Stockings and Cellulite (12 page)

‘When I drop you home, will you be asking me in for coffee?’ Euan grinned wickedly at me, his face suffused in the orange lights of the car park.

‘No!’

‘Never?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Ah,’ he grinned, ‘so it’s just a case of biding my time and being patient.’

As his car pulled up outside my house, Euan caught my hand in his. ‘I’ll see you soon beautiful lady,’ he promised, drawing my hand to his warm lips.

Moi? A beautiful lady? I wriggled delightedly as I hugged the memory of his words to myself. Pulling the duvet tightly up under my chin, I drifted into an untroubled sleep with a smile on my face.

Morag was in a much more upbeat mood the following day.

‘Feast your peepers on that!’ she grinned. ‘Doesn’t it make you positively salivate with longing?’

It was a fulsome article on the joys of holidaying in the Caribbean. A photographic layout showed turquoise water lapping white sand, remote islands smothered in green palms along with an arty-farty shot of stacked conch shells. I nodded my head in agreement.

‘I really can picture myself stretched out on that sand,’ Morag said wistfully, ‘some handsome ebony guy with a big todger massaging me with coconut oil and plying me with rum before whisking me off for a thoroughly good seeing to.’

‘Sorry to bring you back to reality, but this post needs signing off before I collect the twins.’

Morag sighed and picked up her fountain pen.

‘I miss sex,’ she stated as her flashy signature scribbled across the A4.

‘Right.’

‘I need sex like food and water.’

‘Right.’

‘I’ll have to do something about it. Soon.’

‘Right.’

On the drive to school I idly reviewed my own sex life. Nonexistent unless I included last night’s erotic dream involving Euan.

Nell walked Dylan over that evening before going out to celebrate her wedding anniversary. As Dylan disappeared to join the twins on their PlayStations, my neighbour lunged forward grabbing my wrist in a Machiavellian grip.

‘Not so fast! What’s with the sparkly eyes, dewy skin and backward smile?’

‘Eh?’

‘You keep grinning like the village idiot.’

‘Don’t be daft!’

‘Are you in love?’

‘Oh bog off Nell. Go and have a brilliant evening with Ben and bonk him senseless when you get back home.’

‘Yes I will,’ she assured. ‘But you and I have some serious catching up to do.’

The working week zipped by and all too soon it was another Saturday. Within minutes of the twins leaving for Stevie’s, the telephone rang.

‘Is that the gorgeous Cassandra?’

‘Euan!’ I coiled a strand of hair around one finger like any girl in the first flush of crush.

‘I want to whisk you away from the washing up.’

‘Excellent news.’

‘I’ll pick you up at eight.’

When I opened one eye the following morning I wasn’t sure if I’d had another erotic dream or not. I sneaked a sideways look. No, it had definitely been the real thing. Lying next to me was my kitchen fitter.

I truly had not intended to leap into bed with a virtual stranger – and on the second date no less. The fact that I had previously put fresh linen on the bed, exfoliated my entire body, carefully dressed in sheer black stockings and squirted every nook and cranny of my skin with scent was nothing more than appalling coincidence.

After being wined and dined it had seemed only polite to offer a nightcap of some sort. Trembling with nerves, I had barely set down the coffee cups rattling away in their saucers when Euan had wordlessly picked me up in his strong arms, strode up the staircase and tumbled me onto the bed.

Like a scene from a romantic film my hair had billowed out, fanning itself attractively across the pillows. As Euan stared down at me in the rosy glow of lamplight, I could almost hear the accompaniment of film music rising to a dramatic crescendo as he grasped his leather belt and tore at the buckle fastening.

‘God you’re beautiful Cass,’ he’d declared as his trousers were carelessly tossed to one side. ‘You are the most gorgeous, sensual, sexy, desirable woman I have ever met.’

I’d occasionally been called attractive or pretty in my time, but never had so many flattering adjectives been used to describe me of all people. It was heady stuff and I urgently felt the need to qualify those words.

And suddenly I was in the grip of a living fantasy. Never before had I felt so desired and desirable. The writhing female throwing herself with great gusto into a sexual marathon was no longer a middle aged woman with an overstretched tummy from a double pregnancy. Nor was her waistline marred by one too many chocolate biscuits or her thighs dimpled with a smattering of cellulite. In her place was a blonde bombshell that sizzled and spat with newly discovered sexual energy.

At around midday, just as he was leaving, Euan planted a lingering kiss on my upturned face.

‘Cass, we are at the beginning of a very special chapter in our lives.’

I grinned by way of response. I hadn’t the energy to formulate actual words.

And so began a discreet romance. I hugged the secret to myself, not daring to tell a soul, terrified in case Livvy and Toby found out and wanting to protect them above all else.

The days blended into one another and suddenly the Easter holiday loomed along with the impending ski trip. Typically, having now met a gorgeous chap, I found myself not wishing to leave him for a whole week.

Late one afternoon Nell tapped on the back door just as I was making a coffee.

‘We have some serious catching up to do,’ she sternly informed me.

‘Oh? What about?’

‘Don’t play the innocent with me Cass. Come on. Make me a coffee and tell me about this man you’ve met.’

‘What man?’

‘The chap who’s going to fit your new kitchen one of these fine days.’

‘It’s all in hand,’ I assured. ‘Just as soon as the twins break up from school.’

‘The only fitting schedule I want to know about is how this guy is fitting into your personal life.’

‘There’s nothing to tell. We’ve just been out for a drink a few times.’

‘And?’

‘And, well, that’s it really.’ I placed a steaming mug before her. ‘He’s a mate.’

‘As in
play
mate presumably.’ She folded her arms across her chest and adopted a bossy tone. ‘Cass this is like pulling teeth. Utterly painful. Now come on. Spill the beans.’

‘What beans?’

‘The sexy ones. Is he good in bed?’

‘Nell, what sort of a question is that!’

‘A nosy one. And don’t pretend you haven’t bonked him because you’ve got a red flush spreading up your neck. Which is probably where the expression
scarlet woman
comes from,’ she nodded knowingly and dipped a Hob Nob in her mug.

‘Oh all
right
!’ I threw my hands up in a gesture of surrender. ‘What precisely do you want to know?’

‘Good girl,’ she grinned rubbing her hands together. ‘Let’s start off with the most important question first. Has he got a big willie?’

That evening the telephone rang but all I could hear was heavy breathing.

‘Hello?’ I asked cautiously.

‘Do you see how I’m panting for you Cass?’ laughed Euan.

‘Very funny.’

‘Can I come over this evening?’

‘Sorry but I have to say no.’ Much as I was longing to see Euan, the twins would be at home and I wanted my private life kept well away from them.

‘But Cass, you’re off to Italy this weekend. When am I going to see you?’

‘I could see you for a couple of hours tomorrow, but it would have to be late afternoon when the twins are with their dad.’

‘Okay. See you then.’

It had dawned on me some time previously that, with Euan in my life, it was essential my underwear was up to scratch for any impromptu bedroom liaisons. It was no good giving come hither looks togged out in grey undies. Thus I had recently invested in a stash of sexy lingerie. Running my fingertips over a purple bra boasting maximum plunge, I pulled a matching thong from the drawer and topped it all off with a floaty robe.

When Euan eventually turned up for our rendez-vous, it was not Cassandra Cherry, part-time secretary and harassed mother, who greeted him. Oh no. In her place was a sensual being. As Euan shut the door and properly registered my attire, his eyes gleamed with appreciation.

‘Bloody hell Cass, that’s one heck of a dressing gown.’ The entirety of our time together was spent in bed, mattress springs wildly protesting as Euan embarked on what an onlooker could be forgiven to think was a wrestling session.

The twins and I were awoken by the clock radio blaring into life at five the following morning. Our flight was hellishly turbulent.

‘This plane is better than the Corkscrew at Alton Towers,’ declared Toby.

The initial relief of exchanging an airbus for a coach on terra firma was short lived. As our burly driver navigated narrow mountain passes and repeatedly swept around hairpin bends, it seemed as if the massive vehicle would tumble at any second down the sheer drop. On more than one occasion my stomach wanted to cosy up with my tonsils.

Eventually we rumbled into the picturesque village of Risoul which sported scenery straight out of a winter wonderland movie. To our right, in the distance, skiers in brightly coloured snowsuits flashed like colourful ants against a backdrop of glistening white.

The hotel was rustic in a cuckoo clock sort of way. The proprietor, Pierre, greeted his weary arrivals with smiles and largesse, before showing us to our family room.

Liv and Toby peered into cupboards and poked around before throwing open the wooden French doors which issued onto a balconied veranda. Icy air blasted around the room.

‘We can chuck our ski socks out here at the end of the day Mum,’ Toby suggested. ‘Dylan told me they get really whiffy.’

‘Your socks are whiffy all the time,’ Livvy flashed back.

‘Don’t start!’ I bellowed. ‘Shut those doors please Toby. I want the pair of you to come with me. There is ski equipment to collect.’

Much later, while the twins were cleaning their teeth before bed, I discreetly sent Euan a text message.

Wish you were here.

He didn’t reply.

Standing nervously with the rest of the adult beginners on the nursery slope the following morning, I could see Liv and Toby making pals in the Children’s Club ski group. I cast about for somebody to strike up my own friendship with.

‘So what do you think of Risoul?’ I smiled at a big bottomed woman to my right.

‘Not bad,’ she shrugged her well padded shoulders.

‘And what do you think of,’ I glanced about, ‘the scenery?’

‘Not bad.’

At that moment our ski instructor arrived. Jean-Paul had the sort of smouldering looks and sexy accent guaranteed to make most females weak-kneed.

‘Wow,’ I murmured to the big bottomed woman, ‘I bet I know what you think of him!’ I gave her a wink and cheeky grin. ‘
Not bad
!’

She stared at me. ‘I wouldn’t know. I’m gay.’

‘Zees morning,’ Jean-Paul addressed his motley group of beginners, ‘we learn ’ow to snow plough.’ He adopted a wide pigeon-toed stance. ‘Eez eemportant for stupping.’

Jean-Paul slid slowly down the slope’s incline by way of demonstration before executing a perfect halt.

‘What you theenk?’ he asked me.

Personally I thought he had an excellent butt and a damn good pair of thighs.

That evening I locked myself in the bathroom with my mobile and tapped out a second text message to Euan.

Still wishing you were here.

And then I reluctantly switched off the handset. As anybody knows, a watched phone never rings. Or, in this case, never bleeps.

The following morning I eagerly fell on the mobile phone convinced it would yield a text message from Euan. Disappointingly the handset remained silent.

Bit by bit our holiday rhythm got underway. All three of us would rise fairly early to do a six hour stint on the ski slopes. The twins would impersonate a pair of supple elastic bands while their mother creaked stiffly up and down the mountain slopes. Periodically I tried contacting Euan but with no success.

On the last day, Jean-Paul pronounced everybody good enough to ski a red run. The slope was littered with soft mounds of snow, as if an army of mad moles had been tunnelling upward. From our great height I could see Risoul spread below like a white tablecloth embroidered with fir trees. I gulped and tried to concentrate on the ski instructor.

‘We do leetle turns around zee moguls,’ Jean-Paul instructed. ‘Après moi s’il vous plait.’

Setting off, I was aware of a tight knot of snowboarders coming up from behind. As they swooped closer, their boards hissing in the snow, my concentration began to unravel. Suddenly one of them shot right across my path and upset my balance. Within seconds I was hurtling off, out of control. My stomach shot into my oesophagus as I gained upon the boarder, my skis bouncing right off the mountain. I must have looked a bit like a leaping thoroughbred at the Grand National, but with none of the grace. And suddenly I was on top of him, smashing into his body, sending the pair of us crashing down on an icy patch.

There was a horrible crunching noise as skis and board briefly entangled before both my skis came right off my feet, deflecting to the side. But my ordeal wasn’t over. I might be down, but I was still travelling.

‘Argh!’ I screeched in terror as I slid head first down the mountain. Mercifully I hit a mogul and veered sideways into a soft bank of snow.

Shocked, I watched the world from an upside down view, as waves of pain ricocheted throughout my upper body. My right cheek was burning as if torched by flame. The snowboarder tore off his board and bounded over to my side.

‘Hey, are you okay?’

‘Funnily enough,’ I hissed, ‘I am
not
okay. I think my neck’s broken.’

I sat up and flexed my neck from side to side.

‘Your neck isn’t broken.’

‘What do you know,’ I snapped. ‘At the very
least
I’ve broken my jaw.’

‘Your jaw is fine but I think you might have left half your cheek on the ice back there.’