| |
––––––––
‘DEPRESIÓN, ees terrybul. I very sad. You no understand,’ said Fermín.
He’d completely dismissed the depression Michelle had suffered during their marriage. In her mind’s eye, she floored him with a well-placed uppercut to his chin.
‘I stay Nana houws. Sara es mi hija. My dochter. Estúpida you.’
Why couldn’t he see anything from anyone else’s point of view? ‘Escúchame, jilipoyas, just listen,’ she shouted. ‘Déjala en paz. Leave. Her. Alone.’
‘Egoista,’ he accused.
‘Selfish? Me?’ Her eyes brimmed with tears of fury. Fermín was the most egotistical person Michelle had ever met. She wanted to pummel his idiotic head to a pulp.
An image of the blue Calor Gas camping stove flashed into her mind. At eight months pregnant, it hadn’t been easy crouching down to cook meals on it. And with only one deckchair between them to sit on in the lounge, it wasn’t as if she could relax in comfort when she’d finished. He’d had no problem leaving her to sit on a blanket on the floor when it was his turn in the chair.
By the time she hung up, Michelle was livid. Her powerlessness to convince him to listen to Sara made her dizzy with rage. She wanted to rip his conceited head off.
Slumping onto the sofa, she rued the day she’d married him. If only she’d returned to England without telling him she was pregnant. The sound of Derek’s television blasted through the adjoining, paper-thin wall – punishment for all the shouting. Jan wouldn’t be so rude.
Michelle picked up her mobile. She’d been so focused on getting the phone call with Fermín over first thing, she hadn’t checked for messages. It was with shock that she read Dan’s text. He missed her? What did that mean?
A rapping at the door distracted her from Dan’s puzzling message, and she flipped into a state of panic about imminent confrontation with Derek. Taking a deep breath, she checked her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. A dishevelled mess gawped back at her. Michelle wiped her panda eyes on the sleeve of her dressing gown, braced herself and unlocked the door.
The postman held out a large envelope. He stepped back and averted his eyes. ‘Sorry, I need a signature.’
She smiled as she signed, her shaking hand betraying her fake happy façade.
Traipsing back into the lounge, she opened the official-looking package and pulled out the contents. The executor documents for her father’s will. She spiralled further into a state of stress. What if she had to deliver a eulogy? She had no happy stories to tell.
The papers had a return-by-next-post request. She had a mountain of chores to do, not to mention shopping, and the supermarket was nowhere near the Post Office, which closed at lunchtime on a Saturday. Michelle started to hyperventilate – everything in her life felt like a threat. As the room began to spin, she attempted to slow down her breathing. One thing, think of one simple thing you can do. ‘A notebook,’ she said aloud. She’d pick up a notebook and start jotting down little positive snippets about her father. There had to be some...
If she got dressed and set off now, she’d have time to fit everything in – the ironing and vacuuming could wait. Her breathing started to slow down as she tried to think of nice things. Sara would be home later, and then they had a girlie evening at Judy’s house to look forward to. She made a mental note to buy an extra bottle of Prosecco while she was out at the shops – Sara would forget to bring something. And some olives, bread and aioli to snack on – Sara always ate her body weight when she was home from university.
Feeling more in control, she booted Fermín and her father to the back of her mind and dashed upstairs. But as she switched on the shower, Dan’s text came to mind. What did it mean? There was no time to get into that with him right now. She stepped beneath the spray and tried to supress the spiral of anxious thoughts that was brewing.
***
‘DEREK’S A RIGHT MISERABLE so-and-so,’ Michelle said, sautéing potatoes with onion and garlic in Judy’s kitchen. ‘I’m sure he must have his ear pressed up against the wall half the time.’
Judy placed a tray of chicken drumsticks in the oven. ‘I bet he wouldn’t be so cocky if you had a burly man living with you.’
Gemma walked through to the dining room from the conservatory. ‘Oooh,’ she said, eyeing the sideboard, set out with the Noritake dinner service. ‘I thought it was us four tonight. Who else is coming?’
‘No one.’ Judy peered around the kitchen door. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Did you realise you’ve put the good plates out?’ Gemma picked one up and ran her finger over the tiny, raised orange butterfly.
‘What do you mean, “did I realise”?’
‘Well, we aren’t allowed to eat off these.’
‘You’re exaggerating...’
Sara wandered through to join the others. ‘I’ve never seen these before,’ she said, picking up a squat, bevelled glass by its brass handle. She pulled a face. ‘No offence, but they’re are strange little things.’
‘Oh no, has someone died?’ Gemma rushed into the kitchen brandishing an ornate sterling silver fork. ‘The good cutlery.’
Michelle signalled to Gemma to pass it over. ‘This is beautiful. Is it new?’
Judy laughed. ‘No. I thought we’d use the nice stuff.’
‘But why? We never –’
‘Stop it,’ snapped Judy.
‘All right, no need to have a go at me.’ Gemma and Sara retreated to the conservatory with a bottle of Prosecco and two of the ugly glasses.
The oil hissed as Michelle added beaten eggs to the frying pan. ‘Are you okay?’
Judy paused mid-way through chopping a carrot. ‘We should’ve used them every day. Now Stuart’s demanding the cutlery and the dinner set before he signs the divorce papers.’
‘Spiteful bastard.’ Michelle stirred the mixture with more force than necessary. ‘Why do men have to turn so bloody nasty?’
‘Hmph, “Pick out a nice cutlery set for your wedding present,” the old witch said.’ Judy threw the tea towel she was holding onto the bench top.
‘Let me guess... Barbara?’
‘I was so excited. Never should have trusted her.’
Judy had told her future mother-in-law all about her special ‘cutlery fund’, which she’d been squirreling money into for two years. The set she adored had a beautiful leaf pattern carved into the handles. She’d loved it so much, she used to get the bus into Newcastle just to admire it in Fenwick’s window display. It turned out that Stuart’s brother and his wife, who lived hundreds of miles away in Cornwall, had the same one. Judy wasn’t allowed to have it. Barbara chose a different one.
‘It was shite. And she told Stuart about my fund. He commandeered it for a Black and Decker drill. Took me another two years to save up again.’
‘He didn’t deserve you.’ Michelle placed a plate over the omelette pan, flipped it over and then slid it back in. ‘But why did you keep using the old one?’
‘I succumbed to pressure from Stuart and Barbs. I must have been stupid. Not anymore, though,’ Judy cackled. ‘Bottom of the wheelie bin now. And,’ she shouted at the sideboard, ‘his Grandmother’s hideous glasses are going the same journey.’
‘What?’ shouted Gemma from the conservatory.
‘I said, we’re using the crystal flutes tonight.’
‘Hell’s teeth.’
‘So why do you think Fermín wants to come over?’ said Judy.
‘He insists he wants to see Sara, but I’m sure there must be more to it than that.’ Michelle held up a flute and admired the way it sparkled under the lights.
‘More to it?’ Judy carefully turned out ice into the delicate glasses.
‘Something like needing to hide from someone he owes money to – he never pays bills on time, if at all. He once had a car repossessed for non-payment. Whatever it is, it can’t simply be to see Sara, not after so long, and when she doesn’t want to see him.’
‘Stick to your guns. The last thing you need is him turning up, on the run.’
‘I know. I mean... he must think I’m stupid. Actually, that’s what he called me...’
They both cackled at that.
‘Come on,’ Judy said, ‘let’s leave the omelette to cool while the rest of the food heats up in the oven and chill in the lounge for a while.
The younger girls followed them in from the conservatory and they gathered in front of the television to enjoy Prosecco in the special flutes.
Michelle loved girly evenings at Judy’s house. A few drinks, full-fat food, gossip, and a DVD playing in the background. Cosy times, like a comfy pair of slippers. Tonight, it was Sex and the City, the series where Carrie is dating Berger.
The fragrance in the lounge reminded Michelle of trendy bars in Newcastle, a mixture of wood and scented candles. Everything in Judy’s home mirrored her chic style, like the new floor-length mocha curtains – framed by a shimmery valance and expertly wound around a vintage curtain rail, creating an exquisite look. Michelle wished she could make her home more, somehow her. She sometimes felt she and her surroundings were two-dimensional – like a faint imprint of a life that might have been.
‘I’ve decided, I’m not moping around after Handsome Rob any longer,’ said Judy. The microwave pinged. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with cheese-topped nachos. ‘I’m being pro-active and taking charge of my life.’
Sara dived into the nachos. ‘Is that why you’ve got your nice stuff out?’
Michelle slipped off her shoes and nestled into the comfy leather sofa. ‘What have you done?’
Judy set down humous and carrot sticks on the table. ‘I’ve joined a dating agency. I simply refuse to go out with any more bar flies.’
‘You’ve what?’ said Gemma. ‘What the heck do you think you’re doing? Mother, those sites are full of psychos!’
‘I’m scrutinising candidates before I meet them – weeding out the dross from the start.’ Judy crunched on a nacho as if to add a full stop to the statement.
Sara punched the air. ‘Go, Judy.’ Then she turned to Michelle, her expression serious. ‘Mind, Mam, don’t you think you’re joining one. Judy is more streetwise than you. You’d end up murdered in a ditch somewhere.’
Michelle ignored Sara’s comment. ‘Is it Mango Sun?’
‘No, that’s too expensive. And anyway, remember I told you about Sonia and her footballer? He got a free transfer deal to Birtley.’
‘Does Birtley even have a football team?’ said Michelle.
‘Who knows...? It’s called ‘Letsmeetupandmingle dot com.’
‘But it all seems a bit seedy. What’s wrong with meeting a man naturally?’
‘It’ll be dot-con, not dot-com,’ said Gemma. ‘Middle-aged fat blokes after your money.’
‘What money?’ laughed Michelle. ‘Where can you meet a decent man these days? Mind you, I did meet Dan on Childhoodchums.’ She was drip-feeding him into conversation. It made it easier to be open about their friendship and explain away any suspicion – sort of. She hadn’t mentioned his text about missing her. She wished she could, because she didn’t understand it and wanted Judy’s opinion. But if she did, the whole friendship thing would seem completely ridiculous. She’d convinced herself that he was probably having a difficult time with Penny and needed an outlet. An uneasiness gnawed at her stomach. But what if he did miss her? What would that mean?
‘But you’re not dating him, so that’s different,’ said Judy. ‘All the blokes at work are married, and when we go out in Town, we have to compete with younger women. And when you do meet someone, he turns out to be a two-timing twat.’
‘Compete with us? As if...’ Sara laughed and slid down onto a beanbag, sloshing Prosecco onto the wooden flooring. She’d been spilling things in Judy’s house since she was small.
‘Careful, Sara. Judy, I’m nervous about using these beautiful flutes.’ She threw a handful of tissues in Sara’s direction. ‘I’m so glad I met Dan, it–’
Sara’s head shot round to Michelle. ‘Why are you harping on about Dan?’
‘Let me finish... I was going to say – it’s lovely to have the companionship without the complications of a relationship.’
Sara shot Judy a suspicious look.
‘I do believe his marriage will end one day,’ said Michelle. ‘And when that time comes, yes, I admit, we may well reassess our relationship. I’m not saying I definitely wouldn’t be interested in him – if he was single.’
‘Face it, Michelle... You aren’t his first choice, don’t make him yours,’ said Judy. She scooped up a dollop of humous with a carrot stick. ‘Does he still fancy his wife?’
Gemma guffawed. ‘Don’t pussyfoot around, Mam.’
‘No. He said they’re like brother and sister.’
‘Yes, but would he sleep with her if she wanted to have sex?’ asked Judy.
Michelle recoiled at the thought. ‘No, he said he no longer has those sorts of feelings for her. He likened it to a dog being abused for so long that it snaps. Anyway, it’s none of my business.’ No, please let it be too late for that, she silently pleaded. Don’t let them get drunk together...
‘Eugh, stop talking about old people and sex,’ said Gemma.
‘You should all grow old gracefully – it’s not natural to have boyfriends at your age,’ said Sara.
‘We’re not old,’ said Judy.
‘It’s all right for you young girls now, you’re in your twenties, but it’s a jungle out there when you get to our age,’ said Michelle. ‘I’d rather remain single than be with the wrong man.’
‘I’m not ending up like you two. Gemma, we should’ve gone out, they’re so negative.’
‘Aren’t you scared of being old and alone, Michelle?’ said Gemma.
‘No. I’ve never needed a man. I’ll admit, it might have been nice if I’d met the right person, but I’ve only met a few wrong ones, so I wouldn’t know.’
Judy disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a tray of Noritake bowls laden with humous and crudities. ‘I’m going to sue Walt Disney – all lies. There are no castles or princes, just hard graft and idiots. Sara, put your Flip Flops back on please, you’ll spread that verruca.’
‘Actually, that’s not true,’ Sara retorted, reluctantly slipping on one diamante flip flop. ‘We meet lush lads all the time.’
‘Blokes are much more attractive nowadays,’ said Gemma. ‘Fitter, too. Didn’t they have gyms in the olden days?’
‘Of course they look good now... Wait until the mortgages and children turn up,’ laughed Michelle.
‘Less of the “olden days”,’ said Judy. We had P.E. at school. And we certainly didn’t laze around on laptops until all hours.’ She reached into the sideboard and plonked her laptop onto the rustic wooden coffee table.
All of Judy’s furniture was chic but sturdy. It had to be. One time, Sara body-crashed onto a load of kebabs on that table, though no one would know to look at it now. Michelle’s nest of three side tables weren’t so hardy. Only one had survived.
‘Have a little look,’ she urged, logging onto Mingle. ‘I’ve got a date tomorrow night. He seems nice.’
Michelle jumped up from the sofa to kneel at the table. ‘What’s his name? Let’s see his photograph.’
‘Nev. He’s not my usual type, but he’s a real gentleman.’
‘You mean you don’t fancy him?’ Sara chortled, popping open another bottle.
The cork whooshed past Michelle’s ear and bounced off a wall. Her mind turned to the mysteriously cracked lampshade at home. ‘Sara, you know the lampshade in the –’
Sara shot Gemma a shifty side-glance. ‘Come on, let’s look at your mam’s new man.’
It was difficult to tell much from Nev’s blurred head and neck photograph. Michelle stifled a giggle at the way it had been cropped at the top of his neck. She worried that alcohol might lead her to say something tactless, so she said nothing.
‘Okay. Tell me, what’s wrong with him?’ said Judy.
‘Hmm, does he snore?’ asked Michelle.
‘Oh here she goes. Not everyone has sleep apnoea, Mam.’ Sara squinted at the photograph. ‘Does he dye his hair? It’s very black for someone in his late forties...’
Michelle could diagnose the condition with one glance at a neck. Judy was a manager of managers in the Civil Service, but Michelle could spot a snorer at a hundred paces.
‘It’s difficult to tell from the photograph, but he does look a little chubby,’ said Michelle.
‘He’s heavy-set that’s all. And no, Sara, his hair is natural. His dad’s Italian – they have lovely dark hair.’
‘The thing is,’ continued Michelle, ‘if he does have sleep apnoea, you’ll never get another good night’s sleep. He may well be diabetic and possibly on blood pressure tablets. And they reckon the combination of those conditions and medications can sometimes cause impotence in the longer-term, you know.’
They all found that funny, including Judy. She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘Michelle, you worry far too much.’ Judy tilted her head to one side, her eyes narrowed, as if something was dawning. ‘I think I used to have that sleep apnoea – before I lost the weight. No one knew about it back then though, so I just used to choke all night,’ she added matter-of-factly.
Sara coughed on an olive.
Michelle looked up at Judy. ‘You’ve never said you used to be overweight. I can’t imagine it.’
‘There was a time in sixth form when I had one bout of tonsilitis after another. It hurt to eat, but I found things like chocolate and milk shake easy to get down. Unfortunately, I piled on a load of weight. Come to think about it, it was Mingle that resulted in me slimming down.’
‘Mingle?’ asked Michelle. ‘Do they have a size limit for women? How unfair –’
‘No, nothing like that. A bunch of us from school tried it out – we lied about our ages to get a free trial.’ She started to giggle. ‘I went out with an ex-marine.’ She dipped a crisp into aioli, a wistful look in her eye. ‘He was mature and really good looking.’
‘Mam, you would’ve hit the roof, if I’d done something like that,’ said Gemma.’
‘Ooh, what happened?’ said Sara.
‘We were in the old Starbucks above the bookshop on Team Valley, when he suddenly looked around all “spy-like” and started to whisper. Apparently, whenever he was upstairs in an unfamiliar location, he’d identify the nearest window and the fattest person in the room.’
The women leaned forward, intrigued.
‘He told me that during a terrorist attack, you throw the fattest person out of the window, before you jump – so you have something soft to land on.’
The others curled up in hysterics. To Sara’s embarrassment, she laughed so hard she knocked over her glass and broke wind, making the others hoot even more.
Michelle rescued the miraculously still intact crystal flute. ‘Judy, do you have a plastic beaker for Sara?’
‘He was so handsome and rugged,’ she continued, a wistful look in her eye. ‘But then I looked around, and I realised I was the fattest person in the room!’
‘Did you have a second date?’ said Michelle, between squeals of laughter.
Judy sighed. ‘He didn’t ask me.’
Gemma gasped. ‘You’d have gone?’
She shrugged. ‘I was young and impressionable.’
Sara threw a serviette over the spilled Prosecco and scuttled off to the toilet in one flip-flop.
The oven pinged, interrupting the frivolity. Judy and Michelle brought out the rest of the food, and the younger girls set about wolfing it as soon as the plates hit the dining table. Chicken, baked potatoes, Spanish omelette, a token salad and a cheese board – perfect food for a girlie night in.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Judy. ‘Michelle, how about us two booking a late deal? Maybe to Spain?’
‘Sorry, I can’t. I haven’t got much annual leave left.’ Michelle did have a couple of weeks remaining, but without a single conscious thought, she’d concluded she needed to save it for seeing Dan. More so after his last text, though she wasn’t sure why.
‘Damn,’ said Judy, her face etched with disappointment.
Gemma nudged Sara. ‘I think it’s a brilliant idea.’ She started clearing away empty plates.
Sara scooped up some crumbs from the table. ‘Ooh, I’ve just had a thought... We could come with you. We’d all have a great time.’
‘You concentrate on your exams,’ said Michelle.
Sara tutted and brushed the crumbs from her hands back onto the table.
‘Look,’ said Judy. Carrie’s been dumped by Berger. On a blinking Post-it...’
While Sara snoozed on the way home in the taxi, Michelle’s mind wandered back to Dan’s text. She pulled out her mobile to read it. She should ignore it. He was bound to be regretting it, otherwise he’d have followed it up with an explanation. She decided it was probably a spur of the minute thing, after alcohol – no doubt didn’t even remember sending it. Yes, better to ignore it. She dropped her phone into her bag.
Then she pulled it back out and typed, Why?
Her mobile pinged right back. It turned out Dan did mean it, but he needed to see her in person to explain.
Michelle’s hand trembled as she tapped out a date and time to meet.
