Being Shirley (6 page)

“No thank you, I’ll manage.” Annie nearly tripped over the hem as she turned. Amanda gasped but Annie ignored her and flounced back into the dressing room. She locked the door and huffed over the fact that while she had apologised, she certainly wasn’t going to grovel. Carl could just get over himself. She gave the cherubs a two-fingered salute before she unzipped.

When she came back out dressed in her civvies, Carl had gone.

To: Kassia Bikakis

From: Annie Rivers

Subject: Why I am never drinking again and this time I mean it.

Hi Kas:

Okay, so I will start at the beginning. I made an appointment (it is a very posh place) to try the dress on at Modern Bride for last Thursday night and Carl and I arranged to meet up first for an early Thai dinner. I wanted him to come with me because I know that I can always count on him to be honest, except this time I got a bit more honesty than I bargained for, though I don’t know why it came as such a shock. Remember that time I got my hair cut to shoulder length and he marched me back down to the salon and told the stylist to give me my money back because no woman should have to pay for the privilege of looking like a red-headed sheep who had encountered a stoned shearer? Sometimes it amazes me that we are still friends but then I know I can always count on him to never let me head out the door with my skirt tucked into my knickers or any other such fashion faux pas. Anyway, we had a nice meal—have you ever tried Pad Thai? It is yummy and according to Carl doesn’t have the bloating properties of an Indian curry. Do you even have Thai restaurants in Crete? After we had eaten, we headed to Modern Bride, which was only a couple of doors down from the restaurant for my big moment.

Oh, Kas, it was perfect. Every gorgeous ivory inch of it was exactly what I dreamed my wedding dress would be. It was made for me, and Carl agreed, although the woman who owns the shop, Amanda (I have nicknamed her Haughty Amanda), kept insisting it was a bit tight around my middle—it wasn’t. Anyway, back to Carl: what he doesn’t agree with, he told me in no uncertain terms, is my choice of fiancé. He doesn’t think we are right for each other and apparently has always assumed that eventually our relationship would run its course. He’s been humouring me over the whole idea of getting married but the sight of me in an actual wedding dress made it clear to him that the time had come to say his piece where Tony is concerned. He didn’t hold back and to cut a long story short, we had a fight
.

Annie yawned and flexed her fingers as she tried to ignore the niggling kernel of guilt that she had yet to even tell Tony about the dress’s existence. She’d made the excuse that she was working late the night she’d tried it on, not wanting to tell him what she was really up to. That was down to timing, though, she assured herself, because he hadn’t been in the best of moods the night before thanks to a non-paying client. Interrupting his rant to inform him she was going for a wedding dress fitting the following evening and not just any old wedding dress either—oh no, this was a one-off Julianne Tigre no less—well, it hadn’t seemed like the best of timing. Haughty Amanda hadn’t mentioned the cost over the phone; she’d been too busy gushing at the simplistic beauty of the design—which reading between the lines meant the gown was hideously expensive but well, she’d cross that bridge with Tony when she came to it. They could always pilfer a bit from the savings account because the way house prices had gone lately, buying their own home was a bit of a pipe dream anyway.

She decided not to mull on the fact that they hadn’t
actually
talked about the wedding since they had gotten slaughtered last New Year’s eve. They’d both been far too seedy in the light of day to think about guest lists, venues, and on it went, so they hadn’t pursued the conversation. Most terrifying of all, though, was the thought that were she to confess what she was really up to, Tony would insist she invite his mother along for the big try on instead of Carl and there was no way that was happening. Cripes, her Julianne Tigre dream dress would remain just that—a dream—and she’d wind up a ginger version of Pammy Anderson in her Tommy Lee days, kitted out in white thigh high boots, leather mini skirt, and boob tube with matching veil!

She blinked and willed the nightmare vision of Ngaire’s mother of the groom, or whatever her official title would be, ensemble away and carried on typing.

We didn’t talk all day Friday and I had a horrible day at work, thinking about what he had said, even though it is not true. Seeing as I had already apologised for the nasty remark I had made to Carl about him and David breaking up, I figured it was his turn to apologise to me. He caved at ten a.m. on Saturday morning and we agreed that where my fiancé is concerned, we will agree to disagree. We also decided that as we were both at a loose end Saturday night—him because he is single and me because Tony was going over to his brother’s to watch the rugby—that we would go out for dinner to that Thai restaurant again. Like I said, the food was really good but unfortunately it wasn’t just the food that was good; it was also the wine and by the time we left the restaurant, we both had our dancing shoes on. I tell you what, Kas, we cut some mean moves at one club to “Summer Nights”—you know, that song from Grease? I was Olivia, of course, and Carl was John. We even got a standing ovation for our efforts! Cringe—why, oh why, do I do it? I blame Carl—he is a horrific influence on me.

Anyway, come Sunday morning, I had a sore head the likes of which I am sure Olivia Newton-John is far too wholesome to have ever suffered from and I was in trouble with Tony. I’d arranged as part of my campaign to find a shared interest for us to go kayaking together on Sunday at a nearby lake but as I was suffering from severe shrinkage of the brain, I was hoping to postpone our outing and just head to Burger King instead. There was no way Tony was going to let me off the hook, though, not even for a Whopper burger. Mostly because I’d made such a fuss about going in the first place. Oh Kas, it was awful. I was green—lime green—and Tony kept barking at me to paddle when all I wanted to do was throw up over the side of the stupid excuse for a boat, curl up and have a little snooze. Honestly, when we got back to shore, I had sore arms, a churning tummy, pounding head, wet bum, and one pissed-off other-half. So much for my little theory that doing an activity together would make us feel closer as a couple. Next week, he can bloody well bugger off to Speedway like he normally does with his brothers and leave me in peace.

Don’t worry, though; we made it up on Monday night. That’s the only bonus of falling out, I reckon—the make-up sex, which, by the way, was pretty average. Therein lies phase two of my little plan to find things that Tony and I can do together. A shared hobby obviously isn’t for us, so I am going to vamp things up in the bedroom department with a visit to a certain saucy shop (sex shop) on my lunch break tomorrow. Variety is the spice of life, so they say! Do you have shops like that in Crete and more to the point, have you ever been in one? I haven’t but oh well, there is a first time for everything.

Speaking of lunch breaks, they are the only bright spot in my workday week at the moment. Attila is still awful. Not much else to say on the subject, really.

Anyway, I am beginning to ramble, which means I need some sleep. I am sorry this email has been all me, me, me but you know you and your gorgeous family are always in my thoughts. Has Alexandros’s little friend—the one in the birthday pic you said was on holiday from Ireland—gone home yet? Gosh, he is a fast worker, that one; shame he isn’t quite so fast when it comes to actual work. Give the boys a kiss from their Kiwi aunty and tell Spiros I hope his writer’s block has passed but if not I looked it up and read that change of scene is a good way to cure it—tell him to go for a long walk or try writing in a different room. Bye for now.

Lots of Love, Annie

PS: Please don’t let Mama see this letter. I don’t want her knowing I have sex before marriage! Or that I frequent sex shops, either, which I don’t—tomorrow is definitely a one-off!

Annie shut the laptop down and yawned before she scooped up a protesting Jasper. She popped him out the door and she tried not to feel guilty about the cold night air she sent him out into. “It’s your own fault you have to go out, Jazz. You know that if you were a bit nicer to Tony, your life would be a lot easier.” The cat turned a baleful yellow eye on her as he swivelled his body back around in the direction of the door. “No, don’t even think about it! Off you go. Go and play with your friends—catch some mice together or something. It’ll be fun. I’ll see you in the morning.” She shut the door before he could attempt his usual dash back into the warmth of the inner sanctum because the last time she had relented, the naughty tomcat had shot straight off to the bedroom and jumped on the slumbering Tony’s head and nearly gave him a heart attack.

Not much chance of a repeat performance of Monday night’s rumpy-pumpy then.
Annie glanced at her snoring fiancé as she pulled the bed cover back a few moments later and slipped in beside him. She snuggled down and closed her eyes but her mind was still on the Bikakis family.
That’s what happens when you sat up late typing emails
, Annie thought as an image of Kassia flashed before her.

They had never met in the flesh, never talked on the telephone or Skyped each other. Kas always maintained that with the dodgy Internet at Eleni’s, Skyping would be like trying to communicate with Mars and that when they did finally meet she wanted it to be face to face, not down a computer screen. Instead, they preferred to exchange photos and written words. Somehow there had never been the need to talk to each other over the phone because everything they needed to say they’d already said in their emails. Both women had agreed it was easier to open up and be honest when you wrote things down rather than trying to say them out loud. It was thanks to their letters that Annie felt they knew each other’s lives inside and out and while there might have been nine years between them, it had somehow never mattered.

A snore from Tony made her jump. Annie thumped her pillow and rolled over as she remembered how she had reached out with that first snail mail letter to Kas as a volatile eleven-year-old, her sister’s death still raw. Kas, who had been shocked to hear what had happened to her pen pal, had written back straight away and it had been the beginning of a new friendship based around an old one.

Annie had grown up reading about Kas and her long-held romantic quest to find Mr Right, whom she eventually met in the form of Spiros Bikakis. She was thirty-four when they married, well and truly on the shelf by Greek standards, but she’d always maintained good things take time. She’d said the same thing when she’d finally gotten pregnant with Mateo, too. Annie smiled in the dark as she thought of how in the last email she’d written that Mateo refused to use the toilet because he didn’t like the flush but was quite happy to piddle in the geranium pot. This wouldn’t have been a big issue if it weren’t for its location on the veranda outside the hotel’s breakfast room. Apparently he was happiest when he had an audience. On the bright side, she had written the geranium was thriving and added that it could have been worse, much worse.

A random thought intruded then: she really would have to talk to Tony about setting a date for their big day. She was glad she hadn’t told Carl that she was yet to get around to discussing this or anything else, for that matter, with Tony. He didn’t need any more ammunition. She might have made light of their falling out in her message to Kas but his words had gotten under her skin and unsettled her. Despite his apology, he hadn’t taken back what he said but merely said, “I’m sorry, sweetie. I can give it out no problem; I just find it hard to take.”

To clear her mind, Annie counted sheep.
One sheep, two sheep, three sheep—hmm, perhaps the right moment to bring the subject up would be after she’d injected a little va-voom into their bedroom—four sheep, five sheep
…

That night when she eventually dropped off to sleep, she dreamed unsettling dreams of sheep frolicking not in paddocks but sex shops.

The flashing neon pink sign for the Spice of Life was not as inconspicuous as Annie would have liked. Situated a ten-minute fast-paced trot from work at the edge of a busy mismatch of businesses that included a plus size fashion shop, café, hairdresser’s, and Chinese takeaway, it, despite having a name that sounded like a Moroccan souk, still managed to scream to the innocent passer-by that inside was an Aladdin’s cave of all things naughty but nice.

She wished she had worn a cap so she could pull it down low; she executed a commando-style sweep of the street from left to right to ensure no familiar faces lurked nearby. Satisfied she didn’t recognise any of the pedestrians pushing past her, she decided that the coast was clear and opened the door. She took a deep breath and reinforced the message she had sent to Kas the night before to herself: there’s always a first time for everything.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting as she stepped in, but it took her a good minute longer to stop gawping at what she had initially thought was a model rocket ship on centrepiece display. God, she was naïve, she realised, as it dawned on her that the pink monstrosity was most certainly not something invented by NASA. Her eyes flitted from one mind-boggling item to another and she shook her head in disbelief. What a sheltered life she had led. She frowned and leaned in for a nosey at what couldn’t possibly be a bag of marbles—or could it?
What on earth were you supposed to do with those?

“Good morning, madam. We have a great special on the orgasm balls this week if you’re interested.”

Annie’s head spun exorcist fashion in the direction of the shop counter, where a woman of indiscriminate age with jet black hair and an earring in every visible orifice smirked over at her. She knew her discomfiture was coming off her in waves and that the woman didn’t need to be an ace poker player to be able to read what her body language currently screamed: FIRST TIMER, FIRST TIMER! She flushed and quickly did a scan of the shop. There were only two other people perusing its wares. A nondescript woman in office attire rifled through a rack of leather B&D gear.
Who would have guessed?
Annie thought as she spied a chap in a raincoat who ogled a DVD. She glimpsed the cover, which featured a girl with a Kardashian proportioned bottom—yes, well, you didn’t need to be Einstein to figure out he was a regular. Neither customer looked in the least bit perturbed by what they had just overheard the shop girl call out to her.

“The orgasm balls are fantastic for doing your Kegel exercises, you know. They come highly recommended, especially when you’ve had children.” The woman looked pointedly at Annie’s midriff.

Annie forgot to be perturbed at the assumption she’d had a baby in her haste to ask, “My what exercises?”

***

“Your what exercises?” Carl screeched, his arm linked through Annie’s as they wandered down the street for an after-work drink that evening. The street lights had just come on and a pervasive onset of winter gloom settled in for the evening. Nothing could dampen Annie’s spirits, though, not even her excruciating visit to a sex shop.

“Kegel exercises. Not having had children,
obviously
”—she patted her middle and Carl smirked
—
“I had never heard of them either but apparently they’re akin to good old pelvic floor exercises, which I have heard of. And I shall do mine minus the marbles, thank you very much—special offer or no special offer!”

“So did you buy anything on this
CSI
mission of yours?”

Annie tapped the side of her nose. “That would be telling.”

“Please don’t tell me you bought a nurse’s outfit.” Carl turned and stared hard at her. “Oh my God, you did!
I know how to make you feel better, Mr Goodall.
”
He put on a high-pitched falsetto.

A couple of passers-by turned to look at them curiously and Annie hit him lightly on the arm. “Shush and no, it’s not a nurse’s outfit.” She hoped Carl would leave it at that but she wasn’t surprised when he stopped walking and hissed, “If you don’t tell me, I shall buy you a stethoscope and call you Nurse Rivers everywhere we go. Try explaining that one,
Nurse Rivers
.”

“Oh alright, but promise me you won’t laugh.”

“I promise.”

Annie knew he had his fingers crossed behind his back and she sighed. There was nothing else for it, because Carl was like a dog with a bone when he thought he was missing out on vital gossip. “It’s a bunny outfit.”

His eyes grew wide and then he let rip with an ungentlemanly snort before he curled his hands up in front of him like paws and did a little bunny hop. “Er, what’s up, Doc?” He twitched his nose.

“Carl! You promised.”

He showed her his hand and his crossed fingers. “I had them crossed.”

“I knew it and that’s exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. Besides, it’s not a bunny
rabbit
costume, you idiot—it’s a Playboy Bunny outfit.”

“Oh, thank God! For a moment, I was worried our Tones had some sort of carrot fetish but nevertheless I was right in so much as you will have a little pompom tail and ears.” This time he just waggled his bottom. He put on his falsetto once more. “Would you like a drink, Mr Hefner?” His hand flew to his chest. “Oh my God, I just got a mental picture of Tony with a big cigar in a silk dressing gown.”

Annie shot him a look. “Stop fixating on it just because you’ve shut up shop.”

“That was a low blow.”

“Yes, well, you asked for it. Anyway, let’s move things along. Guess what happened when I left the shop?”

Carl forgot he was mortally offended as he turned all ears once more.

“I got busted by Pervy Justin who works in the accounts firm in my building.”

“No! Oh, sweetheart, you didn’t!”

“Yes, of all the people, and why do things like that always happen to me? Honestly, he just about walked into a lamppost in his excitement when he saw where I’d been.”

“What did he say?”

“He raised an eyebrow and gave me that horrid slimy grin of his and asked if I’d been shopping. Honestly, Carl, he was bad enough before but now he’s going to think I am some sort of nympho or deviant.”

“Well, you are the only girl I know planning on dressing up as a bunny for her partner.”

“Not helping!”

Carl grinned. “My advice?”

“Please.”

“Play on it. Have a bit of fun with him, that’s what I would do.”

“You’re terrible, Carl.” Annie mimicked
Muriel’s Wedding,
one of their top-ten movies of all time as they stood, arms linked, at the lights as they waited to cross the road. As the green man appeared, she filed away his advice nonetheless.

“So have you put a deposit down on the dress?” Carl hedged as they crossed the road and the pub came into sight.

“No,” she replied curtly. As she pushed open the door of the heaving Irish bar a few minutes later, she was glad of the loud music that assailed her ears. It was a welcome distraction; she didn’t want to think about the fact the shine had dimmed a little where the dress was concerned because Carl had said things that really couldn’t be unsaid.

***

“I want this letter on my desk in ten minutes. Annie, ANNIE!”

Annie blinked and came back to earth. Attila stood over her and looked as if she suffered from a terrible bout of piles.
Perhaps she was
, Annie thought randomly;
shingles could be bought on by stress—perhaps piles could be too
. “Uh, I’m sorry, Adelia. I didn’t catch that?”

There was a dramatic eye roll before the older woman repeated her request and banged a stack of papers she obviously wanted editing down on her desk. Ready to flounce off, she hovered on one heel with her eyes snake-like slits. “You know, your head is all over the place at the moment and you’ve been making some pretty silly mistakes of late.”

For a moment, Annie thought she was going to be asked what the matter was, followed by a nice dose of afternoon tea and sympathy but she should have known better.

“But, and I want to make myself very clear on this, whatever it is that is going on in your private life is nothing whatsoever to do with your working life. As a professional, I expect you to leave your problems at the door between the hours of nine a.m. and five thirty p.m. to focus on the job at hand! Do I make myself clear?”

Attila never made herself anything but clear. Was this some sort of formal warning, though? Annie nodded meekly. Either way, her boss’s underlying message was very clear: shape up or ship out. She wouldn’t cry, she determined as she blinked rapidly and flicked the birdy at her retreating back before she opened the letters folder on the computer. Trying to focus her attention on finding the one she needed to edit, she refused to glance over at gormless Sue, who she just knew gawped at the drama of it all. In her current state, if she were to make eye contact with Toad of Toad Hall sitting across from her, she would likely swing for her and then she’d be in for far worse than a verbal warning.

What stung the most, though, was that she knew Attila was right. She
was
all over the place. What Carl had said about her and Tony being unsuited played over in her mind like a broken record despite her attempts to put his words aside. Evenings like the one she’d spent at home with Tony last night didn’t help matters either. It had left her with that unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach again and not just because of the Indian takeaway they’d shared.

She’d come home after her glass of wine with Carl at O’Shea’s Bar, pumped with grand plans for the bunny outfit. The wine had smoothed away the edges of inhibition but then Tony had texted her to say he’d had an emergency call out and would be late. They’d agreed to get takeaway; he’d pick up Indian on his way home he told her. That’s when she had stashed the bunny outfit in her drawers beneath a pile of jumpers. Indian was not conducive to romance and she wondered not for the first time how Tony could stomach a Beef Korma after some of the jobs he had to do. She’d never know, but he maintained it was his favourite. For some unspoken reason, they always got two containers of it instead of one of her favourite, Mango Chicken.

Was that what married life to Tony would be like?
she’d wondered later as she chewed with lacklustre on her Naan bread. They watched a minor rugby game when she’d really rather watch a movie over on another channel.
Would it be one big compromise?
Although the more she thought about it, their relationship wasn’t based on compromise so much as capitulation on her part. She didn’t think of herself as a weak person, so why did she let him get away with it? Was she that frightened of being on her own? Not wanting to deal with that question, she pushed it aside. In an attempt to clear her congested mind, she heaped another spoonful of the brown curry on top of her rice and wondered why this was all suddenly news to her anyway. She’d been living with Tony for the past six years, after all.

She blinked and the computer screen came back into focus. Annie turned her eyes away from the onscreen letter to flick them over the hard copy she held in her hand. As she looked at the myriad angry red squiggles, she wondered why it was the woman couldn’t just use email like everyone else. She had a thing about keeping a paper trail and obviously no conscience when it came to the Amazonian rainforest. She’d obviously never read the
Lorax
as a kid either, she thought with a sigh that came all the way from the bottom of her red boots as she got on with the job at hand.

She tapped on Attila’s door half an hour later and placed the amended letter in the woman’s outstretched hand. She didn’t bother looking up from whatever it was she was so intently poring over and Annie was glad no further instructions were barked at her. She tiptoed out of the room, flopped back down into her chair and glanced over at her empty in-tray. Empty, except for the same stack of filing that she was so adept at ignoring.
Why change the habit of a lifetime then?
She flipped into her contacts, her mind made up to finish the email she had written to Kas before lunch.

I have this horrible sick feeling sitting in the pit of my stomach and it won’t go away. The chocolate biscuits at morning teatime didn’t help and my lunchtime Pilates class usually calms me down but all of that arm flapping in the Pilates 100’s just peed me off today and I wanted to hit the teacher. I got a right telling-off from Attila when I got back to the office, too, which didn’t help either. I know that I need to bite the bullet and talk to Tony about setting a date for our wedding—will you come by the way? I would absolutely love it if you could. But I am frightened of what he will say and then there are times like last night when I wonder if I even want to get married or if it is just something I think should come next. I guess all couples have moments like those before they take the plunge. Isn’t it called pre-wedding jitters? Did you suffer from nerves before you married Spiros? I don’t remember you mentioning it if you did. Though technically the reason I am feeling like this can’t be down to pre-wedding nerves because we haven’t got further than the engagement ring.