Page 12 of Has Anyone Seen My Sex Life?
Briony and Danny were what I would define as childhood sweethearts. I never believed he divulged the full truth of their dalliance, but sources (his mum) told me they dated for two years through college. His mother was always disapproving of the length of Briony’s skirts and the fact she dumped Danny to go out with Johnny Bagwell who was a wrong’un with slightly questionable political affiliations. But I always dug for more information, the details. Had we returned to the scene of the crime so they could rekindle old flames?
After the events of this morning, this encounter is loaded with suspicion for me. They continue to talk.Remember that time we did it in photography room at school? From behind?Why is he still there? Why do they have things to say to each other? Every time I ask Danny what happened on the school run, he tells me, ‘Nowt, got my girls and left. Don’t engage with the rabble.’ Yet here he is, engaging. She knocks her head back and emits one of her cackles. What was so funny? Danny is many things but he is rarely funny. Why do they have their phones out? And then she goes in for the air kiss. Their cheeks meet. Because Briony thinks she’s high-end (her kids are called Lexus and Chrysler) she goes in for the double which catches Danny off-guard, so she gets closer to his lips than anticipated. I stare on. I may have just retched in my mouth. Emotion swells deep in my chest.
Briony then moves on to another gaggle of mothers while Danny catches sight of Rufus and Rowan, two of his oldest friends. They are also part of that Kendal clique and this morning seem to be a stark reminder of how much I don’t belong to it. My name is obviously mentioned and Rowan turns to wave animatedly at me and puts her hand to her ear to signal that she’ll call me. I put my thumb up in reply. Their friendship dates back years and even though they have welcomed me warmly into their circle, I wonder if they know if there’s something happening? Rufus similarly wears his youngest, River, on his front and they both stand there, this statement of modern fatherhood, and make their babies high five in the middle of the playground. It all looks so wholesome, so worthy.
Which is why you better not be shagging Briony effing Tipperton with a giant dildo, Danny. I would leave him. I would take his kids and take them far away from here, simply for the shame. I always had you pegged with better taste, Mr M. I cross my fingers for no other reason than to hope my husband hasn’t let his standards drop and been playing away from home with someone so awful.
I thought we were fine, I really did. Images flicker through my head. This is just paranoia talking. You’ve still got a young baby, your body is recovering, your face is creased with a thousand lines that hint at age and lack of sleep. It was just a sex toy in the post. He explained why it was there. Perhaps it’s wrong to doubt a husband who’s never given you reason to before today. It was nothing.
I hear Briony’s laugh again and my instinct is to set my aging dog on her. Not that he’d do much other than use her as a lamp post.
‘Really? It’s a school love…there are kids about. You better be picking that up…’
I turn to see a parent – one of the faceless sorts who is always manning a second-hand clothes stall and is most likely called Kate. Sure enough, in amongst my playground spying antics, I’ve failed to notice that Mr T has been squatting next to me taking a dump. He looks nonplussed. I can feel the embarrassment rise to my cheeks as I see his turds peppered with the remainder of the sweetcorn from last night’s dinner. I pat my pockets down to find something I can use to pick up the offending pile, while a few other parents shake their heads at me in disapproval.It’s OK, I wasn’t going to let your children eat it…
‘He chooses his moments, eh?’ I say.
‘When you’re done, have you signed the petition?’ Kate asks.
‘The petition?’ I enquire. She carries a blue clipboard that she holds closely to her chest.
‘About the sex education classes?’ Kate is not being too specific here.
‘For the children?’
‘Yes, the children in the infants are being taught about sex and homosexuality.’
Kate’s eyes widen at the sound of that final word. I cringe. I know her kind, someone who was born and bred here, and never really left so hasn’t had the chance to see the wonderful wide world beyond. None of them ‘homosexual sorts’ exist up here in the hills and spring water. We don’t even have sex here. The children emerge out of the Lakes. It is an infuriating aspect of living out in the sticks and not one I take lightly, especially on a morning like this.
‘Is that alongside their phonics because that’s a big word to spell? Gay would be easier, or maybe queer?’
Kate can sense I’m enjoying mocking her and tuts in the same way when I occasionally walk into school concerts late.
‘Well, I have twenty signatures on my petition.’
‘You should have said, I could have picked up my dog crap with that.’
She glares at me with a smug look like she’s some superior being. Don’t even try, love. Her gaze shifts away from my scowling face, towards someone else more naive, on whom she can force her opinions. I swing the bag in my hand.Don’t throw the poo at her, Meg. Maybe I can throw it at the person coming towards me though. Shame he has a baby strapped to him.
‘Did dog pinch one off?’
‘What do you think? Some bint was coming at me with stupid school petitions too. What did McArthur want?’
‘This and that. Just shooting the breeze. He said he wanted to talk more about that article you wanted to write in The Wezzie about the school.’
I nod. However, I hate it when he does this. That was a five-minute conversation at most and I expect a play by play.
‘I mean, I’ll just stand here while Briony Tipperton rubs her tits in your face too.’
‘Ooooh, someone’s got their grumpy cat face on…wouldn’t touch it with barge pole.’
Barge pole. Was he alluding to the dildo?
‘Why were you trading numbers?’ I ask. ‘Or were you booking in a blow dry?’
My tone has gone full-on bitch now. Danny has been with me long enough to sense what’s happening. He shakes his head, slowly, to let me know this is not the time or place to gun for a fight. I rarely do this, maybe once a month when the hormones are high and he’s done something ludicrous like leaving the cheese uncovered in the fridge or throwing coloured socks into a white wash. But today every little thing is escalating my confusion.
‘She thought it may be nice for us to go out for a drink,’ he says.
