Snow Balls (Ball Games #2) (3 page)

I get an eye roll for my comment. 'Duh. Your love-drunk face every time she comes in the store might give it away slightly. Anyway, you might want to give some serious thought to taking out a mortgage.'

'I just want to live with my parents and have everything done for me. Or I could get a wife. Will you marry me?'

She thumps me in the arm.
Fucking hell, I think she's broken my bicep
.

'Like I'd do everything for you if you lived with me. You'd be expected to pull your weight in my house too, you cheeky bugger. If all you're offering a girl is your dirty underwear and life at the kitchen sink, you're going to be single for a very long time, mate.'

'I'd also give them leg trembling sex.'

'It’s not legs us women want trembling, Tyler. Bless you. I'm sure under there,' she ruffles my hair, 'there's a sex God waiting to emerge. But right now, it's like a feral creature has crawled out of the bins and is trying to find a new host.'

'So you don't think I'm sexy?' I pout.

She laughs.

'You're alright. You're pretty good looking under the crud, but Jennifer Lambert… She's a proper working woman, trying to make her way up the corporate ladder. She'll want a powerful man at her side I reckon. Not someone she has to spoon feed dinner to. I bet she's always being wined and dined. She looks that sort. Whereas me,' she points at herself, 'I'm good with a McDonalds and a night in front of the T.V. Low maintenance.'

I gather up my lunch pots. 'So if I want to make headway with a woman like Jennifer I need to be a power player?'

‘We’re not in an episode of Dallas J.R. but you need to be more clean cut and businesslike definitely.'

'Any idea what she does in the bank?'

‘How should I know? She's not my specialist subject.'

I tap my fingers on the table. 'Got it. I'll call in on Dylan, He can give me the lowdown.'

‘Well, he does work with her.’

‘Thanks for the chat. Looks like I might have to give some serious thought to this living on my own lark.'

Lindsay smiles. ‘Wow. Tyler Turner, you’re growing up.'

'Well, I can at least pretend I'm trying to get a mortgage. Means I'll have to go into the bank a lot, won't it? Maybe working full-time wouldn't be so bad either. I'd be able to save up to buy a drone. Do you know they're a thousand quid in Maplins?

Lindsay’s forehead furrows. 'Why would you want a drone?'

'Have you seen them on the Gadget show? They do all sorts with them. They go up in the air with a camera fitted to them. I could spy on people. No end to what I could devise with one of them. Or maybe I could buy some new gaming equipment and set myself up as the next JackSepticEye.'

'Who?'

'Who? Who!
Top of the morning to ya
?'

Lindsay looks at me blankly.

'You need to come round mine and see the brilliance of this guy. Seriously. Come round ours tomorrow night. I'll ask my mum to do us some pizza. Straight from work, yeah?'

'You're inviting me to your house? You realise this has never happened since we started working together?'

'I'm in crisis. You need to see Jack. I need help. Mine tomorrow night. You can help me plan my future.'

'Okay. But on one condition.'

'What's that?'

'You buy and cook the pizza. Go home tonight and tell your mother that's your plan. It'll show her you're making an effort. Pizza's a quid in Asda. See if her and your Dad want one as well.'

'So I've got to go to the Asda and buy four pizzas? Spend my own money?'

'Welcome to the real world, Tyler. I'll see you tomorrow. Right now, I need to get back to selling stamps, cigarettes and train magazines. Then guess what?'

'What?'

'Like most nights, I'll go round the supermarket and then I'll cook my own tea. That's what your mum does every week too.'

'God, that’s boring.'

'Yeah, but at least I get to choose what I want to eat. Then I get to choose to fall asleep on the settee after I've eaten it and I can leave the dishes in the sink for a week if I like.'

'See, my Mum prepares a weekly menu and buys me my favourites. I go up to my room after to go on my Xbox or watch TV. She washes up. It’s so easy.'

‘From what you've said that is what your mother
used to do
.' Lindsay says ominously. 'Whether she still does it now you've been served your eviction order… Well,' she tilts her head. 'That's yet to be seen.'

I figure Lindsay Cross has a flipping crystal ball.

My mother serves my least favourite dish ever for tea. Lamb Tagine with rice. Ugh. I force it down, trying not to focus on what I'm eating. Fucking apricots in my tea. Who puts fruit in an evening meal?

'Tomorrow, Mum, I thought I'd invite Lindsay from work round and cook us all pizza. How does that sound?'

My mother drops her fork on the floor. She bends down to pick it up and looks at me with narrowed eyes.

'Say that again?'

'I'd like to invite Lindsay from work around and cook us all pizza.'

'So you want me to go to the shop to buy pizza?'

'No. I'll buy it on the way home from work. Is that alright with you, or do you and dad want to cook yourselves something else?'

My dad puts down his cutlery and looks at my mother. 'He's offering to cook our tea, Dora. Am I hearing correctly?'

'I believe so, Tim. Pizza. Plus he's going to the supermarket.'

Dad taps his chin. 'Must be connected with this Lindsay girl then. Is she your girlfriend?'

'God, no.'

There's nothing wrong with Lindsay but we've been mates forever. I've never considered her in that way. Well, actually that's a lie because regardless of what blokes tell you there's no such thing as platonic friendships. I've wanked picturing Lindsay on more than one occasion. It’s her fault. A few times she's been at work and a button on her blouse has come open giving me a close-up view of her tits as she's bent down to fill the shelves.

She's a friend and colleague, so I've shoved her right out of the bird zone—it would be too complicated.

I realise I've been staring into space for a good few minutes thinking about her tits.

'No, Dad. We're just friends, but it seems like a good idea to chat with someone who lives on their own, get some tips. I hope she can come over because I kind of already invited her.'

'Me and your father will look forward to eating pizza cooked by our son. It will be the first meal you've ever made for us. I might invite the local press.'

I make a fake hysterical laughing noise.

'You're so funny. Right, I'm off to my room. I'll make sure I set the alarm on my mobile and tablet tonight, seeing as you've gone on strike. Did you manage your busy day?'

'Of course. I finished the entire box-set of
The Mindy Project
because that's obviously all that I do all day,' says my mum.

I glance at her and she's giving me that calculated glare she gives me when she's scheming. Shit, I don't know what she's got in store but I guess I won’t like it.

I head to my room and catch up with my favourite You-tubers. After, I play on my Xbox until I start to yawn, then set my alarms and hit the sack. I have a little fumble with myself thinking about Jennifer Lambert although when I picture her with her clothes off she has Lindsay's tits. Oh well, can't be helped, I've not seen Jennifer's yet. I'll make it a New year's resolution I decide as I jerk off.

Resolution one: Get to see Jennifer's tits. Bonus if I get to suck them.

Oh, yeeeeeeessss.

Chapter Three

My mother already knows Lindsay because she likes to embarrass me by calling into Smiths when she's in town. Therefore, when Lindsay comes through the door, my Mum greets her with a huge hug. My Dad shakes her hand and tells her it's nice to meet her. Lindsay popped home to get changed while I went round Asda. She looks different with her hair down, instead of in its usual plait. It’s a bit wavy down her face. She's also put makeup on, obviously making an effort for my folks. Just a shame she's got her boobs covered by a black jumper to dress smart. I prefer the work blouse.

'Right, now everyone's here I'll start tea. So it'll be ready in twelve to fourteen minutes.' I head towards the kitchen.

My mother smiles at me, or is it a smirk?

'We'll leave you to it, shall we? Lindsay, are you staying in the kitchen with Tyler or coming into the lounge with us?'

'I'll hang with Tyler if that's okay with you?' says Lindsay. 'I've got a feeling I may be needed.'

'As long as you don't cook. Tyler is cooking tonight,' my mother says in a warning tone.

'No intention of doing so, Dora. Tyler promised me a pizza. I'm just going to oversee things. Make sure he doesn’t burn it.’

'I am here you know. I don't need any of you to oversee me cooking pizza. The instructions are on the box.'

'I'll leave you to it then,' says Lindsay. She turns on her heel and walks off with my Mum.

As instructed, I pre-heat the oven for Pizza number one. A ham and pineapple. Twelve to fourteen minutes in a fan oven at one hundred and seventy degrees. As the light goes off to show the oven has reached the correct temperature, I place the first pizza in. Then I remove the second from its box. This one, a barbeque chicken, says ten to twelve minutes, fan oven one-sixty. I pick up the others; the meat feast says sixteen to eighteen minutes at one-eighty. How the hell am I supposed to cook three pizzas at different temperatures? I pick up the garlic bread. Eight to ten minutes at one-fifty. My heart beats faster. I can't fuck up pizza.
Think man, think.
I plump for one-seventy and shove two of the pizzas in. I'll check them after they’ve been in about ten minutes. As I budge the pizzas along the shelves, I hit another problem. Pizza number four and garlic bread number two. They don't fit in the oven.
Now
what do I do? I get hot under the collar as the kitchen warms up. There's no way to fit them in so I hope that three pizzas and one garlic bread are enough. I leave the others on the side. I’ll cook them if anyone is still hungry.

The garlic bread is ready. I stick it on a plate and slice it with the pizza cutter. The pizzas finish cooking and I do the same with those. I carry two plates through to the dining room and stick them on the table.

'Dinner’s ready,' I place the plates down with a flourish.

'Tyler. Mats. You'll put marks on the table. How many times do you need to be told?' yells my mother, flailing her arms around.

I thought she'd let me off seeing as I've cooked dinner.

'You need to set the table before you bring in the food.’

I huff and return to the kitchen with the plates. Then I grab some cutlery. I return to the dining room and put out placemats, knives and forks.

Then it’s back again with the garlic bread and barbeque chicken, followed by the meat feast and ham and pineapple.

'So who is having which pizza?' asks Dad.

'I'm just going to get more plates, but it's all for sharing,' I say.

'Erm Tyler. Sorry but I'm vegetarian. I could have sworn I saw a four cheese pizza on the side. I'm sorry.' Lindsay shrugs her shoulders. She’s half biting her lip.

Fuck. Off course she is. I have my lunch with her most days.
'It didn't fit in the oven. I'll put it in now,' I say. Back to the kitchen I go.

'Could we have something to drink Tyler?' adds my mother.

I ask what everyone wants to drink. My mum wants a glass of red wine. Lindsay wants a coke and my dad wants a cup of tea—
strong, not the usual piss water you give me.

I run back to the kitchen, get four plates and take them to the table. I head back to put the other pizza and second garlic bread in the oven, but as I'm at the door my mother talks again.

'Tyler did you not warm the plates? The food will cool quickly.'

Why on earth my mother pisses about warming plates up before she puts food on them, I do not know. She either sticks them in the microwave or warms them on the hob. What a waste of time and energy.

I put the garlic bread and four cheese pizza in. Right, eight to ten minutes and fourteen to sixteen minutes. I stick the kettle on, take a red wine from the wine rack and pour a glass for mum. Then I get the coke and pour a glass for Lindsay. Back to the room I go with the cold drinks.

‘Thanks, love,’ says my Mum. ‘Are you okay? You appear a bit hot and bothered.’

‘Really?’ I shrug. ‘I’m fine Mum.’

‘Great,’ she says, her jaw set.

I head straight back to the kitchen and stick a tea bag in a mug. I slosh the boiled water over it and then stir it with a spoon, trying to get the water to darken as fast as I can so I can eat with everyone else. Finally, my Dad’s brew is made and placing it on a mat in front of him, I take a seat.

'Could you get the napkins out?' asks my mum.

'We usually use kitchen roll,' I complain.

Mum apologises to Lindsay and turns to me. 'Well, if you want to serve your guest kitchen roll to wipe her mouth go ahead, but when I entertain, I get the best napkins out of the third drawer down in the kitchen.'

I slam my seat back and stomp into the kitchen. She's doing this on purpose. I seethe, denying the fact that my mother does everything she's asked me to do, every single mealtime.

I distribute napkins and sit down. I notice that Lindsay hasn't eaten anything yet.

'Do you want a slice of garlic bread?' I offer her the plate.

'The thing is…' she breaks off.

'What?'

'I'm intolerant to garlic and onions. I can't eat them. They make my IBS flare up.'

'IBS?'

'Irritable Bowel Syndrome, Tyler,' my mother explains, 'now don't embarrass the girl further, just get her something to eat.'

'It's in the oven. It'll be another eight minutes.' On checking my watch, I notice it's time to get the garlic bread. 'Excuse me I'll be right back.'

I walk into the kitchen with a strong sense of déjà vu. Opening the oven door the cheese only looks the slightest bit melted and the garlic bread doesn't look cooked at all.

'Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me,' I yell. I haven't switched the oven back on. I reach for the opened bottle of wine. It's not my usual tipple but I need a fucking drink.