The Mince Pie Mix-Up (7 page)

‘What exactly does Scott do to earn his pocket money?’ Calvin asked later as he gathered up the dirty dishes. The kids had disappeared without clearing up after themselves. He thought it was ridiculous that he not only had to cook but wash the dishes afterwards until Judy pointed out that she’d been doing exactly that for years.

‘Nothing as far as I can tell,’ Judy said. She resisted the urge to help Calvin with the dishes, squashing down the feeling of guilt as she sat doing nothing. Calvin had never had such qualms and had laughed about how easy she had it. ‘Anyway, have fun. I’m going to go and watch TV.’

Scott had holed himself up in his cave-like bedroom, but while Charlie sat playing with her dolls in the sitting room she didn’t seem to notice that Dad was catching up on Mum’s episodes of
Escape to the Country
, a programme he usually scoffed at, claiming it was full of snobs showing off how much money they had to spend on a pile of bricks and mortar.

‘
Now
can I read my paper?’ Calvin asked once he’d finished the washing up.

‘Nope.’ Judy tore her eyes away from a gorgeous, original open fire on the television. ‘You get the evening off now while I babysit my own children. There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge. Laura will be expecting you.’

Laura had been a single mum to her three children since her husband walked out on the family four years earlier. Her ex-husband wasn’t a very hands-on dad and only saw the children – under duress – every other Saturday and never overnight. This arrangement could crumble at any time, depending on her ex’s relationship status, which left both Laura and the children unsure whether the visits would happen or not.

Calvin didn’t know Laura very well but he soon got the gist of what a git her ex was as they shared a bottle of wine on her sofa. Calvin wasn’t a great fan of wine but at least he could sit still for more than thirty seconds here. He was utterly exhausted. He was loath to admit it but he didn’t think he could cope with two weeks of this misery. He had no idea how he was going to feed his family for a further thirteen evenings. There were only so many times you could rotate meals of eggs and chips, sausages and chips and microwave pizzas. And what happened when that great big pile of presents stowed in the walk-in wardrobe had to be wrapped? Calvin would be lumbered with the job, that’s what.

It didn’t bode well that Calvin was so tired and ready for giving up after one measly day of Judy’s life. He’d never thought an evening on the sofa could be so heavenly. However, a relaxed evening over at Laura’s house was not on the cards.

‘What is it this time?’ Laura asked when one of her children – Calvin couldn’t recall their names – popped their head around the sitting-room door. This had occurred at least half a dozen times in the hour that Calvin had been there. The children were supposed to be in bed but seemed reluctant to remain there for any length of time.

‘I’ve lost Larry,’ the child said. Calvin concluded that Larry was some sort of stuffed toy and its loss was causing great distress for the child, whose lip was wobbling like Santa’s belly after one too many mince pies. ‘I can’t sleep without Larry.’

Laura shot Calvin an apologetic look. Again. ‘Sorry about this. I’ll be right back.’

Laura took the child by the hand and led it upstairs while Calvin refilled their wine glasses. The wine was slipping down far too easily but needs must and all that. The wine may not have caressed his aching feet but it did make the prospect of doing all this again the next day fuzzily doable.

‘Sorry about that. Is it this mad at your house?’ Laura plonked herself back down on the sofa and took a large gulp of wine. Calvin understood. He truly did.

‘It’s manic. There hasn’t been one minute in the day that’s been mine, you know.’ Laura nodded knowingly as Calvin offloaded. ‘And it isn’t as if Ju –’ Calvin coughed to cover his faux pas. ‘As if Calvin even appreciates how hard it’s been for me.’

Laura shook her head. ‘He
never
appreciates you.’

‘He does! He appreciates her – me – all the bloody time. I’d realise that if I stopped moaning about the poor bloke for five minutes.’

Laura blinked at Calvin, not sure what to say after that little outburst.

‘I just think Calvin does a lot for me and the kids. It may not be as obvious as what I do but that doesn’t mean I should chew his ear off all the time. I need to cut him a bit of slack. He works hard.’

‘So do you.’ Laura, being a good friend, was quick to point this out.

‘Pah.’ Calvin took a swig of wine. They were going to need another bottle. ‘I bake a bit and pour a few cups of tea. It’s nothing compared to what Calvin does.’

‘Right.’ Laura poured out the last dregs of wine. ‘I’ll go and get another bottle from the fridge.’

Calvin eased off the boots Judy had made him wear and rubbed his abused feet. The boots had pinched his toes and he’d almost broken his ankles trying to walk in them.

‘I’m only going to Laura’s,’ Calvin had pointed out as Judy had forced the boots on his feet in a weird, bad-tempered Prince Charming move. ‘Why do I have to dress up?’

‘You’re not
dressing up
, Calvin. You’re wearing jeans, for goodness’ sake.’ Judy had zipped up the boots with more force than was necessary. ‘I’ll let you off the make-up tonight, but you are not turning up in a pair of trainers.’

Calvin really didn’t understand his wife, especially when he stood up on the stupid heels and nearly ended up straight on the floor. He wobbled like a newborn foal as he attempted to cross the bedroom, his arms outstretched for balance. He felt ridiculous.

‘You look ridiculous,’ Judy had tutted. ‘Walk properly.’

He’d had a practice run (or rather a practice walk) around the house until he felt confident enough to walk across the village to Laura’s house. Still, he’d stumbled on quite a few occasions. At least he could blame the wine on the walk home.

‘Here we are.’ Laura returned with a fresh bottle and topped up their glasses. Calvin sank half of his glass in one go. ‘Thirsty?’

‘It’s been a hard day,’ Calvin said just as a small face appeared at the sitting-room door, demanding
one more bedtime story, pleeeeeease
.

Over the course of the evening there were life-threatening thirsts, a tummy ache, a monster under the bed, debilitating hunger, two nightmares (from the same kid who Calvin suspected hadn’t even closed its eyes all evening) and Larry was lost on three more occasions. He was found under the bed, on top of the wardrobe and stuffed in the bathroom cabinet.

‘I’m really sorry about this. I won’t be a minute,’ Laura said as a squabble erupted upstairs on the landing. Left alone – again – Calvin polished off the bottle of wine. This wasn’t a night out. It wasn’t relaxing. He may as well have been at home listening to his own children bickering. He wondered how long he would have to remain on Laura’s sofa before he could politely leave.

Chapter Eight:
The Gloves Are Off

Judy had been having quite a nice time being Calvin. As she suspected, being her husband was a breeze. She’d spent the afternoon with Charlie at the bookshop and she didn’t even have to cook when she returned home. She’d then spent the evening watching television and didn’t have to worry at all about the washing piling up in the laundry basket, didn’t have to lug the vacuum cleaner around or scrub the loo. And what bliss not to have to think about the state of Scott’s bedroom!

But her delight soon wore off on Sunday morning when she was expected to get up early to play football with the lads.

‘No way. I can’t play football.’

‘You have to.’ Calvin was going to miss meeting up with the lads, but it was worth missing out to see the smugness wiped from Judy’s face. ‘You can’t let the lads down.’

‘But I’ll do that anyway if I’m expected to play.’ Judy had never been very good at sports and she hadn’t taken part in any sort of team activity since she was at school. And she didn’t even want to begin totting up how many years that had been. ‘They’re bound to lose if I’m on their team.’

‘Relax. It isn’t a match, just a Sunday kick around. Besides, it’s only fair. If I had to sit and listen to Laura bang on about what a useless shit her ex-husband is, you should go and play football.’

‘Fine.’ Judy dragged herself out of bed. ‘But I expect a full roast lunch on the table when I get back.
It’s only fair
.’

Judy felt ridiculous as she made her way towards the playing field. It was the middle of December and she was freezing her arse off in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Calvin’s hairy legs weren’t keeping her warm at all. She was actually going to freeze to death on that pitch.

‘Ah, you made it.’ One of Calvin’s mates jogged by and practically thumped Judy on the shoulder. She winced and gave it a rub but froze (ha!) when she saw what her teammate was wearing. What all the lads were wearing. Instead of the shorts and T-shirts Calvin had insisted she wear, the lads were all dressed in tracksuit bottoms and hoodies. Calvin had tricked her! How on earth had she fallen for
that
when she washed his muddy kit every week?

Right, that was it. The gloves were off (funny, Judy could have done with a pair of gloves at that moment in time). There would be no more Nice Judy. There would be no more helpful hints or lists or friendly reminders. Calvin was on his own!

‘Come on, Calvin.’ The teammate was jogging backwards towards the others at the centre of the pitch, beckoning for Judy to follow.

‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ Judy muttered as, head down, she made her way towards the others as though being marched to the gallows. There were ten of them altogether, separated into two teams of five. Calvin had claimed it would be a friendly five-a-side kick about but there was nothing friendly about the ball as it came hurtling towards her at a frightening speed. Judy’s first instinct was to duck. Which she did, to the amusement of her teammates.

She was glad somebody was finding this game fun, because she certainly wasn’t. While the others ran towards the ball, Judy ran away from it. She yelped every time it came flying towards her and when she
did
manage to bravely kick it, the ball rolled – rather sluggishly – in the wrong direction.

Judy had always hated football.

Now she hated her husband too.

‘On your head, son,’ somebody yelled. Judy looked up just in time for the ball to hit her square on the nose. It bounced off her face but Judy didn’t see where it went as her eyes were clamped shut against the pain as she covered her battered nose with her hands. Pulling them away, she looked down at her palms with hazy vision, expecting to see blood pooling, but there was nothing there. Still, her whole face stung and she wasn’t sure she could continue to pretend to play football while stars danced around her head, cartoon style.

‘Calvin!’

Judy squinted at the blurry mass heading towards her and then down at her feet where the ball was rolling towards her. She pulled back her foot and, imagining the ball was Calvin’s head, gave it an almighty kick.

She completely missed the ball, which was hardly surprising considering her face was caved in and everything. Not that any of the lads cared about her injury. The game continued around her and not one person asked if she was okay. They were barbarians, the lot of them.

Judy wanted to fall to her knees and weep with gratitude when the ordeal was finally over.

‘Is it really over?’ she asked as they made their way off the pitch. She was caked in mud and delirious with fear and possible hypothermia. Her nose felt like it had swelled to quadruple its normal size and her eyes were still watering. She thought she’d heard them say the match had finished, but she wanted to be absolutely certain before she got her hopes up.

‘It was over for you before it even began, mate.’ One of her teammates – Curtis, Judy had gathered during the match – clapped her on the back, the unexpected force almost sending her to the ground. Not that it would have made much difference – she couldn’t get any muddier. ‘What’s up with you today? Heavy night last night?’

‘Something like that.’ Judy was trotting alongside Curtis in order to keep up with his long strides. Judy had inherited Calvin’s legs but she wasn’t all that sure how to use them to full advantage yet.

‘A pint or two will sort you out, lad.’

‘I should be getting back to Judy and the kids,’ Judy said, but her words were only met with laughter from Curtis.

‘Funny. For that, I’ll get the first round in.’

Judy trooped after Curtis and a couple of the other lads – Richie and Pierce – following them into the pub. It had been ages since Judy had been inside the White Swan and it had changed hands several times since. She didn’t recognise anybody either seated in the pub or stationed behind the bar, but they seemed to recognise her husband. It would have been exhausting playing along at any other time, but near impossible when it felt like she’d just challenged Usain Bolt to a lap around the football pitch and Amir Khan to a boxing match.

‘A pint, is it?’ Curtis asked as the barmaid made her way over to them.

‘No, I’ll have a glass of red wine, please.’

Too late, Judy realised her mistake.
Calvin didn’t drink red wine
. Whoops.

‘Oh.’ Curtis’s eyes were wide as he looked from Judy to Richie and Pierce. ‘Okay then. What about you two? A pint? Or how about a Tia Maria with Coke? With a little umbrella.’

The three of them cracked up while Judy wondered if they’d notice if she crept out of the pub and scurried home before she caused any more damage to her husband’s reputation. She knew football with the lads would turn out to be a huge mistake.

‘Three pints and a red wine for the lady,’ Curtis said to the barmaid, barely able to hide his smirk. If only he knew that his comment was spot on. He paid for the drinks and they carried them to an empty table next to the manically flashing fruit machine. Pierce fed an alarming amount of pound coins into the machine without any success.

‘So how’d it go with Mandy last night?’ Curtis asked Pierce when he rejoined them with lighter pockets.

Pierce shook his head. ‘Not good.’