Stockings and Cellulite (31 page)

The restaurant was cosy, intimate, perfect. Despite the food being delicious I struggled to eat as I half fretted and half fantasised what might be on a later menu.

Afterwards, without even asking, Jamie drove me to his house. It was a compact detached family home on a winding hill surrounded almost entirely by farmland. No doubt in daylight it afforded the most wonderful views of the tiny ancient church and picturesque postcard village below.

A courtesy light shone cheerfully by the front door. Jamie rattled his key in the lock and strode in, touching switches on table lamps which immediately suffused the rooms with soft light.

‘Won’t be a minute.’

He bounded up the stairs two at a time. Was he off to the loo? Perhaps I should go too? Powder my nose or fiddle with my hair. I pulled a compact mirror from my handbag and inspected my lipstick and teeth. Good. No herby bits stuck anywhere. I hurriedly snapped the compact shut as returning footsteps thumped down the stairs. Wordlessly Jamie took my hand. Led me up the staircase. To his bedroom. This was it. This was finally
it
.

As I crossed the threshold I stared around in astonishment. The room was lit with about sixty or seventy beautiful rose scented candles. Their soft flickering sent shadows leaping across the walls. A large bed stood in the centre with turned down cotton sheets which almost crackled with that first laundered freshness. Across one pillow lay a cream rosebud, a gold ribbon tied around the stem.

‘I love you Cassie,’ Jamie whispered.

He softly kissed one side of my mouth, then the other.

‘I want to show you how much I love you.’

‘Mm, mm,’ I agreed, enthusiastically matching him kiss for kiss.

He made very quick work of all the tiny fiddly buttons on my shirt.

‘Lovely boobs,’ he murmured eyeing up my new cleavage control bra with appreciation.

‘Thank you.’

I slapped his hand away from the bra’s clasp.

‘Cassie, what are you doing?’

‘Leave it alone.’

‘Why?’

‘Because if you undo-’

Too late. My breasts leapt from their ramped up prison and yo-yoed down to my navel.

Fortunately Jamie’s attention had diverted to my right earlobe which he was busily nuzzling while his hands searched out the zipper of my skirt.

Suddenly he froze. ‘What’s this?’

Sod it. ‘A girdle.’

Why the hell had I worn the damn thing? And why in God’s name had I got to the age of thirty nine and not mastered the art of undressing seductively – preferably in a pitch black room?

‘I’ll be honest Cassie. This sort of gear doesn’t do it for me.’

‘It wasn’t meant to. I mean, I didn’t know for sure we would be doing this otherwise I wouldn’t have worn it. I was trying to impress you with a toned figure.’

‘I saw enough of you on holiday in your bikini to know what your body looked like. You don’t have to impress me Cassie. I love you. And I love your body. I love everything about you and most of all I love you just the way you are.’

‘Oh what a beautiful thing to say,’ I fell backwards on the bed swooning in relief. ‘In that case I’m all yours – help yourself.’

As Jamie tripped over trailing trousers and hopped about on one foot peeling off socks, I privately delighted in his own awkward undressing.

A long time later, as we lay side by side, I ran my hands over his beautiful body. The honey curls on his chest. The muscled upper arms. Strong firm thighs.

‘Cassie, can I ask you something?’

‘Mm,’ I mumbled contentedly.

When I first met you, why did you keep calling me Mr Pitt?’

Colour flooded my face. Surely he knew? Didn’t he? Hadn’t anybody ever told him for goodness sake!

‘Um, well I’d have thought it rather obvious actually.’

‘Not to me.’

‘Because, well, because you look like Brad Pitt of course!’

Jamie hooted with laughter. ‘I hardly think so but that’s a very nice compliment all the same.’ He kissed me gently on the nose. ‘Well if I’m Brad Pitt you must surely be Jennifer Aniston.’

This time it was my turn to whoop with ridicule but then I froze, horrified.

‘Oh no. You mustn’t say that. That’s a bad omen.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they split up. Brad went off with Mrs Smith.’

‘Mrs Smith?’

‘Yes you know – she has a cloud of dark swingy hair, high slanting cheekbones, pumped up lips, pumped up boobs, a pert bottom – that’s probably pumped up too – and she’s just a teensy weensy bit stunning.’

In fact, she was an awful lot like Jamie’s ex-girlfriend. My stomach lurched.

‘Hey, hey, listen to me Cassie. I’m not Brad Pitt, you’re not Jennifer Aniston and we’re not going to split up. Okay? I’m crazy about you. I know its early days yet but I seriously believe we have a future together. I certainly
want
a future with you, all of us together one day under one roof.’

‘You mean living together?’

‘Well yes, although I really meant
married
and living together.’

‘Are you proposing?’

‘Kind of,’ Jamie grinned. ‘Although I’d rather give you a proper old fashioned proposal when the time’s right. Down on one knee and all that sort of thing. And preferably when you are fully divorced and had some time on your own.’

‘Are you worried I’m on the rebound?’

‘Of course.’

‘Well I’m not. I rebounded disastrously some time ago.’

‘Is that so?’ he teased.

‘That doesn’t mean I’ve been, you know, putting myself about!’ I spluttered. ‘I’m not that kind of girl.’

‘I know you’re not Cassie, don’t fluster yourself so,’ Jamie twinkled. I had a feeling he was laughing at me. ‘We’ve both been married before and have four children between us. Nonetheless I reckon you and I would make a great team and collectively we’d be a cracking fam-’

Jamie ground to a halt. He looked appalled.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Cassie I’m so sorry. I’ve leapt way ahead here and I’m coming on too strong. I’ve probably terrified you. I just wanted to try and express how you make me-’

I put my finger to his lips and smiled. I felt as if my whole body was smiling.

‘We’ll be fabulous together. All of us.’

‘I have one small confession.’

‘What’s that?’

‘My surname.’

‘Mac?’

‘Yeah. Well, it’s actually an abbreviation.’

‘Don’t tell me. You have Scottish blood running through your veins and in a minute you’re going to confess you’re Jamie MacTavish, the laird of umpteen highland acres with a castle to reclaim.’

‘Er, no. Do you remember telling me that your maiden name was Haddock and how much you hated it?’

‘Y-e-s.’

‘Well, if you marry me you’ll have another awful surname.’

‘Oh?’

‘My surname is Mackerel.’

‘So one day I’ll be Mrs Mackerel?’

‘Yes. From Miss Haddock to Mrs Mackerel.’

‘Sounds like we’re made for each other,’ I grinned.

Inevitably I stayed the night although neither of us achieved a great deal of sleep. I awoke with a start around seven and briefly wondered where on earth I was.

‘Wow,’ Jamie grinned at me. ‘Do you always wake up looking this beautiful?’

‘Oh yes,’ I replied airily. ‘The dishevelled look is my speciality.’

Despite the lack of sleep I actually felt wide awake and sparkly eyed.

We shared a power shower together before breakfasting on warm croissants and orange juice. If only every day started in such a romantic and civilised fashion.

Back home, seconds after my key opened the front door, Nell bustled up behind me, Rocket at her heels.

‘You don’t have to worry about Liv and Toby. They’re watching
Meet The Fockers
on DVD with Ben and Dylan.’

I frowned. ‘Is that suitable viewing.’

‘Probably not. Meanwhile we have – ooh – a good ninety minutes all to ourselves. I’ll put the kettle on while you sit down and spill the beans.’

I sighed in resignation and sat down, Rocket flopping to the floor under the table.

‘So!’ Nell exclaimed. ‘What’s he like in bed?’

She was given a heavily diluted account of the bedroom activity and absolutely no mention of the
marriage
word. Instead I gave her lots of extravagant detail about the scented candles and rose on the pillow, just so she didn’t feel too deprived of details.

‘How wonderful!’ Nell sighed. ‘What I wouldn’t give for a bit of romance.’

‘Well go and grab some!’ I urged. ‘Book yourself a nice weekend somewhere with Ben and I’ll look after Dylan for you. And Rocket,’ I added hastily catching my neighbour’s arched eyebrow.

‘No,’ Nell wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t want romance with Ben thanks very much.’

I was suddenly concerned. ‘Things are okay with you and Ben aren’t they?’

‘Sure,’ she gave a tight smile. Subject closed.

The following morning I dropped Livvy and Toby at the stables and spotted Jonas and Petra grooming their pony. Realising with a jolt that they might one day be another son and daughter, I decided it would be a good idea to muster up some interest in their pony.

‘What’s her name?’ I nervously patted the noble tossing head.

‘Smokey,’ Petra smiled. ‘But he’s a gelding.’

‘That means a male horse whose balls have been chopped off,’ my son informed me gleefully.

‘
Thank
you Toby,’ I heaved a sigh. ‘Well I’ll leave you all to it. See you later.’

As I walked back to the car, the tail end of Petra chatting with Livvy floated across to me on the breeze.

‘I really like your mum,’ I heard her say. ‘As parents go, she’s quite cool.’

Unlocking the car, I realised I was smiling.

A few days later Stevie telephoned absolutely raging.

‘Have you seen my fucking house?’ he screamed.

‘Ah, you’re back.’

‘Yes. And I’ve returned to vandalism and destruction courtesy of bloody Charlotte. Somehow I need to oversee an entire house refurbishment when I’m due back at work tomorrow. Can you help me out?’

‘Never mind your blasted house for a moment. What about asking after your children who haven’t seen or heard from you in quite a while?’

‘Sorry, sorry. I’ll come over right now.’

Stevie arrived just as I was making coffee.

‘I’ll have one of those too.
H-e-y
kids!’ he flung his incredibly brown arms wide as both children hurtled into his embrace.

‘How about a proper get-together,’ he grinned down at them, ‘just as soon as I’ve sorted out my house?’

‘What’s wrong with your house?’ asked Livvy.

I shook my head imperceptibly.

‘Nothing that can’t be put right with a little help from your Mum.’

Stevie then went on to tell me he already had a team of decorators lined up who had agreed to pull all the stops out until the job was finished. My input was to let the boss man into the house the following morning.

‘So! How was the holiday?’ I asked nosily.

‘Fabulous thanks. We had a marvellous time cruising around Cyprus, Egypt and Israel.’

‘We?’

‘Simone and I.’

‘I’m staggered you dumped somebody as young and stunning as Charlotte.’ I put a plate of biscuits on the table next to the coffees.

‘We didn’t connect on anything other than a horizontal level, if you catch my drift. I seriously thought about pressing criminal charges against her, but on reflection I guess she was simply expressing her angst.’

‘That’s an understatement,’ I muttered.

‘Simone is everything that Charlotte isn’t,’ Stevie enthused. ‘She’s mentally stimulating, extremely cultured, widely travelled and highly educated.’

‘I see.’ I couldn’t resist taking a sideways snipe. ‘What’s this one then – a gap year university student?’

‘Simone is a fifty-eight year old marine biologist.’

I nearly choked on my coffee.

Bloody hell. I mean bloody
bloody
hell.

The high powered painting and decorating team turned out to be a chap who bore a striking resemblance to Del and Rodney’s Grandad with a motley entourage of younger male relations. Grandad – or George to give him his correct name – was in no hurry to start the job and keen to pass a minute or ten gossiping.

‘Ooh ’ave yer seen all the mess his young lidy made?’ George sucked his cheeks and pulled his flat cap over his eyes, even though it was nudging almost thirty degrees outside.

‘Ah’ve bin in the decoratin’ bizniss forty years and I said to my missus last night, I said I ain’t niver seen nuthin’ like this.’

‘Yes it is a bit of a challenge George,’ I agreed, privately wishing he would get on with painting over the mess rather than reading it.

‘Bit of a wag was she? Had a sense of humour like?’

‘I wouldn’t know George,’ I replied removing lids from paint pots. Surely he’d take the hint soon?

‘Wot’s this bit say?’ George adjusted his half moon spectacles with a gnarled hand. ‘My hamster has a bigger willie than Stevie Cherry. Aw, that’s not very nice is it?’ He broke into wheezy guffaws of laughter, his smoker’s lungs crackling with the effort.

I straightened up from the paint pots. ‘Well George, I won’t hold you up.’ Surely that remark couldn’t be any clearer. ‘See you later.’

The heat of the day gave way to a gloriously warm evening. Jamie came over with Petra and Jonas for an impromptu garden barbecue. As Jamie stood over the smouldering griddle, an arm slung casually around my shoulders, I gazed adoringly up at him. And failed to spot Stevie standing stock still by the side gate.

‘Daddy!’ Livvy squeaked excitedly.

I glanced up to catch Stevie’s frozen expression, his eyes hard as flint, and found myself jumping like a scalded cat.

Twittering nervously I introduced the ex-husband to the boyfriend. It was a seriously weird moment. The two men politely shook hands but without any warmth. The air around Stevie hummed with hostility. Jamie’s face was an expressionless mask. I inwardly cringed, fussing about needlessly with lemonade bottles and plastic wine flutes.

‘Sorry to interrupt happy families.’ It was said lightly but I knew Stevie well enough to detect the edge in his voice. ‘I dropped by to give you the new key to the house Cass. The locksmith’s been,’ he added by way of explanation. ‘See you later.’