Underneath (5 page)

‘You’re being ridiculous.’ Niall mutes the television and turns to me. ‘I’m sorry, what is it that’s so important?’

Reasonable, never ruffled Niall. He drives me mad. I want him to argue back, to fight and show me some passion.

‘It doesn’t matter now, it’ll seem stupid,’ I say. ‘I’m going to bed.’

I don’t pick my book up straight away but lie back against the pillow, pull up the duvet and wonder how long it will actually be before we make love again. It’s become about once a month, so after the other day that’s June done with. It doesn’t help that Joe’s always getting out of bed and is settling down later and later, so by the time he finally falls asleep, it’s my own bed time. I’m exhausted by then and just want to sleep, not go and see if Niall’s up for it. I worry about us not having it enough, but if I ever raise the issue Niall just dismisses it and says he’s happy and we don’t need to be at it like rabbits. It makes me feel insecure though. I know I’m not bad looking for my age, and my figure is still trim and firm, but I worry I’m getting to the point where the wolf-whistles stop and no-one will find me attractive. I think about the evening in the pub. I was totally shocked. Who’d have thought that nerdy Mr Kingsley had all that going on under his clothes? As much as I felt irritated with how he spoke to me, I keep replaying the conversation in my head and I like the fact he flirted with me. I need to be flirted with. Maybe Niall would be a bit more interested in me if it were possible to dress up as a 1956 Ford Zephyr. I wonder how Seb would have reacted to my boudoir outfit? I realise I’m smiling and berate myself for thinking like this. I love my husband.

Monday comes around fast, and I meet Bettina at the school gates so we can travel in my car together to meet Monique. Bettina is quiet at first, twirling a piece of her hair around and staring out of the front window. After a few minutes of awkward silence she asks, ‘You’re not mad at me about the sponge stocks, are you?’

‘How long have you been worrying about that?’ I reply. ‘And no, I’m over it. I’m not going in the stocks and it should be a laugh watching the kids pelt Seb.’

‘Seb,’ she says, considering the name. ‘I wouldn’t have thought him a Seb, more a Gordon or a Steve.’

‘How stereotypical of you,’ I mock. ‘Whatever have the Gordons’ and Steves’ of the world done to you?’

‘You know what I mean. He’s dead straight looking. Sebastian’s quite a cool name.’

‘Yeah, well he’s not quite as straight-laced as you might think,’ I state, raising an eyebrow at her.

Her eyes fire up. ‘Tell me more.’

I turn to her and wink. ‘You’ll have to wait til we get to the coffee shop. I want to fill Monique in so I’ll tell you both together.’

‘Ooh, I hope she’s on time.’

We pull up just down the road from the coffee shop that is mine and Monique’s favourite haunt on Ecclesall Road. Tucked in between all the charity and other shops is a modern red brick building with almost floor to ceiling glass windows. Today is sunny, but not all that warm, so I walk past the outside tables and head inside towards my favourite corner. I’m happy to see it’s free, and sink down into the warm, comfy, tan leather sofa that I wish I could transport home. It makes me feel snug and protected. I quite often remove my shoes and sit sideways with my feet up on it when I’m chatting to Monique. Bettina has seated herself at the side of me where Monique usually sits.

‘God they need new sofa’s, I don’t think I’ll get back up from here.’

‘It’s lovely and comfy though.’

‘You and your love of old things. Shall we wait for Monique before we get drinks?’

Monique charges through the door at that point. Dressed in a pale yellow dress with an A-line skirt and cream wedge sandals on her feet, she is once again immaculately turned out.

I watch Bettina’s eyes widen and she sits up straight, rising partway to shake Monique’s hand. ‘Hi, I’m Bettina, lovely to meet you.’

‘Likewise. I’ve been looking forward to meeting someone who knew Lo at fifteen, you can give me some new material for piss-taking.’

Bettina looks at me, her brow furrowing.

‘I’m joking,’ says Monique, mock thumping Bettina’s arm lightly. ‘Right, what are we having to drink?’

One thing about Monique is that she never shuts up talking, so within minutes of being seated, Bettina has relaxed and is joining in with the conversation, which has so far consisted of a critique of my outfit; a long black skirt with black sandals and a stringy-strapped lilac t-shirt that I thought looked okay.

‘Good God woman, its summer. What’re you doing in a long black skirt? As soon as you’re home get it packed away. In fact, throw it out, those legs of yours should be seen. That top does nothing for your skin tone either. Where’s the Jade green one you bought last time we were round here? And
why
are your toenails not painted?’

‘I didn’t have time,’ I plead.

‘Did you go on Facebook this morning?’

‘Erm ...’

‘Thought so, and if you were on there any longer than ten minutes you most certainly had time.’

I turn to Bettina. ‘See what I have to put up with?’

‘You two are hilarious,’ she grins. ‘It’s like watching some kind of reality TV show. In fact, I think you should make a demo.’

‘Hey, we could be the new Ant and Dec. We could call it The Lomon Show. If you say it in a Jamaican accent it sounds like Lemon,’ I say.

‘Right, you’re in trouble,’ states Monique turning to Bettina. ‘You’ve started her on the lame joke telling. You don’t know what you’ve done.’

‘We could call it Bit r Lomon.’

‘Shut up,
please
,’ pleads Monique.

‘Or learn sumo-wresting, and call it Lomon squash.’

‘Stop,’ they yell out in unison.

I pretend to look hurt and take a sip of my coffee and then smirk at them both. ‘Bettina, say beer can.’

‘Beer can.’

‘See you can talk Jamaican too. Say I want a beer can sandwich.’

Monique lifts her shoulders and drops them with a sigh. ‘I give up.’

There’s a break in conversation for a short time. ‘I wonder if I could do with a makeover?’ says Bettina quietly.

Monique re-energises. ‘Well to be honest, if you’re intent on sticking around Sheffield you could do with going down a hair shade or two, and dropping the tan about three shades.’ Monique’s like my own personal Gok Wan and is always direct with her answers. I envy her confidence.

‘I was wondering if I was a bit full-on, I’ve already sent the sunbed back. Thanks for being so honest,’ Bettina replies. ‘I’ll get booked in. Do you know a good salon?’

‘Bella’s on the top of Handsworth is excellent,’ I say. Monique nods in agreement.

‘They are good, they’ve won awards. I’d definitely book in there.’

‘Cool, I’ll do that this week,’ she says. ‘Anyone fancy another coffee? Then you,’ she points at me, ‘need to fill us in on the gossip about Seb.’ She gets up to order the drinks.

Monique appraises me. ‘Who’s Seb?’

‘Aha, I’ve saved that gossip especially for today.’ I bat my eyelashes at Monique.

‘Get those coffees dead fast or else,’ she shouts across at Bettina.

‘Right, spill,’ says Monique once Bettina returns with fresh drinks.

‘Just before I do, where was it you got those great yoga pants from again?’

‘Yeah right, get on with it woman.’

I recount the pub events to them both and they listen without interruption, which for Monique is new territory, although she does sit twiddling her friendship bracelet round and round her arm.

‘Oh my God, I just can’t believe that of Mr Kingsley,’ says Bettina. ‘He looks so…boring.’

‘Yes, well, I did find it boring.’

‘Would you shag him if you were single?’

‘Mon!’

‘Well, would you? Does he live up to his hype?’

‘Well there’s definitely no faulting the TV’, I state, ‘but the picture’s a bit dubious.’

‘Oh jeez. Can’t you just talk normally?’

‘Stop picking on me,’ I pout. ‘You’re causing interference.’

Bettina rolls her eyes and laughs. ‘Reality show,’ she repeats.

‘So what’re you going to do about Sexy Seb’s seduction?’ Monique pronounces each ‘s’ like an Adult Chat-Line operator.

‘You’ll have to tell Mrs Sullivan. It’s inappropriate to attempt to seduce a pupil’s mother,’ adds Bettina.

‘Nah. It was amusing, and he’s not going to get anywhere, so let him do his worst,’ I say. ‘I’m quite looking forward to his next attempt actually.’

‘What did Niall say?’ says Monique.

‘Nothing really. He doesn’t feel threatened by a,’ – I make air quotes – ‘lame teacher. Not that I told him what he said to me. I’d just have been wasting my time. I’m thinking of entering Hell’s Kitchen, or being arrested by the police for speeding to get him to pay me some attention.’

‘If you wanted a romantic, you picked the wrong bloke,’ says Monique.

‘What’s your husband like?’ asks Bettina.

‘He’s a dickhead.’ Monique is as delicate as ever.

‘That’s my husband you’re talking about, Mon.’

‘Okay. He’s a nice guy who acts like a dickhead. He doesn’t appreciate what he’s got in Lauren. She’s beautiful, a fab mother, and she runs a small business as well as keeping the household running. He continually ignores her. I think a compliment would kill him.’

‘Oh don’t listen to Monique,’ I protest. ‘I do all my whinging to her so he comes across worse than he actually is.’

‘You let him get away with ignoring you and I can tell it makes you feel crap. It upsets me seeing you down and unconfident. That’s why I think he’s a dick.’

‘Okay,’ I sigh. We’ve had this conversation before and it’s not worth getting in a row about. She doesn’t really know him. They’ve only met a handful of times so I let it go and enjoy another taste of my decaf.

‘Anyway, what about you Bettina?’ asks Monique. ‘I gather yours was a dick too if you divorced him?’

‘Nosey much?’ I berate. ‘Did toy boy not give it up then? Is this why there’s a sudden obsession with the male anatomy today?’

We look at Bettina. She’s gone quiet. ‘Hell, sorry,’ says Monique. ‘I didn’t mean to pry. I can be brash sometimes, take no notice. Sit back, drink your coffee and watch the show.’

‘No, it’s okay’, says Bettina. ‘I don’t mind talking about it. I’ve nothing to hide.’ She twiddles a lock of her hair again, a sign I now realise indicates her nervousness. ‘It’s quite simple really. He kept cheating, and I put up with it because of Tyler. He hit me…a couple of times…I didn’t want Tyler at risk living there, so I left. He offered to pay me to leave Tyler behind.’ She looks us in the eye in turn. ‘As if I’d sell my son, and when that didn’t work he started setting me up, saying I was a psycho. He doused himself in scalding hot coffee and told the police I attacked him. I was at the police station for hours.’

‘Were you charged?’ I ask.

‘They let me off with a caution at that point.’

‘So then what?’ asks Monique.

‘Oh that’s the best bit,’ she answers, with a sniff. ‘When I went back home to fetch Tyler, I told him he couldn’t do a damn thing about it, so he got a kitchen knife and stabbed himself through the hand. It wasn’t a serious wound, I mean, he wouldn’t have wanted to do anything that would threaten his glorious career.’

My mouth is wide open. ‘Oh my God!’

Bettina’s eyes are teary but she carries on. ‘He got his friend who lived next door to come round and say he’d been a witness to it all. The police dropped the case as a domestic in the end, I mean, they knew he wasn’t a saint from what they heard about him from the press, but he still managed to get me committed to a mental health unit.’

Her voice cracks on the last word. I lean over and squeeze her hand.

She smiles weakly at me. ‘It was only for a couple of days, thank goodness.’ She closes her eyes and takes a breath. ‘I went to court to retain custody of Tyler. It was a hard fight, no thanks to him, but I got it, although he has to spend every other weekend with his dad. I moved back near my mother as she’d told the courts she’d be close by.’

I’m at a loss for words. What must it be like to be married to such an awful man? Poor Tyler too, what sort of effect has this had on him? I reflect on what I have. It might be boring at times, but at least I’m not in an abusive relationship.

‘This girl needs a good time,’ says Monique. ‘Let’s hit a few charity shops, then Etta’s wine bar.’

‘No wonder you love it around here,’ Bettina is in awe. ‘Designer gear for like five pounds an item?’

‘Yep, and all cos it’s not in season.’ I’m in my element having got myself a little Karen Millen khaki cardigan for three ninety-nine, which Monique pointed out for me, and another two bags full of vintage style stuff, including a tea service, more jewellery and a few crocheted style handbags.

We are positioned in a window seat at Etta’s. Our spoils rest on the window behind us as we sit on high bar stools with a glass of rosé wine each. I don’t usually drink and drive but it seems apt to have one given what Bettina revealed this morning. We’ve ordered an Etta special for lunch: an open baguette with roast beef, rocket, horseradish and caramelised onions, served with a side salad and beer battered chunky chips. My mouth is salivating just thinking about it.