Katy Carter Wants a Hero (23 page)

I sink down into my seat and pull the sombrero over my eyes as the cross husband stamps past the window and down the steps. I feel like turning tail and running back to London as fast as my feet can carry me.

I have a very bad feeling about this, because the annoyed husband in question is none other than the Reverend Richard Lomax.

By the time I’ve plucked up the courage to venture to the rectory, twilight has fallen in and the lights of Tregowan twinkle below like hundreds of stars. Thanks to the steep climb up, I’m panting as though about to give birth.

‘Who needs a gym?’ I ask Pinchy as I collapse on the doorstep. After a few weeks of living here I’ll be the size of Nina. Just as well I built my strength up with a couple more pints of scrumpy.

I’ve been skulking about the fish market, pretending to be engrossed in the evening’s catch but really waiting to see if Richard is still about. I know that he’s a man of the cloth, but quite frankly I don’t want to enrage him any more. I haven’t the foggiest what’s been going on, but I know Maddy, and I have a horrible feeling it’s nothing Richard will like. If she is having an affair, though, I’ll be staggered, because I’ve always thought she really loves him. Can’t quite see the attraction myself, although I suppose he’s OK in a tall and aesthetic kind of way. He’s allegedly got a fit body beneath that cassock too, if Mads is to be believed.

I tug on the rope by the front door and somewhere in the rectory a bell tolls ominously. I peek through the window into a cosy kitchen, and sure enough there’s an Aga in the chimney breast and piles of clutter spread across all available surfaces. Mads is the queen of clutter. She makes Steptoe and Son look neat and tidy.

Then the front door swings opens and Mads appears, her dark hair up in curlers and a layer of green goo spread over her face.

‘Shit,’ she gasps. ‘Katy! Bollocks!’

‘Nice to see you too,’ I say. ‘Thanks for abandoning me at the station.’

‘I’m so sorry!’ She cries, ushering me inside. ‘I can’t believe I forgot you were coming. It just went out of my head.’

‘Luckily for you, I got a lift,’ I tell her, putting Pinchy’s crate down and rubbing my aching back. ‘But I’ve had to leave my stuff at the pub.’

‘We’ll get it later,’ says Mads airily. She peers into the crate. ‘This must be the famous Pinchy.’

‘Infamous more like,’ I say darkly. ‘Single-clawedly responsible for ruining my relationship with James.’

‘Good boy!’ Maddy grins. ‘Well done for seeing off that tosser.’

I open my mouth to point out that she’s hardly one to preach about being in a relationship with a total dickhead, but close it again. After all, I’m going to have to be a well-behaved guest for a while.

‘Let’s sort you out,’ Mads says to Pinchy, carrying the crate up a very narrow staircase. ‘Then Mummy and I will have a nice cup of tea.’

‘I’m not its bloody mummy,’ I mutter. Honestly! If I had a quid for every time I’ve wished I’d let Ollie cook the sodding thing, I could give the Beckhams a run for their money. It seems to me that I can trace all my problems back to the moment Ollie entered my flat with the crafty crustacean.

The rectory is even tinier on the inside, like the Tardis in reverse. It’s very sweet, all wooden floors, bright rag rugs and low beams, but even I have to duck my head going up the stairs. The bathroom is more of a cupboard, and while Mads runs the bath I have to stand on the landing because there’s no way we can both fit in. I notice that there are two rooms leading off from this area and another vertical flight of stairs to the attic space.

‘Pop up and check your room,’ Maddy suggests. ‘I cleaned it especially.’

Mads is to cleaning what I am to nuclear physics, so I’m pleasantly surprised to find a really cosy little room in the eaves waiting for me. There’s a double bed covered with a pretty quilt and blue gingham curtains at the tiny window. Mads has even put some flowers on the sill and piled up some books on the bedside table. I don’t relish the thought of negotiating the stairs after a night in the Mermaid, but apart from that it’s perfect. I kneel on the window seat and look down over Tregowan. Sure enough the view is all that Maddy promised, rolling waves and twinkling lights. I can just picture myself curled up here writing the next instalment of Jake and Millandra’s story, and for the first time in ages my skin prickles with excitement. I
know
I can write here, I’ll have loads of fun with Maddy, and already I’ve met a romantic hero who’s totally inspired my next chapter. Everything is going to be great. I just know it.

For the first time in ages the nasty twisty sensation of unease in my tummy vanishes and I feel… I feel…

I feel like
me
again.

My God! I really do. Not Chubster, or Miss Carter, or Ollie’s mate, but
me
, Katy Carter. How brilliant is that?

Jewell was right. Coming here is exactly what I needed to do. My life in London had been out of balance for so long that I’d just accepted it. James and I weren’t equal partners towards the end — maybe we never had been — and for far too long I’d been stuck in a rut thinking I needed him both emotionally and financially. It wouldn’t have mattered how long or how hard I tried to make the relationship work, it never would have been healthy because we were just too different. And maybe I was too reliant on poor Ollie as well?

It’s about time I stood on my own two feet and made some changes.

Like Jewell said, it’s time for me to find out what I want.

‘Tea!’ calls Mads, interrupting my deep and meaningfuls, and from downstairs I hear the chink of cups.

‘Coming!’ I cross the room swiftly, but on my way I notice that the corner of a box is sticking out from under the bed. I won’t want to bash my shin on that in the middle of the night. Giving the box a shove back underneath, I’d have thought no more of it except that it starts to make a noise.

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz
! goes the box.

My poor heart nearly bursts out of my chest.

Buzz! Buzz!

I look around guiltily. What have I done? What have I broken? It’s bound to be something expensive that belongs to Richard, another blot in my exceedingly smudged copy-book. What to do?

I totally understand where Pandora was coming from when she opened her box, because my little fingers are itching to unfasten this one. I can’t just leave it buzzing, can I? I’ll actually be doing Richard a favour if I turn it off and save the batteries. I’m not being nosy. I’m being helpful.

Before I can stop myself, I’m dragging the box out. The buzzing gets even louder. Knowing my luck, it’s a giant hornet.

I pull off the lid.

Oh. My. God.

It’s giant all right.

But it’s not a wasp.

I only wish it was.

Buzzing away with a life all of its own is the most enormous vibrator I’ve ever seen in my life. Not that I’ve seen that many. And not just the one, either. This box is packed full of vibrators of every shade and variety known to man, or rather woman. Some have the most realistic network of veins (why?), others are bright candy pink, and one terrifying specimen is ten inches of black plastic complete with what look like revolving spikes. I stare at it in fascinated horror.

I’m a twenty-first-century chick, I’m pretty liberated and I’ve been known to wander into Ann Summers. OK, so I left my hood up. Can you imagine what my life at school would have been like if Wayne Lobb and Co. had seen their English teacher testing chocolate body paint or playing with love beads? It’s OK for those
Sex and the City
girls to act out their fantasies all over New York; they don’t have to work with a bunch of teenagers with hormones so rampant you can practically see them. There’s nothing like teaching to put you off sex for life — the thought of ending up with your own teen is too hideous for words.

So I do know all about vibrators; I’ve just never actually met one before, although this is less of a vibrator and more like a weapon of mass destruction. My eyes are watering just thinking about it.

Why has Mads got a box of sex toys under the bed? She’s always telling me how she and Richard have an amazing sex life. I’d rather pull my nails out with pliers than shag the Rev, but Mads has always insisted that beneath the cassock Richard is a love god. I’ve always assumed that’s why she married him.

Certainly wasn’t for his sense of humour.

Then I have a horrible thought. What if the sex aids are Richard’s? What if Maddy doesn’t know? That must be it. Maddy was trying to tell me something on the telephone the other day but had to stop because Richard came into the kitchen. She’s worried that he’s having an affair. And he’s pretending to be annoyed about her whereabouts in order to create a smokescreen.

The absolute bastard!

I’m a genius at solving mysteries. Hercule Poirot has nothing on me.

I reach into the box and switch the vibrator off.

‘Gross.’ I shudder.

‘You don’t like the Throbbing Theo?’ I almost have a cardiac arrest when Mads leans over me and plucks the spiky monster from the box. ‘Perhaps the rabbit is more to your taste?’ She waves a girlie pink creation under my nose. ‘It has revolving pearls for total clitoral stimulation.’

It does? And I thought rabbits had cute twitchy noses and cotton-ball tails. I’ve clearly been with James too long. His idea of exciting sex was a midweek shag.

‘Don’t look so shocked,’ laughs Mads, throwing herself on to the bed and waving the Throbbing Theo around like Obi-Wan Kenobi’s light sabre. ‘It’s supposed to be fun. Don’t be a prude.’

‘You know about these?’ I just want to be sure. I feel like I’m in a kinky parallel universe. Gone is the rectory and I’m in some Soho sex shop.

‘Course I do! They’re mine. Well, not exactly mine, but they’re the demo models. The ones we play with.’

‘Whatever you and Richard choose to do is your affair,’ I say primly. ‘I’m sorry I was nosy but the box was buzzing.’

‘Me and Richard?’ snorts Mads, laughing so hard green goo slides down her chin and plops on to the duvet. ‘You must be kidding. Can you imagine Richard with this lot?’

Er… best not repeat my earlier thoughts.

‘Richard would kill me,’ Mads says. ‘It is so not his scene. But…’ she pauses and fixes me with a Paddington Bear stare, ‘it is a lot of people’s scene. Apparently two out of three women have a vibrator. And they have to buy them from somewhere, especially here in the sticks where we can’t just pop into town. Honestly, Katy, it’s brilliant! I’ve cornered the market. You would never believe how many unfortunate frustrated women there are out there.’

Wouldn’t I?

Maddy boings off the bed and pulls six more boxes out. ‘So here I am to put a smile on their faces. Nipple drops. Edible knickers. Chocolate willies. No more boring sex.’

She’s finally flipped. I
knew
we smoked too much dope at uni.

My stunned expression evidently isn’t what Mads was hoping for as she piles the bed high with packages like a kinky Christmas. ‘Don’t you think it’s brilliant? I’m going to make a fortune.’

‘Let’s get this straight,’ I say. ‘You’re selling this stuff?’

‘Of course I’m selling it. You didn’t think it was all for my consumption, did you? You did!’ shrieks Maddy. ‘You are hilarious! Of course it isn’t all mine. You silly moo! I’m an Anna Spring party girl!’

‘This is your job?’ I’m still trying to get my head round it. ‘You’re an Anna Spring rep?’

‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ Maddy says, looking offended. ‘I might be married, but I’m not dead from the waist down, you know.’

‘You’re married to the
vicar
,’ I point out. My eyes are drawn like magnets to the vibrators. ‘What does Richard think about your
job
?’

Mads doesn’t say anything. I feel a sense of doom akin to descending very fast in a lift.

‘He doesn’t know, does he?’

‘Would
you
tell him? Can you imagine what he’d say?’

We’re both quiet for a moment while we contemplate the ghastly thought.

‘I don’t think it would do his career much good if he did know,’ sighs Mads. ‘It’s better to marry than to burn, remember? But only just. The bishop would probably have a heart attack. Wives submit to your husbands and all that bollocks. Richard would rather I dedicated myself to the Sunday school and the WI.’

‘They posed naked,’ I remind her.

‘They didn’t sell sex toys, though,’ says Mads.

It’s a fair point.

‘Anyway,’ she continues, dabbing away face pack with the sleeve of her bathrobe, ‘Richard must never find out. It would be the end of our marriage if he did.’

‘So why do this job if you know Richard would hate it? What’s the point?’

Mad’s eyes fill with tears. ‘Where shall I begin? I think I need a glass of wine first.’

Back in the kitchen she pours me a class of icy Blossom Hill and I curl up in the window seat with the inky sea churning below. Mads leans against the Aga and swirls her wine thoughtfully. ‘I think Richard’s having an affair.’

‘What!’

‘I said I think Richard’s having an affair. He’s been acting so strangely lately. He’s out most evenings and when he comes back he doesn’t seem to want to talk to me. As soon as he’s in he jumps in the shower and then he says he’s too tired to have sex.’

I think of James. Isn’t this all par for the course?

‘That’s what happens in a relationship,’ I tell her wisely.

‘Bollocks is it,’ scoffs Mads. ‘Richard and I always had a fantastic sex life but lately he just doesn’t want to know. He’s so preoccupied. I keep trying to tell him that there’s more to do in bed than sleep but he looks at me as though I’m insane. And…’ she pauses dramatically, ‘he’s always washing his clothes.’

‘Perhaps he just wants to be clean and smell nice?’

Mads looks sad. ‘Or he doesn’t fancy me any more.’

Mads is gorgeous. Five feet ten, slim as a reed and with tumbling ebony curls, she makes supermodels look fat and ugly.

‘I’m sure you’re wrong,’ I say and tell her about the earlier incident in the pub. ‘He looked like he thought
you
were having an affair!’