Pieces of My Heart (12 page)

‘What can I say? It’s the way we’re made.’

I cringed inwardly. Paul and I hadn’t had sex in weeks. He had made advances a few nights ago, but I’d been tired and not in the mood. I’d have to make more of an effort. ‘Will you be home for dinner?’

‘Yes – see you about six.’

‘Great. Charlie’s going out on a date so we’ll have the place to ourselves.’

‘Who’s his date?’

‘A forty-one-year-old Pole called Agata.’

‘That’s younger than you.’

‘Only just. Besides, I’m a young forty-two.’

‘You look good to me.’

‘Glad to hear it. I don’t want you running off with Agata’s younger sister.’

‘Is there one?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘She could be tasty. Eastern European women are easy on the eye.’

One of the bar-girls came over to ask Paul a question. She was wearing a fitted black shirt, a short black skirt and high heels. I looked down at my jeans, flat pumps and pink shirt and decided that my wardrobe was in desperate need of an overhaul. Maybe if I felt sexier I’d be more up for having sex.

Paul turned back to me. ‘Where were we? Oh, yeah, tasty Eastern European women.’ He grinned.

‘Do you think Magda’s good-looking?’ I asked.

‘She’s like a weight-lifter.’

‘Harsh,’ I said, feeling bad for poor Magda.

‘But true.’

‘She’s just muscly from hard work.’

‘She’s four feet high and five feet wide, and it’s got nothing to do with muscle.’

‘You’re very critical,’ I said, aware of my stomach protruding over my jeans. I’d have to start doing sit-ups again.

‘I compare all women to you and they fall short.’

I pulled my stomach in. ‘Even the hot girl behind the bar?’

‘Yes, even her.’

Later that evening, when Charlie had gone out on his date and the girls were doing their homework, Paul and I snuggled up on the couch with a glass of wine and watched a movie for the first time in ages. It felt really nice. I nestled my head into his shoulder and felt myself relaxing.

The doorbell rang. Sarah came thundering down the stairs to answer it. It was Bobby. He walked in carrying a large sports bag and they headed up the stairs to her room.

‘Where are you two off to?’ Paul demanded.

‘Hello, Mr Mullen, how are you?’ Bobby was obviously on his best behaviour.

‘We’re just going to study in my room,’ Sarah said. ‘We’re helping each other with our history project.’

‘All right, but you’ll leave here no later than nine thirty, Bobby, and you’re to behave yourselves. Do I make myself clear?’ Paul growled.

‘Yes, sir, absolutely,’ said Bobby.

It was a disaster. Our night was ruined because Paul couldn’t relax. He kept thinking they were up to no good. Every ten minutes he’d jump up and creep upstairs to listen outside Sarah’s bedroom door. ‘I can hear a lot of laughing and shuffling about,’ he huffed.

‘They’re sixteen. They should be laughing and having fun.’

‘They’re supposed to be studying.’

‘Come on, Paul, they’re not stupid. They’re hardly going to be misbehaving with us sitting directly underneath them.’

He sat down, took a sip of his wine, then heard movement again and flew back up the stairs. ‘He’s telling her to “Take it easy, don’t overdo it,” ’ he reported. ‘What does that mean? It sounds very suspicious to me.’

‘He’s probably talking about research for the project or something,’ I said, leaning back into the couch, trying to focus on the movie. ‘Come on, sit down. We never get time together any more and the pre-Christmas season will kick in soon – you’ll be manic in the pub working every night. Let’s enjoy this.’

‘You’re right. OK, press play.’

I turned the film back on and we watched in peace for ten minutes, but Paul just couldn’t sit still. Eventually, on the fifth go, he came running downstairs and hissed at me to follow him up. ‘They’re up to something in there.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ I snapped, as I climbed the stairs. ‘We’re supposed to be having a rare night in without my dad or one of the girls on top of us.’

But Paul wasn’t listening to me. He had his ear glued to the doorframe. He stuck out a hand and dragged me over. ‘Listen to this,’ he whispered. ‘I told you that fella would try it on.’

I leant forward and heard Bobby say, ‘No, dude, not like that, like this.’

‘OK, I’m trying. It’s my first time so I’m not very good at it,’ said Sarah.

‘I’ll spread my legs wider so it’s easier for you,’ Bobby offered.

‘Jesus Christ, the little pervert! I’ll kill him,’ Paul raged.

I grabbed his arm to stop him barging in. ‘Hold on,’ I hissed. ‘Don’t jump to conclusions.’

‘Yeah, that’s much better, let me get down lower,’ Sarah said.

‘I need more pressure here,’ said Bobby.

‘Like this?’

‘Oh, yeah, that’s it, you’ve got it. Come on, don’t be afraid. Give me more.’

Paul’s face turned an alarming shade of purple and, despite my best efforts to hold him back by grabbing onto his legs, he still managed to barge through the door, dragging me behind him. ‘What the hell is going on?’ he roared.

Bobby was standing on a black towel in a pair of tight black jocks. His legs were spread wide apart and Sarah, fully clothed, was on her knees in front of him.

Paul grabbed Sarah – and cursed. She was holding a spray gun full of a brown fluid and had squirted him in the face.

I started to laugh.

‘This is no laughing matter!’ Paul barked, as he tried to wipe the liquid off his cheek.

‘What are you doing?’ Sarah shouted.

Paul reached over to grab Bobby but I stopped him. ‘Paul!’ I said, trying not to laugh. ‘It’s not what you think.’

‘My daughter’s in her bedroom with a naked boy. What exactly am I supposed to think? That they’re playing chess?’

‘Seriously, Mr Mullen,’ Bobby said, ‘it’s totally cool. There’s no inappropriate behaviour going down here.’

‘Well, do you mind telling me what you’re doing in your underpants?’

‘Sarah’s giving Bobby a spray tan,’ I said.

‘A what?’ Paul was clearly confused.

‘Spray tan, Dad,’ Sarah said. ‘If you’d stop breaking down doors and listen for a minute I can explain.’

‘It’d better be good.’

‘Bobby’s got a really important game on Saturday so we want him to look his best. I’m spraying him today and then again tomorrow so that he looks really tanned and hot in his white shorts.’

‘Do you mean to tell me you’re putting spray makeup on this fella to make him look like he has a tan for a rugby match?’ Paul was incredulous.

‘Yes.’

‘Are you gay?’ he asked Bobby.

‘Oh, my God, like, absolutely not. As straight as an arrow, thank you very much,’ said Bobby, highly insulted as he stood in his black jocks flapping his arms around to dry them.

‘What self-respecting lad would put makeup on to play sport?’ Paul shook his head.

‘For God’s sake, Dad, it’s not the dark ages. Everyone does it now, except the bogger teams who don’t seem to mind being white. What’s wrong with wanting to look your best?’

Paul turned to me. ‘Ava, help me.’

‘It seems a bit extreme to be putting false tan on for a rugby match where you’re going to spend most of the time covered with mud,’ I said.

‘I hear you, Mrs M,’ said Bobby, nodding sagely, ‘but the way I see it is like this – if I feel really good about the way I look, I’ll play my best rugby. If I think I look crap, I’ll just get down on myself and not play to my full potential.’

‘I see. Well, that’s an interesting point of view,’ I said, to the boy who was turning brown before my eyes.

‘For God’s sake, son, put some clothes on,’ said Paul.

‘No way!’ Sarah squealed. ‘He’s not totally dry yet. He’ll streak.’

‘I’m going downstairs now. In five minutes I want you dressed and on your way home. Sarah needs to spend more time on her schoolwork and less on painting her boyfriend,’ said Paul, and stomped down the stairs.

‘Put those towels in the wash,’ I said to Sarah.

‘Oh, they’re my towels, Mrs M. I would never use yours. That would be totally disrespectful. The spray tan really stains.’

‘OK. I’ll see you in a few minutes,’ I said, leaving before I started laughing again.

Downstairs, Paul was pacing the floor. ‘What has the world come to? Fellas putting on false tan to play
rugby
!’

‘I guess times have changed.’

‘He must be gay.’

‘Sssh. He isn’t. Boys now are much more into their appearance than your generation was. They often spend more time and money on their clothes than girls do. It’s harmless stuff.’

‘It’s not normal. Men don’t wear makeup.’

Before Paul could cast any more aspersions on poor Bobby, the man with the tan and our younger daughter came down the stairs.

Glaring at us as she walked by, Sarah showed Bobby to the door. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow and we’ll give it a top-up.’

‘OK, babe, good job.’

As she walked past the sitting-room door on her way back upstairs, Paul called her in.

‘I’ve nothing to say to you,’ she said, arms crossed. ‘You just totally humiliated me in front of my boyfriend.’

‘Your father was concerned.’

‘Next time I’d appreciate it if you knocked. Bobby is mortified.’

‘So he should be. Are you sure that lad isn’t a poof?’

‘Believe me, Dad, Bobby is all man. The hits he takes on the pitch are unbelievable. He’s a legend. All the other girls in school wish they were IMS.’

‘Jesus, can you please speak English?’ Paul was exasperated.

‘In my shoes,’ said Sarah, and flounced out of the room.

13

Ali had taken to having breakfast at six thirty and then doing an hour of study before school. I decided to set my alarm and join her to see if I could get her to talk to me. I was worried she was getting depressed.

I got to the kitchen before her and put on a pot of coffee. Ten minutes later I heard her coming down the stairs. When she saw me she frowned. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. She looked as if she’d prefer to be alone.

I jumped up and offered to make her breakfast.

‘I’m not a child, I can make my own.’ She poured herself a coffee.

I watched her slice a grapefruit into ten small pieces and then slowly eat them. She looked exhausted.

‘Did you finish your essay?’

‘Eventually.’

‘Well, that’s good. You should be able to take it a bit easier now.’

‘Hardly.’

I tried to think of something to say, a topic that would interest her, but all I came up with was ‘Are you OK about Charlie staying for a few more months?’

‘It’s fine.’

‘Would you like some toast?’

‘No, thanks.’ She stood up and went to pack her lunch.

‘Actually, Ali, I’ve made it already.’ I handed her a bag of food.

‘I can do it.’

‘I know, but I think you need to eat more carbohydrates to give you energy. Look at you, you’re exhausted.’

‘I’m seventeen! I don’t need my mother making me breakfast and lunch. Can you please stop fussing?’ Ali shoved the lunch bag into her backpack and stalked out into the hall.

I watched her fidgeting impatiently, pacing up and down. I missed the old Ali – the one who chatted to me in the mornings, the one with the sunny disposition and the optimistic outlook.

‘Earth to Mum.’ Sarah waved her hands in front of my face. ‘Where’s my breakfast – or am I expected to starve?’

When I got to work, Noelle Halloran called to talk about her daughter’s fifth-birthday party. ‘I just want to go over some details.’

‘Sure, no problem, how can I help?’ I said, putting her on loudspeaker so Sally could listen in.

‘As I explained, Jessica-Anne suffers from food allergies and intolerances, so we need to be clear about the food: no wheat, no gluten, no dairy, no sugar, no peanuts or nuts of any kind – as you know, she has a tree-nut allergy – no seafood or shellfish, no eggs, no soya, no red meat, no kiwi, no berries of any kind, no caffeine and no yeast.’

‘What are we making the cake of? Cardboard?’ Sally whispered.

‘Yes, Noelle, you faxed them to me last week, and Helen, our chef, is working away to come up with suitable party food.’

‘Now Jessica-Anne wants Belle from
Beauty and the Beast
to come to her party and hand out presents to her guests, as we discussed. But she told me last night that she hates yellow so make sure the lady doesn’t come in the yellow dress from the film. She wants her to wear the exact same dress in gold.’

‘Aren’t yellow and gold kind of similar?’ I pointed out.

‘Yellow makes her want to throw up, gold makes her happy.’

‘She needs a good slap,’ Sally mouthed.

‘I’ll do my best, Noelle, but they are similar colours so I just hope there isn’t a bad reaction. How about changing it to a pink dress?’

‘Ava, we had a two-and-a-half-hour melt-down last night over the colour. She wants gold. Please get me gold.’

‘OK, Noelle, leave it with me.’

‘Thanks.’

I hung up.

Sally was incredulous. ‘Where do these kids get off? My mother would have slapped me black and blue if I’d had a tantrum over a dress colour.’

‘I’d never have let the girls get away with that either. But a lot of it has to do with working mother’s guilt. It is hard to juggle. Remember when I gave Sarah a mobile phone when she was eleven because I just couldn’t listen to her whining any more? I was busy in work and tired and, to be honest, her having a mobile made my life easier.’

‘OK – but come on, where does this kid get off demanding gold over yellow and
what
is going on with all those allergies?’

‘The poor girl is probably just looking for attention.’

‘Well, she’s getting it, along with the vilest party cake ever seen. What food is left after that list – nettles and turnip? I know Helen’s a miracle worker, but you can’t make party food with no ingredients.’

‘Helen’s suggestions have included buckwheat cookies, sprouted quinoa and buckwheat millet sourdough bread and lentil burgers.’

‘With a side order of cow dung, I presume,’ Sally said, as we roared laughing.

Later that day, when I picked up the girls from school, I checked that Ali had eaten all her lunch. There was nothing left. I was relieved. At least if she was eating properly she’d be less tired and better able to cope with everything, and hopefully be less snappy with me.