Stockings and Cellulite (25 page)

‘How’s Nell?’ I asked.

‘Recovering. A scan revealed the foetus had no heart beat. The surgeon presented Nell with two options – either let Mother Nature take its course or have the pregnancy surgically removed. She opted for the latter. Despite causing havoc with the surgeon’s operating list, the procedure was carried out earlier this evening.’

‘Right.’ I didn’t really know what to say.

Ben raked his hair. He looked all in. ‘On a positive note, if Nell hadn’t run away she’d never have discovered the foetus had died.

She’d have gone in for the operation believing herself to be some sort of murderer. I hadn’t realised the extent to which she’d been torturing herself.’

I nodded. ‘Give her my love.’

I spent the entirety of the weekend once again keeping busy, decorating Livvy’s room. Anything to stop myself from thinking. There was so much I didn’t want to think about. Nell’s loss. And Jamie’s. A widower with two children to raise. His face seemed to permanently encroach on my thoughts these days. I couldn’t quite work him out. Every time I saw him he acted like he was really keen on me. And yet it never seemed to come to anything. Was I so out of touch that I couldn’t work out whether a guy was genuinely interested or simply pursuing a platonic friendship? I tried to bat the thoughts away. The trouble was, they kept boomeranging right back.

I washed out the brushes and paint tray. A sense of satisfaction stole over my soul. The house had been stamped from top to bottom with my own personal signature. Not one trace of Stevie’s presence remained. It looked great – and felt even better.

At the office, Morag caught up with me in the corridor.

‘Hello stranger!’ I smiled.

‘Sorry, work’s been manic with lunch hours thin on the ground. But not today! Park. Usual time. Tell Julia too.’

A few hours later we sat on our favourite bench enjoying the sunshine.

‘Matt’s away this weekend,’ Morag informed, ‘taking two of the children to some County show.’ She took a bite out of her apple. ‘So, what are we going to do?’

‘Do?’ Julia frowned.

‘Yes, do. You know I hate my own company, so let’s have a get-together.’

‘Okay,’ I agreed. ‘Girls night in. Your place?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous Cass,’ Morag snorted. ‘Girls night out.’

Uh-oh.

I hadn’t been home long when Nell surprised me by popping over for coffee and a catch up. Despite appearing fairly upbeat, she confessed to sudden moments of black gloom. Pondering what might have been.

‘I don’t like crying in front of Ben,’ she stared unseeingly through the kitchen window, her eyes suddenly welling.

I patted her hand. ‘It’s okay to feel sad you know.’

She blinked furiously and gave a watery smile. ‘What I need is a damn good night out.’

‘Really? Well your luck is in! Liv and Toby are with their dad this weekend and if Ben’s up for babysitting Dylan, look no further than
moi
.’

‘Oh I’m up for it all right,’ Nell said with uncharacteristic fierceness.

‘Morag has a propensity to party quite hard,’ I warned. ‘Promise me you won’t overdo it – if at any point you want to go home then you must say so.’

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Nell snapped irritably. ‘Sorry. Mood swing.’

On Saturday evening, a little after seven, Nell and I met up with Morag. She was aided and abetted by two legal cronies called Heather and Siobhan from rival firms. Julia and her pal, Kirsten, completed the group.

Tumbling into two minicabs between us, we drove to Maidstone where Morag assured the group that a good time would be had by all. Like a ship in full sail she glided into a heaving wine bar, the rest of us bobbing about in her wake. Our leader somehow managed to appropriate the only tiny unoccupied table left. Moments later Morag was armed and dangerous with a large gin and a second lined up. I was alarmed to see Nell following Morag’s example.

‘Do you think that’s wise?’ I jerked my head at her glass.

‘Oh shut up Cass. I know you mean well but frankly, right now, I couldn’t give a-’

‘All right, all right,’ I stuck my hands up in a backing off gesture. ‘Just concerned that’s all.’

‘Well don’t be,’ she took a swig from her glass. ‘I’m fine. I just want to have some fun and put the last few weeks of unbearable crap behind me.’

I nodded, smarting slightly from having been firmly put in my place.

The drink flowed and with it a gabble of conversation and indiscreet shrieking. Nell had become belligerently punchy and was furiously offloading buried resentment over Ben and his abortion pressure. Her usually respectable accent had completely disintegrated.

‘Fuckin’ dictator,’ she slurred to Heather. ‘S’my body innit? Wot right ’as any man to tell a woman wot she can do wiv ’er body, eh?’

Heather promptly nosedived into her gin sobbing profusely.

‘I’ve had an abortion,’ she howled. ‘I’ve never told a soul before now. I don’t know why I’m telling you.’

Nell flung an arm cosily around Heather’s shoulders. ‘It’s coz we’re
mates
. Probably
soul
mates.’

‘Really?’ Heather bleated pathetically. ‘How terribly nice. I’ve never had a soulmate before.’ She gazed at Nell as if she were the Holy Grail.

The pair of them had attracted the attention of two sniggering guys who were nudging each other and rolling their eyes. They were clearly under the impression the two girls were a raving pair of dykes. Nell glared at them in outrage.

‘We’re not lezzies you know!’ she yelled indignantly. ‘S’all right when you blokes get tarty wiv each other though innit?’ She stood up and pointed a manicured finger at them. ‘Bloody pansies you lot are on the footy pitch – runnin’ around in yer itsy-bitsy shorts, cuddlin’ an’ snoggin’ at the goal posts, leapin’ on top of each other an’ shovin’ yer lunchboxes in each other’s faces.’

‘Oh God,’ I muttered to Morag as the Manager zoomed towards our table. ‘Here we go.’

And go we did. Straight out the door.

As Nell and Heather staggered about on the pavement, Morag rubbed her hands together gleefully.

‘Excellent,’ she purred. ‘This is turning into a cracking evening girls. Now follow me.’

We trooped off into – no surprises here – a nightclub. By Morag’s reckoning no night out was complete without a serious bop.

‘When are we going to eat?’ I complained, desperately trying to ignore my rumbling stomach.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll find us something later,’ promised Morag.

Oh joy. That meant a late night food poisoning session at the decrepit kebab van already parked and poised opposite the club.

The evening passed in a noisy blur of movement. It was only when a bouncer spotted Nell energetically tap dancing to Leona Lewis’
Bleeding Love
that we once again found ourselves being rounded up and propelled toward the street.

‘I can’t stand piss-takers on the piss and disrupting the dance floor,’ the bouncer curtly informed my neighbour.

‘How dare you!’ Nell squawked. ‘If you weren’t seven feet tall I’d punch yer lights out.’

‘Good-bye,’ the bouncer coolly replied.

‘Sorry,’ I muttered. ‘She’s had a bit of a tough time lately.’

Julia and I were the only ones sober, the others being catastrophically paralytic. By this point my hunger was so profound the kebab van’s health and hygiene standards were not even a consideration. All I wanted was food. And if it meant eating dodgy meat stuffed inside a blackened pitta with a smattering of salmonella nestling amongst the ketchup and onions, then so be it.

I’d just handed over my fiver (
fiver
?) and was possessively clutching my meal parcel to my bosom when all hell broke out behind me. Morag was having a fast and furious row with a female homeless person. Julia and I stared at each other in shock. A homeless person on the street here?

‘How
dare
you ask me for money!’ Morag shrieked. ‘I suppose you want dosh to pour alcohol down your throat?’ she spat, almost asphyxiating the vagrant with her gin sodden breath. ‘Or perhaps you want to inject another vein in your arm eh? You no-hopers cost working people like me a bloody fortune with your rehab clinics and your psycho-babble counselling.’

‘I want something to
eat
!’ growled the tramp furiously. ‘You think I live like this out of
choice
? How
dare
you patronise me? Don’t you think I’m humiliated enough without rich bitches like you having a pop at me? I’m fucking HUNGRY!’ her snarls rose to a crowd attracting crescendo.

‘Here,’ I shoved my kebab into the woman’s filthy hands realising with a shock that she wasn’t an ancient bag lady but younger than me.

Julia had managed to hail a minicab and I hastily bundled Morag toward the open rear door.

‘Shut up and get in,’ I hissed, shoving her into the car’s interior. ‘Where’s Nell? Oh for God’s sake!’

For reasons known only to Nell, she had shimmied up a temporary makeshift barrier surrounding a roadwork excavation. She’d also managed to prostrate herself in a most undignified position and split her trousers in the process. Heather, Siobhan and Kirsten were staggering around the base of the metal fence debating how to rescue Nell. Seconds later the fence toppled over. As Nell crashed into the four foot excavation laughing like a deranged hyena, the taxi driver decided he’d witnessed enough mayhem and wanted nothing more to do with us.

‘Hop it love,’ he ordered Morag.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Out!’

A police siren wailed faintly in the distance.

I stood on the kerb feeling like a despairing sheepdog trying and failing to round up its dysfunctional flock. What the hell was everybody doing? Professional women, some of us
parents
for God’s sake, behaving like a bunch of teenage delinquents.

‘Never again,’ I waggled my finger in Morag’s face. ‘Never, ever again.’

‘What are you on about Cass? This evening has been an absolute blinder.’

The following morning I swam to the surface of wakefulness and realised that I had absolutely nothing to do. It was no good telephoning Nell for a post-mortem as she’d probably have a monumental hangover. Ditto Morag. And because the twins were at Stevie’s, I didn’t even have the excuse of going to the stables and accidentally-on-purpose bumping into Jamie.

Jamie. Popping into my head
again
. I recognised that I had a thumping great crush on the man. There. I’d said it. I tried to analyse why I was so drawn to him, apart from the fact that he was seriously good looking. Well, for starters I enjoyed his company. I sensed he was a very deep person which gave him strength of character, something Stevie had lacked. I instinctively knew Jamie to be a guy who was loyal and true. Matt had more or less confirmed this too. I would have bet my last pound that Philly, Jamie’s dead wife, had never waited up into the small hours wringing her hands and despairing where her husband was. Or had a romantic occasion in a restaurant ruined while her husband made eyes at the waitress. And no doubt later exchanged telephone numbers. I had been secretly delighted that Jamie had been impervious to Morag’s bosomy charms on each occasion their paths had crossed, whereas Matt hadn’t been able to resist, allowing her to bed him instantly. I believed Jamie was an honourable man, one that could be trusted – unlike the Stevies and Euans of the world.

I sighed. It was no good hankering after the man. He’d had several opportunities to ask me out but nothing had come of it.

I stretched my arms and legs languidly. Perhaps I could just stay in bed all day? Yes, why not. I’d relax under the duvet and relish my new bed. I spent the next five minutes extending and elongating my body into various positions until I realised I was utterly bored.

Throwing back the covers, I bounced out of bed and drew the curtains. Outside it was pouring with rain. There was nothing else for it. I’d have to wile Sunday away at Fairview instead.

An hour later I’d spotted a drop-dead-gorgeous fuchsia pink dress. I scuddered to a halt and pressed my nose up against the shop’s backlit glazing. A mannequin modelled the garment to anorexic perfection.

Inside the privacy of my changing room I stripped off. Probably best to remove my pants too so no knicker line marred the soft clinging material. It was only when I was down to my birthday suit and lit by the cubicle’s harsh fluorescent lighting that I froze. My hand, outstretched toward the dress’s hanger, paused and hovered mid-air. Staring back at me from the unforgiving multi-angled mirrors was a slim but thoroughly untoned woman with a baggy baby belly, stretch marks and cellulite. By dint of design, the mirror showed off this disgusting reflection from both the front, side and – if I jiggled round a bit – the back too. Oh God. Just look at that rear! I was mesmerised by its ugliness. I assumed a lap dancer’s pose, spread my legs and slowly bent over. Instantly my bum inflated to the size of a baby elephant’s. Transfixed, I swayed from side to side. Yep. It definitely looked like the back end of a bus. Suddenly my cubicle curtain swished open to reveal a teenager with a mass of open pores. We stared at each other through my parted legs.

‘Oops. Fort me mate was in this one. Sorry.’

The curtain fell smartly back into place. Seconds later I heard a fit of stifled giggles and hoarse whispering.

‘I just walked in on this bollock naked old girl swingin’ ’er arse about like she woz in some porno movie or sumfink, ha ha. She should be so lucky, sad cow. You should’ve seen it! An’ it was sproutin’ hairs all over the place too.’

Was it? I jiggled back round to view my botty, roughly pulling the cheeks apart. Good heavens, she was right. I’d have to have a Birmingham or whatever it was called. Smarting with humiliation I erupted out of the cubicle. But the girl had gone. A changing room assistant gave me an astonished once over. Wrapping the curtain around me I shot back inside muttering furiously to myself.

‘Well at least I only have a hairy back passage and not prolific lip hair that extends up my nasal passage. Ever heard of a nose clipper? Or a hedge trimmer in your case?’

My shoulders drooped. The teenage girl was right. My body was in dire need of toning. And what better time to firm up now that Spain was only a few weeks away?