Brendan and Louise sat side by side on the couch, while Megan played with Molly on the living room floor, already surrounded by chocolate wrappers. ‘Lunch won’t be long, everyone,’ I announced cheerily. ‘Molly, can you stop eating junk for five minutes?’
‘Sorry,’ Megan said, laughing. ‘That was me. I skipped the hotel breakfast. I don’t trust buffets – some fecker could have sneezed all over it. Or worse . . .’
‘Megan!’ Louise exclaimed. ‘Watch what you say in front of the child.’
Megan rolled her eyes and carried on playing with Molly, who was now asking,‘What’s worse than sneezing on food?’It’s amazing to watch how Oliver and his sister, both grown-ass, greying adults, still get treated like kids by their parents and don’t call them out on it. Family dynamics are so weird.
*
Two hours and three wrong-potato-themed comments from Louise later, lunch was over. Oliver and his throbbing forehead vein were stacking the dishwasher while I sat chatting with everyone else in the living room.
‘Two food shopping deliveries a week!’ Louise exclaimed, almost spilling her cup of tea. ‘She lives alone with her dog! I said to Brendan, how on earth can one tiny woman eat so much? She’d be better spending off her money on fixing up her front garden. What a pigsty it is.’
‘Mam, you really need to get a hobby or something.’ Megan sighed. ‘I’m sure Mrs Finnegan can do without you spying on her.’
‘Nonsense,’ Louise replied indignantly, fluffing up her short grey hair. ‘Since her husband died, she needs someone to look out for her. I’m doing her a kindness.’
Brendan sat quietly, neither confirming nor denying that his wife was a nosy bastard, while Molly scribbled away in the new farmyard colouring book Megan had picked up for her at the airport.
‘Are you back to work next week, Phoebe?’ Megan asked, changing the subject. ‘I’ve taken the first two weeks off to move house. I can’t be coping with work and all that shi—nonsenseat the same time.’
‘I am,’ I replied. ‘Molly will be back at nursery too. What’s the new place like?’
Megan took a sip from her tea. ‘It’s deadly. Not too far from where I am now. Bigger flat though. Older. I’m sick of all the new builds with their low ceilings and open plan bathrooms. And it’s closer to work. I can run there and back every day. Suits me better.’
She runs to work. There’s nothing remotely average about this woman.
While I gaped at her in awe, Oliver appeared, drying his hands on a kitchen towel. ‘Anybody need anything? I think we have some leftover Christmas cake.’
‘It’s leftover because it’s vile,’ I said. ‘Don’t we have any cheese and crackers?’
Brendan made a noise that sounded like a disapproving horse, stating that he couldn’t manage another bite. ‘Sit down, Oliver,’ he insisted. ‘Take a load off. We’re all grand here.’
‘I will,’ Oliver replied. ‘But first I just need to borrow you for two minutes, Phoebe, so you can show me where you’ve hidden the lemon and ginger tea bags.’
‘They’re where they always are. Beside the regular ones.’
‘If they were, I wouldn’t be asking,’ he responded. ‘Just come and help, will you?’
I tutted quietly and unfolded myself from my comfortable post-lunch position, then marched through to the kitchen with Oliver following behind, closing the kitchen door behind him.
‘They’re right here—’ I began, opening the pantry door, but before I got the chance to wave some teabags in his face, he had pushed me into the pantry, pressed himself against my arse and slid his hand inside my bra.
‘Sorry about earlier,’ he whispered in my ear, ‘I was distracted.’
‘And now?’ I enquired, my hand reaching around behind me.
He breathed heavily. ‘Now it’s all I can think about.’
I could feel him getting harder by the second. ‘Once Molly is in bed,’ he continued, ‘we are going to shag until one of us passes out. Just thought you should know.’
‘Oh, you fucker,’ I murmured, almost giddy at the thought. I could feel his breath on my neck as he squeezed my breasts. If it wasn’t for his parents, sister and our daughter fifteen feet away in the other room, my knickers would have been round my ankles. He really picks his moments. Nothing for weeks and now he was two seconds away from fingering me next to some out-of-date stock cubes. Classy.
Sadly, our kitchen rendezvous was cut short by the appearance of Molly at the door asking for milk, while Oliver scrambled to pull his hand out of my large bra. My boobs never really disappeared after breastfeeding. Now it just looks like they have gigantism.
I grabbed the lemon and ginger teabags with one hand and straightened my top with the other, knowing that Oliver would have to give himself a moment to adjust before getting some milk for Molly. I was excited, his wordsuntil one of us passes outswirling around in my head for the rest of the afternoon.
At half past eight, Oliver drove the Webb clan back to their hotel as their flight was early the next morning. They seemed merry enough; Megan making us promise to visit soon and Louise telling Oliver to get his hair cut for the seventeenth time as she climbed into the front seat of the car. As soon as they drove off, I sprang into action. I allowed Molly to skip her evening bath and gave her a quick wash, brushed her teeth and put her promptly into her jammies. I let her read in bed while I quickly ran an electric razor over my legs and armpits, choosing to ignore the fact that my knicker whiskers were running fucking riot. If Oliver calls my bush Phil Spector again, I’m going to batter him. Throwing on a random, mismatched black underwear set, I covered myself up in my dressing gown, just in time to hear him return.
