New Balls Please (Ball Games #3) (3 page)

'Camille. Any time I've suggested anything in our whole lives you've told me it’s stupid and then bossily made me do what you want.'

I narrow my eyes at him. 'No, I haven't.'

'Okay.’ His tongue pokes the side of his cheek. ‘Well... I think we should leave Mum and Dad to get on with it. It's their relationship.'

I huff. 'That's a stupid idea.'

Tyler looks skywards and mutters under his breath. It sounds like 'Told you.'

'If Dad leaves her at Center Parcs she'll think no-one cares. What if she doesn't come back?'

'Where's she going to go, Cam? She has a cushy number at home and she knows it.'

'But Dad always sorts her out and calms her down. What if they split up?'

He walks over and pats my head, the twat.

'Little Cam. The folks will do what they need to do. They'll argue and either sort it out or not. They're grownups. I'm surprised Dad hasn't snapped before with all the money Mum wastes on her obsessions. Now she thinks she's Serena Williams.'

Dad walks in. 'Right, are you two ready?'

We nod and head to the local.

The Red Lion is always heaving Sunday lunchtime, but the staff there are used to it and get customers through to the tables steadily. It's an idea to book a table if you don't want a long wait but Becky, one of the regular staff there tells us she's just cleared a table for three and we can go straight through. The table is tucked away near the toilets and fits around a post. It’s not the best table but it suits us today, seeing as we are all so hungry.

Dad rubs the condensation off the side of his pint glass. 'I wonder what your Mother's doing right now?’

'As long as it’s not the tennis coach,' says Tyler.

Dad looks stricken.

'Tyler!' I shout. 'Don't be so stupid.'

He looks at his feet. 'I thought it was funny.'

'Do you think the tennis coach will be a bloke? An attractive bloke?' asks my dad.

'Given the number of attractive men in the world, the odds are seriously against it,' I reassure him. 'I'll check the website later and let you know if you like.'

Dad nods.

We get up and queue for our carvery lunch. Mum's a great cook but there are a choice of joints and an array of vegetables here. The pièce de résistance though is the Yorkshire Puddings. They are enormous. Our mum has never been able to cook a Yorkshire Pudding and has to rely on ready cooked frozen ones from the supermarket. She says she's tried every recipe going. At one point she even bought a new oven as she was convinced her own wasn't reaching the correct temperature. They still came out as flat as a CD. Our eyes widen in delight as the small crunchy planet is placed on our plates.

We return to our table. Tyler takes a bite of the pudding.

'Mmm. Do you think we could come here every Sunday?' he asks.

'Are you going to ask your Mother that?' Dad replies.

‘Not if I value my testicles.’

Dad sighs. 'There's one thing preying on my mind about your Mother, though.'

'What's that, Dad?' I ask.

'I don't know that she hasn't lost her way a bit. Gone depressed like. Only…’ he clears his throat, ‘before Tyler moved out your mum really got a grip on things. The house was spotless. She was in a great mood all the time. Then Ty left and well… her housework went… almost non-existent. If I ask her to do anything she looks so miserable.'

Tyler changes the subject, saying how nice the gravy is. I turn to him and he's tapping his foot on the floor.

'What do you know that we don't, Tyler Turner?’

'Me? What do you mean?' he protests.

'You're all fidgety and changing the subject. Has Mum been depressed? Has she said anything to you?'

Tyler sighs. 'Do not shoot the messenger, okay?'

My dad sits back, 'Go on Tyler. Out with it. Whatever it is. I need to hear it.'

So Tyler owns up.

'Let me get this straight. For a couple of months, before you left our house, your mum was paying you to do the chores?'

Tyler gulps. 'I needed the money.'

'And she told you to not mention this to me? Took all my praise for the lovely standard of cleaning attained as if she’d done it herself?'

‘Glad you liked it.'

I elbow him. 'Not the right time Tyler.'

Dad tilts his head to one side, his arms are crossed and his finger taps against the shirt sleeve of the opposite arm. 'So what did your mum do on her days off?'

'Watched box-sets mainly and went shopping.'

Dad exhales deeply.

'So shall I talk to Mum?' I ask. It's the last thing I feel like doing but someone needs to talk sense to this family. It's like being in a troop of quarrelling chimps right now.

Dad puts his cutlery down on his plate with force. It makes a chinking noise. 'No Camille. Absolutely not.'

'Why not?'

'Your mum has taken herself off, annoyed that she isn't getting our attention. I'm going back to what we did when you children were acting up and trying to get our attention in a negative way.'

Uh oh.

'
So you're going to ignore it?'

'That's right. Then eventually, she’ll bring her backside home. If she starts to tantrum about being ignored, I'll confront her about the housework issue.'

Oh dear God, there'll be a murder and I love my dad.

'Dad, no. Don't go there,' begs Tyler. 'You'll not win. It's Mum.'

'Everybody stop saying that,' Dad snaps. 'All these years I've let things slide. No more. She's gone too far. This worm has turned. Tomorrow, I'm going to the bookshop and I’ll find myself one of those self-help books like she's always doing. There must be a
How to survive a Manipulative Wife
tome out there somewhere.'

'If there's a companion book on girlfriend, can you get it for me?' says Tyler.

I shake my head. 'You've only been going out with Lindsay two and a half months.'

'I know, but she gets me to do things and afterwards I’m wondering how she did it.' He complains. ‘It’s some form of brainwashing.’

'Exactly.' My dad waves his finger about. 'They're like witches or something, son. Take a lesson from me. Don't let Lindsay lay down the law.'

They do a bro fist. I roll my eyes.

I decide that I'm getting nowhere and my Yorkshire Pudding is getting cold, so I stuff a large piece in my mouth to prevent me from shouting at them both about being dickheads.

Tomorrow I hope Beth makes it to Kid Zone. I need the opinion of another female.

Chapter Four

Dora

I make sure I’m up nice and early on Sunday morning and head over to the on-site ParcMarket at around ten to get stocked up on groceries. There's a bottle of wine in my basket for later, and plenty of milk and tea bags. A life without a cuppa is a miserable one. After a good sleep, I've calmed down about the car issue. When I left the villa and walked up the road, other than the missing post and the tyre marks in the mud, you wouldn't know it had happened. Recalling the events of the evening, I return to the alcohol section and add a four-pack of beer to my basket. The heavy basket makes my arm ache but once I’ve called into the Information Centre, my bags will be lighter. I pay for my items and make the short walk there, then wait in the queue for a few minutes.

'Can I help you?' An older woman greets me and then smiles.

'Yes, could I leave these cans to split between Jim and Tony?' I place the four-pack on the counter. 'Also, do you have some paper and a pen so I can leave a note?'

The woman appraises me with a knowing smile and passes me some Center Parcs headed paper and a pen. She says nothing until I hand her the note.

Thank you for helping me out of the mud. Please enjoy a beer. Sorry once again, Dora. Villa 332.

The woman gives a throaty chuckle. 'I thought it must be you. Are you okay now?'

I flick my fringe. 'Lots better thank you. I’m going to try to forget about it and enjoy my break.'

She places the beer under the counter. 'Well, I'll see these get to the guys. They'll appreciate the thought.'

'Thank you.'

I head out of Information and hope I don't need to go in again for the duration of my break.

Although some of my shopping needs to be in the fridge sooner rather than later, I'm passing the Jardin des Sports and its patio area looks lovely. Five minutes later, I'm nursing a Tia Maria coffee and enjoying the extra warmth of the outdoor heater. As I relax, thoughts cross my mind.

I wonder what Tim and the kids are doing today. Whether the kids turned up for lunch and what they think of me being here.

I catch sight of my distorted reflection in the cafe window. Being a forty-five-year-old woman is hard. People say I appear in my mid-thirties, but they aren’t greeted with the face I wake up with. It takes a subtle fake tan, lots of exercise and care with my diet to maintain this image. Plus, a heap of foundation and anti-ageing products. Tim gets to see that morning face. I'm surprised he comes anywhere near me, never mind inside me.

I sigh. The tennis lessons start tomorrow, so what am I going to do with today?

I recall that I passed a sports shop when I came through to the café. I'll treat myself to a nice outfit for the tennis, then get this shopping back and spend the day relaxing. Oh, I could book the Aqua Sana spa too! Maybe have a quiet stroll to find the wildlife. Then I’ll consume lots of cups of tea and read a book on my Kindle.

Perhaps my family will call me later. I’ve had missed calls from Tim, but he must have changed his mind. He’s not left any messages. I refuse to think about it anymore. Well, I'll try not to. It’s hard when you feel invisible and no-one cares.

I finish the liqueur coffee. It went down a treat. I feel all zingy inside.

In the shop, I buy a pair of cropped black leggings that show off my calves, one of my best features, and a tight tee. My boobs and ass look amazing and I thank the Lord for my gym membership. I sweep my hair up with my hand to imagine it in a ponytail. Yep looking good, Ms Evans, looking good. I pretend to swish a tennis racket and slap the changing room wall by accident. ‘Fuck.’ It’s made of plywood and the whole thing shakes and rattles.

'Erm, are you okay in there?' the assistant asks.

'Fine. I'll be out in just a moment.' I reply, shaking out my hand.
For heaven's sake, Dora, don't destroy the shop. You’ve embarrassed yourself enough already.

Back at the villa, I unpack my shopping and sit on the small sofa which looks out over a patio. In the distance is a pond. Geese and ducks waddle right up to the glass door and at one point a squirrel sits on the table. It’s hard to believe this place is only an hour from the bustle and pollution of the city. Placing a call to book into the evening spa, which starts at five pm, I grab my Kindle and relax and read for an hour.

After making a sandwich for lunch and enjoying another cuppa, I decide that I need to let my food digest and then get out for the walk. I've had a read so what shall I do now? I head into the bedroom and search through my case to see what I actually packed in my rush to leave. There must be something I can do. Did I bring my colouring book? I spy the cellophane-wrapped packet and pick it up. I remove the wrapping as if the contents will bite.

I purchased this set of Ben Wa balls about three years ago. Do you know what they are? Basically, it's a string with a couple of balls on it that fit inside your vagina. I was intrigued by
that
scene in the
Fifty Shades
book and walked into the sexy store in Meadowhall and bought them. Then feeling foolish, I'd thrown them at the back of the wardrobe and that's where they’d stayed.

Until now.

I stare at the plastic packet. Inside are two plastic pink and white balls on a string. They are attached to each other by a thin piece of the plastic or latex or whatever it is. There are instructions for use on an enclosed leaflet, but what exactly are they supposed to do?

Fingers crossed that I can get Wi-Fi access, I place the packet on the bed, get my phone and search Google.

Okay. So for a start they can help
control urinary incontinence,
so if I get no other satisfaction from them, I might manage to wear a pair of pants without the liner that catches the trickle of piss leaking out of my body on occasion. Bloody children, destroying my vag.

You can
keep them in all day
. Gosh.

It
helps to tighten up your vaginal muscles so you can have stronger orgasms
. Hell yeah, that would be nice.

Some people say they do nothing. That it's as exciting as a tampon. Oh dear, that would be disappointing.

Don't use the proper Ben Wa balls first. They're tiny and hard to keep in.
That's okay, mine seem like the beginner's version. They're larger and have the string. How the fucking hell do people keep those marble sized ones with no string inside? They must fuck pencil dicks for practice, or pencils. I shudder.

Now, what do you do with them when they're in?

I read on.

Sit in a rocking chair
. What? Yes, we've all got one of those handy. Who's using these balls? Grandmothers while they're knitting or telling stories?

Tug of War
. Hold them in with your vaginal muscles and then try to pull them out. I cross my legs as tightly as I can. My poor vagina. What do they want me to do to you?

Practice by keeping them in for ten minutes a day
.
That seems manageable.

Go for a walk
.
Oh...

I open the packet and extract the balls. On the packaging, mine are described as
Luv Balls
. They are pink with a white pattern and resemble two lots of swimming goggles stuck together and packed to resemble boiled eggs. The instructions say to wash them first, so I head to the sink and douse them with a liberal amount of fairy liquid. I can't get out of my mind that I don't know how these got into the packet. It may have been via machinery, or it could have been a worker, therefore, they aren't going anywhere near my private parts until the stranger’s DNA is wiped off of them. I dry them off and hold them in my hand. This is too weird for words. At least a vibrator is supposed to resemble a knob. Here I'm basically going to fuck hard-boiled eggs.