Forty-five minutes later, I had come up with fuck all, so I grabbed my phone and called Lucy at work.
‘Can you speak?’ I asked, grateful that she picked up her extension and I didn’t have to make small talk with my colleagues. ‘I need some advice . . .’
‘On what?’ she answered with a slight pause. ‘Oh God, you’re not pregnant again, are you? Why would you possibly want to have more people in your life?’
‘No!’ I laughed. ‘I need some ideas of stuff to try with Oliver for the sex jar.’
I heard Dorothy call her name in the background. ‘I need to go but I’ll have a think. But if my ideas are so sexy, you get pregnant again . . .’
‘I’M NOT GETTING PREGNANT AG—’
‘See you tomorrow.’
She hung up.
Thursday March 2nd
‘Right! I have an idea for you,’ Lucy said, placing some salt ’n vinegar crisps inside her ham sandwich. ‘You should pretend to be someone else for the night.’
‘Someone else?’ I questioned, watching her crunch into her sandwich. ‘Like who? John Travolta? Joan of Arc?’
She snorted. ‘No. I mean, like role play. You create a different persona. And so does he. Meet up in a hotel bar or something.’
I groaned. I remembered the various role plays we’d done years earlier. It had ranged from awkward to downright embarrassing but we’d had a good time. Maybe I was just too old for this kind of thing now? Lucy saw the look of uncertainty on my face. ‘It doesn’t have to be elaborate. Just give yourself a night off from being you; from being “mum”. Be the woman who meets a hot man in a hotel bar and gets a room.’
As she goes back to munching on her sandwich, I begin warming to the idea. Molly could stay with Hazel. I could buy new underwear. I could pretend to have an affair. I could be the filthiest—
‘Earth to Phoebe.’ Lucy laughed, knowing exactly where my imagination was headed. ‘I definitely think you should do it. And then report back.’
‘Yeah,’ I replied, grinning. ‘It has certain merits . . .’
*
After lunch I went to visit Jay, who fortunately appeared to be a tad less bored to see me this time.
‘Oh! You’ve come. Great. I’ve convinced my boss to take some advertising,’ he informed me. ‘We’ll do four adverts – quarter pages. We’ve been open for a year now, so we’re having a few promotional nights to celebrate. I’ll email all the details over.’
‘Wonderful!’ I replied. And it was. Not only have I bagged a new client, but it means I have less space to sell to the other poor chumps who don’t realise what a fucking money pit advertising is. ‘I’ll get you a top-right position if it’s available.’
He smiled at me, and walked behind the bar. ‘Good to know. You want a quick beer while you’re here? Soft drink?’
‘That’s very kind, but I have another meeting soon.’
I collected my things and thanked him, wondering why he didn’t just email everything in the first place, and headed back to the office.
Of course the meeting thing was a total lie. I could have had a beer. I could have had a shot of tequila, kicked off my shoes and showed him the new dance routine Molly and I had been working on, but it’s hardly professional. Also there’s the small matter of HE’S SEEN MY VAGINA to consider (even if he doesn’t remember it). It’s too weird.
Friday March 3rd
With Molly in bed, we retreated to the bedroom to begin our dalliance with the sex jar. I sat at the head of the bed while Oliver retrieved the jar from the top of the wardrobe. This felt so fucking weird. Like we were being forced to tell each other sex secrets, hoping the other didn’t shout, ‘THAT’S DISGUSTING! I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE ANYMORE!’ and storm out. I was nervous.
Oliver reached into the jar and grabbed one of my requests between his fingers before lifting it up to his nose.
‘This still smells of pasta sauce,’ he inhaled near it twice, just to make sure.
‘Will you stop sniffing it and just read it!’ I insisted, plumping up the pillows behind me, completely aware that I’d now have to sniff it too because I’m easily led.
‘Chill out,’ he replied. ‘I’m going to . . . this isn’t going to ask me to piss on you or anything, is it?’
