New Balls Please (Ball Games #3) (8 page)

'How come you got to keep your car outside? Did you chat up the parking men?'

'Something like that,' she replies, looking closely at the floor. She’s become obsessed with cleaning.

Back home, she launches into unpacking the bags and starts the laundry. It's never been known. I'll tell her she doesn't have to do all this at some point. But not right now. She brings me a cup of tea and a biscuit.

'I'll do lunch around one.'

'Okay, kitten.'

A man could get used to this.

Chapter Ten

Dora

I want my normal life back. Everything was all right before I went away. So sometimes I got taken for granted. I realise I'm as guilty of doing that to my family as they are to me. When I'm full on with one of my obsessions, I can ignore all of them. Now I'm stuck in this role play of the submissive wife. I can't believe I asked for permission to tell Cole off. Tim's loving it, though. He told me he was playing golf today. A game he set up a while ago with a business client. While he's away, instead of grabbing a book, I grab a duster and clean the house. The kids would usually come over on a Sunday, but it's Cam's twenty-second birthday tomorrow and she wants to go out with us all for pizza, so I cancelled today’s lunch.

Instead, I'm on Pinterest looking at cleaning schedules, trying to find one that gives me the weekend off and doesn't have seventy-four chores listed on it. According to the most straightforward one, today’s chore is to clean all the floors.
All
the floors? In a three-bedroom semi in one day? They've got to be fucking kidding me. I pin the post and right click the photo to save the schedule to my computer. Then I make it my screen saver so the tasks are staring me in the face.

I make a cuppa and read some more of my Kindle book to remind myself how to behave.

You need to look lovely for your husband at all times.

I stare at the old pyjamas and fluffy dressing gown I’m wearing. Huh, I haven't even got showered yet. I sigh. First a shower. Then I need to buy some housewife-looking attire. I'll pop to the retail park. After this, I must clean and prepare lunch for two pm. It's now nine-thirty am. I'm up early because I made Tim his breakfast before he left for his game. On a Sunday, I'm not normally out of bed until ten.

I pop into
Next
at the Retail Park and find a fifties style floral patterned dress. Belted at the waist with a swing skirt, it’s navy blue with pink flowers. Then I head into a kitchenware store and buy a pale pink pinny to put over it. I find some pretty pink washing up gloves with a fluffy white edge and finish by picking up oven gloves in the same fabric as the pinafore.

Back home, I get a bucket of hot water with a tiny drop of washing up liquid (as advised on Pinterest) and set about on my hands and knees scrubbing the floors, using a sponge and then drying it off with old tea towels. Starting at eleven am and emptying out and getting fresh hot water on a regular basis, it takes me until twenty-to-one to do them all. While I clean, I wear my old gym kit and a pair of regular rubber gloves. My knees are killing me. Half way through I grabbed a cushion from the sofa to place under them. I hope Tim doesn't want a blowjob tonight because I may cry.

There's no time to rest as Tim will be back soon. It's time to get Sunday lunch underway being as I now have to ensure he gets a starter, main course, and dessert, along with a beverage of his choice, be it a cup of tea or a beer.

At one-thirty, it's time for yet another shower, after which I put on make-up, style my hair and dress in the new frock and pinafore.

When I hear the key in the door, I rush to the entrance. I pass Tim his slippers.

'Oh, thanks, love. Let me just get in.' He hasn't changed out of his golf shoes and as he walks into the hallway large clumps of dirt fall off them.

I fix a smile on my face and increase my grip on his slippers.
No, you can't beat him around the head with them. You are a loving and caring other-half.

He finally takes the slippers off me.

'If you'd like to get changed, dinner is almost ready,’ I tell him.

'Dressed like that we might not make lunch. It might be straight to dessert.' He undresses me with his eyes and winks.

I emit my new girly giggle. It's very high pitched because I feel strangulated.

Monday. Camille's birthday. Thank God Tim has gone to work. I work Wednesday to Friday so today I can enjoy the silence. Firstly, I text Camille a happy birthday and then open the laptop. The housework schedule pings up. Today I'm supposed to clean every window, picture and mirror in the house. That's just for starters. I clean for a living. I don't want to clean my own fucking house. It's a Busman’s holiday. I glance towards the glass filled conservatory. Fucking hell. Life was so much easier when Tyler lived here and I could pay him to do the housework. Ping. Lightbulb moment. I Google local cleaning services. In an hour, I'm talking to a lovely lady named Claire who will be around at twelve. If we get on okay I can book her to come Mondays and Tuesdays to do a deep clean, and then I can spend the rest of the week doing minimal housework such as laundry. She'll even take the ironing with her Monday and bring it back Tuesday. Perfect.

I scan through Pinterest and research birthday cake ideas. Finally, I spot coated cake pops and get an idea. I read up on how to dip them and then pop out to the supermarket for some ingredients. While I'm there, I purchase a lucky dip, something I always put in birthday cards as an extra treat. The woman behind the counter asks me if I'd prefer a lottery ticket instead as it's a rollover. I buy one and stick it in the back of my purse.

At home, I spend the afternoon making cake pops and enjoying the silence. The phone rings at four pm.

'Well, hello there, sexy lady.'

'Hi, Tim. Everything okay?' Tim doesn't ring me unless it's an emergency so my heart rate increases.

'What are you wearing?'

I glance down at my flour and icing covered jeans. I need to lie because I’m supposed to look lovely at all times.

'Erm, a black skirt and a white blouse.'
Have I got to go meet him at the hospital or something?

'And what's under that skirt. Lacy panties?'

Omg, is he phone sexing me? Shit.

'Yes. A black lacy thong.'

I sit on the sofa and switch the laptop on while I'm on the phone. While he's chatting, I skim Facebook. He talks about me putting a finger in myself. I'm sorry, but the only place my fingers are going is in the cake mix.

'Now… use two fingers.'

I stick them up at the phone.

I imagine what it'd be like if I was excited and I breathe a bit heavier and say, 'Oh, Tim.' In reality, I'm up and checking on the cake pops to make sure they're drying okay.

'Now you're feeling my balls, describe it.'

I peer at the cake pops. 'They're lovely and round, warm to the touch and I want them in my mouth.'

He groans. I don't know where he is at work but I hope he's somewhere soundproof. We can't do with him getting the sack from revealing his sacs.

'Tell me about taking my penis in your mouth.'

I have an idea. I pick up the cake pop. It's so fucking gorgeous. As I eat it, I make the most terrific moaning noises. The not quite set icing dribbles down my chin.

'Describe it.'

'I've been sucking you so hard, so damn hard, and your cum has dribbled down my chin.’ I bite into the cake pop where there's a runny chocolate centre.

'Mmmm, so good.'

I hear him come on the other end of the phone.

'Oh, Dora babe, did you?'

'Oh, Tim. It was truly amazing.'

'See you later, kitten.'

Honestly, I have to bite my lip so I don't fucking miaow at him.

I get ready for tonight. At least he can't go on about sex while the children are with us. Even if they are adults, he will draw that line. Well, the old Tim would. I've no idea about this one.

Chapter Eleven

Dora

We meet at Camille's chosen venue at eight pm. She looks beautiful in a red shift dress. Even my son Tyler has put on a smart shirt and trousers. They've both brought their partners, Dylan, and Lindsay. Dylan's busy chatting to Tim. They have their heads together and appear to be scheming, then they high five each other. What's that all about? I'm the one who plans things for birthdays and stuff so they’d better behave. I sigh. Who am I kidding? I have no voice as long as I’m playing the submissive housewife, and the kids are growing up and doing their own thing anyway. I sit quietly and eat my meal. When desert comes, I've asked the staff to bring out the cake pops. That’s one thing I’m proud of. My daughter’s face lights up when she sees them. Fixed atop a cake base, they're multicoloured, like the balls in the ball pool at Kid Zone.

'Oh my God, Mum, that's amazing.'

She gives me a massive hug and whispers in my ear. 'Are you and Dad okay? You seem really quiet. It’s not like you.'

'Yeah, we’re fine, love,' I tell her. I can't really say ‘your dad’s turned into a sex fiend and I'm fucking knackered trying to be some kind of fifties housewife,’ can I?

As usual, we put money in her card so she can buy what she wants. For the finale, we sing a loud and embarrassing round of Happy Birthday.

Then Tim stands up, saying he has an extra present for her.

From his pocket, he takes out a folded piece of paper. I see the drawing on it and my heart thuds so hard I could pass the fuck out. The drawing, I know off by heart, was crayoned by Camille when she was about eight. It's a picture of me, her father, her, Tyler and a vicar. It says on it,
please marry my mum
. I was heartbroken when she drew this. Tim ignored it, saying he wasn't changing his mind because of a child's drawing, adding that the week before she'd drawn herself with a pet unicorn.

'Camille, do you remember this?' he asks her.

'Er, yes.'

'Well, your mum leaving last weekend made me think that I never want to lose her again. It was far too easy for her to walk out of that house. I also think it's about time your mother was a Turner.'

He goes down on bended knee.

'Dora, will you marry me?'

They all stare at me.

'No.'

Both Tim and Dylan shout 'What?'

A tornado of temper bursts out of me. Fuck being a demure housewife. I need to sort this shithead out.

'No, I will not fucking marry you. You didn't want to get married when she was eight so why the fuck do you want to get married now?'

Heads of people in the restaurant turn towards us. Thank goodness there are no children around because I need to vent big time.

'Is this because I've been acting like a servant? Is that what I needed to do? Clean the fucking house? I clean for my job, so forgive me if I don't do my best at home because it's God damn boring.'

Tyler looks around 'Mum, what's got into you? Calm down.'

'What’s got into me? He's got into me. Your bloody father. I'm knackered.' Oh sod it, they're adults. 'Your dad's turned into a sex fiend and I'm fucking knackered trying to be some kind of fifties housewife. It’s doing my box in. Both my head and my vag.'

I sit down, exhausted.

'But, but, you've been enjoying all the sexy stuff.'

I put my hand to my brow. I can feel a headache nagging. 'No, I haven't. I've been faking ninety-five percent of it. Plus, if you call me a kitten again, I’ll scratch your eyes out.'

'But it's in those books you're always reading?'

'What?' I take a large sip of my wine, hoping alcohol affects my brain to a point where this situation starts making sense.

'On your shelves. Like The Alphabet Game. Then I watched that Fifty Shades on DVD. I thought you wanted an alpha.'

I look at him like he's just told me he's a cross-dresser.

'Tim, they are
fiction
. They're what I read for escapism. Men like that don't exist in real life. We don't want that in real life, just in our imagination.'

'So I didn't need to do any of those things? I wore that suit and stupid jogging outfit for nothing?'

I take a bigger drink. 'Oh my God, you need a shrink.'

'What about you? What's all this about being a housewife? Where have you got the notion that I want a servant? We've been together for twenty-nine years and I might have groaned about the state of the house but I've never demanded you clean it. So where's that come from?'

'I was reading a book and-'

Tim, Camille and Tyler groan.

Tyler shakes his head. 'Mum, you need to stop with the crazy.’

'I have. I'm done. There is no way I was built to be a domestic goddess.'

Everyone at the table cracks out laughing.

'Oh, the lot of you can fuck off.'

'Can someone please get your mother a swear box?'

I realise I'm at Camille's birthday party and I've just thrown what amounts to a tantrum. Who are the parents and who are the children here?

'Camille, I'm sorry.'

She laughs. 'It's okay, Mum. At least we can’t say my birthday meal was dull. Anyway, is that all the drama? Can we have coffee now?'

Dylan stands up. 'Well actually, no. Not yet.'

He drops to his knee. He looks scared to death which isn't surprising given my negative response to Tim. He'll be praying she isn't her mother's daughter on the subject.

'Camille, I know we've only been together for ten months, but I know for a fact that you are the love of my life. Please, would you do the honour of marrying me?'

In the ring box, I can make out a square diamond. It glistens. Cam shakes. I see her lip tremble as she shakes her head to the positive. After what must seem like forever to Dylan, she finally utters her answer, 'yes.'

Dylan takes out the ring. Cam holds out her left hand. But Dylan hasn’t finished talking.

'Camille. I’ve something to confess. This isn’t your real engagement ring. I want us to shop for one together, so you can choose one you like.'

She laughs. 'So where's this one from?'