Page 31 of Has Anyone Seen My Sex Life?
Emma shakes her head. Revenge is coming. She leaves the room sticking her middle finger up at me. The revenge begins by leaving me to take this phone call on my own.
‘Oh yes, what happened? Gill was in such a state when she called,’ she says, matter of fact. ‘Your father is here on speaker too. Say hello, David.’
‘Hello, Meg,’ pipes in Dad.
‘Hi, Dad.’ A dad hug would be good around now. The mum lecture that will follow less so.
‘How on earth does a woman of your age fall down the stairs? You really should be more careful.’
‘Indeed. I think that’s why they’re called accidents, Mum.’ Do I tell both my parents via speakerphone that my husband dropped me during sex? Probably not. Still dizzy with sleeplessness, I hear her lecture melt into nothing. Make sure you elevate. You were always my clumsy one. I’d be able to help you if you lived down South. What a bind for Danny to have to look after you. Thanks, Mum. Yes, poor Danny to be lumbered with old me.
‘Is there anything we can do to help?’ My father’s voice.
It’s a jolt to hear him get a word in.
‘It’s silly really, Dad. A few days will put me right.’
‘Your Aunt Sylvia fell down the stairs tripping over her cat, and they had to bolt her hips together with titanium. She sets off scanners in airports now,’ Mum informs me helpfully.
‘Ems being here is good,’ I say.
‘Yes, it’s a wonder she can find time out of her schedule. She’s been so busy these days,’ replies Mum.
‘Being a doctor and all,’ I add, mockingly. I hear Dad giggling.
I want to say it all. My husband draws willies. And fannies. Emma’s husband was a horrible cheating tit. I know I’m not your favourite daughter. I hope I’m at least third in the rankings though. My leg looks like it’s been attacked by a large cat. But no. I am too tired. I don’t want to worry them to the point where they might jump on a train and actually come here too.
‘I’m tired, folks. But really, I’m fine. Thanks for checking in. Give everyone my love.’
‘Can we talk about Christmas soon?’
It’s October. Don’t start a fight now, I tell myself. Not today.
‘Yes, Mum. Of course.’
I fall asleep after that and awake to find a bunch of yellow tulips and a packet of Minstrels on my bedside table. From Danny? Downstairs, I hear people milling about and miss being in that hive of action and conversation. I look around the room helplessly, my eyes feeling like bees have stung them several times, my mouth furry like a cat’s slept inside it. I am irritated by that horrible ick from not having showered or removed my make-up properly so I am basically a giant blob of mascara gloop. I think about texting Danny but refuse to, almost as punishment. I had to ferment in all of that suspicion yesterday, feeling broken and hurt. I almost feel he deserves the same. His sideline hobby in erotic art still confuses me. My ankle feels achy and alien. I am in a strange sort of limbo where fatigue and uncertainty are not playing nice in my head. Strangely, I am also craving Jaffa Cakes.
A firm knock on the door gets my attention. ‘Come in?’ I say.
‘Are you dressed?’ It’s Stu. Obviously approaching with caution even though it’s very probable he’s seen all of me that there is to see. I pull up the duvet to my neck to make doubly sure.
‘Yes.’
He opens the door and appears with a mug of tea. ‘What doing?’
‘Not much, really.’
‘You still take like forty sugars in your tea, right?’
I nod and smile, glad that he’s remembered, thinking back to a time when we used to sit in our shared kitchen, fixing each other’s morning brews before work.
‘You need anything?’
Quite frankly, I do need a wee but am not sure if Stu needs to witness or assist in that after last night.
‘I’m good.’
‘Who’s Tim then?’
