a wild night, and the wind immediately took hold of her hair, swirling it around her head. Although it was dark, the breakers showed up clearly in the moonlight, bands of frothing white that came right up the beach to boom against the sea wall. She smiled, loving the short delay as the water shot upwards before splattering onto the promenade, the spray on her face reminding her of surfing trips in the summer and expeditions to see the newborn seal pups in the winter.
Turning her back on the sea, she looked up at the windows of the building opposite. Last time she’d been here, it had been a grand hotel, but now it was a luxury apartment block. Only one light showed in the building – the one in the apartment right at the top in what looked to be the penthouse. She stared up at the light for a moment with the sound of the sea behind her, sensing a human presence in the apartment. Was someone looking out at her? Very possibly.
Crossing the road, she walked along the High Street, carrying her crash helmet by the strap. It was late, and nobody was about because of the storm. The wind was so strong now she had to push her body through the forceful gusts, up past a curious display of marine-themed wall tiles in an interior design shop. A bakery. The road that led to the social housing estate on the edge of town.
At the church hall, she stopped, finding a wall that blocked out most of the wind to stand behind as she considered the building. It was dark and crouched-looking, as if it were hunkering down for the night with high windows and out-of-date posters flapping about on the notice board next to the entrance door. And yet, somehow, she could already sense the transformation that would take place inside there when the course started. The lives she would touch. A tingle of excitement swept through her body, and she smiled. Yes, despite everything, it had been right to come back.
The motorcyclist stood and looked for a long while, her hands on her slim hips, the smile still on her lips. Then, finally, she turned back in the direction of the sea front and her waiting bike.
This is the end of The Invitation – the prequel to The Goddess Workshop. Will Janet, Estelle, Kate and Reenie turn up for the mysterious stranger’s course? And if they do, will they stick with it? Chapter One of The Goddess Workshop follows.
The Goddess Workshop
Margaret K Johnson
One
Janet Thornton pasted on a smile, pushed open the door to the church hall and came to an abrupt halt.
‘Goodness!’ In front of her, where there was usually a portrait of the Queen, somebody had hung a giant oil painting of a couple with no clothes on. A couple… having sex.
‘That’s what we all said. Or something very like, anyway!’
Janet turned round to see who had spoken. A large, older woman in a fussy floral dress was smiling at her.
‘Oh,’ Janet said, ‘yes.’ And then, unable to think of anything else to say, she turned round to look at the painting again, her befuddled brain trying to make sense of what it might have to do with the gardening course she had come to take part in that morning. The painting was so huge the couple in it were life-size, which somehow made the image doubly shocking.
‘My name’s Reenie,’ Fussy Dress was saying to her now.
Janet moved uncertainly into the room. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Hello.’ She looked around for Gwen, her neighbour, but there was no sign of her, just Reenie and two other women.
As Janet stood there, unsure whether to stay or go, her gaze drifted back once again to the picture. Some- how she just couldn’t seem to stop looking at it.
Even more than the size of the man’s… thing, the most shocking thing about the image was the complete lack of expression on the couple’s faces. If ever a couple could be said to mate, then it was this couple. Why, that shockingly open gash of the woman’s body was being ravaged by the…the pole which was the man’s penis! Even if it didn’t hurt, which surely to goodness it must do, then it should certainly inspire some sort of response in the woman’s perfect features. Shouldn’t it?
Then Janet thought somewhat guiltily of her lovemaking with her husband Ray the previous evening. While she had been waiting for him to finish, her mind had drifted away to an over-complicated recipe for a raspberry terrine she’d seen on Masterchef earlier that evening. Her face had probably been pretty blank too, come to think of it.
‘Think it’s from the Kama Sutra,’ the woman – Reenie – said. ‘I reckon it must have been painted by a man, don’t you? It’d have to be with a you-know-what that size! Why don’t you come and sit down, love? Make yourself comfy. No sign of teacher yet.’
‘Oh, thanks.’ Janet pulled herself together with an effort and moved towards the semicircle of chairs. As she did so, she looked over at the other two women. They were as different to each other as it was possible to be. The one sitting next to Reenie was a large, mannish-looking woman, wearing jeans and a red and white checked shirt, and the one furthest away was a young, perfectly made-up business type in a smart suit and blouse.
Both women were looking at her, so Janet smiled back at them uneasily. ‘Hello,’ she said.
The woman in the checked shirt gave Janet a smile that was more like a smirk than a smile, as if something about Janet amused her intensely. When she spoke, there was definitel
y a note of laughter in her voice. ‘Hi.’
As for the business type, she didn’t even bother to speak; just stretched her mouth into a brief, insincere smile and began to examine her manicure with great interest.
Feeling even more uncomfortable than ever, Janet took the seat next to Reenie, realising as she did so that the usual motley collection of church hall chairs had, for some unaccountable reason, been transformed by exotic leopard skin throws.
‘I know you, don’t I?’ Reenie was saying to her now.
Janet looked at her, feeling confused and uneasy. It was difficult to make small talk with that rampaging couple staring at her with their glassy eyes, and she wished Reenie would just leave her alone. She just wanted to sit quietly to wait for Gwen.
‘You work in that DIY shop.’
‘Carol De Ville Interiors,’ Janet said. ‘Yes, that’s right.’
Business Type looked up briefly from her manicure. ‘They sell the most expensive light bulbs in Norfolk in there,’ she said in a stuck-up sounding voice.
Janet’s response was a reflex action. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘it isn’t a lighting shop after all. Mrs De Ville just keeps a few bulbs in for her customers’ convenience...’ Her voice trailed off as it became clear that Business Type wasn’t listening any more.
Janet felt annoyed with herself. Why had she felt she had to defend her horrible boss? And besides, it was true about the light bulbs. They were obscenely expensive. Not that Janet was responsible for the high prices. The closest she got to pricing anything in the shop was by painstakingly writing out the discreet cardboard price cards in the calligraphy-inspired handwriting Carol De Ville insisted upon.
‘They have some lovely stuff in there, they do,’ Reenie was saying now. ‘I said to my Ted, if we ever win the Lottery, I’ll be right down there to order a makeover.’
The Invitation Page 3