He arrived back after a two-hour lunch, looking flustered. They totally did it. Beasts. I’m going to quiz him next week.
Wednesday May 24th
It’s Oliver’s birthday so I baked a cake with Molly after she got out of school. I haven’t baked since 2001 when some mates and I thought it would be hysterical to make hash brownies without researching how to do it first. We failed miserably.
I let Molly do as much as her little arms would allow, taking over the mixing when she got tired. We decided on chocolate with buttercream icing and some little fondant animals Molly insisted on buying at Tesco.
‘This one is a bit wonky, Mum,’ Molly commented as we let the layers cool on the rack. ‘The animals might fall off.’
I stood back and looked. She was right. One was perfectly level and the other looked drunk. ‘We’ll just cut a bit to make it more . . . even,’ I reassured her. ‘Once everything is on, Dad won’t know.’
Oliver got home at six and was greeted by Molly holding a lopsided, farmyard-themed birthday cake, sporting huge 3- and 9-shaped candles.
‘Happy Birthday, Dad!’
‘Oh WOW!’ he exclaimed, doing his best not to laugh. ‘I think that’s the best cake I’ve seen IN MY LIFE. You must have worked so hard on this.’
Molly nodded. ‘I did most of it. Mum says I can light the candles after dinner so we have to have dinner now, ’kay?’
She handed over the cake and skipped off to her bedroom. Her work here was done.
‘I thought we’d just get a takeaway?’ I suggested, taking the cake so he could get his coat off. ‘Chinese?’
‘Hell yes. I’m exhausted. Looks like you are too.’
‘I have no fucking idea how Mary Berry does this crap on a daily basis. She must have biceps of steel.’
He wandered off to the bedroom to change.
‘Would you like a beer, darling?’ I asked in my best housewife voice. ‘I got some of those craft ones you like.’
‘That’d be lovely,’ he called back, knowing I’d just implied he was a wanker. ‘I’ll be on the couch waiting for my presents. I hope your arms still have enough strength to carry them through.’
‘First one’s in the jar,’ I replied.
‘What ja— Oh! Really?’
I heard the noise of the jar scraping off the top of the wardrobe. Inside was my last request. It didn’t take long until his face popped around the side of the kitchen door.
‘When?’
‘Saturday. Hazel’s taking Molly at 3 p.m.’
He grinned. ‘A whole twenty-four hours in bed? That’s ambitious.’
‘Not really. I thought we’d organise a bed picnic, maybe order a pizza, hook the PlayStation up, watch a movie, laugh at some porn and, you know, fuck my brains out in between?’
As his head disappeared back round the door, I heard him proclaim: ‘Best. Birthday. Ever.’
Sunday May 28th
Oh, yesterday was fun. I think this was the best sex jar request yet.
We dropped Molly with Hazel at 3 p.m. before racing home to begin twenty-four hours in bed. It began as I thought it would: frantic, noisy, no-children-around sex which lasted about twenty minutes, before we grabbed food from the fridge and planned our activities. Highlights included:
1.PlayingFriday the 13thmultiplayer on PS4. I was the worst killer ever, everyone lived and some American teenagers made fun of me.
2.WatchingLa La Land. (I loved. Oliver hated because apparently jazz is for wankers.)
