Page 84 of Has Anyone Seen My Sex Life?
‘It were all Kendal could talk about. He was married with two kids and left her for Steph. Steph’s mum used to be in our house most nights crying into a cuppa. It were mental.’
Old Man Glendale looks over and waves and we all gesture back hoping the giggles didn’t give us away.
‘I tell you, if it were any of my daughters he’d be at bottom of Windermere.’
The couple chat further, laughing and deep in conversation.
‘You can’t say that, Danny…they’re still together, proved people wrong?’ They support my point by going into a full on snog. I see tongue. I retch a little just because I know they’re not drunk and I’m pretty sure the last time I kissed someone like that was when I was fifteen and didn’t know any better.
‘It weren’t right, Meggsy. I’m with Danny here. They’re my nieces too – I’d help you throw that body in a lake and weigh it down with bricks.’ They shake hands and I feel like I’ve become accomplice to something I shouldn’t know about. ‘And the sex now…geez, bet it’s all Viagra and low impact so they don’t bust his hips.’
‘But you helped her, with the baby.’
‘It’s what you do, innit? She were young and lost and we helped them out. Her own dad weren’t around. Wasn’t Betsy’s little fault she were born into a messed up situation.’
I watch on as Danny and Stu stare into some point in the past where they were more than just your typical lads but honourable youngsters helping single mothers find their way. Relief that Danny is not Betsy’s father is replaced by shock that Father Time is. I wonder what happened to his wife and other kids? I also make a mental note to recount this story to Emma who’s always looking for divorce stories to outdo her own. Could have been far worse and your daughters could have a schoolgirl as a stepmother. I feel a pair of arms extend around my midriff.
‘Meggy, I’m so glad you’re here! Thank you, thank you!’
I turn around to a slightly squiffy Ro, giggling with nerves but full of warmth and wild abandon as usual.
‘Is it OK? Is everything OK? What do you think? How’s the music?’
I hadn’t really put my ear to it but there’s some low-grade French mumbling happening over a drum and bass beat. I want to say it’s not too offensive but then I’m not too sure what the rapper is actually saying.
‘It’s all amazing. Calm yourself.’
‘I can’t believe how many people showed up. My old art teacher from school’s here.’ I nod: Glendale, I know the scoop. ‘And there are some people from Paris too who are doing a whole installation thing and they want my input. It’s…it’s…’
‘You’re amazing. Go, don’t babysit us.’ I say ‘us’ but the boys Morton have disappeared. Ro is not done with me though. She takes my hand and pulls me over to a piece hidden in the corner. It’s not as ostentatious as some of the other pieces but it’s a well-crafted series of drawings that look like the stages of a flower opening. Wait, that’ll be a vagina. Yes, it’s someone’s labia.
‘It’s Danny.’ She attempts to whisper but says a bit too loudly given her state of inebriation. We interlock arms and giggle.
‘Last time I looked, Danny doesn’t have those parts.’
‘No, silly. It’s Danny’s drawing.’
I twist my head around to try and find Danny who’s seemingly disappeared from the room.
‘I had to include it, the detail, the idea was so beautiful. Dewy female anatomy blossoming to life.’
Also known asStudy of a Vagin.
‘Does he know?’
‘Kinda. He just didn’t want his name attached to it, not even the Mintcake one, but someone has already asked how much it is.’
I glance at it again. It has the hallmarks of one of Danny’s pieces: the attention to detail, the sense that what’s being drawn is neither done for perverse reasons or for titillation. There’s an underlying appreciation there, a story. I can understand Danny’s caution though in exhibiting anonymously. His Mintcake alias has made him a bit nervy recently. The soft play mums were not wrong. We were hearing utterances of the Captain’s name in strange places and ever since that moment where it was obvious to me at least, that pursuing the Captain as a full-time job clashed with his own personality and his loyalties to the Mill, we’ve not really spoken about it.
‘So, are you the person from the Wezzie sent to interview me?’ she asks.
‘Oh no, I am simply here as an art fan. I’m not sure who they’ve sent actually…’
I glance around the room as Ro is waylaid by one of her guests: a lady in linen dungarees who’s already uttered the words, ‘matrixial trans-subjectivity’. I know when I’m out of my depth. The room is a bizarre mixture of art fans and locals. I am compelled to stand here and protect Danny’s work, or at least watch people’s reactions to it. I think that may be born from pride. Where is Danny? Or Stu?
‘Oi, oi…’
The voice struts up behind me. I am not wholly prepared for who I expect to see when I turn around. Quite bizarrely, it’s school gate Sarah’s Jez: the husband of the rumours and the affairs. He is over familiar and reaches out to kiss me on the cheek. We’ve met a few times through school events and such. I’ve never really understood the attraction myself; he’s about five foot four, bald as a coot and is a massive purveyor of bullshit. This is the problem when you open these events up to the public.
