Just a Girl, Standing in Front of a Boy (23 page)

‘Did you think this was cheesy?’

‘What? Bringing me to a hotel with a four-poster bed?’

‘Yeah?’

‘And log fires, and champagne and big fluffy bathrobes and a free-standing bath.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yes. Very cheesy.’

‘Really?’

‘But I bloody love your cheese.’

‘You bloody love my cheese? That is a remark that could be misconstrued.’

‘Most of my remarks could be misconstrued.’

‘What does your mother think of your dirty mind?’

‘It’s my mother’s mind that needs the good clean.’

‘She sounds like my sort of girl. When am I going to meet her?’

‘Um, I don’t know. Whenever you want. I haven’t seen her properly for days myself, not since I went on a date with this bloke, Joe King’s his name. Since then my mother’s been eclipsed.’

‘Do apologise from me.’

‘I shall.’

‘We could take her out.’

‘Say that again.’

‘We could take your mum out, somewhere nice.’

‘Are you just the most perfect man in the universe?’

‘I hate to tell you this.’

‘What?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘And I hate to tell you this.’

‘What?’

‘You owe me thirteen more orgasms.’

‘Coming up,’ he says, rolling on top of me. He pulls his torso away from me suddenly and regards me with a quizzical expression.

‘Fanny,’ he asks. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m pinching myself,’ I say, as I squeeze a good inch of the soft skin on my upper arm.

‘Why?’

‘I just can’t believe this is real, you and me.’

‘Don’t pinch yourself. Don’t hurt my girlfriend. It is all real, baby.’

‘I’m a bit scared, Joe King.’

‘Why are you scared, Jenny Taylor?’

‘I’m so high, so happy. I’m dizzy up here with you. I’m worried how far there is to fall.’

‘I’ll catch you,’ he says and then he tenderly kisses my lips. ‘You know, I think if we’re always honest with each other, with how we’re feeling, then there’s nothing to be scared of. Nothing at all.’

‘I like the sound of that.’

‘Me too.’

‘I hate secrets and lies more than anything.’

‘Hmmm. Me too.’

‘I should tell you something,’ I say, all of a sudden very serious.

‘What?’

‘It’s quite embarrassing. And you’ll probably think less of me. But I’d like you to know, for some reason.’

He nods and leans on his elbow by my side, giving me his undivided attention. Then I take a deep breath and I tell him my story.

How I had a breakdown just before my eighteenth birthday, followed by a spell when I was very depressed. I tell him how ashamed I felt during that time, ashamed that I couldn’t pick myself up, dust myself off, cheer up, pull myself together. How shame was the overriding thing I remember about that time, that and the feeling that everybody would be better off without me. And it’s funny because as I’m telling him, I don’t feel ashamed. It’s as though depression has become part of my story, part of who I am, just another fact about me. I tell him how I got better. How Dr Flemming helped. And I tell him how grateful I am to Philippa. Grateful isn’t even the word. Words always fall short when it comes to describing what Philippa means to me. And then I tell him how, since that time, I’d always avoided falling in love. Until now.

And when I finish my lengthy dialogue, I look at him and he’s still there. He hasn’t got dressed and run outside to hail a cab to take him far from me. He’s there by my side.

‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘For telling me that.’

‘Not many gags in that story. Need to put a few knob gags in it to liven it up really.’

‘I really do think you’re amazing, Jenny Taylor.’

‘Excellent! Now, I’d like thirteen orgasms, please!’ I say arching my back like a cat.

‘I can’t believe you made scones!’

‘Sc-ohns,’ he mimics. ‘They’re sconns, love.’

‘Can’t believe you made sconns, love!’

We’ve invited Mum to cream tea at Rose Cottage. She seemed really excited.

‘Do you think she’d like it in the garden?’

‘Yes, let’s put a blanket down and have it on the grass. Ooh, she’ll love it. Will you play guitar for her?’

‘Do you think she could bear it?’

‘Shut up,’ I say, moving towards him and putting my arms around his waist. I kiss him gently on the lips. ‘She’d love it.’

We kiss again and within seconds it’s a full-on snogging-in-the-kitchen situation. The last few days have been like this. Four minutes of activity, and by activity I mean putting the kettle on or running a bath or going to the shop, followed by twenty minutes of kissing and flattery. It’s very hard to get anything done, but blimey, it’s… I can’t think of a word… heavenly, blissful, magnificent, glorious? They all fall short.

‘We should get the cream and jam set up.’

‘Hmmm.’

More kissing.

‘We’ll just kiss for one more minute,’ Joe whispers. ‘And then we’ll have to give me time for…’

‘For your erection to disappear,’ I answer. ‘Seems such a waste. Especially when I’m owed two more orgasms.’

‘No,’ he says, pushing me away from him and turning towards the scones on the work surface. ‘I can’t have talk of you orgasming or your mother will feel quite uncomfortable when she meets me.’

‘Oh, I want to do more kissing,’ I say like a sulky child.

‘Beautiful girl,’ he says, leaving the scones, and sliding his arms around me this time. ‘Beautiful, beautiful girl, when your mother goes, we shall move the blanket to the end of the garden under the apple trees where no one in the world can see us and then there will be plenty more kissing… in all sorts of places.’

We’re kissing again. The doorbell rings.

‘I’ll get it.’ I giggle.

‘OK,’ he says stepping back to the food. ‘I’m on scones and serious erection deflating duties.’

‘I’ll keep her in the front garden. We’ll sniff jasmine, come out when you’re ready,’ I say, moving towards him for a final little kiss before I see him again in two minutes.

‘Back! Keep back, seductress! Away!’

‘Oh, no kisses for Jenny!’ I whimper as I go to answer the door. Mum looks lovely. She’s wearing the floral dress I haven’t been able to wear since I dyed my hair raspberry. I tried it on but the oranges and reds near my hair looked a bit extreme.

‘Wow, that dress is gorgeous on you. Have it.’

‘No, you don’t want to give it to me.’

‘You have to have it. It looks so good on you. It’s clearly decided it’s yours.’

She’s wearing my cowboy hat, too, and my sandals.

‘Do you mind I borrowed the hat?’

‘No, I’m glad, but you can’t have that, because I love it.’

I give her a kiss on the cheek and as I do I whisper, ‘I can’t wait for you to meet Joe, Mum.’

‘I can’t wait either.’ She giggles.

‘He’ll be out in a sec. He’s just waiting for his erection to go down.’

‘Oh, Jenny!’

‘Sorry, too much information?’

‘Perhaps a touch.’

‘But I’m glad things are…’

‘Working,’ I suggest.

We both giggle like teenagers.

Suddenly a shadow falls over Mum’s face.

‘Well, hello, there,’ Joe says, striding out of the house.

‘Joe, this is my mum.’

Mum takes her hat off and they look at each other properly for the first time. There’s a bit of an awkward pause. I regard them both. I wonder what’s going through their heads. They both look quite serious. I reckon Joe is regarding my mother physically, because they say that women turn into their mothers. I feel quite proud though, if I end up looking like my Mum does today, I’ll be doing quite all right, thank you. And I suppose Mum is wondering if Joe is really one of the good ones, because that’s what we women wonder about men. But she doesn’t need to worry. Joe is one of the best ones. The best one, in fact.

‘Shall we get the blanket out?’ I say, eventually.

‘Yes, I’ll go and get the stuff,’ Joe offers. He turns back into the house.

I spin round to Mum.

‘Isn’t he gorgeous!’ I exclaim.

But Mum has a faraway look in her eye.

‘What’s up?’

She shakes herself slightly. ‘Nothing, I, er, he, er, he reminds me of someone, that’s all. Couldn’t think who…’

‘Hmmm, I think you’ll find he’s totally unique,’ I say proudly. ‘Although he’s been working a bit in the chemist on the High Street so you could have seen him around. Smell that jasmine, there, it’s heady. I’ll go and give him a hand with the stuff.’

I skip back into the house, Joe is concentrating on squeezing everything onto a tray.

‘Hey,’ I say, sidling up behind him and placing a palm on each of his bottom cheeks.

‘Huh?’ he says, turning.

‘What’s up with you? Are you being shy?’ I ask.

‘What? No. I just thought I recognised your mum then.’

‘Oh, she said that too. You must have seen each other around Tidds.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, turning to me. But he’s not looking at me, he’s looking through me.

‘Earth to Joe King,’ I say, waving my hand over his face.

‘Sorry,’ he says and then he shakes himself just like my mum did.

‘Let’s take the stuff out,’ I suggest.

‘Yeah, oh, your phone’s been beeping,’ he tells me as he picks up the tray.

I walk to my bag, which is hanging on the back of a chair. I take my phone out. Joe walks back out into the garden. I’ll leave them for a bit. He and Mum can work out where they know each other from. I glance at the screen on my phone. Two texts. From Matt.

It knocks the smile from my face. I feel so sublime and there he is hurting. Is it right to feel this much pleasure at the expense of someone else’s pain?

I plonk myself into the chair. Do I want to talk to Matt? I can’t tell him what he wants to hear. I rub my forehead with my fingers. I’ve never been in this situation before. I don’t know the best course to follow. I’ll talk to Philippa before I respond, I decide, and I place my phone back in my bag. Then I skip back out to see my lovely mum and ridiculously gorgeous boyfriend.

In all honesty, Joe and Mum meeting wasn’t the love-in I had anticipated. That’s the problem, isn’t it, when you visualise something as being sensational it invariably falls short? I mean, it was fine. It was quite nice. However, I was hoping for more than ‘fine’ and ‘nice’. If truth be told, conversation was a little bit stilted although we did all agree that the scones were amazing, so that was something. And today is the first day that Joe and I haven’t spent together. We decided that he needed to write some music and I should spend some quality time with Mum. Obviously he’s been there, topless and smiling, in my head for the entire day. Now, Mum and I are at the Nunstone pub quiz with Al and Philippa. Al is convinced that tonight’s the night to snatch the cash prize, but that’s looking very unlikely as we’ve barely been able to answer a question. Although that could well be my fault, because I’m too busy enjoying this truly lovely fantasy where Joe and I have rented a cottage somewhere by the sea, we sit on the beach in the evenings and light a bonfire, which I doubt is legal, but we snuggle up in blankets by it anyway, toasting marshmallows while Joe plays his guitar. And Philippa’s been all jittery because Disgruntled Dave called her and said he was coming here tonight.

‘Any idea, Fan?’ Al asks.

‘Sorry, what?’ I say.

‘She’s lost in Joe King land.’ Philippa moans.

‘What’s the question?’

‘Who’s that?’ Al pushes the piece of paper covered with photocopied faces towards me.

‘He looks so familiar to me,’ Mum says, shaking her head with a pained expression. ‘But it could just be someone I met a lifetime ago.’

Should I be worried about Mother’s memory, I wonder.

‘Oh, Larry Lemon, he’s a comedian,’ I say, as soon as I look at it. ‘I think. Looks like it anyway. That’s a hard one though, it’s such a blurry photo. But I think it’s Larry Lemon. He’s not really a household name.’

‘It’s definitely Larry Lemon,’ Philippa confirms. ‘The comedian’s comedian.’

‘A bit like me,’ Al says, writing the name down next to the face.

‘Um, no, not really.’ Philippa laughs.

‘Now, if I could draw your attention to this face here.’

‘H from Steps,’ I say.

‘Thank you!’ Al sings shrilly, writing down the answer.

‘Should I go to the bar? It looks quiet,’ I suggest.

Al places his head in his hands. ‘I need to do the quiz with blokes.’ He weeps.

‘Here, take my purse,’ offers my mum.

‘You sure?’ I check.

‘Please. I haven’t bought a drink yet.’

‘Marvel-arse.’

I walk to the bar. I have to climb over three people sitting on the floor. This pub gets packed when the quiz is on. One girl looks up at me as I’m trying to avoid her legs. We lock eyes. Oh, my goodness, it’s Trudi, the girl I gave the Smiling Fanny Manifesto to when she was having a drink with Matt before we got together. She’s so pretty. It’s her skin. Some women have all the luck. It’s like someone’s poured caramel into cream. So unfair. If she did skincare adverts everyone would buy the products. I give a tight smile and rush away to the bar. The problem with the creamy-skinned goddess is that she is the only person, aside from Philippa and me, who knows that we give out anonymous notes. She may have told people. Not that it really matters, I suppose. Once I’m at the bar, I discreetly turn back and look at her. She’s huddled over the quiz paper laughing with two chaps. It makes me smile. She looks so much happier now than she did the day I gave her the Smiling Fanny Manifesto.

I order a bottle of wine and a pint for Al and am just trying to find a safe way to carry them when a voice says, ‘Fanny, let me give you a hand.’ It’s Dave.

‘Hi! How are you?’ I smile. ‘How’s it going?’

‘It does not go too badly, here, let me take this, you can’t manage all that.’ He takes the wine bottle from me. And he smiles.

‘Blimey, you look well.’

‘Yes, I’m OK.’

‘Oh, are you still doing that list thing?’

‘I am, I am.’ He nods, then chuckles. ‘Who’d have thought?’

We’re at the table now. Philippa licks her lips and Mum smiles warmly at him. Al’s engrossed in the quiz.

‘Right, well, I’ve got some good news, ladies. The Tiddlesbury Tour tape that you sent me, Pam. You were right, it’s fantastic. I showed it to my boss and he loved it.’

‘You didn’t…?’ I say.

‘Oh, my goodness,’ Philippa whispers.

‘You two have really got something on screen. A priceless chemistry, is actually what he said.’

‘A priceless chemistry,’ I echo. Obviously the chemistry between Philippa and me is priceless to me, but for someone else to say it. Someone who works in television. Wow.

‘So what should they do now?’ Mum asks.

‘He said the pair of you should think about getting an agent,’ Dave tells us.

‘Yes, I thought that.’ Mum nods her head.

‘Oh, my goodness,’ Philippa says again.

‘I don’t believe it,’ I whisper.

And then, at exactly the same time, we both whisper the words, ‘Fantasy alternative life number one’.

‘That’s what he said was great, that thing they do when they both speak together,’ Dave tells Mum.

I sit blinking. Dave’s not joking. Philippa and I might be able to get an agent and possibly, maybe, you never know, might be able to do some television presenting. It’s a dream I haven’t even allowed myself to have for ten years. Philippa catches my eye and winks.

‘Blimey,’ I whisper back.