Underneath (13 page)

‘So why the hesitation now?’

‘Because it’s here inside me, a real thing. I could dismiss a thought, but I’m not finding it so easy to dismiss a real baby. I’m scared shitless, Lo, but I know at my age that if I don’t have it, that it really is my very last chance.’

‘I think you should have it,’ I say

‘Why?’

‘You have lots of love inside you, I know cos I get some of it. I really think you could do it Mon.’

She gives me a half smile. ‘If I do, will you be there for me?’

‘You need to ask?’

‘Even if Bettina and Sexy Seb want your attention?’

‘I’ll ditch them. I’m all yours,’ I joke. ‘Although I do still need to see my husband and child.’

‘Well obvs, but at least Niall is a good egg. He’ll let you come when I need you, like this weekend.’

‘Mon,’ I say my eyes widening. ‘Those pregnancy hormones must really be getting to you. You’ve just given Niall a compliment.’

‘Fuck,’ she says, ‘So I have. This parasite’s making me soft.’

We arrive back in Sheffield at quarter to five. Monique heads off for the bus and I go to entrance of the short stay car park. Joe comes dashing out of the car and runs towards me like we’ve been separated for years. ‘Mum, dad’s bought me five packets of series seven Lego figures,’

‘Someone’s been spoilt,’ I say

After a huge hug he looks at me from under his fringe. ‘Have you got me anything?’

I laugh, ‘What about four packets of series eight Lego figures?’ I say getting them out of my pocket. ‘London’s a bit ahead of us.’

‘Wow, thanks mum,’ he runs back off towards his dad. ‘Mum got me series eight.”

‘Sorry,’ I mouth at Niall as I get to the car.

‘Bloody fickle children,’ he pretends to flick Joe’s ear and then drives us home.

I’ve been home a while and then it hits me. Tomorrow is the school fair. I call Bettina,

‘Hi, just a quick call to say see you tomorrow.’

‘Hey stranger. I tried you at home but Niall said you were away? You feeling better? Niall said you were ill again.’

Oh crikey, I’d told her I had a bad stomach the week before, obviously karma had given me the sick bug. ‘Yep, had another bug. Must be run down. I’ve been away with Monique. She made me go, even though I wasn’t fully better, the bully. Anyway I feel okay now.’

‘Oh good. Listen I’ve been given some extra books by a few neighbours. Could you pick me up in the morning and help me get them to school?’

‘Course I can. I’ll see you in the morning then.’

‘See you then.’

Niall is gobsmacked by my news about Monique. ‘If she rings, don’t mention it. I said I wouldn’t tell anyone.’

‘No secrets between us, love. She must know that. Do you think she’ll keep it?’

‘I’ve no idea, but I said I’ll be there whatever.’

‘Course, not a problem, you know if I’m around I’ll take care of Joe if she needs you.’

‘Thanks, Love,’ I say, and reach up to give him a kiss. Its familiar and I breathe in the remnants of his aftershave.

‘Do you want to come upstairs?’ I say.

‘Would you be offended if I said no, only I’ve been playing football with Joe and to be honest, I’ve pulled my groin.’

I reach out and stroke his cheek. ‘I could kiss it better?’

‘No, honestly, it really hurts,’ he says moving my hand away. ‘Do you want to sit on the settee with me and watch CSI?’

‘No, you’re alright, I’m tired from the trip. I’ll go on up. I need an early night so I’m ready for tomorrow.’

‘Oh yes, how could I forget. Me and Joe have a quid each ready to smack you upside the head with a sponge.’

‘I feel you are getting rather too enthusiastic about this.’

I power up the laptop to check all my messages. I am inundated with emails and Facebook notifications after ignoring them for thirty-six hours. I ignore them all and click into the secret group for Seb and I. I’ve named it ‘eBay queries’. I figured if I left it on by accident that would be too boring for Niall to click into. I read the list of messages.

‘Where are you luscious Lauren?’

‘I feel all alone :(.’

‘I’m tapping my fingers on the keyboard, still waiting.’

‘Bored now, gonna have to think of something to do.’

‘Oh, my hands have found something to play with …’

‘Hmmm right now I’m thinking about your hot tongue snaking around the inside of my mouth again. Now I’m imagining it somewhere else ...’

There were no more updates. I caught up with the rest of the emails and wondered what in the hell tomorrow would bring.

Chapter 11

We couldn’t have asked for better weather for the fair. It’s a bright day with sunshine, accompanied by a cooling breeze, so everyone who attends can join in without feeling like they’re going to melt. We arrive an hour before the start to make sure everything is in place. I spend the morning filling up balloons and tying up banners. Seb is there, dressed in black and grey stripy pyjamas, he smiles at me as I arrive and carries on with what he’s doing. I’d dressed myself as planned, with my swimming costume underneath my clothes. I’d just gone for black jogging bottoms and a black baggy tee. Not ideal clothing if it turned hotter later, but at least if it got wet I’d still look respectable.

I think back to when I used to take Joe to fun sessions at the local swimming baths, many children were almost left to drown by their dads as my costume barely fit my 36Ds. I had to go to M&S and buy a more respectable swimsuit, more akin to what a sixty year old would wear. My current costume has a decent bra bit to it, and the black makes my waist look a lot slimmer than it really is. It suits my figure, makes it look a bit fifties pin up, but that doesn’t matter today because I’m neither swimming nor bathing, so no-one will be seeing it.

Bettina is busy setting books out on her stall. Her blonde hair is loose and she must have used some tongs as it’s lightly waved. She’s wearing a floaty summer hat in pale pink and a vintage type tea dress with soft pink roses and bluebells on it; a dress I’d have killed for. With pale pink peep toe sandals and nails, and a large blue shopper style bag which matched the bluebells on the dress, she looks exquisite, and I feel dowdy and lifeless by comparison. I’d had to tie up my own hair in a bun, and had left my make-up off as I figured water didn’t mix very well with blow dried hair and a face full of slap. I walk over to her.

‘I really do adore that dress.’

‘I know, you said when you picked me up, but thanks,’ she twiddles with a piece of hair.

I watch as she pulls an embroidered tablecloth out of her bag, its patchwork, with loads of different vintage style squares of pretty florals. It’s divine, and I touch it. ‘Where did you get this from, it’s delightful?’

‘I’ve had it years,’ she says. ‘You’re not the only one who does vintage you know.’

I take a step back. ‘Well, of course. It’s just that I would have liked to get some for my shop if they’d still been around. I’m sure they’d have sold amazingly fast.’

‘I think I’m just about there with the stall.’ She looks away.

I gather I’m dismissed, so I head over to the kids canteen where the school cooks have kindly volunteered to cook us a breakfast before they start serving teas and coffees to the patrons of the fair. I turn back to Bettina but she doesn’t look up. She’s smoothing out the tablecloth. I watch her rip off a tag hanging down from it. I recognise it as a Dunbar’s tag, a store not too far away in Derbyshire – a store that opened last year.

Breakfast is so tasty and appreciated. Fried egg, fried bread, bacon, beans and fried mushrooms with a slice of toast and butter, and all washed down with a coffee. Why does it taste so much nicer when it’s cooked for you?

At ten-thirty Mrs Sullivan asks us to stand by our stations because some parents always turn up early in the hopes of getting the best bargains from the toy stalls. She is resplendent in a navy suit with a gold scarf, hair immaculate as always. She wishes us luck. I head over to the sponge stocks where Seb has pulled up two child-sized chairs to one side. I can barely sit on mine but it’s better than standing all morning.

‘You’re quiet,’ he says.

‘I’ve went to London with my friend. It was a nice break, I enjoyed it.’

‘You didn’t reply to my updates.’

‘You seemed to be doing okay by
yourself
.’

‘Would’ve been better if you were there.’

‘Oh I know,’ I wink at him, warming up to the idea of tormenting Seb for entertainment.

A young girl comes up with her father. ‘Morning Mr Kingsley,’ she says quietly.

‘Hi Deborah. Let me guess, you want to hit me with a wet sponge?’

‘Yes please,’ she giggles.

The sight of Mr Kingsley in his pyjamas is a target for all the young lads in the school, who can’t wait to turn their nerdy teacher into a soaking wet victim. However, without his glasses, and with his hair becoming wet and unruly, there’s a sudden surge of mothers drawn to the stocks. I watch as he peels off his pyjama top and replaces it with a dry one. He gives us all a quick reveal of his ripped body. The tattoo of a dragon stretches across his skin. Its body and tail snake around a muscled left arm, whilst its head comes to a stop just above his left nipple, sitting atop a defined pec. I swear some mothers actually swoon. I get so hot I imagine the dragon could have scorched me with its breath, and toy with the idea of switching the hose pipe we’ve been using to fill the bucket onto myself to cool down.

‘Hey mum.’ Joe is here and I sweep his gangly body up into my arms. I am so pleased to see him.

‘Put me down, that’s so embarrassing.’

Oops. Mother mistake made already. Hugging child in front of others at school. ‘How about a free go of the Sponge Stocks then? You can salvage your integrity?’

‘Don’t know what that word means, but can I have the sponges?’ he says.

Whilst I’m getting them ready I ask Joe where his dad is. ‘Oh, he’s gone to get a couple of coffees, says you’ll be ready for one by now.’

My husband is so right, I am desperate for a drink, and I could do with a wee too, listening to this water sloshing around is not helping.

I head over to Seb and ask him to put me in the stocks. ‘Oooh kinky,’ he whispers.

‘Shut it, Joe’s over there. He doesn’t need to know his future teacher’s a total lech.’

He mimes a stabbing in his heart. ‘I am wounded.’

I hate it in the stocks, I feel so vulnerable. I know it’s only a pretend thing, and I could break out of it if I wanted to, but I feel trapped and claustrophobic. I’m not a good swimmer and can hardly bear water on my face. I swim breast stroke with my head so far out of the water, I always have a bad neck when I’ve done; however this is for Joe, so I try to calm myself. ‘Okay. I’m ready.’

The first four sponges miss completely, although some spray still splashes me, but the fifth hits me squarely in the face. I can’t stand it. I shake my head and desperately want to wipe my eyes, but my arms are in the stocks. Niall has come up and I ask him to wipe my face with a towel. He knows how much I hate water, but tells me that would be cheating and then pays Seb a pound for another five sponges. I’m frustratingly unable to see what Seb makes of Niall as I’m stuck in these things. Niall walks in front and guides Joe’s hands to show him how to throw more accurately. ‘I’ll do the first one,’ he tells Joe, then raises his arm in an overhand throw as if he’s playing cricket and I’m the wicket. Whoomph, straight in my face.

‘Yeeeeeaaaaaaaahhhhhhh,’ he does a sad dad dance and slaps Joe’s hand in a high five. I find it remarkable that Joe is so caught up with the perfect shot that he lets his dad off with one of the most embarrassing jigs ever. Joe takes the next four shots and two of them are right on target, straight in my face.

‘Hey, what’s all this? Pick on your mum time?’ Bettina strolls over to us.

‘Shouldn’t you be on the book stall?’ I splutter, drips fall down my nose from my fringe.

‘One of the other mum’s is having it for ten minutes. I’m having a quick walk round and a coffee. I need the loo too. I just couldn’t resist seeing the always well put together Mrs Lawler looking like a drowned rat.’

‘You want to see her at home,’ chips in Niall. ‘She walks about in leggings and a tee shirt all the time, you know.’

‘Niall,’ I shout.

Bettina giggles. ‘Tell me more of her secrets while she’s locked up in the stocks.’

‘I’ll tell you what,’ says Niall, handing Seb another quid. ‘For every sponge you get in her face, I’ll tell you something embarrassing about her.’

‘Niall, no,’ I squeal. ‘Seb, let me out of the stocks.’ I wriggle, but it hurts my neck and wrists.

‘They’ve paid their pound fair and square,’ he says, then I feel him at my back, touching the stocks where my arms are, as if checking them. He whispers. ‘Your husband’s a moron.’