Stockings and Cellulite (21 page)

‘I’m so sorry,’ I whispered. ‘I do like you Matt. Truly I do. It’s just, well, I don’t seem to know what I want myself half the time.’

‘Cass, I guess we’re all looking for someone, be it consciously or otherwise. It’s human nature to seek out a partner, spouse, soul mate – call it what you will. I know I’m looking. Three marriages under my belt and here I am, a forty-three year old saddo
still
looking.
Still
hung up on the fact that somehow, somewhere, there might be
some
body waiting for me. I may never find her but I know in my heart I will never stop searching. I like you Cass.
Really
like you. And I’m happy to be your friend and see you casually with or without your kids. But I’d rather you tell me now if I’m wasting my time romantically. I don’t want to embarrass you making clumsy passes if you’re just looking for a platonic friendship.’

I seemed to be rapidly blinking. Couldn’t stop actually. With an effort I tore my eyes away from his face, unclenched my rigid hands and took one of his in mine.

‘I adore seeing you Matt,’ I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. ‘You’re a fantastic guy – great fun, kind and sincere. And you’re quite right. I’m looking for someone too. Eventually. But I foolishly threw myself into a very brief relationship not long after my marriage ended and it was a disaster. However, the experience taught me that I’m not cut out for having an intimate relationship with another man without, well, being in love I suppose. And right now,’ I glanced up at his serious face, ‘you’re special, very special, but-’

‘You’re not in love,’ Matt finished my sentence for me and I nodded slowly.

We sat there for a moment just looking at each other. Eventually he stood up.

‘Cass, I’m going home now but I’d still like to see you in the future – if you want to that is.’

I gulped a bit and gave a weak smile. ‘Of course I do. You’re my friend Matthew Harding. And good friends are awfully precious.’

Together we walked to the hallway, our arms loosely around each other’s waists. But upon opening the front door I froze.

‘Oh my God!’

Matt followed my horrified gaze.

The incriminating sack of rubbish placed so carefully in the wheelie bin only a few hours earlier had been raided and ripped apart by a pillaging fox. Tin foil dishes and cardboard lids emblazoned with the homily ‘Carlo and Luigi’ were scattered across the drive. As realisation dawned, Matt turned back to regard my red-faced embarrassment. He started to chuckle. Then his shoulders shook. Suddenly he keeled over hugging his belly as hilarity convulsed his body. Seconds later a fit of giggles bubbled up within me. And suddenly we were clutching each other, doubled up with mirth.

‘You are incorrigible Cassandra Cherry,’ Matt wiped his eyes. ‘And actually,’ he gently took hold of me, ‘what you did tonight demonstrates that I truly am a very special friend. Thank you.’

And with that he dropped a warm kiss on my forehead and wished me goodnight.

Reversing his car down the driveway he suddenly stopped and buzzed the window down.

‘Can I call you tomorrow?’

‘That would be great,’ I replied truthfully.

He gave a cheery little toot and I waved until the car’s red tail lights disappeared. Sighing, I turned on my heel and went in search of a fresh black sack.

As good as his word, Matt telephoned the following morning suggesting lunch. I readily agreed, eager to dispel any awkwardness following last night’s cards-on-the-table confession.

When I arrived at Matt’s he was in the yard messing about with a small wirehaired terrier, attempting to throw a deflated football for the little dog who was determined not to relinquish his toy without a good deal of growling and head shaking. Matt saw me approaching, rubbed the dog’s head and walked on over.

‘How’s the best cook in the world?’ he teased by way of greeting.

We fell into an easy stride together, his arm around my shoulder but in a chummy way rather than a flirty manner. It was honestly as if nothing had ever happened.

We lunched at a quaint inn tucked away on the borders of woodland. Over a Ploughman’s we chatted and joked. At some point Mac, the widowed father of Petra and Jonas, cropped up in the conversation.

‘He’s a bit down at the moment,’ Matt confided.

‘Well it can’t be a bed of roses raising two young children single-handedly.

‘Tell you what,’ suggested Matt, ‘how about a bit of a get-together next weekend. I’ll invite Mac over. Liv and Toby can hang out with Petra and Jonas. Perhaps you’d like to bring a girlfriend along and we’ll make it a bit of a social thing. If the weather carries on being as beautiful as today I could even do us a nice barbie.’

‘Okay,’ I enthused.

My first thought was Morag, but then I hesitated. What if she got plastered and became lewd and loud? Perhaps Julia would be the safer option. But if Morag later found out she’d been passed over in favour of Julia, my working life probably wouldn’t be worth living.

‘Anyone in mind?’

‘W-e-ll, I’m good pals with a girl at work. She’s actually one of the solicitors. But despite having a tremendously responsible and sobering job, she can in fact be a bit-’

‘Irresponsible and not so sober?’

‘Er, well, only out of hours.’

‘I’m intrigued Cass. Do elaborate.’

‘Her name’s Morag. She’s attractive and vivacious but she can be rather, well, all sort of heaving bosoms and full on.’

‘All heaving bosoms eh? Well that’s sorted then. She’s definitely invited.’

‘Okay, I’ll square it up with her tomorrow when I’m back at work.’

I didn’t manage to touch base with the lady in question until lunchtime.

‘Why are we rushing?’ complained Morag as we headed to the park at a trot. ‘What’s wrong with walking?’

‘I need air,’ I gasped, ‘fresh air. I’m working again for that awful Martin Henniker this week. He’s so noxious I feel like I’ve been poisoned.’

‘Oh yeah,’ Julia nodded her head as she puffed along on the other side of me, ‘his new secretary walked out last week. She only stayed two days.’

‘Yes well never mind Hideous Henniker,’ Morag collapsed onto the hard slats of our park bench. ‘I’ve road tested this little lot,’ she produced her speed dating list complete with scribbled out names, ‘and they were all crap.’

‘You slept with all those men?’ I gasped.

‘Oh Cass for goodness sake stop being such a prude,’ she scrunched the list up and lobbed it at a nearby litter bin.

I turned to Julia. ‘How did your date turn out with Wosser-name?’

‘Miles,’ Julia beamed.

‘What sort of a name is Miles?’ snorted Morag.

‘A nice name. He’s a sweetie and I like him.’

‘Men,’ Morag grumbled, ‘are a pain in the backside. They’re like a blender – you need one but you’re not quite sure why.’

Julia and I laughed and joined in good-naturedly.

‘They’re like commercials – you can’t believe a word they say.’

‘Or like mascara – they run at the first sign of emotion.’

We creased up.

‘Attagirls,’ whooped Morag happily. ‘Men are like popcorn – they satisfy you but only for a little while.’

‘So you won’t be interested in a bit of a blind date this weekend?’ I asked slyly.

‘I never said that,’ Morag sat up straight giving me her undivided attention.

So I told her about meeting up with Matt and his widower pal.

‘Oh why not,’ she sighed. ‘I’ve damn all else to do.’

As the week progressed the sun shone ever warmer and my thoughts turned to summer holidays. I found myself slipping into the travel agents and grabbing an armful of holiday brochures.

‘Are we going abroad Mum?’ Livvy asked that evening, fingering the brochures longingly.

‘Looks like it,’ I grinned.

‘Oh yeah,’ enthused Toby. ‘Disneyland here we come.’

‘I was thinking more Europe actually.’

‘As long as it has theme parks Mum I’ll be more than happy.’

‘There will be a beach with an in-built wave machine and you will be deliriously happy,’ I informed my son.

But when I telephoned to book the holiday of my choice, it appeared that everything suitable had been snapped up months ago.

‘If you give me a definite time frame Mrs Cherry I can investigate global cancellations and last minute availability,’ said the travel agent.

‘Well okay, just so long as you understand I don’t want to be sent off to some godforsaken third world country. I don’t want food poisoning, diarrhoea, cockroaches, toilets that are only holes in the ground, stinking drains, rats, dead cats-’

‘Yes I get the picture Mrs Cherry,’ the travel agent interrupted. At the other end of the line I could hear the continual tapping of keys. ‘Ah! This looks promising but availability is for one week only. There are just two small apartments left at The Gardens, self-catering, in picturesque Benalmadena.’

‘Where’s that?’ I asked none the wiser.

‘Spain.’

‘I’ll take it.’

Just as the day was drawing to a close, my long awaited new bed was delivered. I was not disappointed. The elegant chocolate leather contrasted richly against the cream bedroom carpet completely transforming the room.

However, there was a bit of a setback with Liv and Toby’s respective beds. Stupidly I hadn’t realised they were flat packed and required home assembly. Two pairs of blue eyes gazed expectantly at me.

‘Sorry kids but I’m not even going to attempt it.’

‘Call Dad,’ Livvy suggested sensibly.

After just two rings a girl breathlessly answered. I say
girl
because she sounded about twelve. Presumably this was Charlotte the Teenage Mutant Tartlette.

‘Hello, is Stevie there please?’

A small pause. ‘Who’s calling?’

Was it my imagination or did she sound suspicious and proprietary?

‘His wife,’ I replied as the bitch within me inexplicably roared to the surface. Almost immediately I felt contrite. Charlotte was not the cause of my failed marriage. ‘One moment. BABE!’ she foghorned.
Babe?
‘It’s your EX-WIFE.’

I caught my breath. Well that had put me in my place hadn’t it? My shoulders sagged. Oh so what? Did I really care? She was quite right. I was Stevie’s ex-wife and it was only a matter of time before a piece of paper formalised that fact. Why should I mind if Charlotte was being territorial?

Seconds later Stevie came on the line. I quickly explained about the twins’ beds.

‘Hey no problem Cass. I’ll grab my toolbox and pop over right away. Can’t have the kids disappointed.’

‘Thanks, I really appreciate that.’

Ha! That would show Charlotte a thing or two. I might be the ex-wife but Liv and Toby were still his children.

When Stevie later sauntered past my open bedroom door and spotted the new leather bed dominating the floor space, he couldn’t help doing a double take.

‘That’s…exotic.’

I felt acutely embarrassed. The bed seemed to silently pulsate with sexual energy.

‘It’s posturepaedic. Good on your back.’

‘I’ll bet,’ Stevie winked.

‘It’s good for
bad
backs,’ I explained irritably.

‘Whatever dongs your gong Cass! What have you done with the old bed?’

‘It’s in the garage awaiting a trip to the rubbish dump.’

‘Don’t chuck it. I’ll collect it at the weekend and stick it in one of my spare bedrooms.’

An hour later Stevie slung a screwdriver in his toolbox and straightened up.

‘Thanks very much for your help,’ I said stiffly.

Livvy’s room looked indescribably pretty, the princess four-poster hung with the palest of pink voile curtains. And Toby’s room was now more pre-teen than playschool with its bunk bed and desk combo.

It was gone midnight when, with a small thrill, I clambered under the duvet and spread-eagled my body across the king-sized mattress. I briefly wondered whether I would ever share a bed with another man again.

On Saturday morning Morag arrived in her gleaming little sports car. Low slung and sexy, it was great for two people but totally impractical for squeezing in Livvy and Toby. Grumbling hugely, Morag climbed into my filthy but sensible family hatchback.

‘I won’t make much of an impression turning up in this hillbilly wagon.’

‘With looks like yours you don’t need to rely upon a sports car for props,’ I soothed.

‘Do you think?’ Morag perked up.

It was true that she looked lovely, dressed in a plunging white top and pristine designer jeans.

At the yard, Toby and Liv spotted Petra and Jonas and immediately ran off to join them. Morag and I went straight up to the house. The side gate was open so we strolled round to the back garden. Matt was fanning a smoking barbecue and chatting to another guy who had his back to us. At the sound of our footsteps Matt looked up, his face splitting into a welcoming grin which grew even bigger when he copped Morag’s billowing cleavage.

‘Well hello girls,’ he beamed giving me a firm kiss on both cheeks so that he then had an excuse to kiss Morag twice. His eyes kept zooming in on her cleavage. Judging from the way she had switched to jiggle mode, Morag was not offended. She was impressed enough with Matt to step her forceful personality up another notch and was now doing a superb impression of Miss Piggy, all fluttering eyelashes and lots of hair flicking.

‘I have to say Morag, Cass described you perfectly.’

‘Hmm?’ Morag simpered. She even sounded like Miss Piggy. Any minute now she’d be calling him Kermit.

‘Cass said you were very – what was it? All heaving bos-’

‘Buzzes,’ I interrupted, flashing Matt a stern look. His eyes were dancing with mischief. Morag looked perplexed.

‘As in buzzy,’ I explained.

‘Oh yes I am a very buzzy person,’ Morag said eagerly.

But I was no longer looking at her. Instead I was staring in disbelief at the other man who had turned to face us and was looking pretty stunned himself. Morag followed my gaze and her mouth dropped.

‘You!’ all three of us chimed together.

Matt looked pole-axed. ‘Er, do you all know each other?’

‘We’ve bumped into each other here and there,’ Morag replied coolly.

‘What a small world,’ mused Matt.