something intelligent to say.
“Mummy! Yay, mummy! Are you
missing us, mummy? We’re not missing you, we’re having waaay too much fun! It’s
great! Granddad let us bury him in the sand with a straw in his mouth and leave
out just his toes!”
Ah. Not Mike, but Ryan. And I
can hear Rosie fighting for the phone in the background. The sound of their
happy, innocent little voices makes me instantly regret my shameless fantasies
as I flick to mummy mode on auto-pilot. Aw, I want them home. Right now.
“Hey babies! Wow, it’s great to
hear you, I’m really, really missing you, so’s daddy! Is it nice and sunny? I
can’t wait for you to come home!”
My eyes fill up with giant,
yearning tears as Rosie wrestles the phone from her brother, squealing, “Mummy!
I can’t wait to come home either, ’cause I heard grandad say you’ve got a
lovely pair of puppies! That’s one each, mummy, yay! Hooray, thanks mummy! I’ve
always wanted a puppy, I’m gonna call mine Izzles.”
“. . . Er, that’ll do, that’ll
do,” Clive’s grunt cuts Rosie off mid-rant. “Er, better be off luv, it’s
costin’ an arm and a leg. Happy New Year!”
As the line goes dead I lie
perplexed, wondering why in the world Clive would think I’d bought them
puppies. Oooohhh! It suddenly dawns on me - he wouldn’t have meant actual puppies, he’d have been referring to my boobs.
Great. Eeugh. Not only is my father-in-law a
letch, I’ve now got to get my hands on a couple of dogs by the weekend.
Oooh, I wish the kids had
pulled out his straw, it’d just serve him right.
Grabbing my favourite pink,
fluffy towel off the heated rail, I step out of the water just as the bathroom
door flies open, revealing me in all my glory - yet again - to Bi, who looks
exquisite. Seriously, she looks sensational.
Clad in a breathtaking,
diamond-embellished cat suit which hugs her curves like a dazzling second skin,
she grins from behind a set of dark, crystal whiskers and dances in, six-inch
heels clacking away on the tiles.
“Ta-da! Am I a genius, or what?
Whadda ya think?”
I stare in mature, responsible,
almost-thirty alarm at the flimsy strip of red, silver and blue material she’s
holding up, obviously intended as my outfit.
“I think, Bi, that I don’t
recall giving you a key,” I tell her crossly, reaching Rosie’s squeaky duck out
of the disappearing bubbles. “Or maybe you climbed up the drainpipe? You look fantastic . . . but I’m seriously hoping that’s my headband! I’m not sixteen you know!”
With a raunchy purr, she waves
the miniscule costume at me, triumphant and defiant.
“No way honey, you’re not
getting out of it that easily. This is your stuff-Will-show-stopper and you can soooo pull it off with those legs!”
Fishing into her Gucci travel
bag she pulls out her deal-sealer, tempting me like the snake in the Garden of
Eden with a bottle of Smirnoff and four icy cans of Red Bull.
Wrestling with my nagging
conscience, I feel like I’m being ripped in half: dressing gown, Toblerone and
bed? Hot Lycra headband, alcohol and out?
Mmm, tough call.
As Bi hands me my favourite
tipple, I crumble. Oh, what the hell? Why not? The kids are having the time of
their lives and their father’s probably having the time of his.
In triage. Suffocating in
Sticky Becky’s bowling ball cleavage.
Knocking back the heady shot, I
twist my wet hair into a makeshift turban, deciding I will not be a
victim. Not . I’ll simply rise above it, hold my head high and show Will
- in a controlled, dignified manner, of course - that New Year’s Eve is much more fun without him.
Chapter
10 - The Fall of Troy
New
Year ’ s Eve (early
evening)
Oooh, I must admit,
I ’ m quite excited.
Freezing my ass off, but excited. This could be a good idea after all.
Or, it could be Bianca’s ‘Vodka Enticer’ clouding my judgement. Oh, who cares?
I feel a damn sight better than I did half an hour ago, that ’ s for sure. But that ’ s Bi for
“Mummy! Yay, mummy! Are you
missing us, mummy? We’re not missing you, we’re having waaay too much fun! It’s
great! Granddad let us bury him in the sand with a straw in his mouth and leave
out just his toes!”
Ah. Not Mike, but Ryan. And I
can hear Rosie fighting for the phone in the background. The sound of their
happy, innocent little voices makes me instantly regret my shameless fantasies
as I flick to mummy mode on auto-pilot. Aw, I want them home. Right now.
“Hey babies! Wow, it’s great to
hear you, I’m really, really missing you, so’s daddy! Is it nice and sunny? I
can’t wait for you to come home!”
My eyes fill up with giant,
yearning tears as Rosie wrestles the phone from her brother, squealing, “Mummy!
I can’t wait to come home either, ’cause I heard grandad say you’ve got a
lovely pair of puppies! That’s one each, mummy, yay! Hooray, thanks mummy! I’ve
always wanted a puppy, I’m gonna call mine Izzles.”
“. . . Er, that’ll do, that’ll
do,” Clive’s grunt cuts Rosie off mid-rant. “Er, better be off luv, it’s
costin’ an arm and a leg. Happy New Year!”
As the line goes dead I lie
perplexed, wondering why in the world Clive would think I’d bought them
puppies. Oooohhh! It suddenly dawns on me - he wouldn’t have meant actual puppies, he’d have been referring to my boobs.
Great. Eeugh. Not only is my father-in-law a
letch, I’ve now got to get my hands on a couple of dogs by the weekend.
Oooh, I wish the kids had
pulled out his straw, it’d just serve him right.
Grabbing my favourite pink,
fluffy towel off the heated rail, I step out of the water just as the bathroom
door flies open, revealing me in all my glory - yet again - to Bi, who looks
exquisite. Seriously, she looks sensational.
Clad in a breathtaking,
diamond-embellished cat suit which hugs her curves like a dazzling second skin,
she grins from behind a set of dark, crystal whiskers and dances in, six-inch
heels clacking away on the tiles.
“Ta-da! Am I a genius, or what?
Whadda ya think?”
I stare in mature, responsible,
almost-thirty alarm at the flimsy strip of red, silver and blue material she’s
holding up, obviously intended as my outfit.
“I think, Bi, that I don’t
recall giving you a key,” I tell her crossly, reaching Rosie’s squeaky duck out
of the disappearing bubbles. “Or maybe you climbed up the drainpipe? You look fantastic . . . but I’m seriously hoping that’s my headband! I’m not sixteen you know!”
With a raunchy purr, she waves
the miniscule costume at me, triumphant and defiant.
“No way honey, you’re not
getting out of it that easily. This is your stuff-Will-show-stopper and you can soooo pull it off with those legs!”
Fishing into her Gucci travel
bag she pulls out her deal-sealer, tempting me like the snake in the Garden of
Eden with a bottle of Smirnoff and four icy cans of Red Bull.
Wrestling with my nagging
conscience, I feel like I’m being ripped in half: dressing gown, Toblerone and
bed? Hot Lycra headband, alcohol and out?
Mmm, tough call.
As Bi hands me my favourite
tipple, I crumble. Oh, what the hell? Why not? The kids are having the time of
their lives and their father’s probably having the time of his.
In triage. Suffocating in
Sticky Becky’s bowling ball cleavage.
Knocking back the heady shot, I
twist my wet hair into a makeshift turban, deciding I will not be a
victim. Not . I’ll simply rise above it, hold my head high and show Will
- in a controlled, dignified manner, of course - that New Year’s Eve is much more fun without him.
Chapter
10 - The Fall of Troy
New
Year ’ s Eve (early
evening)
Oooh, I must admit,
I ’ m quite excited.
Freezing my ass off, but excited. This could be a good idea after all.
Or, it could be Bianca’s ‘Vodka Enticer’ clouding my judgement. Oh, who cares?
I feel a damn sight better than I did half an hour ago, that ’ s for sure. But that ’ s Bi for
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