Lipstick and Lies Page 2

  ‘Talk about manic mood swings. I’m hanging off the chandeliers half the time. Matt doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going. One minute I’m all over him, the next I’m threatening to pack my stuff.’

  I’d giggled. ‘You’ve just given the definition of PMS – Pack My Stuff. Not to mention Pardon My Sobbing!’

  ‘That’s quite good Cass. What about,’ she’d puckered her brow, ‘I know! Pass My Shotgun!’

  ‘Y-e-s. Not bad. How about Psychotic Mood Shift? Even better, Perpetual Munching Spree?’

  ‘Provide Me with Sweets!’

  ‘Ah, but Pimples May Surface.’

  ‘And we’ll get a Puffy Middle Section. Although we already have that,’ she’d pointed at our respective baby bumps.

  ‘No problem. Simply Pass My Sweatpants.’

  At that point, her husband Matt had stuck his head around the kitchen door. Returning from the busy equestrian centre he ran so lucratively, he’d taken in the scene of hilarity. A look of relief had passed over his face.

  ‘Feeling better my darling?’

  Whereupon Morag’s head had rotated one hundred and eighty degrees and she’d snarled, ‘Plainly Men Suck.’

  But all that was many months ago. Morag and I were now the proud mothers of our baby boys, although sometimes the pair of us were still laid low with Pissy Mood Syndrome. Would it ever go away?

  ‘Cassie?’

  ‘Hmm? Sorry darling. I was miles away.’ I stared vacantly at my gorgeous husband, a dead ringer for Brad Pitt in his heyday.

  ‘I was asking if I could wash your back,’ my husband said huskily.

  Suddenly the champagne was hitting all the right places.

  ‘Indeed.’ I looked up at him under my eyelashes. ‘And if you do a good job, you can wash my front too.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  My empty champagne flute was whisked away. Seconds later a huge soapy sponge was whizzing over my back. As Jamie’s breath whistled around my neck, I realised it wasn’t just the sponge that was getting in a lather.

  ‘Turn out the light darling,’ I cooed.

  ‘Don’t be daft Cassie. You’re in the bath.’

  ‘Yes I know, but I don’t want you seeing me–’ I broke off in surprise. ‘Jamie, what are you doing?’

  My husband had dumped the sponge and was now urgently shedding his clothes.

  ‘You don’t need the light off,’ his t-shirt flew through the air and landed in the washbasin, ‘because you aren’t getting out of the bath.’

  ‘What are you talk–?’

  ‘I shall get in the bath with you.’ A pair of socks had now been balled up and tossed over one shoulder. They sailed through the air. And disappeared down the toilet.

  ‘Don’t be daft you can’t– Oh!’

  A tidal wave cascaded over the side of the bath as Jamie joined me. As his mouth glued to mine, my insides turned to mush. Seconds later we came up for air.

  ‘I love you Cassie,’ he roared into my armpit.

  ‘And I love – argh – you but – ouch – you’re squashing my boobs. They’re still awfully tender.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ Jamie panted. ‘No problem. You get on top.’

  Jamie wriggled within the bath’s confines, manoeuvring my position. This was entirely unacceptable. Under no circumstances was he having a daytime audience with my baby tummy or overhanging view of my face which – when in the grip of gravity – gave a whole new meaning to the word gobsmacked.

  ‘No!’ I protested, as my body went from horizontal to vertical. Gallons of water splashed onto the floor.

  ‘Yes! Yes!’ Jamie insisted feverishly. He pulled me down on top of him. And instantly disappeared under a landslide of mammary tissue. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. My spare tyres had gone unnoticed thanks to my husband being blinded by bosoms.

  By the time things had come to a bathroom-wrecking crescendo, I had just twenty minutes to dry my hair and apply party makeup.

  As I hurriedly blasted the hairdryer over my tingling scalp, I vowed that in my next life I would be a man. They had it so easy! A few strokes of the razor and a splash of aftershave, and they were done. No messing about with flat irons or mascara wands. Unless they were transvestites or drag queens. Or simply thoroughly vain. An image of my ex-husband sprang to mind. I was ninety-nine per cent certain Stevie was on intimate terms with the hair dye. Shade Elvis Presley. I also had a horrible feeling he might be at the party this evening. Since our separation and subsequent divorce, he’d somehow managed to charmingly crowbar his way into my new circle of friends. It wasn’t as if we were at loggerheads with each other – those days were long gone – but surely it wasn’t the done thing to be on the same social circuit with one’s ex. Whatever outrageously flirty antics Stevie got up to this evening, thankfully it no longer concerned me. Unlike two years ago to this day. Still married to each other, we’d been guests at another New Year’s Eve party. I’d inadvertently walked into our host’s bedroom to find a porky middle-aged woman bonking the living daylights out of him. That memorable little episode had been the concluding chapter of our turbulent marriage. The pleasure of keeping Stevie in check now fell upon the much younger shoulders of his current live-in beau, Charlotte. She was a stunning twenty year old with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue.

  I applied some glossy lipstick. Thank God for my Jamie, loyal and true.

  ‘Nearly ready darling?’ Jamie stuck his head around the bedroom door. ‘Wow. You look beautiful. I love the dress.’

  I turned to face him. ‘It was a bit of a squeeze getting into it.’ Material strained at the seams. Beneath the plunging neckline, my boobs jostled for space. ‘You don’t think it’s vampy?’

  ‘Yes. But compared to whatever Morag will be wearing, it’s positively demure.’

  I giggled. This much was true. Morag was not afraid to flaunt her chest, the measurement of which put Katie Price in the shade.

  ‘Just to let you know, the taxi is here. See you downstairs.’

  ‘Okay. Won’t be a mo.’

  I quickly threaded some dangly earrings through my earlobes. Then, padding across the bedroom to my wardrobe, found my party stilettos and rammed my feet in. Whoa! It had been a long time since I’d worn shoes like this.

  Teetering out of the bedroom, I crossed the landing. I couldn’t leave without saying goodnight to the children. I also wanted to check Jonas’s bedroom for an illicit stash of vodka. I gave a cursory knock on his bedroom door, then barged in before contraband could be stashed. But my step-son wasn’t there. I had a quick peek in his wardrobe. A jumble of clothing fell out. Shoving it back in, I peered under the bed. Festering trainers. No booze. Good. I shut his door quietly. Tiptoeing over to Toby’s room, I avoided the squeaky floorboard and cupped an ear against my son’s door. It instantly flew open. Party poppers exploded in my face.

  ‘Happy New Year Mum!’ my son laughed uproariously.

  ‘Oh for goodness sake Toby!’ I snapped irritably. ‘You frightened the living daylights out of me.’ I plucked a tangle of streamers off one shoulder.

  ‘That was the general idea,’ Toby shrugged.

  ‘I’m off in a minute. Where’s Jonas?’

  ‘Here.’ A tousled head appeared from the other side of Toby’s bed. Seconds later an arm followed. A Wii controller was clasped firmly in one hand.

  ‘Okay boys. I’ll see you both in the morning. Be good for Nanny Edna. Happy New Y–’

  The door slammed in my face. Charming. Not. A little chat about manners was overdue. Downstairs the taxi beeped its horn. Yes, yes, all right.

  I stood outside Livvy’s bedroom. Knocked tentatively. No response. Sticking my head around the door, I surveyed a neat and tidy bedroom. But no daughter. I turned on my heel and ventured over to my step-daughter’s bedroom. Mumbling could be heard from within. I flattened my ear to the door. The girls were together. They were discussing somebody. Or something. A dipstick. A pink dipstick. No. A pink lipstick.

  ‘Come i
n Cass,’ called Petra. How did she know I was ear-wigging?

  ‘We can see the shadow of your feet Mum!’ Livvy laughed.

  I elbowed the door open. The girls were sitting on Petra’s bed. They were surrounded by girly paraphernalia.

  ‘I’ve just come to say goodnight.’

  ‘You look amazing Cass!’ Petra looked genuinely surprised.

  ‘Do you like it?’ I gave a little twirl.

  ‘It’s definitely an improvement on your usual attire.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Livvy agreed, ‘ancient tat covered in baby puke.’ She shifted off the bed and came over to me. Her arms entwined around my neck. Ah. Still my baby girl at heart. I dropped a kiss on her head just as the taxi emitted a series of urgent toots.

  ‘See you later girls.’ I blew a kiss to Petra, before hastening downstairs.

  In the kitchen I found my mother-in-law. She was spooning mashed potato and flaked cod into Eddie’s mouth. Naturally Edna had made her grandson’s dinner from scratch. Okay, it was hardly coq au vin. But it definitely wasn’t Mr Heinz. Another inadequacy on my part.

  ‘Hi Edna,’ I smiled, instantly ashamed. Who was I to pass judgement on Edna’s menu for Eddie when she’d agreed to babysit five children on the biggest knees-up of the year?

  ‘You look nice Cassandra,’ Edna said politely. Her eyes avoided my billowing chest. The taxi gave another round of agitated tooting. ‘You’d best be off dear. Have a wonderful evening and don’t hurry home.’

  ‘Thanks Edna. For everything.’

  I hovered. Debated whether to risk kissing Eddie. An unappetising mixture of fish and dribble slid down his chin. Opting to wave instead, I scampered out to the cab.

  When Matt greeted us the party was well underway.

  ‘Hello!’ he yelled over the thumpity-thump of disco music. ‘Come in and make merry. My wife certainly is. Ooh, champers. And lots of it. Lovely!’

  ‘Cass! Over here,’ called Morag. She’d been buttonholed by an admirer and was signalling, discreetly, for rescue. The man had his back to me, but I’d have recognised those shoulders anywhere. Stevie. My ex-husband. Predictably he was flirting. When he turned to greet me, it was evident he was in a fluster. But then that was hardly surprising given Morag’s outfit. Her tiny dress was little more than silver bands criss-crossing around her body. Two scraps of material were struggling to support her bust. Her back was entirely bare. The remains of the dress just about covered her bottom. She looked like a badly wrapped bandage. Albeit a very glamorous one.

  ‘Hi Cass,’ Stevie pecked my cheek. ‘You’re looking very Rubenesque. The additional pounds you’re carrying suit you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I inclined my head graciously. ‘You too are carrying your extra weight very well.’ Stevie threw his head back and laughed. Turning to Morag, I embraced her warmly. ‘You look amazing,’ I said truthfully. She was slimmer now than before her pregnancy, and twice as toned. ‘Do share your secret!’

  ‘Protein shakes. And lots of sex. Beats the gym every time.’

  ‘Sexercise!’ Stevie laughed throatily. ‘Great idea, Morag. Anytime you want a bit of help with the workout, give me a shout.’

  Morag waggled a finger playfully. ‘And does Charlotte know you are volunteering naughty services?’

  ‘Talk of the devil,’ I muttered. A young girl, her beautiful face marred by irritation, was shoving her way through the throng.

  ‘Ah. Excuse me girls. I’ll catch up with you later.’ Stevie went to greet his long-suffering girlfriend.

  ‘He doesn’t change,’ I sighed.

  ‘No regrets?’ Morag asked slyly.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I spluttered. ‘The man’s an absolute tart.’

  ‘Yes,’ Morag agreed, ‘but sexy nonetheless.’

  I gaped at my friend in astonishment. ‘You’re not tempted by the likes of him are you?’

  ‘I’m a happily married woman Cass. But if I wasn’t, then I wouldn’t say no. Thankfully I have a gorgeous husband who revs me up perfectly.’

  ‘Still taking your aphrodisiac jollop?’

  ‘Of course. And so should you. Sex is important.’

  ‘I’m too tired half the time. Plus we nearly always get interrupted. You have no idea what it’s like in our household.’

  ‘No different to mine surely?’ Morag arched an eyebrow. She had a point. My friend was the fourth Mrs Harding and had inherited a large readymade family. ‘Baby Henry has more brothers and sisters than I can remember.’

  ‘And where is my divine godson this evening?’ I asked, anxious to steer conversation away from my sex life.

  ‘Upstairs with Joanie.’ Joanie was Matt’s eldest daughter, and an absolute sweetie. ‘I’ll pop up in a bit and give him his bottle. Isn’t it about time you got Eddie off the tit and onto the silicone?’

  I prickled slightly. ‘As it happens, it’s my New Year’s Resolution.’

  ‘Good. And then you can start getting yourself back into shape.’ Morag cast a critical eye over my hips and chest. ‘You’ve been carting those udders around for far too long.’

  My friend was never backward in coming forward.

  ‘Well my udders – as you so eloquently put it – haven’t looked this good in decades. I’m not particularly looking forward to losing them when the milk dries up. How come yours haven’t dropped?’

  ‘Ah, well that’s another type of silicone.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘They’re not real Cass.’

  ‘You have implants?’ I squawked.

  ‘Sotto voce,’ murmured Morag.

  ‘But in all the time we’ve known each other,’ I hissed, ‘you’ve never said a dickey bird!’

  ‘Well now I have. And it’s our little secret. If you want to treat yourself to a pair one day, I’ll give you the telephone number of my surgeon. He’s excellent.’

  ‘Flippin’ heck Morag. In the last few minutes you’ve told me to sort out my sex life, my figure, and have a boob job. It’s a good thing you’re a mate.’

  ‘Don’t be silly Cass.’ Morag waggled a finger. ‘All I’m saying is, just because you’ve bagged yourself a handsome hubby, you don’t want to take your eye off the ball. That’s all.’

  ‘I haven’t!’ I protested indignantly. ‘Jamie is more than happy with my curves, adores my udders and our sex life is incredibly adventurous!’ The fact that our most recent of rare couplings had taken place in the bathtub surely qualified that statement.

  ‘Excellent news,’ said a familiar voice. Aghast, I turned to see Matt. He was snorting with laughter. ‘Is my wife winding you up Cass?’

  ‘Just a bit,’ I snapped.

  ‘Take no notice. She’s always jack-booting around telling everybody what to do. My back’s covered in heel marks where she stomps all over me.’

  ‘And don’t you just love it,’ Morag quipped.

  ‘Yeah, I do actually,’ Matt grinned disarmingly. ‘Come on Cass. Let’s have a dance.’

  Chapter Two

  Matt led me off to the centre of the room which was heaving with gyrating bodies. He gave my hand a squeeze. ‘Morag doesn’t mean to ruffle feathers. She’s just a natural bossy boots.’

  ‘I know,’ I sighed.

  Matt smiled and changed the subject. ‘So, what do you think of Jamie’s business plans?’

  ‘To expand? Oh that was always on the cards. Thank goodness it’s all going so well.’

  Jamie had left the police force at the start of the year to go into partnership with Ethan Fareham, an old colleague. Ethan had spotted a hole in the market at the right time. The result was a consultancy service in the City. Together the men kept pace with technology in order to stay one step ahead of criminals and hackers. The business had flourished – no mean achievement in recession. Ethan and Jamie had worked long hours, sometimes not leaving clients until midnight. It had only been a matter of time before they cast their net looking for an assistant.

  ‘And what do you think of the new recruit?’ Matt asked
as he twirled me under his arm.

  ‘I haven’t met him yet.’

  ‘Her,’ Matt corrected.

  ‘Really?’ I had a misty recollection of Jamie attempting to discuss the matter. He’d come home late, hollow-eyed with tiredness. Our paths had crossed briefly on the landing, just as I was about to give Eddie his last feed for the night.

  ‘We must talk Cassie,’ Jamie had said. ‘Ethan is adamant we need an assistant. You’re never going to believe this but–’

  ‘Not now darling. Eddie will wake the others if I don’t see to him in the next ten seconds.’

  By the time I’d settled our son and returned to Jamie, he was in bed fast asleep. I looked at Matt.

  ‘Let’s hope she’s not a whiskery old boot. Anybody prepared to invest such long hours clearly doesn’t have a family.’

  ‘You’re absolutely right, Cass. I once met the lady in question, and can confirm she is indeed unmarried and childless.’

  ‘Oh dear. So she is a whiskery old boot,’ I giggled.

  ‘Au contraire. In fact I’d go so far as to say she’s positively stunning.’

  I had a sudden sense of foreboding. I paused mid-whirl. ‘You’ve met her? How come?’ But somehow I already knew the answer.

  ‘She used to date Jamie.’ Matt was suddenly alive to my appalled expression. ‘But it was a long time ago,’ he assured hastily.

  ‘What’s her name?’ I whispered.

  ‘Um, Selina I think.’

  The floor lurched beneath me. I felt dizzy with horror. Hell’s bells. Selina. She wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination a tweedy spinster. Nor did she have a surplus of facial hair. With her dark mane, sexy pout and chiselled cheekbones, she bore more than a passing resemblance to Angelina Jolie. Selina had been madly in love with Jamie. Her fury had been second to none when I’d come along and mesmerised him with my so-so looks and absence of chiselled anything. I would just like to mention at this point, I was not the other woman. Selina’s relationship with Jamie ended long before he asked me out. However, unbeknown to Jamie, Selina had harboured plans to woo him back. When Jamie hadn’t responded, she’d taken to harassing him at work. And when that had failed, she’d switched her attention to me. I’d been subjected to anonymous telephone calls at home. When the dropped calls had started at work, I’d really freaked out. Selina had gone on to instigate a situation whereupon I’d turned up at a restaurant to discover her and Jamie apparently having a romantic candlelit dinner. Naturally I’d jumped straight to adulterous conclusions. All hell had broken out. I clenched my teeth at the unhappy memory. Selina! What was Jamie playing at?