Lipstick and Lies (10 page)

The telephone shrilled into life.
I reached out a shaky hand.
The skin
was peppered in scratches.
I frowned at them.
My face was starting to throb.
‘Hello?’

‘Cassie, it’s me,’ said Jamie from his car.
‘The kids have finished at the stables and I’ve picked them up.
We’re on our way home.
Ha
s Mum told you about tonight?’

‘Yes
,
but the house i
s covered in pooh,’ I replied.

There was a pause.
In the background the kids sniggered wit
h laughter.

‘Are you okay Cassie?
You sound a bit spaced out.’

‘I
’ve had a bit of an accident.’

I
could hear
Toby roar
ing
with laughter.
‘Oh my God.
Mum’s poohed herself.
All over the house.’

Edna returned with a bottle of TCP and some cotton wool.
She
took the phone from me.

‘Jamie dear, Cassandra has been badly scratched by one of the cats.
A bird got into the house and has made a bit of a mess.
I want all the children to pull together and help
me get this place ship-shape.’

‘Edna,’ I interrupted, ‘I can’t possibly leave you and the children to clean–’ I gasped as, with her free hand, she doused my wounds in TCP.
Geez
,
it stung.

‘See you in a couple of minutes,’ she said to Jamie
before hanging up
.

‘Edna, I really can’t–’

‘Of course you can.
And must.
This is important.
It’s business.’
She finished dabbing.
‘Here.
Take these painkillers.
Now go and have a bath.
Put Eddie in with you while I
start on the cleaning
.’
My mother-in-law was a
lready rolling up her sleeves.

And so for the second night running I found myself sharing the bathtub.
This time with my baby son and a
brightly coloured
army of
plastic
ducks.
They bobbed around in the bubbles as Eddie, wedged between my thighs, splashed in delight.
In the background I could hear all sorts of activity going
.
Beds were being
stripped of soiled linen, surfaces washed and floors mopped.
Jamie and the children had taken one look at me and been horrified.
Toby, appalled for laughing e
arlier, had hugged me tightly.

I picked up a sponge and soaked my hair before gently rubbing in shampoo.
My scalp was stinging like blazes.
What an absolute fiasco the afternoon had been.
And as for tonight.
I sloshed water over my head
and rinsed
away the
lather
.
I really could have done without it.
After last night’s bombshell that Selina was joining Fareham & Mackerel, I knew we’d meet again one day.
But at no point had I reckoned on it being just twenty-four hours later.
What on earth were we going to talk about?
H
i
there
Selina
!
How
ARE
you
(gush gush)?
The last time we met I flung
a glass of
wine in your face.
Would you like another for old time’s sake?

Eddie began to beat a tattoo with his palms against the water.
The bath was far cooler than I’d have liked on account of him being in it
with me
.
In fact, I was starting to feel a bit shivery.
I
finished
rinsing my hair
,
then turned my attention to Eddie.
Hauling myself out of the water, I wrapped us both in a big bath towel.
Thanks to the cats’ antics, Eddie had missed out on a decent afternoon nap.
He was now struggling
to keep his eyes open.

Ten minutes later my baby was fast asleep in his cot.
I checked his alarm was on, that no cats were in the room, and
quietly
shut his door.
Time to get to work with
my
hairdryer.
That was the easy bit.
Attempting to do the same thing with my face wasn’t so
straightforward
.
My forehead looked as though havoc had been wrought with a sharp fork.
All around my eyes were
tiny
puncture wounds.
The swelling had subsided slightly, but everything looked red and angry.
Liquid make up was out of the question.
I stroked some mascara onto my
eye
lashes and opted for a bright red lipstick
.
Hopefully this would draw
attention to my mouth
,
rather than my forehead.

Smells of home cooking drifted upwards.
I sniffed the air appreciatively.
It certainly wasn’t my culinary special – beans on toast.
My relationship with the vast range in our kitchen was a standoffish one.
I didn’t ask too much of it, and it didn’t give me much in return.
Whereas Edna would have all
the
ring burners blazing, double ovens stoked
,
and
– before you could say Jamie Oliver – produce
a
week’s worth of home cooking.

I riffled through my wardrobe.
What would Selina be wearing?
Something fabulously chic and tailored?
Or smart-casual?
I swished coat hangers this way and that, appraising everything with a critical eye.
I swept half a dozen pairs of identical joggers to one side and considered a red velvet dress.
I’d bought it in the Sales last year before discovering I was expecting Eddie.
By the time an opportunity to wear it had come along, my baby bump was well and truly established.
I removed the dress from its hanger and
let it slither
over my head.
It was a snug fit, but not enough to restrict breathing.
I stood in front of the mirror.
Not bad.
Not great, but definitely not bad.
Rummaging around in the wardrobe, I found a pair of shiny black boots and a matching clutch bag.
They would do.
I finished off with a liberal squirt of perfume.
If nothing else I might just manage to
smell
nicer
than Selina.

Jamie came into the bedroom.
‘That’s a lovely dress darling.
Give me thirty seconds in the sho
wer, and I’ll be ready to go.’

I smiled.
‘See you downstairs.’

I grabbed a coat and walked across the landing.
The
aroma
of furniture polish and cleaning fluid
jostled with cooking smells
.
The house was positively sparkling.
I found the children in the TV room, glued to some
ridiculous reality programme.

‘Hey kids.’
They glanced my way.
‘Thanks for helping clear up all th
at
mess.’

‘That’s okay Cass,’
Petra
smiled.
‘You clear up after us all
the time.’

‘We didn’t mind doing it,’ said Toby, ‘but don’t expect me personally to do it again.
It’s a woman’s work.’

Just eleven years old and my
son was already a chauvinist.

‘Where ar
e you going Mum?’ asked Livvy.

‘Out to dinner with Ethan and his
fiancée.’

‘Oh yeah.
That’s ironic,’ Jonas snorted.
‘The fia
ncée used to go out with Dad.’

‘Did she?’
Petra
’s brow furrowed.
‘What’s her name?’

‘Sabrina.’

‘Actual
ly, it’s Selina,’ I corrected.

‘That’s right,’ said Jonas.
‘I remember her.
She
was
a milf
.’

‘A what?’

‘Jonas!’
Petra
chided.

‘What’
s a milf?’ I asked, perplexed.

Livvy
and Toby had gone a bit pink.

‘It’s, um,
a
sort of
modern compliment,’ said Toby.

‘
E
nlighten me
,’ I said.
On the screen a woman with fake breasts and a mouth like Donald Duck was talking about her life being incomplete unless she had bum implants.
‘Jonas?
Spill the beans.
What’s a milf?’

Jo
nas shifted uncomfortably.
‘
I can’t remember exactly.
But it’s, well, like Toby said, a sort of compliment.
But a bit, you know, racy.’

‘Racy?’
I eyed my step-son.
Not quite thirteen but definitely waking up in the puberty department.
He was already six feet tall, albeit built like a piece of string.
Only last week, when vacuuming his room, I’d picked a forgotten magazine off the floor.
It had been full of naked women.
I’d taken a black marker pen to it.
Drawn dresses and one-piece swimsuits on all the busty ladies.
Sensible ones too.
No plunging necklines or high-cut legs.
And then I’d warmed to the task.
Given them accessories.
Harry Potter spectacles.
Handlebar moustaches.
One or two blacked-out teeth.
And then I’d carefully placed the magazine back on the floor.
Jonas hadn’t said anything.
And neither had I.
But I knew that he knew that I knew that he knew and I knew that he knew it too.

‘Daddy was never that keen on her though.
And neither were we Cass,’ said
Petra
loyally.

I smiled.
‘Thank you
,
sweetheart.’

Jamie bounded down the stairs.
‘Told you I wouldn’t be long.
Come on then Cassie.
Bye kids.
School tomorrow so don’t be late
to bed please.’

Out in the kitchen Edna
stood
before the range, oven mitts on both hands.
She
bent down and
removed a huge terrene of
coq au vin.
All the ironing had been done
.
To one side, on the worktop,
freshly laundered and folded sheets
were neatly stacked.
How did she do it?
And so effortlessly.
They were questions I
’d asked myself so many times.

‘Cassandra dear,’
my mother-in-law
carefully set the
terrene
down.
‘Those puncture wounds look very sore.
How are you feeling?’

‘Much better thank you Edna.’
My stomach
growled with hunger
.
I hoped we’d be eating something equally scrumptious tonight.
‘Thanks so much for coming to the rescue.’
At this point any other daughter-in-law might have hugged her mother-in-law.
Unfortunately our relationship was not a touchy-feely one.
Rather it was more employer/employee.
With me de
finitely in the employee role.

Edna inclined her head.
‘It was no trouble.
Hurry along now.
Have a nice time.’

‘I’m sure we will Mum,’ said Jamie.
‘We’ll try not to be too late.’
My husband turned to me.
‘Ready?’

‘Yes darling,’ I pasted on a bright smile.
As ready as I’d ever be for this dreaded meeting.

‘You
r car or mine?’ I asked Jamie.

‘Mine,’ he said
pick
ing
up his keys.

As we walked out of the house, a cold wind whipped
up
my hair.
I stuffed my hands in my pockets as Jamie pressed
his
key
fob’s remote button.
The central locking sprang open on the BMW X5.
It was a company car
,
and pristine.
The kids rarely
travelled in it
.
Instead their muddy riding boots, sweet wrappers and rubbish detritus graced the inside of my car – a seven seater Citroen affectionately known as Th
e Muck Truck.