Lipstick and Lies (2 page)

‘
Oh?
’
my
hand hovered
over
a packet of
oven chips
.

‘
Yer milk’s leaking
.
’

‘My milk’s leaking?’ I repeated stupidly.

‘Yeah
.
Look.
I
t’s all over the place
.
E
verywhere.’

Appalled,
I dropped
the oven chips and
clutched my bosoms
.
Bugger.
I should have changed my milk pads before coming out.
And now my milk had leaked
,
in
front
of this
queue of customers
.
How embarrassing.

‘
I’ll mop it up
shall I?
’
T
he
lad
brandished a roll of paper towelling.

‘
I don’t think so!’
I snatched the roll.
Clutched it possessively to my breasts.

‘
Shall
I
get you some more?
’

‘
More w
hat
?
’

‘
Milk
.
Six pints
wasn’t it
?
’

‘Oh!
’
I dropped the paper towelling.

‘Are you all right love?’

‘Yes.’
You berk Cass
.
‘Six pints.
Thanks.’

‘
Oi
,
Maureen
!
O
ver ’ere
.
This
customer
’s milk is
knackered.
’

I gazed at my
dry sweater in relief.
I would
definitely start weaning now.
That
had been a
narrow escape.
To hell with
my son’s
refusal to take the bottle.
It would be my New Year’s Resolution!

I finished
the
packing
,
paid the cashier and
glanced at
Eddie.
H
e was stirring.
M
y pulse rate quicken
ed
.
No!
Don’t wake up
!
I
pointed the trolley toward the automatic doors
.
Eddie
spat out his dummy
.
And gave a belch
from the depths of his
navy-blue
booties.
Unfortunately some of his
earlier
feed got caught up in th
is
windy extraction
.
It
exploded
forth
and
caught the side of my face
.
Oh joy.
A
s the
sour
smell of regurgitated milk
shot up my
nostrils
, I
eyed
my son
beadily
.

‘
One day my darling I’m going to get my own back on you.
Just when you’re introducing the woman of your dreams, rest assured I too shall regurgitate
– all
the embarrassing things you’ve put me through in your short little life thus far.
’

Eddie
gave a
squeal
of
delight
.
And then a frown of concentration.
As rampant farting filled the air, I marvelled how something so small could make such noise.
And smell.
The
whiff
of baby pooh
abounded as
a contented look fell upon
my boy’s
face.
Mission
accomplished.
I sighed wearily as the trolley bumped
towards the car
.
Men.
They were all the same
.
E
ven at six months old.
Give it another year and
Eddie
would be picking his nose and scratching his balls
like
the rest of his gender.

I drove home as quickly as I dare
d
.
T
he
digital
speedometer
nudged
twenty
-
five miles per hour
.
Behind me, a
queue of traffic
grew
.
T
hat was another
puzzle
since
becoming a mother
for a second time
.
I might be forty-one
years old
, but would I ever drive at forty-one miles per hour again?
Being responsible for the conveyance of my
baby
from A to B was a daily nightmar
e
.
I
drove as if my cargo were
fragile
porcelain
.
It wasn’t
quite so
bad if
it were just
the older children
in the car.
But
the
moment
Eddie’s
baby
seat was strapped in,
changing into fourth gear was a non-event.
Which didn’t endear me to fellow motorists.
I
challenged
myself to go faster
.
As the speedometer
climbed through twenty-six and twenty-seven, a muck sweat br
oke
out under my arms.
T
he smell in
side the car was
dreadful.
Puke, shit and
body odour
assailed my nostrils.
I buzzed down the window to let
out
some of the reek.
In
the rear view mirror,
a
red Astravan
was almost touching my
bumper.

‘
Bully
,
’
I
muttered
.

Why didn’t the
DVLA introduce an M
plate?
There were
L plat
e
s
for learners.
P plates for drivers
who’d passed their tests
.
A
n M
plate for ‘new mother’
would be perfect.
A simple badge to
inform
the
frustrated
motorists
crawling in my wake that I wasn’t an incompetent female driver,
simply
a
new
parent
getting
back in
to
the swing of things
.

As I rounded a bend, the road widened
.
T
he
Astravan
swung out to overtake.
A
s he drew alongside me, he slowed down.
What was the guy playing at?
I risked a glance.
The driver had
opened
his
passenger window
.
Clearly he was intent
on an exchange of words
.

‘
Bleedin’ snails go faster than you!
’
he yelled.

‘
Oh b
og off!’ I bawled back.

‘You silly tart.
’

‘
Prat.
’

‘
Twat.
’

‘Well
really
there’s no need–’

But m
y words were drowned out
by the van’s horn
.
I jumped like a scalded cat.
The
driver roared past giving a middle-fingered salute.
Lunatic.
H
e must have been doing at least thirty-five miles per hour
.

S
haki
ng slightly,
I eased my foot off the accelerator
.
W
atched the speedometer fall to twenty.
Now that the road had broadened out
,
a
steady
stream of traffic
was overtaking
.
Eddie
began to whine
with
displeasure at
his dirty nappy
.

‘
It’s all right little man,
’
I soothed
,
‘
w
e’ll soon be home
.’
Eddie’s grizzling progressed to full scale objection.
‘H
ush now
my darling
.
Mummy wi
ll sort you out just as soon as–
’

I
paused.
By the time I’d changed my child’s stinking nappy, put him to the breast and finally managed to wash my face, the shopping would have
defrosted
.
If I shoved
thawed food
in the freezer,
food poison
ing would be on the agenda.
A sensation of not being able to cope rose to the surface.
My eyes welled with tears
.
St
op it Cass
.
S
top it right now!
But there was a definite lip tremble coming on
.
Y
es, there it was again
.
C
hin wobbling all over the place.
By the time the car
had
crawled
along
Lavender Hill
and skirted
the
lush common that our house overlooked, both
Eddie
and I were in full flow.
As
I trundled
through the electric gates of
Lilac Lodge,
our
large Victorian
home,
it was debatable whether
it was me or Eddie making the most racket
.

Jamie
came out of the house, ready to assist.

‘
Hello darling,’ he pulled open the driver’s door
.
‘
I was expecting you home
ages
a
go.
O
h
!
Whatever’s the matter?
’
My husband
took in
my tear-stained face before taking a
step backwards.
‘
Pooh
.
W
hat a stink!
’

‘
Eddie
v-
vomited on me
,’ I
sobbed.
‘And I can’t drive fast anymore
.
’

‘
G
o and have a bath and get ready for the party.
I’ll see to
Eddie
.
’

‘
But
–
’

‘
Just do it Cassie.
Go
on – in
!
’
Jamie strode around to the other side of the car
.
He reached in
for
Eddie.
‘
Hello little fella
.
H
ow’s my – oh p
hew
!
’

‘
Eddie
’s nappy
–
’

‘
I’ll see to it
.
Mum
’s arrived
,
so she’ll sort out the shopping.
’

My heart sank.
Oh no,
my mother-in-law
was here already?
I couldn’t bear the thought of Edna going through all the shopping
.
S
ilently
regarding
the
convenience foods
.
C
ounting tins of
mandarins
instead
of
fresh ones
.
She’d never actually said anything about my
microwave cookery
, or my
distinct
lick
-
and
-
promise style of housework
.
But I always judged myself to be
sorely
lacking when making comparisons with my mother-in-law.
In a nutshell,
she
was perfect.
When we’d first moved in
to Lilac Lodge
,
Edna had been a
G
odsend
.
Albeit a
G
odsend that ever
-
so
-
slightly jarred.
S
he’d
unpack
ed
china,
hung curtains and
fill
ed the old
-
fashioned
pantry
with
homemade
pies
and fruitcake
.
When the baking was done, she’d removed her pinny, donned a pair of overalls and
appropriated Jamie’s
power
tools.
In no time at all
,
the children had desks for homework and extra bookcases.
And j
ust when I
thought her talents were finally exhausted,
she’d
produced
a set of screwdrivers
and
wired
in
our
new
light fittings.
Oh there was no limit to Edna’s
capabilities
.
Couldn’t
figure out flat pack furniture?
Call Edna.
Couldn’t help with
your daughter’s homework?
R
ing
Edna
.
Couldn’t find the
wherew
ithal to unpack your shopping?
I groaned inwardly
as Super Gran hasten
ed
towards the car
.