Lipstick and Lies

Lipstick and Lies
© Debbie Viggiano 2012

Kindle Edition published worldwide 2012 © Debbie Viggiano

All rights reserved in all media. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical (including but not limited to: the Internet, photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system), without prior permission in writing from the author.

The moral right of Debbie Viggiano as the author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

www.debbieviggiano.com

http://debbieviggiano.blogspot.co.uk/

Cover design by Robert Coveney

Kindle formatting by
Rebecca E
m
in

For all the lovely people who asked me to write a sequel to
Stockings and Cellulite
, this is for you.
 
Enjoy xx

I
heaved a sigh from
the bottom of
my
Ugg
boots
and
ground to a halt in Tesco’s
baby food
aisle
.
Delving
into the
enormous holdall that
doubled as both
handbag and baby
travelling
case
, I sifted through
milk pads, nappies and wipes
until
Eddie
’s spare dummy was located.
Quickly,
I popped
it
into
his gummy mouth
.

‘
Hush
darling,’ I soothed
.

Eddie glared at me mutinously.
Please God that my six month old son wouldn’t spit the damn thing out and howl to be put to the breast.
Not here.
Not now
.
Not
on New Year’s Eve
in
this packed
superstore w
ith a
trolley
stuffed with frozen food
.

I fiddled anxiously with my maternity bra
.
My
bosoms twanged within their hammock
-
like constraint, nipples like nuclear missiles on standby
lest
Eddie
’s
cries
put them on full
-
scale alert.
T
his mothering lark was exhausting.
Eleven years ago I’d given birth to
twins
no less.
But s
omehow, looking back, it seemed a doddle compared to this time around.
On my fortieth birthday, believing I was simply menopausal, it had come as one hell of a shock to find myself
three months
pregnant.
And today – my forty-first birthday as it happened – I knew for sure my energy levels weren’t what they used to be.

But p
erhaps I was being too hard on myself.
After all, I wasn’t
just
mother to
my twins
Livvy and Toby
.
I
also had two full time
step-children,
Petra
and Jonas
.
Exactly one year ago today I had
remarried
.
Yes, today was not only my birthday but also my first wedding anniversary.
Twelve months ago I had stood under a Bahamian sun,
a
radiant
bride.
T
urquoise waves
had
lapp
ed
a
shoreline of white sand
as I’d
exchanged vows with the man of my dreams, the love of my life, my second husband Jamie.

I sighed again.
The
difference
between this
time last year and right now
didn’t
compare
.
T
he only radiant
thing
about
me
these days
was my figure
– still
blooming
away
despite shedding its surprise load
several months
ago
.
If only I didn’t feel so knackered
.
I was
constantly
on a short fuse thanks to sleep deprivation.
Especially with the
older
children
.
It
didn’t help that they all
seemed to be hitting pre-
teen
mood swings
and mouthiness
.
Add
a
fractious
,
teething
infant
into the equation, was it any wonder my energy level
s
were at
zero
?

Eddie
’s
eyes
began to glaze as the
dummy
worked
its
magic
.
Thank heaven
s
for
small mercies
.
Now if I could
only
muster the wherewithal to finish this shop
– preferably
before my aching breasts resorted to emptying themselves and soaking my cotton top.
I really should
start
weaning.
Although
goodness knows what my boobs
would look like once the milk dried up.
They hadn’t exactly been a picture of perkiness before
my surprise p
regnancy.
A chanting rhyme hovered at the corners of my memory as I recalled
Livvy
and
Petra
recently catching
me
naked
.
They’d stood
wide-
eyed and incredulous
before guffawing with laughter.
T
he
girls
had
clutched each other with mirth as they
’d sung
:

Do your boobies hang low
?

D
o they wobble to and fro
?

C
an you tie them in a knot
?

C
an you toss them in a bow
?

D
o you get a funny feeling

W
hen your boobies hit the ceiling
–

‘
T
hank you very
much
girls,
’
I’d
snapped
, snatching
a towel about my person
.
Not for the first time had I wished
they’d
knock
before barging into my bedroom.
Heavens, on the one occasion I’d dared to do the same to them I’d been subjected to a week’s worth of door slamming.

All right Cass,
all
right
.
Meanwhile
just get a move on!

With a renewed burst of
energy
,
I
headed away
from
the
shelves
of baby food
and zoomed toward
B
eer
s
and
W
ine
s
.
I was under strict instructions to
buy champagne
for
the Hardings
’
party tonight
.
I screeched to a halt by the bubbly
and began
shoving
bottles
between pizzas and lamb chops
.
What else?
I scanned
the shopping list.
Milk
, milk, mustn’t
forget milk.
Hastening to the dairy aisle
,
I
grabbed hold of a
six pint jobbie
.
Right.
Time to get out of here.
I troll
eyed smartly
towards
the checko
ut.

Eddie
’s eyelids
had succumbed to gravity.
Yes!
With a bit of luck I’d have
everything scanned,
packed
,
loaded
and
home
before
my son
awoke
and demanded
another feed
.
Sometimes I wondered who my body belonged to – me or my baby?
Even my husband
looked
deprived whenever he caught
a flash of my
maternity bra.
S
exy satin
push-ups
had been off the agenda
the moment
the ink had dried on our marriage certificate.
Poor
Jamie
.
I really
should
wean our son and
return
my boobs
to my
woefully
neglected husband.
And maybe one day I could have them back
?
W
hen everybody else had finished with them
, of course
.

I
parked
the trolley
next to
a
whirring conveyor belt
.
Quickly
,
I began unloading.
The
clock was ticking
.
It was a race
against the moment my son
’s eyes pinged open
.
In record time
I stood at the other end of the checkout
clutching
a
Bag
for
Life
.

‘
W
ant any help packing love?
’
asked the
check
out
lad.

‘
I’ll be all right
thanks
,
’
I
smiled anxiously.
Come on man
.
H
urry up!

And we were off.
Blip, blip, blip
went the scanner
.
C
onsumables
tumbled
into the stainless steel packing area.

‘
Not so fast!
’
I puffed
as champagne bottle
s
clanked
alarmingly
.

‘
You’ve got a problem love
.
’