It’s Christmas day one year ago and I’m about to receive a proposal of marriage from the man I’m currently holding hands with.

I don’t know how this is happening. I must be dreaming. Yes, that’s it. I’d fantasised the whole thing. And I’m still fantasising now. That business with the shooting star in my bedroom? Whatever! Complete madness that only occurs in dreams.

The best thing about dreams is: once you know you’re dreaming you can pretty much have your way with things. Although, glancing around, I don’t particularly remember any of my dreams being this steady. Normally my dreams (that I can remember come the morning) shift from moment to moment. This dream is showing me one setting only, and it’s the exact same process that happened last Christmas.

Except this time I know what’s in store for me.

Finally, I wipe what must be a confused look off my face and return my boyfriend’s smile. He brushes his gloved fingers through his slightly messy blonde hair and leads the way up the path.

After ringing the bell the door is whisked open by my boyfriend’s father, a completely bald, rotund man in his late fifties. Standing beside him, wiping her hands on her apron is my boyfriend’s mum. She’s the same age as her husband and of course she has hair, blonde, greying hair.

“Isla!” She opens her arms and gives me a cheery hug.

“Welcome home, son.” His father pats Mark warmly on the back and we enter the house.

“Happy Christmas, Phillip.” I nod at Mark’s father and then at Lydia, his mum.

“And a happy Christmas to you too, Isla darling… son.” Lydia gives Mark a kiss on his cheek and we all make our way into the sitting room.

The fire is roaring and I couldn’t possibly feel more content in this lovely dream I’m having. Phillip brings me a mug of mulled wine and I didn’t even have to wish for it in my subconscious.

Everything is as I remember it. The Christmas tree in the window sparkles with festive warmth. We all sit down for a delightful yule tide meal. After dinner I know what’s coming when Mark rises to his feet and taps his wine glass with a fork, making a tinkling sound.

“I have an announcement to make,” he clears his throat nervously. “Err… I mean… I have a question to make…”

Mark’s voice trails off and tears of joy spring to my eyes. I particularly remember this moment from a year ago. I certainly wasn’t smiling then. But back then I wasn’t dreaming like I am now. I remember the confusion I’d felt when Mark had first begun speaking. Now? I’m at peace. Actually, in this dream I feel elated. I know what he’s trying to say! And I know what my dreamy answer will be this time!

“Mark?” Lydia looks at her son wearily. “Are you all right, darling?”

My soon to be dream-time-betrothed clears his throat again and wipes his forehead. He’s suddenly started sweating. “Yes, mum. I’m fine thanks. I was just going to ask Isla to marry me.”

When Mark realises how he just blurted out his proposal, he crumples and plonks down into his chair. Turning to me he apologises. “I’m sorry for that, Izzy…” I love it when he uses my nick name… “I really wanted this to be special.”

He looks so forlorn. His mother, Mrs Wilson, looks stunned and Mr Wilson looks hungry. He’s still eating.

“It’s okay, Mark,” I pull his hand away from his forehead. “My answer is yes.”

Tears spring to my eyes when Mark looks up to me, because he has tears in his eyes too. I’m guessing they’re tears of joy because the next thing I know he’s pulled me in close and is peppering my face with small kisses.

I revel in the feelings of happiness this dream is bringing me.

 

“Oh, Izzy,” Mark says, once he’s finished smothering me with affection. “You’ve made me the happiest man on earth.” He puts me at arm’s length. “Do you know what this means?”

Internally I’m just letting this dream take me where it will. I’ve done my part by accepting his proposal, from here on out I don’t know what my subconscious might conjure up.

“What does it mean, my darling Mark?”

“It means we don’t have to worry about university any longer. It means we can be together forever and start a family straight away!”

“Oh, Mark!” Flinging my arms around him I feel filled with…

I was about to say rapturous happiness, but then his words click in my mind.

This time, I put him at arm’s length. “What do you mean we don’t have to worry about university?”

“Isn’t it obvious, my darling?” He’s smiling largely at me. “If we’re going to get married we’ll have to skip our final uni terms. I’ll get a job, a mortgage and I’ll get you pregnant, my wonderful Izzy.” When he says pregnant he pokes me in the stomach with a finger.

“Whoa… wait a minute… please tell me you’re joking.” I don’t think I like the way my dream Mark is talking. Does he really expect me to jump at the chance at what, ruining my life? “I’m not quitting university, and I’m certainly not getting pregnant.”

Suddenly I realise I can hear sounds of sobbing. Turning, Mark and I both look across the table.

Mark’s mum is crying into her hands while Mr Wilson tries to console her. “Look what you’ve done to your poor mother, boy. We’ve worked our arses off to send you to university. What do you think you’re playing at behaving like this?”

It’s official. This once wonderful dream has become a nightmare. I never heard Mr Wilson speak like that to his son in real life, and I certainly never saw Mrs Wilson cry. I can’t blame her though. Dream Mark seems to have lost his mind.

“Oh my lord, Lydia, please.” I dash around the table and I’m at her side in less than a second. “Mark’s just getting a bit ahead of himself. He’s not going to quit uni, don’t worry.”

“Izzy.” I look up at my recently betrothed. “I’m serious about this.”

“Oh you are, are you?” I stand straight. “Mark Wilson, come with me this instant.”

Did I really just demand from him like his mother would? I don’t care. This is my dream and I’m damn well going to straighten things out so that it will continue to be a happy one.

Mark’s face looks pouty like an errant child’s. Nevertheless, he follows me out of the dining room. Together, we sit on the sofa.

“What was that all about?”

He takes my hand in his. “What do you mean? You said you wanted to marry me? Well, married people have kids together, right?”

I look at him. Dream Mark really seems like the real thing. As though he’s saying all the things he didn’t get to last year when I’d declined his offer of marriage.

“Yes, Mark, married couples do have kids, but not straight away. Why are you in such a hurry?”

Tears fill Mark’s eyes. “Mum has cancer, Izzy.”

Oh dear god. My own eyes fill with tears as well. “How…? Why…?” I’m so confused. Why would my subconscious be playing out my dream like this? What if, back in reality, Mrs Wilson did really develop cancer last year? After Mark and I had split, I hadn’t spoken to his parents at all. I’d just cut them from my life as sharply as I’d run screaming away from Mark and his proposal.

Is this why he’d never contacted me? Had he been busy with his dying mother?

“Oh, Mark.” I wrap my arms around him.

“I just can’t think of a better way, Izzy.” He mumbles into my jumper. “I can’t be bothered with uni anymore, I just want us to be together forever. I don’t want to lose…”

His words die out on a sob of anguish.

Tears pour down my cheeks. I don’t know what to say. I wish I could wake from this horrible nightmare right now and call the Mark of a year from now to ask him how his mum is doing.

Oh I’m such a low-life. How could I have left him a year ago like I did?

Sniffling, I suck up my tears and lean away. “Listen to me, Mark.” Our gazes are fixed. I stare at his red rimmed eyes and it tears at me that none of this is real. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I want to marry you, yes, with all my heart I do. But quitting university and having babies isn’t the answer. What we need to do is talk to your mother. You’re going to be able to be there for her, and so am I.”

He smiles at me. “I suppose you’re right. It’s just that when I heard about her cancer I panicked.”

I’m probably being calmer about the situation because it’s not real. Every emotion I’m feeling is real though, and I can’t bring myself to just start smacking and pinching my cheeks in attempts at waking up.

Even if I’m only dreaming it’s given me food for thought. I have a lot of things to make up for once I wake.

Together, Mark and I go back into the dining room. Mrs Wilson has stopped crying and I throw my arms around her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She looks at her husband. “Oh, Phillip, you didn’t blab, did you?”

He looks at his lap, guiltily. “He’s our son, Lydia, he has a right to know about his own mother’s health.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake.” Mrs Wilson stands and throws down her serviette. “I’m guessing your father failed to mention it’s perfectly treatable cancer?”

“Dad!” Mark shouts at the same time I chorus, “Mr Wilson!”

He looks guilty again. “Oh sorry, I must have failed to mention that.”

“Phillip, you naughty boy, you must have frightened Mark and Isla to death.” She looks up at us. “I take it this means you won’t be quitting university and… how did you put it, dear?” She shakes her head at Mark. “Get Isla pregnant straight away!”

Now it’s my boyfriend’s turn to look guilty and ashamed. “Err… sorry about that, Mum.” He apologises while rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I just thought you were in danger of… of…”

Tears fill his eyes once again. I’m sure no one in this room wants him to finish that sentence if it ends with the word dying.

“What a Christmas!” Mrs Wilson starts giggling. She goes to her son and gives him a big weepy hug. “Don’t you worry kids, I’m not going anywhere any time soon.” She winks at me and enfolds me into the cuddle. I’m expecting Mr Wilson to join us in our festive group hug, but when we all pull apart I can see he’s already sat back down and is delightfully tucking into third helpings of Christmas dinner.

“If anyone’s going anywhere tonight it will be your father.” Mark and I look at Lydia. Even Phillip looks up from his plate as she continues, “You’re going to leave this table and get yourself stuck onto the toilet for the rest of the night if you don’t slow down!”

Everyone has a good laugh at that and I’m starting to believe I know where the term laughter is the best medicine comes from. It was a phrase born in hard times. Times like this where, for a moment, I thought someone in my life was in terminal health. I’m relieved to know that Mark’s mother has things in hand with her health. I dread to think how ruined this Christmas would be otherwise.

And then it hits me all over again.

This isn’t a real Christmas. It’s a dream. I’m not having joyous giggles and family revelations with my loved ones. I haven’t even really accepted Mark’s proposal of marriage.

It’s all in my mind.

None of this happiness is real.

I stop smiling. Turning, I wander quietly into the sitting room. I move close to the sparkling Christmas tree. It’s decorated so prettily and all the colourful lights upon it twinkle like stardust.

“Izzy?” It’s Mark. He’s followed me in here. “Are you all right?”

“I… I’m fine.” Shit. My voice just warbled. Dream Mark will know I’m lying. Swiping away a tear from my cheek, I turn to him with a smile. Might as well make the most of this dream while it lasts. “I love you.” I tell him.

“I love you too, Izzy. Why do you think I proposed?”

Snorting a little laugh, I raise my brows. “So you still want to marry me?”

“What? Darling, of course I do! Come here.” He enfolds me in his arms.

“I just thought you proposed because you were worried about your mum.” Now it’s my turn to mumble into his warm woolly jumper.

Mark puts his finger under my chin and tips my head up. “Izzy, I proposed to you because I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Damn this dream. It’s gone from lovely to horrible, and back to a horrible kind of lovely all over again. Mark’s words undo me. I remember how much I loved him a year ago. I don’t want to wake from this dream because it will mean that all of this will end.

“Now, what do you say we get you pregnant straight away?”

I’m aghast at Mark’s statement, and then I notice the cheeky grin on his face.

“Only joking,” he whispers lovingly in my ear.

“Don’t do that!” I knock him gently on the arm. “You’re twisted, you know that?”

He laughs. I giggle quietly, never wanting this moment between us to end.

“I never had a chance to give this to you properly.”

When I pull away from Mark I notice he’s holding a small blue box in his hand that reads Tiffany on the lid.

I gasp and my hand flies to my chest. My heart has started beating rapidly enough to surely wake me from this dream.

“Oh, Mark, you didn’t.”

“I did indeed.” He starts to open the box. “I hope you don’t mind that I went ahead and picked out a ring. I think you might like it, Izzy.”

Like it? I know I’m going to love it!

I’m holding my breath. It shouldn’t matter, because I’m dreaming. However, soon enough I realise I’m going to have to let some air into my lungs before they burst.

Finally, Mark lifts the lid completely. “What do you think?” He asks. I’m truly at a loss for words. I look up at him. He's smiling so lovingly down at me. “Izzy? Is something wrong? You hate the ring, don’t you?”

I look back down at the box in Mark’s hand. The box that contains not a ring, like Mark keeps saying, but an item I’ve come to loath.

Staring up at me on a bed of black velvet is a pair of jiggle balls. Pink jiggle balls dotted with yellow stars. Those stupid horrible yellow stars. When I look up all I see are those bloody stars. They’re all over the Christmas tree, blinking at me. Starlights, shining bright, blinding my eyes.

“Izzy!” Mark grabs me round my waist. It’s a good thing too, because I’m feeling rather light headed.

I can’t see his face. “Mark.” I know I just shouted his name, but it sounds like a faint whisper.

Oh no…

Mark.

His image is fading fast. It’s being replaced by the light of a bright star that’s emanating from the Christmas tree. The dot of light melds into the box in his hand and that’s when the stupid little jiggle balls start to glow.

“Mark.” I say his name one last time. My dream is ending, I know this in my heart. I make a silent vow to remember this dream. I have to remember. I need to call Mark, wherever he is, the moment I wake.

“I love you.” I mumble one last time as the light from the diabolical jiggle balls engulfs me and my vision goes blank.

 

I wake to the sound of Christmas music playing at top volume.

“IT’S CHRIIIIIIIIISTMAS!” Screams into my head.

Sitting bold upright, I rub my bleary eyes. Scrabbling with my hands, I have to feel along the bedside table because my eyes are glued shut with sleepy dryness.

Finally, I find the stereo remote and hit the mute button.

Blessed silence engulfs me and I crash back down onto my pillow.

“Told you setting that music alarm was a bad idea.”

At the sound of a man’s voice lying next to me in bed, I sit right back up again. Rubbing my eyes I open them to see Mark lying there.

“What are you doing here?” I practically scream this as I jump out of bed.

“Very funny.” Mark shakes his head at me. “Are you having an Izzy moment like last year?”

I’m huffing and puffing in frantic, nervous breaths. “An Izzy moment?”

Mark sits up. He’s shirtless and despite the incredible situation, I can’t help noticing his abs are as terrific as ever. “Yes, an Izzy moment where you pass out because it’s Christmas day.”

I pass out? “Do you mean how I fainted last Christmas?”

Wait… Why did I just say that? Where did that memory come from? Didn’t Mark and I break up last Christmas?

Mark nods his head. “I wouldn’t get too excited about your gifts this year, I haven’t bought you anything from Tiffany.”

What’s he talking about? Hang on. It’s coming to me. Memories of the past year are swirling into my brain like some kind of abnormally quick computer upload.

How is this happening?

“Excuse me for a minute, will you?”

Running out of the bedroom. My bedroom. In my flat on the fifth floor, I make a beeline for the sitting room. When I get there I notice everything looks different. The furniture is not where it was when I went to bed last night. Did I go to bed last night? I don’t remember doing so. There’s a huge Christmas tree decorated with lights near the window.

One thing is the same though, and it’s the fact that my handbag and shopping bags are on the mislocated sofa.

I hear a sudden spray of water. Turning my head sharply towards the noise, I realise it’s Mark. He’s hopped into the shower.

Mark. My ex-boyfriend from a year ago. He’s here in my flat on Christmas day. I look at the nearby wall calendar to discover it’s the right year and the right date that it should be.

This is really happening. I remember last Christmas like it was a dream and everything in between, from then until now, is a combination of muddy thoughts within my mind.

I race towards the shopping bag on the sofa. Scooping it up I dump out the contents and a black box falls out onto the cushion. Opening the lid I find the jiggle balls sex toy lying there on its bed of black velvet.

I’m tempted to hurl this thing at the wall in frustration, but that won’t help sort out my brain at all. Instead, I scrape my phone off a nearby table and start dialling the number for Cherry’s shop that’s printed on the inside lid of the box.

“Cheery Cherry’s,” she says when she picks up the phone. “How can I help you, Isla?”

“You know it’s me! I knew it! What’s wrong with these bloody balls?”

“Wrong?” On the other end of the line, her voice is annoyingly calm.

“Yes, wrong!” I shout. My ex-boyfriend is here… and… and…!”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

She’s got me there. I can’t find a reason that would suggest there is anything at all wrong with Mark being here.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with it, but something is definitely not right.”

“Oh but it is very right, Isla. It’s the right path your life was meant to take. And now that you’re on the right track, things will begin to settle in your mind, you’ll see.”

Who? Why? And what is this woman talking about?

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Isla.” I think Cherry is actually whispering to me, yet I can hear her plain as day. “My father is a warlock and my mother’s a fate. You’ve been my first project and I dare say I’ve come out winning!” Her voice rises in pitch. “Sometimes our fates take a wrong turn in life. You’re one of the lucky ones who had me to step in and bring your Mark back to you.”

She what? Her mum and dad are what?

Click.

She hung up on me! I try dialling the number back, but I’m told by a recording that it’s a number that’s not in service.

Double checking the phone number on the inside of the box makes me go cross-eyed. It’s changing. The shop name and number no longer reads Cheery Cherry’s, it says Ann Summers.

But I know I didn’t go into Ann Summers yesterday! It was closed!

Or was it? Actually, the more I think about things, I’m not quite sure. Why am I holding this present wide open anyway? Simon won’t be too pleased that I failed to deliver his wife’s Christmas gift last night.

I look down at the box in my hand as Mark comes into the room wearing only a towel.

“What do you have there?” He grumbles. “Oh, Izzy. You naughty girl. You haven’t started opening your pressies already, have you?”

I look at him, dumbfounded. “What, no I—”

“I’m just winding you up.” Mark closes the distance between us. “What on earth?” He grins, looking down at the box in my hand.

“Oh!” My face burns with embarrassment. “This thing isn’t for me, it’s for Simon’s wife!”

“Are you sure?” Mark winks at me, pulls me close and start nuzzling my neck. “Maybe you should keep them for yourself.”

I gasp. “Mark, really! I wouldn’t know the first thing to do with these silly things!” I’m laughing now as Mark whips off his towel. He kisses me passionately and I return his kiss with a longing passion.

When I finally pull away, I’m slightly confused. “Why do I feel like I haven’t kissed you in a really long time? Like it’s been a whole year?”

Mark snorts a laugh. “Oh my darling wife, are you going to be dizzy for gifts like this every Christmas?”

Wife. Yes. That’s right. I’m Mark’s wife. I have been for the past six months now. Glancing at the solitaire diamond ring on my left hand, I get a strange feeling that this is the first time I’m seeing it. But soon enough I decide I’m being silly. And then another thought strikes me.

“Mark! Your mum!”

“What about my mum?” He’s busy nuzzling my neck so his words are muffled.

“She has cancer!”

Mark pulls away from me and puts his hand on my forehead. “Maybe you should go back to bed, Izzy. I think you’ve got a fever. You know my mother had treatment for her cancer back in January. She’s had the all-clear ever since.”

“Oh! Right… yes… of course I know that. Sorry. Don’t know what’s come over me today.”

“I know perfectly well what’s come over you, my beautiful wife.”

“Do you now?” I look up at my gorgeous –and very naked- husband. “And what’s that?”

“Who, Izzy. It’s me. I’m going to come all over you in a minute.”

“Oh!” I smack my naughty husband playfully on his nude shoulder. “In your dreams, mister!”

Talking of which, a dreamy feeling of contentment washes over me as Mark tackles me and tumbles me onto the sofa. I don’t care though. I’m happy. It’s Christmas day and I can’t even remember what it was I woke up feeling confused about.

Everything is okay. Everything seems right. Except for the fact that the box of jiggle balls for my friend’s wife seems to be glowing from where it sits on the floor.

Is that some new technology in sex toys? Whatever. I don’t care. I’m with the love of my life on Christmas day. I feel like I’ve been given a second chance and I’m more than ready to cherish every minute of this day. Especially when my husband’s love-making tactics rolls us both onto the carpeted floor.

The box of jiggle balls stops glowing and I’m already starting to think it was just something I imagined.

 

Story 4

Booty Call

 

It's the middle of the night when my phone rings. How could I have forgotten to put the damn thing on silent? I know perfectly well that some social networks are able to override push notifications and BAM! Hundreds of status updates pour in, waking me at an unreasonable hour.

Or should I say BLEEP? Because that's what my phone usually does with push notifications. Although that's not what it's doing now, it's actually ringing, telling me I have a call coming in.

Crap! It must be an emergency call. Why else would someone ring me in the middle of the night?

Rolling over in bed and up into a seated position, I snag my phone off the nightstand. There is too much hair in my face now so I can't quite see the screen. I hit the face of the phone to take the call.

"Hello?" My voice is a croak of tiredness.

"Hello to you, my future wife." His voice is deep, penetrating. Hormones instantly shoot out of my brain in response to the sound of his baritone. Emotions chase each other around the inside of my body, landing in the one place they can only end up; at the cataclysm of my libido.

"Teehee." I giggle stupidly. Why do I always turn into a gibbering mess when this guy calls me? Even at two in the morning. Especially at two in the morning! I was probably just dreaming about him anyway. After all, I did fall sleep earlier listening to his voice pour out of the radio. "What are you talking about, Marcus?"

"I just want you to know how much you mean to me, baby." Normally I hate it when a guy calls me 'baby', but in his case I'll make an exception.

"You do know you can call me here at the station. I'm working an early night."

Oh so that's why he called me so late. Marcus is a radio DJ and apparently he's switched to the night shift. I'm trying to stifle a yawn when I reply. I don't want him to think I was actually sleeping at this time of night. That would be deeply uncool.

Marcus interviews celebrities, I'm lucky he even acknowledges my existence.

"Oops." I titter nervously. "I forgot to call you." Okay so I'm blitzed tired after working overtime at the local tourist board all day, but when Marcus the DJ calls, you answer straight away!

I was sent to be interviewed by him a few weeks ago, to do some radio promo for our town tourism. When I got to the station house in the city I was nicely surprised to discover that Marcus didn't have a face for radio. He's very handsome.

Oh my brain. Why am I feeling like such a silly head over Marcus and his goodlooks? Oh yeah: because I'm tired, yet pleased he's called.

"I know how you can make it up to me, Lauren." He said my name! "Say you'll come to my place tonight. Right now."

What the? "Now?" I frown and rub my tired eyes.

"Yeah, baby," Marcus coos like a wannabe Austin Powers, but his voice is much more sexy than the snaggle toothed Brit's, so I'll let him get away with it.

"I'm off work now, so let's hook up. Be spontaneous with me." He sort of whispers this request, sexily.

"Okay!" I respond eagerly. He's right. I've never done anything spontaneous in the middle of the night before. And this is a celebrity DJ I'm talking too. I should be grateful he bothered to call me.

Marcus gives me his address and I punch it into my phone maps. After showering quickly I brush on mascara and head out the door. Luckily the car I drive is a convertible. It is night time and I do freeze my scalp with the top down during the seven mile drive, but it was the only way I could think to blast dry my long dark hair in time.

Something cramps in my abdominal area. "Oh shit no." I cry out into the noisy open air. Please don't tell me I'm starting my period.

Picking up my phone, I dial Marcus. "I think I've got cramps!" I shout down the line.

The wind howls into the phone and Marcus yells back. "You've got crabs?"

"No!" I practically scream. "Not crabs, cramps! Menstrual cramps!" Oh my hell. What is wrong with me? Why did I call him to tell him about this in the first place? I suppose sub-consciously I know Marcus is going to at least want to make out with me. I just thought I'd warn him that full on sex might not happen tonight. "Never mind!" I shout over the howling wind. "I'll be there in five minutes."

"You want to do what with my peni—"

Click.

I hang up before Marcus can finish his question. I really don't want to know how he misheard me for the second time.

 

I arrive at the address Marcus gave me and I'm impressed with the place immediately. It's a waterside residence along the riverfront.

After smoothing down my tangled hair, I make my way to his front door. It's really dark out and I'm wishing his place wasn't so far from the nearest street lights.

As I walk up the concrete porch steps, Marcus opens the door. He smiles the smile of sunshine in the middle of the night. Gosh he's good looking with his dark hair and eyes. I'm about to apologise for the recent phone call when Marcus pulls me inside, kicking the door shut behind him with a heel.

"You are stunning." He says, that grin still plastered across his face. "I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever met." He's holding me at the waist and it's a good thing too. My knees are about to buckle from all this flattery.

I don't know how to respond. I don't want him to kiss me yet. What if things get really hot and heavy and we decide to take it all the way? I still don't know if I've started my period or not!

"Ummm, thanks." I mumble with a sheepish grin. "Can I use your bathroom?" I need to check my undies, but I'm not going to tell him that.

“Yeah, sure.” Marcus directs me to the bathroom and I do my business in a hurry. Thankfully, I haven’t started my period. When I get back into the livingroom I find Marcus sitting on his couch with a glass of wine.

“That’s going to make you fall asleep!” I bark a laugh. Jeez! I’m such an imbecile when I’m nervous.

“I’m a night owl.” Marcus winks at me and stands. He takes a sip of wine and sidles toward me. He wraps one arm around my middle and that’s when I go off on a tangent, for some unknown reason.

I start blabbing about my day and how I’d done the outdoor woodlands tour, and how I’m so tired, and how I can’t believe he invited me here, and—

Suddenly, Marcus smashes his lips onto mine. I’m momentarily shocked. My eyes bulge and I freeze up. His mouth is cold, thanks to the white wine he’s been sipping, and when he opens his lips I taste the flavour of the chardonnay.

It’s not that his spontaneous kiss is unpleasant. It just feels a little weird having his face thrust into mine so urgently.

Oh. Mmmmm. Yeah, okay. I'm totally going with this. I'm kissing Marcus the DJ and it's great! Isn't it? He's a pretty good kisser. We're really getting into it now when just as suddenly as it began, Marcus pulls away. Actually, he pulls me down after abruptly ending our kiss with a loud popping sound of suction.

"Sorry about this carpet." Marcus mumbles. "It's gross, but oh well."

I don't know how to respond now that he he's leaning over me, pressing me down onto the gross carpet he's speaking of. Not exactly romantic words happening here.

"I'm replacing the carpet soon." He adds, still not stirring my libido in any way shape or form.

"Maybe we should get up off this carpet if it's so gross—"

"It will do." Marcus interrupts me by once again smashing a kiss onto my lips.

I've decided he's a smash kisser. Whatever that is. I don't like it very much, but I'm already lying down, so maybe if I relax I'll enjoy myself more.

 

Something just happened. I think it was sex. I distinctly remember trying to get myself in the mood about thirty seconds ago, then before I knew it, it was all over.

Intercourse happened and this is the first time I've ever felt like it went on without my knowledge. I guess this is a good thing, right? It was a passionate quickie. Spontaneous love making in the middle of the night brought on by two people who were so hot for each other there was simply no other option. It was meant to be. Although, I'm pretty sure both parties involved are supposed to come away satisfied in the end. That is definitely not what's happened for me. I never even had time to build up any sort of desire before the entire deed was done!

Marcus rolls off me with a gasp. He doesn't even help me to my feet when I reach a hand up. He just grabs his glass of wine and walks out of the room. "Do you want a drink?" He bellows back at me, probably as an afterthought.

"No thanks." Scrambling to my feet, I shift my clothes around and in two seconds flat I'm fully dressed and ready to go. If that was a passionate quickie, I'm sure not showing any signs of it. There's not even a single wrinkle in the skirt I wore. I thought at least my bra was supposed to get a little bit torn up during spontaneous boomboom. My hair isn't even messed up, just windblown from driving here with my convertible car top down.

Marcus comes back into the livingroom, his wine glass refilled to the rim. He yawns grandly. “I guess you better head out, it’s really late and I have to get up early for the morning shift at the station.”

“You’re right!” I exclaim. “It’s way late.” It must be at least 5am by now and I’m really starting to feel a lag of tiredness wash over me.

Digging through my bag, I look at the time on my phone. It’s only been thirty minutes since I got here. For a moment I’m stunned. I thought it was much later than that. Surely I haven’t only been here for a half hour, and I’m leaving already? I thought I was going to get a chance to chat with Marcus, but things got intense really quickly and…

“So!” Marcus huffs loudly, yawning huge again. “I guess you’re gonna go now, right? You look tired, babe. My future wife needs her sleep if she’s going to dinner with me tomorrow night, right?”

Oh! Dinner? Is he saying he’s going to take me to dinner tomorrow night? “Ummm, yeah.” I rub an eye. “I guess I am tired. And dinner would be nice—”

“Okay see you tomorrow!” Marcus sort of shoves me at the waist towards the front door. I suppose he’s in a hurry because he’s got to get some sleep. I feel bad for keeping him up so I shuffle outside a bit more quickly.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I turn around with my lips puckered for a goodbye kiss.

“Laters!” Marcus slams the door shut in my face.

“Bye.” I whisper to the door, walk to my car and hop in.

The drive home is weird and I don’t even notice I left the convertible top down until I’m back at my place.

After putting the top up on my car, I head inside and crash into bed. I’m so tired, and a bit dazed, I fall asleep the moment my head hits the pillow.

 

Sunlight wakens me with a bit of heat from the window on my face. Blearily, I open my eyes and look at the alarm clock. Why do I feel so damn tired? Oh yeah, I did that stupid woodland tour yesterday. Must have sapped me of a lot more energy than I thought.

Rolling over in bed I bunch up the pillow. I just need five more minutes in the sack before getting up. Just a little more sleep so I can return to that crazy dream I had about Marcus the DJ.

Holy sex on a grody carpet. That was not a dream!

I've realised this in a flash. Why? Because I'm still dressed in the outfit I wore to his last night.

I've sat bolt upright in bed. My hair is standing five feet in the air. I can see my reflection in the full length mirror against the wall. I guess with all that wind through my locks, it's caused my follicles to freak out in a spring of frizz.

I feel like my hair looks. I'm excited about seeing Marcus again for dinner tonight. Aren't I? For some strange reason I don't really appreciate the memory that was made last night. I wasn't planning on having sex with him. I definitely wasn't planning on having FAST sex.

It's good though. At least I now know he has a very nice penis.

Yes. Last night's quickie was a good thing. We know each other's private parts now. I might have been disappointed if I'd gone on a million dates with the guy without first having had sex with him. I would have discovered too late that his penis was small, or something. Not that size matters, I'm sure. I was once with a guy who was way too big for my liking. Too big for any liking at all. Just: ouch.

It's actually a bad thing that Marcus has a perfect penis, because now I like him even more!

I jump out of bed. I've finally decided that last night was meant to be. It wasn't an amazing evening, or anything like that, but I'll be seeing Marcus for dinner tonight and we can slow things down. We won't be sleeping together again so soon. It will be a proper date and we will get to have some lovely conversation with each other.

 

"Lauren!" 

I look up in a daze and realise my sister was just asking me something. I’ve come to her bakery, as per her request, to try out some new majorly fattening samples.

It’s all good and well for Rachel. She has a hollow leg and can eat anything without putting on a single pound. Me? I have to starve myself and workout all day if I so much as eat a single gram of carbs. I’ll be working off today’s sample testings at the gym later, for sure.

"Sorry, Rache. What was your question?"

My sister sighs loudly and hands me a cupcake. "Do you like my new recipe, or what?" She commands me to take a bite. "What's with your hair anyway?"

Smoothing down my frizzed out mane, I take another bite of cupcake. “Mmmm.” I sigh loudly. Once I started concentrating on the flavour, I’ve realised this is really good. “It tastes delish, Rache!”

My sister scowls at me. “You’re not just saying that to get me off your back, are you?” I shake my head, no.

“Seriously,” I mumble with a mouth full of yumminess. “This is like ambrosia.”

“Isn’t that a drink for the gods?”

“I think so.”

“But this isn’t liquid, it’s a solid mass of cupcake!”

“Chill out! I said I liked it!”

Why do I even come here? My sister and I will always find the stupidest things to argue about.

It’s no wonder we always fight. As kids we had to share a bedroom while growing up. Her and I are quite close in age too. I’m twenty-three and she’s two years younger than me. We look so much alike people often mistake us for twins.

“Yeah, okay.” Finally Rachel concedes. “So are you going to the bar tonight?”

“Nope. I’ve got a hot date!”

Rachel’s eyebrows have raised upwards in curiosity. “Oh really? With whom?”

Uh oh. I shouldn’t have blabbed. I know perfectly well that Rache doesn’t like Marcus. She thinks he’s a player ever since that one time when he said he would take me out for drinks. I ended up sitting with Marcus in his car, just outside the bar where Rachel and her husband were waiting, and where Marcus had said to meet him. I’d told Rachel that he didn’t want to come inside because he wasn’t dressed nice. She told me that I was an idiot who couldn’t see the fact that he just didn’t want to be seen in public with me. She claimed he must have a girlfriend.

I’m wary now. “Oh, just some guy I met... ummm… on an internet dating site.” Why the fuck did I just say that?

“You what?” Rachel shouts.

An internet dating website? Somehow I’m sure she’ll think that’s even worse than trying to date Marcus the DJ.

“You are hopeless, you know that, Lauren? Why do you always date freaks?”

“Marcus isn’t a freak!”

"Oh!" Rachel exclaims. "I knew it! You're an idiot, Lauren."

 

Whatever. I wasn't about to take anymore crap from Rache, so I left her bakery in a hurry. Besides, I need to get ready for my hot date tonight. This time I will be seen in public with Marcus. That'll show Rachel. I'll be showing off to everyone, so I had better get my outfit right.

I don't know where Marcus is taking me for dinner, so I text him to ask. He doesn't text back soon enough though, and I'm starting to worry. Finally, I decide on what to wear all by myself. If Marcus isn't going to get in touch soon, I'll have to be the one to decide where we go for dinner tonight.

I put on my newest LBD. It's a little black dress with attitude in the form of a haltertop style on the front. If I'm finally going to snag a meal, courtesy of Marcus, I'm going to suggest a very posh local indeed.

When the time on my phone shows it’s getting late, and the only person I've heard from via text message is Rachel telling me she'll be waiting for me at the bar (meaning: she thinks I won’t be dining with a certain DJ) I decide to head on over to Marcus's.

I drive into the city to his place and park my car. I hop out, ring his doorbell and wait only a matter of seconds before the door is opened. Except, the door isn't opened by Marcus. It's a woman who’s probably in her fifties.

"Oh!" I exclaim. "Is umm Marcus here?"

"Who?" The woman frowns at me. I can see inside and the carpeted interior is a plush white.

That's not the disgusting dark brown carpet Marcus and I made love on last night.

Oops! I must have the wrong place! All the homes along this street look quite similar. And it WAS the middle of the night when I'd shown up in this area, I must have been tired and gotten my navigation mixed up today.

"Sorry!" I blurt with a huge embarrassed grin on my face. "I think I've got the wrong address."

"Yes. I should say so." The woman keeps on frowning before shutting the door in my face. Well, why wouldn't she? I'm standing here like an idiot when I should obviously be knocking on the next door along the road. And that's just what I do.

Unfortunately, I end up knocking on the doors of five more houses before I give up. None of them have gross carpeting inside. Marcus DID say he was getting his carpet replaced, but could he have done so in the few hours since last night?

Wow, I'm confused. I'm standing on a street corner in my LBD with nowhere to go for dinner, having been stood up by a guy who’s apparently capable of vanishing his whole house in less than a day.

I return to my car. I don't know if I'm upset that I've been stood up, or if I'm too confused to care. Turning the key in the ignition yields only a clicking sound, and then nothing all together after the tenth try.

Great. Fantastic.

I bang my hands onto the steering wheel in frustration. On top of feeling personally humiliated, I've now got to sit here for even longer on this road until I can find someone to help me start my car. I knew I should have gotten a breakdown service with my auto insurance. Now I'm just going to have to phone a friend instead, otherwise a tow truck is going to cost a fortune. I'm definitely not calling Rachel. She'd do nothing but gloat and tell me she told me so, repeatedly. I don't know who else to call. All of our mutual friends are at the local bar tonight, back in town, because of the band who's playing there.

I decide to text Aaron. He's been asking me out since senior year in high school. This wouldn't count as a date, but I'm sure he'd be willing to help me discreetly. He's the only person I can think of who won't let this disastrous situation get back to my sister. Yes, he'll probably already be at the bar, but he never talks to Rache and I'll tell him to definitely NOT talk to her tonight.

And that's the message I send. Asking him to help me out, but to tell no one else in the process. If he doesn't text me back I'm going to have to walk the seven miles back home, because there is no way in hell I'm asking my sister for help—

My phone rings. It's Aaron. He's on his way!

 

"You are a life saver, Aaron.”

"No prob, Lauren. Now let's jump you." Aaron and I laugh when he says this. I don't know why I never did take him up on an offer of a date before. He's a funny guy. Always has been.

As he hooks up the negative clamp in my car to the negative one in mine, I can't help but cry out in surprise.

"Don't do that!" I play slap Aaron on his arm for pretending like he's just been electrocuted.

"I should have fake fainted." Aaron grins. "Then maybe you'd be forced to attempt CPR on me and I'd finally get a kiss."

The moment he lifts his head from underneath the front of my car, I plant one on him. He's startled, for a moment, but eventually his body softens into the kiss. I'd only meant to give him a little peck, but this is turning into a rather nice long ish smooch.

Finally pulling away slowly, I smile at him. "That's to say thanks for rescuing me."

"Damn, girl." Aaron growls like a blonde wannabe homie. "I wish your car broke down a long time ago."

"Oh thanks a lot!" I back away grinning.

Aaron jumps my car battery, myself being fully aware that he'd probably also like to jump me too. When everything is charged up we both get on the road. I agreed to meet him at the bar after much resistance on my part. I didn’t want Rachel to know about my Marcus gaff, but she’s bound to find out eventually anyway. If anything, seeing our favourite band will take my mind off tonight's major let-down.

 

At the bar the scene is jamming. All of our friends are here. It's a small town, I like this kind of evening. Who needs Marcus the DJ anyway? I probably only fell for him because he seemed like a minor celebrity. What a shallow individual I truly must be.

"Resident idiot reporting for duty." I tap my sister on the shoulder and shout over the loud music. She turns to me with pursed lips.

"You're not an idiot, Lauren. Marcus is just a total jerk."

"Whatever! I don't care about him anymore." I grab her hands. "Let's dance!" I try to pull her onto the dance floor, but she pushes me back toward Aaron instead.

"My sister was supposed to have a hot date tonight, Aaron. You should take her out to dinner!" She makes googly eyes at him, as though she's trying to tell him something she doesn't want me to know.

"Hey!" I take offence. "I don't need your pity." I'm about to rush onto the dance floor when I see him.

It's Marcus. He's here and he's with a woman that his lips are currently attached to.

My heart falls into my stomach. I feel betrayed and I barely know the guy. I was intimate with him just last night though. He lied to me when he said we'd have dinner, just so I'd leave. And Rachel? I turn to her. "You knew he was here." That's why she was trying to get me to go with Aaron. She didn't want me to see Marcus.

A tear slides down my cheek.

"He's here to interview the band for his radio station!" Rachel yells. He got here about an hour ago. I didn't think you were going to show up here, Lauren. If you want me to, I'll go punch him in the face for you!"

She would too. As much as my sister and I argue, we stick up for each other no matter what.

"I don't think that will be necessary, Rachel." Aaron puts his arm around my shoulder. "She's just had a little heartbreak and it's nothing dinner with me won't cure."

He's right. How did he know to say that? I'm not hugely traumatised by Marcus's presence, I'm just a little bit sad. And time spent with a guy as sweet as Aaron is honestly what I need right now. Dinner with a kind friend.

Before we turn to leave, Marcus glances my way. Surprisingly, he looks slightly ashamed. When Aaron takes me by the waist and steers me toward the door, the look on Marcus's face changes to one of anger. A look I'm perfectly okay with. After this moment I will never think about his stupid face ever again. Especially now that I'm finally going on a date with a familiar face. I probably know Aaron better than I realise. And if I'm wrong about that I'm more than willing to learn. Over time. Over more time than it takes to be a booty call for one night!

 

Story 5

The Show

 

“I’m going on a show.”

“What? No you’re not.”

“I am, and I don’t care who knows it.”

I’ve met up with my dear friend Della at the Waitrose café on Edith Walk. It’s a good thing too, as she’s apparently lost her flipping mind.

“Have you lost your mind? You can’t go on a reality show, you’ll be a laughing stock.”

Della leans back in her chair. She takes a sip of her raspberry rose iced tea, with a rather smug look on her face. “I don’t care anymore, Faye. I’m turning forty this year and I simply don’t give a flying fuck.”

My head swivels around and around on my shoulders.

“What are you doing?” She asks me.

I stop and smile. “I’m just making sure there aren’t any fucks actually flying about in here.”

We both laugh. I actually shouldn’t be surprised. Della’s always been a wayward girl, and by that I mean she really lives life to the full. Maybe not this full normally, but now that we’re both turning forty soon, I shouldn’t be appalled that she wants to do something so crazy.

“You know what, Della?”

She raises her eyebrows at me and I add, “I’m going on TV with you.”

Now she laughs. “I haven’t even told you the show I’m auditioning for, Faye.”

“It doesn’t matter, you’re not the only one whose life is at the middle of its journey, I need to have a crisis as well!”

Finally Della stops chuckling. There’s a certain look in her eye. She gets like this when she’s planning something devious. Like that time she convinced me to go stand-up paddling with her. Needless to say, I fell into the drink and decided never again to experiment with water activities of any kind.

However, we’re both single and I have a sneaking suspicion I know the show she’s going to audition for.

“It’s a dating show, isn’t it?”

“Hmm?” Della looks up from her phone and realizes what I’ve just asked her. “Oh yes, sort of.”

“Oh wait, hang on.” I’m a bit concerned now, maybe I shouldn’t be in such a hurry to join her on this audition of audacities.

“It’s not that naked dating show, is it?”

Della laughs. “Maybe it is! And what have you got to hide anyway, Faye? You’ve got a great bod, darling.”

“I know I do.” I say with a laugh. “But that doesn’t mean I want the whole world scrutinizing it!”

“Hah hah, it’s not that show.”

“It so is.”

“No honestly, it’s not. It’s an orgasm show.”

 

And we’re on it. Della and I made it onto the orgasm show.

I’d been appalled, regretful, excited, crazed. And then I’d auditioned, Della auditioned, and we’d both made it onto the show.

It took a week of filming and now that it’s nearly finished I’m regretting all my life’s choices, especially this one.

“Men don’t like loud women.” Jake says, yet again.

We met him along with the other seven cast members on day one. And again I vehemently disagree with him.

“They love loud women in the bedroom though.”

“But if they’re loud in the bedroom.” Jake leans back in his interview chair. “They’re loud on the street, and that’s embarrassing.”

The format of this show is to prove or disprove the scientific study that being loud during sex doesn’t make climaxes or orgasms better. Della and I, along with two other gentlemen our age, are on the ‘loud’ side of the argument. Jake and three others are on the ‘quiet’ side.

We’re all sat in overstuffed armchairs in half circles. Myself, Della, and the other two gents face Jake, the other man, and the two ladies on the ‘quiet’ side of the discussion.

I had vowed not to act like the centre of attention. I could have sworn up and down that role was reserved for Della. After all, it was her idea to come on this bloody show in the first place!

As it turns out, this Jake fellow has really provoked me, and I’ve ended up voicing my opinion ten fold.

I just can’t help it. Jake is just so… so… provocative?

No, that’s not the word I want to use for him. That sounds desirable. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me adamant to argue against everything he says.

Maybe he’s right. I am loud and vociferous, and if he doesn’t like loud women in public, let alone in the bedroom, then it’s no wonder I’m so triggered by his ludicrous claims of the boudoir.

“Don’t let him get to you, Faye.” Della says after we’ve wrapped for the week. “This is all just fun and games, remember?”

I stop looking grumpy and take the crook of Della’s arm. “You’re right as always.”

Together we head to Varanasi in Birmingham. The restaurant was hired out for the evening for our little cast and crew’s wrap party.

Della and I are a few drinks in when someone starts shouting. I look across the room at a table for two and discover it’s Lucy, one of the ladies on the ‘quiet’ side of the orgasm argument.

Suddenly Lucy stands up. She howls something, throws her drink over Jake’s dark blue suit, then stomps out of the venue entirely. Her friend and fellow ‘quiet’ cast member Brynn goes after her.

I blink rapidly a few times. My mouth slightly hanging open in surprise. Everyone else is pretty appalled too.

Not Della though, she laughs and downs the last of her drink. “They’re going to have to re-film the entire show after that outburst. I don’t think Lucy’s on the ‘quiet’ side of the argument anymore.”

I’m outraged. What did Jake say to Lucy that’s had her react so strongly towards him? Well I for one am going to find out, and not just because I’m bolstered by a few drinks.

“Where are you going?” Della asks me, but I’ve already stood and I’m heading towards Jake. When I reach him he’s doing his best to towel off his soaked waistcoat.

“Right then.” I say pointedly to the man. “What did you say to Lucy?”

Jake stops wiping himself down. He looks at me with his ice blue eyes. His dark hair is long on top and a lock of it falls over one eye.

“I told her to be more quiet.”

Figures. That sounds like something he’d say. “Oh the loud thing again, is it?”

Jake continues to look at me, then he tilts his head. “Well that was the entire premise of the show, Faye.”

“Yes I know that, but we’re back in the real world now. You don’t have to act like you’re being filmed twenty-four seven.”

“Be more quiet, Faye.”

My mouth drops open, but then I shut it quickly and laugh a little. “Oh no, you’re not going to provoke me anymore, we’re done filming, remember?”

Just then, Barbara storms back into the restaurant. She walks up to Jake and somehow produces a drink from out of no where, and splashes it into his face.

Now he’s spluttering a bit as Brynn storms back out of the restaurant.

Everyone’s aghast once again, until Jake himself starts laughing and towelling his face dry. Then everyone’s laughing and I don’t really understand what’s going on.

“I didn’t think people actually poured drinks on a man in real life.” I say to Jake, shaking my head. “But I’m not entirely surprised it’s happened to you twice in one night!”

“You want to know the real reason for their actions, Faye?”

I’m listening. He certainly has my attention now. And surprisingly not in an annoying way. Though I don’t want him to know that. He must have said something far more awful to Lucy than just telling her to be quiet. You don’t get drinks in the face twice for that.

And so we sit at the table for two, Jake and I.

He looks at me. I look at him. He speaks. “Lucy found out it’s my show and she wants the entire thing cancelled.”

Well that’s not what I expected to hear at all. “If it’s your bloody show then your opinion of being quiet in the bedroom doesn’t count!”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s your show!”

“And?”

“And that’s biased.”

“Biased how?”

Wow. He’s the epitome of calm. I don’t know how to respond, so I just blurt what I’m thinking in the heat of the moment. “You’ll just edit the show to suit your opinion!”

“The show will be edited scientifically, Faye.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Statistically, being loud doesn’t make a climax or orgasm better.” He adds.

“Yes it does.”

“No, it does not.”

We stare at each other. Him the epitome of calm. Me? I’m feeling more provoked by the second, but this time I’ll stick with that desired word in my head. There’s just something about the way he’s looking at me that really makes me want to prove my point, so I lean forward feeling like I’m about to burst.

I get to my feet, slamming my chair back against the wall. “I’ll prove it to you then.”

The calm drains from Jake’s face. He too gets to his feet. Again we look at each other intensely. There’s just him staring at me, and me staring at him. It’s like a staring contest where both parties see who can blink the most without knowing how to respond. The normally unflappable Jake looks flustered in the extreme right now.

Then he moves closer.

“Are you telling me you’re going to show me how loud you can be during sex, Faye?”

I shake my head no. “I’m going to make you scream, Jake.”

His jaw drops open, then he snaps it shut and swallows hard.

I touch the back of his hand and that’s all the acknowledgment he needs.

We start kissing uncontrollably, tongues colliding, hands all over each other.

“You go girl!” I hear Della shout from across the room.

And I’ll heed her cheers. Because Jake and I do go. We go on hot dates and soon enough I make him scream in the bedroom like he’s never done before. After that he never tells me to shut up ever again. In public in our new relationship, I’m as loud as I want to be, and quite frankly Jake is too.

The show never did air. Lucy had won her argument. Jake had the show fully edited and put together though, and there was a private screening. It was actually fun to watch the blurry dramatized actors in the throes of loud passion, vs the quiet love-makers pretending to climax and orgasm. In combination with interviews from the cast members, it made for a fun show indeed. And I got a boyfriend out of it, without having to go on a naked dating show or anything.

 

Story 6

All Her Own

 

The keys jangled in Ruthie’s hand. She looked down at them, and as the sun glinted off the metal she got a tear in her eye.

“Are you all right, my love?” Haley, the estate agent, asked her. “The sun is fierce today. Is it hurting your eyes?”

“I’m fine.” Ruthie smiled. “But I’ll admit my eyes aren’t watering because of the sun. These are happy tears, it’s my first home.”

“I see!” Haley returned Ruthie’s smile with a warm one of her own. “Well it’s truly all yours now, so be my guest.”

After Haley gestured at the front door, Ruthie slid the key into the lock and turned her wrist. She stepped over the threshold and walked into her very first house that was all her own. A lovely mews home very close to Paddington. And that was important too. There was a direct train from Paddington to her childhood home in Great Malvern. But Ruthie’s life was here now, in London.

She’d always wanted to move to London, ever since she was a teenage girl attending secondary school at Chantry in Martley. The English countryside was all right, but that was the thing, it was the country and not the city. And Ruthie knew she was a city girl from the moment she first stepped foot into her art classroom, all those years ago. She’d listened to her art teacher. She was enraptured by his wisdom, and most of all she became fascinated with the life he’d once led in London.

And so she’d worked hard.

Ruthie had a knack for freelance, then running her own business after university. At first she’d had to live with flatmates in order to seal her dreams of a life in London. Now she was finally on her own in her very own mews house, and all of her dreams had come true.

There was simply nothing else for Ruthie to achieve. Her business was going strong. She had friends in London, family and old friends back in the countryside. Life was complete. Ruthie was truly happy and settled.

And then a knock came at her front door and Ruthie’s life turned upside down in a heartbeat. A heartbeat that kicked up from the moment of those first few knocks.

“Hello?” Came a man’s voice from the door. She’d left it wide open in her excitement to once again peruse her brand new mews home, on the inside. Well, the place was new to her, but it was in fact an old row of stables long ago converted into dwellings.

“Umm, yes?” Ruthie called out as she headed to the front door, vowing to take her own security much more seriously now that she was on her own.

And then she froze, for she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

There, just outside her doorway, was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her entire life. And as she drew nearer, his magnificence grew to the point in which Ruthie became acutely aware, was entirely fake.

“Oh, umm, hello?” A man peeked around the edge of a life-size picture of Henry Cavill.

Ruthie felt a bit silly then. She’d actually for a moment thought some hunky actor was standing at her front door, dressed up as a character he’d portrayed. A character with long hair, wearing strappy leather that showed off most of his muscular physique.

The real person holding the six foot one cut-out of Henry Cavill was just a regular guy, but Ruthie was actually relieved by that. What would she have done if the cut-out were real? There’s no way on earth she would have been prepared to speak with an individual who had a Viking vibe. Also, there would be a certain amount of crazy in such a person actually existing near one’s front door.

“Sorry?” Ruthie had to ask the man again, feeling a bit distracted by the whole situation.

“I was just asking if this was your delivery.”

“Mine?” Now Ruthie was alert to his words. “No that’s definitely not mine.”

The man smiled. Ruthie thought he had a nice smile.

“Sorry.” He apologised. “It’s just, this was left at mine with a delivery note shoved through my letterbox and—”

“Oh my god!” A high pitched voice screeched from next door. “There it is!”

A sound of brisk clapping ensued and then a petite man approached. He took unceremonious hold of Henry Cavill. “Thank you so much.”

The man who was holding the cut-out, gave it over obligingly. “No worries. Can I just ask something?”

“Of course, darling.” The little man exuded.

“What’s it for?”

Ruthie also wanted to know the answer, so she raised her eyebrows and waited for the small man’s response to the other man’s question. Although it seemed neither of them would learn the answer soon, because a truck started beeping and backing into the mews alleyway.

It was Ruthie’s flatmates. They’d arrived with her belongings, and once the shifting of furniture from truck to house ensued, she forgot all about the tall man, the even taller Henry Cavill, or his cut-out anyway, and the shorter man too.

That is until they both knocked on her door later that evening.

Ruthie had bought takeaway for her three former flatmates. After they’d so kindly helped with all her stuff, she felt it was the least she could do.

“Sorry to bother you.” The tall man said when Ruthie opened her door. “We just forgot to welcome you to the mews.”

He said this with a nervous look on his face, and Ruthie saw him flinch. But was it a flinch, or a shove from the shorter man standing behind him?

Ruthie could tell it was the latter. Especially when the shorter man spoke.

“Right then.” He said, flamboyantly. “I’m Martyn with a Y, and this is Chester.”

Ruthie nodded her head and smiled. “Nice to meet you Martyn with a Y and Chester, I’m Ruthie with a rather ordinary I and E.”

“I’m sure you’re a regular riot really, darling.” Martyn said, then giggled with a hand to his chest. “That was a lot of R words, and now I’ll leave you to it, Chester.”

And with that Martyn with a Y walked away, leaving Chester to what? Ruthie wondered.

“Oh I umm.” Chester started to say. “We were just going to introduce ourselves, welcome you to the mews—”

“He wouldn’t stop banging on about meeting you, Ruthie.” They both heard Martyn shout from across the little alley. “Don’t let him chicken out now.”

Chester’s mouth dropped open in surprise that his neighbour and friend would embarrass him so blatantly, even though he should probably be used to such antics by now.

Ruthie smiled gently. “Why don’t you come in.” She asked in a neighbourly manner. “If you haven’t eaten we’ve got takeaway for dinner.”

“Thanks I’m fine.” Chester blurted. “I just umm…”

Ruthie could tell he was a bit nervous. She thought that was endearing, and she decided to help the guy out in his awkwardness.

“Did you ever find out about Henry Cavill?” Ruthie asked, politely.

“Who?” He looked at her, confused for a moment, before realisation dawned. “Oh right yes! Henry the cut-out was a gift for Martyn’s husband.”

“Oh.” Ruthie couldn’t help smiling. “Well then Martyn’s husband is a lucky man indeed.”

That made Chester chuckle. “I’m kind of lucky too actually.”

“How so?”

When Chester didn’t answer Ruthie’s question immediately, she could see him blushing again. This guy was really too much. Not even back in the English countryside could Ruthie remember anyone so handsome being this shy around anyone, let alone herself. Although her childhood friends —and then her new friends in London— did often quip to her that she had a rather commanding personality.

To that, Ruthie always responded with the fact that a little bit of confidence was sometimes necessary to get ahead in life.

But maybe such tactics weren’t appropriate right now.

She could see Chester was struggling, and for some reason his timid nature intrigued her.

“I’m lucky Henry Cavill helped me meet you, Ruthie.” Chester stuck out his hand. She took it quickly with a grin on her face. They shook hands and Ruthie welcomed him into her home.

She introduced Chester to her former flatmate friends.

Afterwards, Chester turned to Ruthie. “I didn’t realise you had company, I’ll go now.”

“We’re not company we’re staff members tonight.” One of Ruthie’s friends, Talia, said with a laugh.

“Oh stop.” Ruthie grinned. “You’re not staff just for helping me move.”

“Yeah, and we’re not getting paid!” This from their other friend Matt.

Chuckles all around ensued.

Ruthie actually found she wanted Chester to stay. He seemed like a really nice guy. But she didn’t want to put pressure on someone, who she could already tell, was quite a shy person at heart.

“I’ll see you out.” She said to him, and they left her friends inside howling with laughter making jokes at her expense. She didn’t mind. That’s what she loved about London life and the exuberant people she’d met along the way.

“Thanks for saying hi and welcoming me to the mews, Chester.”

“My pleasure.” He replied, now that they were standing alone just outside her doorstep. “But I’ve got something to admit.”

“Oh?” Ruthie tilted her head in wonder.

“I didn’t really think Henry Cavill belonged to you.”

Now those were a set of words Ruthie never thought she’d hear from someone in her lifetime.

She laughed. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Chester looked down and shuffled his toe on the pavement. “I just wanted an excuse to say hello.”

“And what would you have done if I’d said Henry Cavill was in fact mine?”

This made them both laugh.

“Well.” Chester carried on smiling and scratched the back of his head. “I’d have thought you’d make a good friend to Martyn and his husband, at the very least.”

“That’s a very good answer.”

Laughter again.

Ruthie could see that she might be able to really like this guy. He was sweet and unusual in his own timid way. A personality trait she had not yet come across with anyone she’d met in London.

But had she really made any effort at meeting men? Not that it had been a priority in her life. No, Ruthie had always been so determined to get to London itself, that maybe she’d put certain aspects of her private life on hold.

Now that she was happy with her living arrangements, perhaps it was time for other experiences in life. Other people to come into her life. Could it be that Ruthie was going to consider dating?

Maybe she could start with the shy guy standing right in front of her that night.

 

Story 7

Sisterly Amends

 

From the moment I step out of the car in my old home town, I’m overwhelmed by flashbacks of childhood trauma. At least, that’s what it seems like, but perhaps I’m being a bit overly dramatic in my mind. I didn’t have a bad upbringing through adolescents, but when you’ve been away for as long as I have, returning home can be a bit of a slap in the face.

Like the hot wind is slapping me now. Why I chose to visit my home town of Provo during summer is beyond me. But I’m here now and there’s not much point in turning back. Not only for the fact that if I did chicken out, I’d have to drive back to the airport, get on a plane, and fly thousands of miles across land and sea.

No, I’m not about to do that. I wanted to be here. I was determined to sort things out with my family once and for all, and that meant starting with my sister.

To say I’m the black sheep of the family is putting it lightly, not only because I’m the only one with black hair while all my siblings came out blonde from my mother’s womb. On the contrary, my ability to remain the odd one out stems from an inert sense of bullshit detection. I get that from my dad, which I’ll thank him for later. Right now though, I’ve got to do the thing I flew all this way for. And that thing is to reconcile with my sister.

So I let the hot wind blow into my face, whipping my long dark hair around before I twist it into a scrunchy-held ponytail. I walk down the long driveway that marks the entrance to the apartment complex of town houses.

Everything is dry and dusty.

The grass must have gone from green to brown months ago. Even the children’s playground seems to sag under the weight of the hot, pressing sun. As I walk a gleam of light reflects off the metal swing-set frame, and I know if I were to touch it I’d get a scorched finger for my lack of better judgment. But I’m not going to do such a silly thing, and I shouldn’t compare it to my decision to be here now. This is part of the process I’ve been determined to take, and after I’ve finished my walk through my old neighbourhood I feel all the better for it.

I needed the closure. That part of my life is done and gone. It will no longer hold bad memories for me. I associated all my troubles with my family as stemming from this place, but none of it matters now. My siblings and I are all grown adults. We moved away from here long ago, myself the furthest when I relocated all the way to England. Now I’m back and I’m determined to set things straight. I want to be able to be a part of my family again, and not just via light and fluffy video calls once in a while. I’m middle-aged, my life is half over and I don’t want to spend the last half alienated from my family.

So I drive the hire car to my sister’s house. She recently had it built anew. It’s a lovely place painted brilliant blue, like the sky at dusk when there’s still enough light to make it glow.

I step out of the car into the summer heat. My yellow sundress whips around my thighs a little, in the warm breeze. My ponytail is still intact, so I pull out the scrunchy to make my long dark hair hang over my face. When I get to the bottom of the few stairs that lead to the front door of the house, I turn around and walk backwards up them. Somehow I manage not to trip and fall on my arse. I ring the camera doorbell and wait for someone inside the house to have a look on their end.

What they’re going to see is some kind of freakish woman standing on their porch, but this is my bright idea of surprising my sister.

“Who are you?” A woman’s voice comes out of the doorcam.

“I’m Julia.”

“What!” I hear my sister’s voice yell, then nothing more but a pounding noise of muffled footsteps from inside.

The front door is whipped open and I turn around.

“Surprise!” I say, throwing out my arms.

“Jesus Julia, how are you here right now?” There’s a smile on my sister’s face, but I can detect the underlying current of animosity between us.

We play nice in the family WhatsApp group chat, and are kind to each other, but I want my sister back in my life properly, and I was certain the only way to do that was to be here in person.

“I’ve come to make amends.”

My sister Kim frowns, a questioning look on her face, then she zones back into reality. “Get in here before all the air con blows out.”

I step inside my sister’s house where it’s nice and cool. The first thing I spot is her collection of flora. It’s hard to miss. She’s a plant-lover and has a seriously green thumb. I could never keep a houseplant alive if my own life depended on it.

“I still can’t believe you’re here.” Kim looks flabbergasted. “How did this happen?”

“I hopped on a plane or two.” I laugh and she shakes her long blond head of hair. “Why didn’t you tell us in the family group chat?”

This is it. This is the reason I’m here alone, and not with everyone else in our family. It’s now or never so I spill the beans. “I’m here to apologise, Kim. I’m here to grovel at your feet. I’m here to make amends and I don’t want to just see everyone and act like it’s all hunky dory anymore.”

My sister smiles. She taps her finger to her bottom lip. “Well then I guess you’ll be wanting a cup of tea.”

I laugh. She laughs. We both sit near her large collection of beautiful plant-life.

I don’t have tea. It’s way too hot out for that. Even though I totally immersed myself into British culture when I moved there, I’m more than happy to have a fresh squeezed glass of lemonade over ice.

And that’s what we both drink, my sister and I. We sit and we talk. We make amends. I apologise for all the times I visited over the years expecting to fight with her. I realised that by expecting an argument, a disagreement was inevitable. I explain that for me it went back to our adolescent years. I tell my sister about how I stopped by our childhood and teenage ‘home’ earlier in the day.

“Wow.” Kim says. “I can’t believe you went there. To Bountiful? I won’t step foot in that place and it’s only an hour’s drive for me. I don’t know why you’d fly thousands of miles to end up at that shit hole.”

I laugh and drink down the rest of my refreshing lemonade.

“You’re right about that. The place is a shit hole, but now it’s out of my mind for good. I was kind of holding onto the past as though it would forever haunt me. Like I blamed our upbringing for everything that goes wrong in my adult life. After going to the apartment complex in Bountiful, I got closure. I realise now that whatever arguments we got into with each other then, don’t have to shape our relationship every time we meet.”

Kim nods her head in agreement. We rehash every argument we’ve ever had, and it’s sort of sad to realise we can count our arguments on one hand. I just took off from Utah in my mid-twenties and rarely visited my family over twenty odd years. Every time I did visit I’d expect to fight with my sister about something. Whether it be my own adulting skills, or religious arguments, or the last disagreement we had on political issues.

“It was all ridiculous.” I say to my sister now. “I realised that every time we argued and stopped speaking to each other, I wanted you back. I wanted to call you up and just chat for hours and hours. Or I wanted to call you for two seconds and chat about nothing!”

“Me too!” Kim cries, and I lose it.

Suddenly we’re both crying our eyes out while laughing at the same time.

We hug. Kim turns on some nineties music that sucks, but we can’t help shaking our booties to it for a few beats. And when the front door opens and all our family members start pouring into my sister’s house, I realise what she’s done.

She messaged everyone at some point during our revelatory reunion. And I’m glad she did. I’m so happy right now I could scream, but I won’t do that because then I’d ruin the illusion that I’ve become somewhat of a cultured British lady. Or so I like to think. But who am I kidding? Whenever I return home I can be myself. And now that I’ve fully reconciled with my sister I can truly let loose. I don’t have to be fake polite. We can go out and about as a family and there won’t be any underlying tensions.

When my British family, consisting of my two daughters and husband, when they join me in Utah a couple days later, our visit becomes an even larger family reunion.

Everyone’s at a big family barbeque. My sister has just mentioned the politician she’ll support in the next election. I don’t even bat an eye. I just pick up my hotdog and stuff it into my mouth. Inside though, I’m screaming in disagreement with her choice of vote. But that’s just it, isn’t it? It’s her choice and no matter how much I may object, fighting about it will only end in me going overseas again, and not speaking to my sister for months, possibly even years. And the whole point in figuring things out between us will have gone to waste.

So no. I’m not saying anything because she is my family. My first family. Part of the one we were both born into. My parents had four kids. Me, my sister, and our two brothers. Now that we’re all grown up and have kids of our own, we understand our parents.

I can’t just leave the whole of the US every time I feel someone in my family isn’t thinking the way I want them too. If I keep leaving in such a manner I be right back to feeling like an outsider wherever I live. Nope, family is family no matter where you are in the world. And I’m glad I’ve finally figured out how to hold onto mine in both countries I call home.

 

Story 8

The Punch of Life

“Mummy.” My eight year old daughter Olivia said from the back seat of our car, as I drove us into Worcester city. “Your eyes look like they have dark circles all around.”

Funny she should say that. I was just thinking the same thing. I’d put my contact lenses on today, before we’d left the house. I thought to myself that my dark eye circles were far more noticeable without my glasses and no makeup on, but this summer had been overly warm and humid, so there was no chance I was going to put makeup on.

I thought it wouldn’t bother me, until my own daughter brought it up.

Then I had a brain wave.

“It’s called the punch of life, Olivia.” I said to her as I drove on.

“Like this.” I used a free hand to fake-punch each of my eyes.

My other daughter Lily age fifteen, who sat in the front passenger seat, laughed and said, “the what?”

“Panda eyes are the punch of life.” I repeated. “You see girls, I have eyes like a panda with these dark circles. And do you know why my eyes look a bit sunk and punched in?”

I quickly glanced at Olivia in the kiddie mirror, and then at Lily next to me.

Neither had any answers for me. Olivia just asked, “panda eyes? What are you talking about, Mummy?”

I told Lily to Google panda images on her phone and she showed her little sister. “See how the pandas have black around their eyes. Kind of like mine?”

“Your eyes aren’t that black around, Mum!” This from Lily.

“Yeah!” Agreed Olivia. “But they are punched in.”

“Exactly.” I said. “From the punch of life.”

Both girls laughed and I went on questioning them.

“How much sleep do you think mums get every week?”

Lily shrugged her shoulders and Olivia guessed twenty-million.

“Not quite.” I replied with a giggle. “Grown-ups are supposed to get eight hours sleep every night, but I’ve only been getting six.”

“Well I slept in till twelve noon!” Lily boasted. “You should have a lie in, Mum.”

“I would if I could!” I replied and added, “now do you know how much laundry and cleaning and working from home I have to do?”

Olivia shook her head from side to side in a big way to say no.

“A lot.” I answered for her. “And when I have to work and clean and I don’t get enough sleep, my eyes start to feel sore. Very, very sore. They start to feel punched right in!”

“So your eyes feel as bad as they look.” Said Lily with a chuckle.

“Hey!” I replied. “Show some respect for your long suffering mother.”

“Yeah Lily!” Olivia grumbled from the back seat. “Don’t be so rude!”

“Yeah!” I agreed with a giggle.

When we got to Worcester I parked the car at the Hive library. We met up with Olivia and Lily’s older sister who had already gone to Worcester to pick up her new glasses. Then we all walked along the buildings under the train bridge. After that little jaunt we went back to Malvern for the annual Pride festival. It was held behind the Malvern Theatres in the Winter Gardens.

“Mummy!” Olivia said loudly. “I just saw a man wearing makeup and a woman’s dress!”

“That’s the whole point of Pride dear.” I answered Olivia. “It’s about being proud of your identity.”

Olivia shook her head and frowned and I realized such an answer wasn’t going to suffice, and it shouldn’t, but how best to explain to an eight year old?

“Well, Olivia.” I asked her. “Do you want to be called a he or a she?”

“She, obviously, because I’m a girl.”

“So if you see that someone’s dressed how they want to, don’t you think they might want to be called a she as well?”

Olivia shrugged her shoulders. “I guess.”

“And what about your lesbian aunties Sam and Morgan?” I questioned her further to get her on a thinking path again. “Do they wear dresses?”

“Nope!”

“But do they like to be called she?”

“Yep!”

“And why is that?”

“Because they are girls even though they don’t like dresses!”

“Exactly!” I grinned at my clever girl who smiled right back. “High five!”

We slapped palms and then got some mint chocolate chip ice cream cones.

At home I had to start the laundry and tidy up the house.

I started with separating the dirty clothes into three piles of whites, colours, and darks. By the time I was half way through sorting I was breathing hard and perspiration was building under my hair, on my scalp. I stood up straight and my back ached.

“Ooh!” I breathed out loudly, and then huffed and puffed some more, trying to catch my breath. “Wow, I’m so out of shape.”

It’s true. I restart my diet daily. It’s a struggle to stick with it for one reason or another.

When I was forty-two I managed to lose six stone in weight. Now I’m forty-seven and I’d put seven stone back on over the years. Luckily earlier this year I at least lost two stone.

I needed a break from laundry sorting so I went into my bedroom which was in the basement, next to the laundry room. I asked Alexa to drop in on Olivia’s room.

“Olivia!” I said into the device, now acting like a 1980s walkie-talkie. “Bring down the dirty laundry from your room please!”

“Okay, Mum!” Olivia shouted back, then said, “Alexa stop.” And the device beeped off.

She came down to the basement and put her dirty clothes in the laundry room.

“Good work.” I huffed to Olivia.

“Wow, Mummy you look sweaty!”

Somehow I don’t think my youngest daughter dear had seen anything yet. And sure enough when I went upstairs to load the dishwasher, even more perspiration started gushing out of my skin.

From there I had to run up to the third floor of the house to grab Lily’s dirty laundry from her room.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

What was that? I thought, after rushing to my phone. I dropped the pile of laundry in my arms and gasped. “Oh no!”

I’d forgotten about picking up a friend from the train station. I promised her a lift home after her quick trip to Paris over the week. Otherwise she’d have to pay to park her car at the train station.

And so, quickly as I could I carried on rushing around the house…

1. Grab clean clothes out of tumble dryer.

2. Fold clean clothes into piles.

3. Load piles into laundry basket.

4. Take basket from basement to third floor of house.

5. Hang and put clean clothes away into daughters’ bedrooms.

6. Forget to start another load of laundry.

7. Run all the way back down to the basement.

Let’s just say I was sweating more than I’d ever sweated before in my life by then.

“Dammit!” I cursed, wiping sweat away before it could get into my eye again and sting like hell. “I forgot to put on a sweatband!”

It’s true, I had forgotten. What good was my drawer full of fabric headbands / sweatbands if I forgot to use them every time! I should know by now how overactive my sweat glands are for christ sake.

Oh well, there was no time for it. I just had to carry on running around the house getting things done before I had to pick up my friend from the train station.

Finally, I was on the third floor again. I burst into Lily’s bedroom ready to hang up the last of her clean clothes.

“Dear god, Mother!” Lily exclaimed upon seeing me. “Did you jump into the pool?”

“What?” I gasped, out of breath again. “No, don’t be silly, I haven’t time for that!”

“Then why are you soaked? And why do you look like you’ve been in a fight?”

“You what?”

I stopped then, and dropped the laundry basket. I went over to the full length mirror in Lily’s bedroom. “Oh my god!”

My daughter was right. I looked like I’d somehow dunked the top half of my body in the pool!

My long dark hair dripped with sweat, and it poured down my face. My glasses kept sliding down my nose from all the wet. My eyes were so punched in with dark, exhausted circles, I did indeed look like I’d been in a fist fight.

“Oh, Mummy!” Olivia cried, bursting into Lily’s room. “That’s gross!”

And then something amazing happened.

I was so overheated and tired, I just stood at the mirror and breathed heavily. My t-shirt soaked with sweat over my shoulders and all down the front and back.

“Just wait here, Mum.” Lily proceeded to direct the room fan onto my face.

Immediately I felt the cooling effects from the breeze. “Aaahhh.” I sighed with some relief.

“Olivia!” Lily boomed at her little sister. “Get mum some ice water!”

“Yeah!” Olivia said, bursting back out of the room, and flying down the stairs to the kitchen.

“Right!” Lily turned back to me. “I’ll take that!”

She scooped up the basket and began hanging up her own clean laundry.

“It’s a miracle!” I said to Lily.

We both laughed.

“I do put my laundry away eventually you know, Mum.”

“Yeah but I can’t wait for eventually!”

“I guess not!”

Actually, I can from now on.

I suppose I always think flying around the house gives me exercise, but there comes a point when I just over do things.

“Thanks, darling!” I’m about to head out of Lily’s room when she stops me.

“Whoa slow down!”

“Oh yeah, I forgot!”

Just then, Olivia brought up the glass of ice water. “And thank you my dear.”

I took it from her and downed it fast. Which gave me brain freeze, so I howled in pain and grabbed my sweat-soaked head.

“Mother!” Lily admonished me, her own parent. “Do you remember what you told us?”

“Hmmm?”

“About life punching you in the eyes?”

I nodded my head yes and drank from the glass much more slowly.

“I get it now!” Lily pointed at my eyes.

“Yeah you are eye-punched, Mummy!”

“That I am!” I agreed. “So now you understand what I was talking about!”

Both my daughters nodded their heads in agreement.

“The punch of life is real.” Lily repeated my metaphor.

“You do get it!” I hurried towards my girls. “But from now on if you do your own chores you won’t have to get a hug from your sweaty mother!”

I tried to grab them quick for bear hugs, but they were too fast for me.

We laughed and they dodged my low-key efforts at sweaty hugs. At least they understood the punch of life now.

“I promise!” Lily shrieked.

“I promise to do my chores too!” Olivia squealed.

“Good.” I ceased my half-hearted chase. I was already sweaty enough. “Then maybe my eyes will look more unpunched. And if ever you need reminding about chores, I’ll take off my concealer. Or better yet, more sweaty hugs!”

I lunged fakely forward. We had a good laugh. I finally hopped into the shower and my daughters were safe from the sweaty hugs of their mother. We picked up my friend from the train station right on time, despite having run amok around the house for no real reason. And who knew? Maybe if I took life easier from then on, it would start to show less in the unpunching of my eyes.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 

Suzanne Lehuanani Korb is originally from Hawaii. She grew up in west coast states of the US. In her twenties Suz moved to the UK. She writes fiction in the English countryside. For more stories and novels by Suz, visit the author’s website: SuzKorb.com