Page 71 of Has Anyone Seen My Sex Life?
‘We don’t even know them that well.’ I clasp my hand to my mouth. ‘You think this was an invite…to something a bit saucy?’
McArthur’s words echo about how I could be helpful. In what way? To hold a sex toy in place? Danny’s face creases in confusion but he remains very grounded and rational in his reaction. He shrugs his shoulders.
‘I doubt it. Let’s just go upstairs and take a gander. You walk behind me just in case. It might be nothing.’
We head for the staircase. Their carpet is obviously from a luxury range that melts in between my toes. I’ve seen this in a film. We’ll get up there and there will be a room full of beautiful naked people in masks shagging. I’m in jeggings. I haven’t even got on nice pants and I’m wearing over a week’s worth of leg stubble. I’m not sure Danny has showered since yesterday. Maybe the McArthurs know about the Captain. Maybe he’s worried for our children. Shit. Halfway up, I hear voices in amongst Lionel’s dulcet tones. I feel the urge to respond.
‘HI! IT’S MEG MORTON. UMMM, I HAVE DANNY HERE WITH ME, IS THAT OK?’
My husband stops in case it may be a problem. The voices upstairs discuss what I’ve just shouted.
‘Yes, it’s fine.’ I recognise McArthur’s tones.
We get to the top of the stairs and I scan the doors that are open. I count all the bedrooms and realise the door the voices are coming from must be a bathroom. I knock on it lightly.
‘Hi!’ I say in an almost sing-song tone. ‘It’s me and Danny, is everything OK? We switched off your lasagne. It was burning?’
Maybe that’s why I’m here. Maybe the kids’ headteacher was too lazy to get out of the bath and needed me to switch off his appliances. Not the reason I am here at all and I know it.
‘Hi, Meg…and Danny. So, if you go to the sage dresser in the hall…’
Danny looks at me blankly. I mouth ‘green’ at him.
‘The one with the orchid and the photos?’
‘The very one. There is a drawer to the left with a key. Can you locate it? We’re locked in here.’
We.Danny looks at me. He rifles through the drawer and finds the key. He puts it in the door, twists it, and we wait for it to open. Do we turn around? Would they like us to run down the stairs? Naturally, we don’t. And when it does open, Danny and I stand there in silence to see three people stood before us.
Righto.
Hello.
For some reason, I raise my hand to the air like I’m waving. Mike McArthur stands there with a towel tied around his waist, hair slicked back, face bright red. I can’t quite tell whether it’s from the embarrassment or the steam. He looks like he’s just stepped out of a deodorant commercial. Must not stare at his garden path. He holds a hand out. Danny is not one to refuse a handshake so grabs it firmly.
‘Danny, mate. Meg, I am so sorry. It’s a dodgy door that sometimes locks itself. We just panicked and we didn’t know who to call…we couldn’t call family or the police because of—’
‘Tim?’
Tim from work. I point at him. He stands there, also wrapped in a towel, looking a little sheepish.
‘Guys, hi.’
I realise he told us about McArthur: the older, cute, adventurous hook up? Words fail me so I wave to him. Next to him is Joanne McArthur, also in a towel, looking fresh and dewy like she’s just come out of the sauna. They had a meeting of minds in their bathroom and locked themselves in. As you do. Danny and I stand there slack jawed as we take in the scene before us. Three people can just about stand in my bathroom, let alone engage in sexual activity. I’m not sure where to look so I gaze over McArthur’s shoulder. They have one of those large corner tubs that no doubt has jet functions and a lovely standalone shower. Nice tiles.Oh.I think that may be a tripod.
‘And you guys know Tim and he said he knew you… and…’
Well, this is a side of McArthur I’ve not seen before. He’s normally so self-assured and confident and not having to talk himself out of a corner. I get why we’ve been summoned. We know Tim. How else would they have explained to anyone else about the naked man in their bathroom? He’d come to fix the taps? I don’t know whether to feel flattered or scared. At least I feel a bit more secure that I’m not here to be murdered. McArthur scurries to a bedroom next door to put some clothes on. I feel grateful for the towels and that we didn’t see more.
‘Joanne.’ Danny gestures to her.
‘Danny, bloody lifesaver. Thank you for rescuing the lasagne too.’
This is how we are helpful, saving people trapped in a bathroom and a baked Italian pasta dish. It takes forty-five minutes for a lasagne to cook. Is that how long they usually have sex for? Were they all going to eat the lasagne together after working up an appetite? Or do kinky stuff with the béchamel?
‘We have some explaining to do, eh?’ she tells Danny.
Danny puts his hands up. ‘Love, we’re glad we could help but your business is your own. We can leave now. It’s no bother.’
