Authors: Debbie Viggiano
Si knew Steph was stressed about their boy. He’d discovered a packet of Silk Cut whilst rootling through the cutlery drawer for the tin opener. And he knew exactly how many cigarettes she was smoking. He’d been weeding the flowerbeds and discovered ten butts in the big shrub at the end of the garden. Her habit was increasing. The week before there had only been seven. He had to admit that he wasn’t happy about Tom’s love life. Although he wasn’t sure if it was worry or just downright jealousy. He couldn’t remember the last time he and Steph had rolled around on the sofa together devouring each other’s faces. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time they’d done anything remotely sexy. Unless you counted him giving Steph a perfunctory goodnight kiss on a cheek covered in face cream.
Si tried to analyse his jumble of feelings. He loved his wife. But he knew something had gone wrong. And he didn’t know how to make it right again.
Chapter Three
June was tremendously excited. Harry had telephoned! He’d wanted to take her out to dinner. Again! So far he’d taken her to The Rose & Crown where they’d enjoyed Sunday lunch at a very good price. The next dinner date had been at Posh Pasta, a trendy place in the High Street. June had felt quite giddy with excitement. There had even been a fancy candle on the table and proper linen napkins. On both occasions Harry had insisted on paying. She couldn’t let him take her out again and pay. It wouldn’t be right. And certainly
she
couldn’t pay. June wasn’t on the breadline, but she couldn’t splash the cash either. So she’d suggested cooking for him tonight instead.
Getting old was a chore. You had to get used to your looks fading. Suffer without complaint the aches and pains each winter brought. But worst of all was coping with retirement. Firstly, the tedium of juggling bills and daily living expenses on a pension. Secondly, the loneliness now that she was a widow. When Arthur had been alive, they’d looked forward to spending quality golden years together. Arthur had barely collected his carriage clock and handshake from the insurance company he’d worked at for thirty years before keeling over in the garden. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. He’d keeled over in the shed trying to lift the lawnmower out. She’d told him it was too heavy and to wait and let her help him. But he hadn’t listened. Mr Impatience. And look where it had landed him. Six feet under thanks to a heart attack. June sighed. She had Ralph to keep her company now. The little terrier was a Godsend.
‘All right darling?’ she cooed to Ralph. He wagged his stumpy tail by way of reply.
June moved around the kitchen checking the oven’s temperature and laying the table. She dithered whether to light a candle as a centrepiece. She’d made a beef stew with dumplings. There wasn’t a huge amount of meat in the pot. But she’d padded it out with lots of vegetables and Arthur had always said her dumplings were to die for. Perhaps he shouldn’t have eaten so many of them.
‘If you play your cards right,’ June informed Ralph, ‘there might be some nice leftovers for you.’ Much as June loved Ralph, it wasn’t quite the same snuggling up to a wet nose and halitosis at night. She wanted human companionship. And so June had gone looking for it.
The first place to visit had been the Senior Centre. What a farce. June was aware that women lived longer than men. But it had still been a rude shock to discover twenty fierce looking females all sporting corrugated perms and fighting over just three ancient gentlemen. And she wasn’t entirely convinced one of them was even breathing. Aghast, June had reversed smartly out. She’d taken herself off to the local shopping mall. Inside the precinct she’d spent two hours repeatedly walking the circuitous route. And as she’d walked, her eyes had searched the crowds. She’d felt faintly horrified at her behaviour. There was no other word for it. Stalking. Setting your sights on a lone male of suitable age. Watching as he hovered outside Boots or Argos. Waiting five minutes. Ten even. Then casually strolling over. Innocently asking what the time was. Hoping to engage in conversation and then steer the conversation to coffee and, well, perhaps he would care to join her?
June flushed with shame. But her plan had never amounted to anything. The men that she’d set her cap at had all been joined by their wives long before she’d taken so much as one step toward them.
There had then followed a stint at the local college attending adult education classes. That had been followed up by some trips sponsored by the Council Recreation Department. All had drawn blanks. It wasn’t that June lacked friends. She had certainly made a few girlfriends in pottery class. And she kept in touch with those who she’d sat alongside on coach trips to Hever Castle. But all her friends had children. Okay, they were adult children. But they had provided grandchildren. Invariably her friends were childminding or babysitting. And if they
were
available they were usually too exhausted to spend much time with June. Regrettably she and Arthur had never had children, so there were no tiny tots to keep her busy. But then something marvellous had happened. June had discovered salsa. And a whole new world had opened up.
After telling Steph about Harry, June had felt faintly ridiculous. And embarrassed. After all, the last man she’d invited into her home had pulled a fast one and refused to leave. Nobody knew better than Steph how that romance had ended. Although Steph probably wouldn’t have termed the relationship ‘romance’. More friendship. With lots of hand holding. After all, the only thing Walter had been able to raise was his walking stick. But Harry was different. He was sixteen years younger than Walter. And very agile. June wondered nervously exactly how agile Harry might be. The other thing she liked about Harry was that he appeared to be very well off, so he wasn’t after her meagre savings. Harry drove a BMW. It was ten years old but in excellent condition. It had real leather seats! And although she hadn’t been to Harry’s house, she knew from conversations with him that it was detached. She couldn’t imagine living in a property where neighbours weren’t heard. Mrs Waite – another widow – lived to the left of June’s terraced house. She was as deaf as a post and always had her television blaring. To the right were Steph and Si. Occasionally June would catch the angry rumbles of Si and Tom followed by door banging. Although there weren’t a great many doors to bang in houses this size.
June decided that she would put a candle on the table after all. She went upstairs to the bathroom and selected one of her many aromatherapy candles. She was just checking her hair in the bathroom mirror when the doorbell rang. June nearly dropped the candle. My goodness. Harry was early. Her heart did a few skippy beats. She hurried back down the stairs, deposited the candle on the table and hastened to the front door.
‘June!’ Harry beamed.
‘Harry!’ June smiled back. If her hair had been longer she’d have twiddled some around one finger. She really couldn’t help it. She was mustard keen on Harry. Her head might be seventy, but her heart was still seventeen.
Chapter Four
Steph cleared away the dinner things. The steak had been delectable. The wine perfect. Steph wasn’t a big drinker. Her share of the wine ensured she was now glowing more pinkly than June’s roses. Upon putting her knife and fork together, she had felt faintly giggly and not a little daring.
‘Tom’s out you know,’ she’d said coyly, looking up at Si under her eyelashes.
‘Excellent. In that case I’ll grab the telly before he does. Chelsea’s playing Liverpool in a minute.’
And before she could even protest, Si had beetled off to the living room singing, ‘Blue is the colour, football is the game, we’re altogether and winning is our aim.’
So much for instigating some va-va-voom into her love life. Steph had a feeling that Si would be more thrilled if she donned a Chelsea football kit and snuggled up on the sofa with him. What could she do to get his attention? Wait until Chelsea scored and then streak around the living room by way of celebration? She wasn’t even sure Si would notice any lack of clothing.
Steph swished the dinner plates around in the soapy washing up bowl. She didn’t have a dishwasher. The kitchen wasn’t big enough to accommodate such a contraption. Anyway, three people didn’t generate a lot of washing up. She could hear Si in the lounge calling John Terry some choice names. The evening stretched ahead. She would spend the time on her laptop. She finished drying up, poured the last of the wine into a glass and settled down at the kitchen table. Si called the laptop her
toy
. In a way it was. It kept her amused. Especially lately. Shirley, a great chum of Steph’s and fellow worker at Tesco’s, had encouraged Steph to go on Facebook.
‘Isn’t that for teenagers?’ Steph had asked.
‘It’s for everybody,’ Shirley had replied. ‘You must check it out Steph. I now have forty-five friends!’ she’d boasted. ‘Get yourself on it. I’ll be your first friend.’
‘So what do you actually do once you’re friends with people?’
‘Chat of course! Most of my friends are people I haven’t seen for years. I’ve hooked up with my bridesmaids who scattered to all four corners of the earth. It’s great fun seeing what they’re up to now, how many kids they’ve had, checking out their photographs. I didn’t recognise Maisie. Boy has she banged some weight on. But then again, haven’t we all!’ Shirley had patted her tummy which, along with her ample bosom, strained against the seams of her Tesco uniform.
Steph took a sip of wine and logged on. She had ten friends now, all fellow Tesco girlies. And she saw them nearly every day to chat to. So what was the point of talking to them again on Facebook? She scrolled through the Home Page, clicked on
Find Your Friends
and then spotted Find
Friends from Secondary School
. She tapped out
Blackfen Comprehensive
and entered her year of leaving. The laptop digested the details. Moments later it produced a stream of profile pictures and names. Some Steph recognised. Others she didn’t. And of those she did recognise, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to befriend them again. Take Judy Payne for example. Payne being an appropriate name considering the pain she’d caused Steph. The merciless teasing, prodding and pushing. Not to mention the memorable
Foot Sticking Out
ploy. For weeks Judy Payne had thought it hilarious to try and trip Steph up. And one day she’d succeeded. Steph had been running along the corridor. Okay, Mrs Marsden had repeatedly told pupils not to run inside the school, but Steph had been late for English. She’d failed to make the English class at all on this occasion. Judy Payne’s foot had appeared around the corridor corner sending Steph flying. She’d crashed down hard on the floor, breaking a wrist. Steph had a momentary urge to send Judy a message.
Hi there! Remember me? I’m the girl you used to bully. How about meeting up for coffee? I’d love to tip it over your head
. Steph irritably tossed some wine down her neck.
‘HA HAAAA!’ Si bellowed in delight. Steph could hear the sofa groan alarmingly as her husband shot out of its squashy depths. Now he was doing the usual war dance around the living room celebrating a goal. Seconds later Si appeared in the kitchen doorway, face flushed, smiling broadly. ‘They scored love! Gerrard got
this close
but then a long-range free kick was delivered by Ivanovic with Lampard zooming behind, then he stuck out a toe, prodded it towards the goalposts and BAM!’
Steph looked up from her laptop. ‘Good on Frank.’
‘He’s the man!’ Si punched the air. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’
Steph glanced at her empty wine glass. ‘Sure.’
‘I’ll have mine without sugar,’ Si patted his mid-riff. ‘Need to watch the waistline. Whenever you’re ready with the tea love.’ He disappeared back into the lounge.
Steph stared after the empty space. If she were to disappear right now in a puff of smoke, how long would it be before Si noticed? When he slumped into bed? He’d probably think she was in the bath. Tomorrow morning when no cooked breakfast was put on the table? More likely Si would think she’d started work early. Tomorrow evening then, when no dinner was set before him? Even that might not unduly trouble her husband. He’d probably assume she’d gone out with Shirley or popped round to see June. At exactly what point would Si pick up the phone to the police to report her as a missing person? Probably when the laundry bin was overflowing and he’d run out of socks and underpants.
Irked, Steph stood up. She filled the kettle, pulled a couple of mugs from the cupboard and found the teabags. The laptop’s screen glowed steadily. The kettle began its lengthy heating process. She sat back down, hit the backspace key and tapped out
Blackfen
Primary.
Well fancy that! Amanda Carpenter hadn’t changed a bit. Andrew Barton still looked like a cheeky chappie. Annie Hunt looked a bit haggard. Steph scrolled through the alphabetically listed names, clicking now and again on
Friend Request
. The kettle reached a crescendo and the red button popped out. Steph ignored it, slowly tapping out brief messages of greeting. Would these people be surprised to hear from her? Probably not in this day and age of technology. You couldn’t guarantee disappearing off the face of the earth without a satellite finding you. Steph continued to scroll through the list of names. Suddenly she stopped, inhaling sharply. Barry Hastings. She stared at the profile picture intently. He’d been the school’s golden boy. The pupil who’d shone in every subject, both in and out of the classroom. All the girls at Blackfen Primary had fancied Barry Hastings. And Steph had been no exception. She clicked on his profile picture and enlarged it. His hair was still dark gold. Not even thinning. The eyes – oh those eyes! – melting-chocolate brown. The smile wide and confident. The shoulders broad. Her tummy contracted, as if nervous. She felt the beginning of a flush creeping up her neck. She wasn’t sure if the flush was menopausal or the effect Barry Hastings’ profile picture was having on her.
Her first crush. Everybody had one. A person you secretly fell for but who barely noticed your existence. Occasionally Barry Hastings and his mates had played kiss chase with the girls. She could still remember running across the playground shrieking her head off as Barry Hastings thundered after her. When he’d caught up, he’d spun her around and laughingly pressed his lips against her cheek. She’d squealed in mock outrage, rubbing her hand back and forth as if to wipe the kiss away. But secretly she’d been thrilled to bits.