Subject: Re: Idea
If you think it’ll help you get back on top (pun intended) then it can’t hurt to ask.
But I think Oliver will tell you to shove it up your arse. Soz.
From:Phoebe Henderson
To:Lucy Jacobs
Subject: Re: Idea
Ugh. You might be right. Still, nothing ventured.
Wednesday January 18th
Parents emailed photos of their new dog, Daphne. I FUCKING KNEW IT. Daphne is a mongrel with half an ear missing and Dad is convinced she understands French. Apparently, Daphne enjoys long walks, her new heated bed and barking at the wall for no reason. I think Daphne and I would get along famously.
Thursday January 19th
It occurred to me earlier that not only have I not been having sex but I haven’t been masturbating either. Not for weeks. This is more than just a dry spell, it’s a fucking drought.
I know I’ve been busy (and there’s little to no privacy in our place) but I just haven’t felt that turned on. I used to be this ball of sexual energy and now I just feel invisible. I’m the Invisible Mum. Soon my vagina will be writing its own monologue on how it’s been forsaken by its terrible owner. I thought about mentioning this to Lucy over lunch but she’d immediately stop eating and declare a state of emergency. Instead we discussed her current living situation.
*
‘Kyle wants to move in,’ she revealed. ‘I know it makes sense – he’s paying rent on a place when he spends most of his time at mine, but I just don’t see myself living with anyone. Like, ever. I think it’s a bit soon anyway.’
I chuckled. ‘Lucy, you’ve been seeing Kyle longer than I’ve been dating Oliver. And we live together. And have a child. I think it’s probably time to take the next step . . .’
‘Yeah, but you guys aren’t even shagging anymore. What if that happens to us?’
‘Um . . . ouch!’
Realising her unintentional insult, she desperately tried to backtrack. ‘No! I didn’t mean it like that! I meant that everything is great the way it is. I’m scared that will change.’
‘It’s fine,’ I replied. ‘I understand what you mean. You’d need to actually live with a boy. You’ve never lived with a boy. They’re really fucking annoying – more so than children.’
I envy Lucy having her own space. There are moments when I’d kill to have an entire house to myself for weeks at a time, but to be honest those moments are fleeting; sharing my space with my little family is the only normal I know now. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Friday January 20th
Still annoyed about my lack of self diddling, I took Molly to nursery and came back to address the matter head on . . . well, vag on. I’ve had nearly thirty years practise, so I was smugly confident that I could overcome any hurdles . . . but it just wasn’t happening. Every time I tried to think dirty thoughts, I’d remember all things I should have been doing in the three hours of nursery time, like mopping floors and sorting washing. Eventually I just gave up and did them. By the time Oliver got home, the place was sparkling and I was exasperated.
‘What’s up with you?’ he asked, watching me mooch around my impressively clean living room after Molly went to bed. He looked around. ‘Hang on. Did you get cleaners in?’
‘No! I bloody did this!’ I snarled unfairly. ‘And do you know why? Because I have all of this extra energy – energy saved from not having wanked in an eternity!’
He snorted. ‘Fucking hell, Phoebe.’
‘Well, it’s true. And I cooked for tomorrow night. AND I started teaching Molly how to play chess!’
He pursed his lips while I sorted the magazines on the bottom shelf of the coffee table for the tenth time before finally saying, ‘The place looks great, though. Maybe this is a good thing. I mean, look how much you can get done when you’re not busy putting things up yourself.’
‘Oh fuck off,’ I replied, laughing. He’s fucking infuriating.
He grabbed the remote and turned the telly on. ‘You should just knock one out in the shower, like I do.’
‘How often do you do that?!’
