Page 41 of Has Anyone Seen My Sex Life?
I realise that this is the wrong phrase to have emerged from my lips. Ru ushers his little ones into the kitchen whilst Ro attempts to umpire the fracas.
‘I never shagged Beth. We just had a snog and a fondle. And if memory serves, I’ve never given you one either.’
‘You are carrying your niece. Your brother’s daughter. Shut your face!’
Polly’s glance shuttles between this verbal game of tennis. She’s wondering what side to pick. The lady who breastfed her for eight months but is looking slightly purple with rage or the man carrying her with the strokeable facial hair. I glare at Stu. Maybe it’s the disrespect to me that hurts the most. Did he do this to get back at me for apparently showing contempt towards his brother? Some sort of sibling payback?
‘Ro, seriously…who does this?’
She puts her hands up so as to leave her out of the argument.
‘Oh, give over. I wouldn’t touch you with a shitty stick.’
‘Stu, please. Don’t be a tosser…’ pleads Ro.
‘No, she can’t come at me with all her sanctimony. You know what she accused Danny of doing? My brother! Spreading lies about him!’
‘I said nothing. You assumed—’
‘Do you know how much Danny loves you? Do you? I don’t think you do.’
‘Who are you to be talking about my marriage?’
‘It’s Danny, he’s a good’un. You know that.’
‘Good’un? Well, you know what your darling brother gets up to? He draws cocks! Lifelike cocks and vaginas and sex stuff. And he buys dildos online. Dildos that are in my actual house.’
Stu looks at me like I’ve officially lost the plot. A small person stands at the kitchen door.
‘Mummy, what’s a dildo?’ asks Zenith. We all freeze.
‘It’s a fake penis, darling,’ replies Ro very calmly. Zenith stands there taking it all in.
‘Why does Danny need a new one? Has his fallen off?’
Eight
Since the whole Mintcake reveal, all my dreams involve sex. Except they’re notthosesorts of dreams. Tonight, I am Anastasia Steele inFifty Shades of Grey. I’m the reporter come to Christian Grey’s penthouse office in search of a searing, honest interview and I’m wearing the sort of sharp tailoring I used to don when I was a Londoner, hair and make-up on point, as the youngsters would say. I strut about as I come out of the lift and sit cross-legged in his waiting room sipping on an espresso. Christian and I make eye contact as he leaves his office and I bite my lip which gives him an instant erection to the titters of his reception staff. He follows me in.
‘Why, this is quite an office you have, Mr Grey. Thank you for seeing me today.’
‘I’d like to see far more of you, Miss Callaghan. It is Miss, isn’t it?’
I put my expensive Italian leather handbag down on the floor and start to undress. His eyes widen. With horror. I look down. Holy nuggets. I look down to see that I’m wearing the worst pair of knickers in my arsenal. They are reserved for when I’m on my period or need to hold in my gut with a nice dress: flesh-coloured granny pants. Pubes sprout out the top and down my thighs. I’m also wearing a nursing bra; not even the nice one – the greying one that has a yellow patch of stained milk.
‘I think we’re done here, Miss Callaghan. If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to do this interview by phone.’
I run out of the office in shame and get to the lift realising I’ve forgotten to put my clothes back on.
I wake up, slightly clammy. Grabbing my phone, I seek out the time. 4.35a.m. Next to me the bed is empty. Where’s Danny? He’s not particularly happy with me given I brought Stu home earlier. Stu who now knew about Captain Mintcake. This resulted in merciless ridicule, dead arms, headlocks and Danny threatening to tell everyone about how Stu once shagged the fifty-year-old landlady of a local pub just so he’d get a free carvery dinner. To be fair, telling Stu did mean we got to clear the air and he now understood why there were tears and accusations. However, in return, he also told me what happened with Emma. I got a glimpse of an apology. I berated Emma, telling her to check her bits.
Normally, I wouldn’t overact at Danny’s absence – when Polly wakes up in the night he often ends up passing out on the floor next door, propped by a giant George Pig pillow. But maybe he’s downstairs drawing sex things. Maybe this is when he does this stuff, when I’m asleep. I’m not sure how he’d manage it now though with his brother on the sofa bed in the living room.
I suddenly hear the door creak open and pretend to close my eyes. It’s Danny in his pants, dressing gown casually draped over his shoulders, holding Polly close to his chest. He goes to stand by the bedroom window and does that little baby jig he does. He also sings. It’s the only time he’ll sing, to his girls; some nonsensical lyric to a made-up tune. In the twilight, I catch Polly’s little hand reach up to his cheek and he kisses it. I sigh and he turns to try and catch me out.
‘What doing Meg the Peg?’
He’s on baby patrol. I need to show some sense of alliance. ‘Is that my new name?’
