Chapter 5
‘Are you OK?’ Pauline asked as they were clearing up after the lunchtime rush in the Pig even though she’d explained that Darren was just worried about her being a target for violence, Pauline had seen his behaviour as controlling.
Darren, for his part, thought that Pauline was a malign influence and made no bones about the fact he’d like Claire to ditch her.
Over the last few months, she’d got very good at filtering what she said to each of them in order to keep the peace, but she felt increasingly like she was walking a tightrope and one wrong remark would set one of them off.
Today is one of those rare days when the words just seem to flow onto the page.
I’ve already written way over a thousand of them as I slowly start to reveal the odious Darren’s true nature.
It’s a delicate balance, as I need Darren to display all the typical behaviours associated with coercive control, progressively isolating Claire from family and friends and taking away her independence, without making her look gullible or weak.
I’m not sure I’ve got it totally right in this scene yet but, as my editor continually tells me, I can always come back to it later.
I can practically hear her voice in my head saying, ‘You can’t edit it if you haven’t even written it in the first place. ’
When I first moved in, Liv’s musical doorbell completely foxed Meg, and she didn’t react to it at all for nearly a week.
However, the connection is firmly established now, so she’s on her feet and barking excitedly before the Big Ben chimes have even finished.
I still find it a little odd that someone as posh as Liv should have such a twee doorbell, but she assures me that it’s ironic, and she only bought it because her father thinks it’s unbearably naff.
They might get on pretty well these days, but she still enjoys winding him up.
‘Package for Laura Spalding,’ the postwoman announces, handing over a cardboard box once I’ve shut Meg in the kitchen and opened the door. ‘I just need to take a picture of you with it as proof of delivery.’
She snaps a photo with her handheld device before thrusting the usual selection of envelopes and leaflets into my hand and disappearing up the path.
‘What do you think is in here?’ I ask Meg as I place the box on the kitchen table.
Now that the excitement of the post arriving is over, she’s settled herself back in her basket and is watching me with her soulful eyes.
I haven’t ordered anything recently, so I turn the box over in my hands, looking for clues, but it’s not giving anything away.
I check the address in case it’s a misdelivery, but it’s clearly addressed to me.
I grab the scissors out of the drawer and cut open the lid to reveal a white envelope sitting on top of a mountain of pink tissue paper that’s completely obscuring the rest of the contents of the box. Inside the envelope is a printed card.
To Laura,
A little gift to help you on your journey of self-discovery. I hope you find it satisfying – enjoy!!
All my love
Liv xx
‘It’s something from Auntie Liv,’ I tell an uninterested Meg as I start to remove the tissue. ‘What do you think it is? It could literally be anything from dietary supplements to a Pilates ball, knowing her.’
None the wiser, I start to remove the tissue but, as Liv’s gift finally starts to come into view, I gasp in surprise.
It’s not dietary supplements or a Pilates ball.
If only it were. That would be so much easier to deal with than this. What on earth was she thinking? Liv has definitely gone too far this time and, before I know it, I’m grabbing my keys and heading for the door.
‘Oh, hello, Laura,’ Bella says as I stride into the patisserie a short time later with the box under my arm. ‘You’re not working today, are you?’
‘No. I just needed to have a quick chat with Liv,’ I tell her without breaking my stride as I head into the kitchen, closing the door behind me. The conversation I’m about to have is not one I want overheard. Liv is at the counter, whisking some kind of mixture in a bowl.
‘Give me a sec, Bella,’ she says without looking up. ‘This is at a crucial stage.’
‘It’s not Bella,’ I tell her.
‘Oh, hello, Laura.’ Her voice is irritatingly unperturbed and she still doesn’t look up from her whisking.
‘I still need a sec. If I don’t keep a close eye on this, my Crème Patissière will turn into scrambled egg, and nobody wants scrambled egg in their pastries.
Grab yourself a hair net and I’ll be with you as soon as this is done. ’
In spite of my irritation, I find myself meekly pulling on a hair net and settling myself on a stool while she carries on with her work. Eventually, she’s obviously satisfied as she finally turns her attention to me.
‘What’s up?’ she asks innocently.
‘Your present arrived,’ I tell her, setting the box on the table and watching her reaction carefully. Annoyingly, there isn’t even the slightest hint of shame. If anything, she looks pleased.
‘I know. I got a notification on my phone that it had been delivered. What do you think?’
‘For starters, I think I’ll never be able to look the postwoman in the eye again.’
‘Why?’ She still doesn’t seem bothered.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I spit sarcastically. ‘Call me old-fashioned, but idle chit-chat becomes a little difficult after she’s delivered a box with a sex toy in it.’
‘How would she know what was in the box? The packaging is supposed to be discreet. It wasn’t damaged, was it?’
‘What the hell were you thinking?’
‘I was thinking that my friend might need a little help now that she’s on her own and, being the kind person that I am, I bought her a gift that she might find useful.’
‘A dildo, Liv? Seriously?’
‘Technically, it’s a vibrator, not a dildo. Dildos are phallus shaped and don’t usually vibrate, whereas vibrators—’
‘For fuck’s sake. I don’t care what the technical term for it is. Even you must realise it’s not the kind of thing you buy for other people. You’ll have to send it back.’
She smiles. ‘Nuh-uh. I’m doing you a favour, trust me. There should have been some other things in there too. As well as the vibrator, there should be some lube and toy cleaner. I’ve thought of everything.’
‘Liv, even if I’d said I wanted a vibrator, it’s still incredibly weird for you to buy me something so intimate, and have you seen the size of the thing? How on earth am I supposed to fit something that big… Actually, don’t answer that.’
‘See, this is what I mean. I love you, Laura, but you’ll never be able to let go and really enjoy sex until you stop being so repressed about it.’
‘I’m not repressed! It’s just not…’
‘Not what?’
‘I’m not comfortable sharing this aspect of my life with you.’
‘Sounds repressed to me.’
‘Are you seriously telling me you expect me to accept this thing and come bouncing down the stairs to announce what a fabulous wank I’ve just had?’
This is obviously the funniest thing she’s heard all year, if her gales of laughter are anything to go by.
‘Oh, Laura,’ she breathes eventually. ‘I wouldn’t mind, you know. I think it’s healthy to talk about this stuff.’
‘Why am I not surprised? You literally have no boundaries.’ I can’t stay annoyed with her, however misguided I think her gift is.
‘That might be true, but here’s the thing,’ she says. ‘Have you ever considered that there might be a link between Angus leaving and your difficulties with your writing?’
‘Sorry, what?’
‘I was thinking about it. I’ve never known you struggle with a book the way you are now, so I asked myself what was different.
The main thing is that Angus has gone, obviously, but what effect has that had?
Emotionally, it’s been very hard on you, but I don’t think it’s that.
I think you’re sexually frustrated but don’t realise it. ’
‘How can I be both repressed and frustrated? Oh, and by the way, neither of those things are true.’
‘Whatever. The point is that a bit of self-love might unblock you. Studies have shown that the release of feelgood endorphins during orgasm is good for your blood pressure, your mental health and general wellbeing. So, contrary to what your parents would probably have told you if they could get the words out, masturbation doesn’t make you go blind. It’s actually good for you.’
‘How on earth would you even begin to study something like that?’
‘I have no idea. Maybe there’s a big room full of people all fapping away while they’re connected to monitors.
The point is it’s proper science. So, instead of being all shy and wondering how you’re going to talk to the postwoman, you should be saying thank you.
And, as far as the size goes, people don’t seem to struggle.
I did my research and it’s a good toy if the reviews are anything to go by. ’
‘OK, look. I’ll admit I’m not exactly experienced when it comes to the world of sex toys because Angus got all peculiar the one time I brought it up, but—’
‘Peculiar how?’ Liv interrupts.
‘I think he was worried I’d end up liking the sex toy more than him.’
‘Told you he was insecure.’
‘About that, maybe. Anyway, as I said, I’m not an expert in this field, but I can’t believe people actually review them, do they? Helen B in Ramsgate gives the Xcite 3000 or whatever it is five stars after it got her off in thirty seconds flat?’
‘Incredibly, there are people out there less uptight about sharing their experiences than you seem to be. You can read the reviews yourself if you don’t believe me.
Did you know that the sex toy market globally is worth billions of pounds a year, and it’s estimated that at least 60 per cent of women in the UK own at least one?
That’s just the ones who’ll admit to it, of course, so the real figure is likely to be a lot higher. ’ She grins. ‘Maybe your mum has one.’
‘I really don’t want that mental image, thank you. Anyway, I suspect they’re more of a single person thing, aren’t they?’
‘Also not true. The vast majority of sex toy consumers are in relationships, apparently.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. Where are you getting all these statistics from?’
She smiles. ‘I told you. I did some research.’
‘Of course you did. Anyway, back to Goliath the dildo here.’
‘It’s a vibrator, as I’ve already explained, but I like that you’ve named it. Every sex toy should have a name.’
‘Even if I could, umm, accommodate it, the idea of trying to use it when you’re literally in the room next to me and can probably hear everything is a massive turn-off.’
‘You’re assuming I’ll be listening. Anyway, you have the place to yourself all day most days. Now, do you have any other weird hang-ups you’d like to discuss before I get back to my Crème Pàtissière?’
‘I’m not repressed or frustrated,’ I repeat sulkily.
‘How would you describe it then?’
‘I’d say I have a healthy, normal attitude to sex.’
‘If that’s the case then not getting any would definitely cause some frustration. Think of it this way. If we look at your sex life with Angus as a pastry, it would be a jam doughnut. Unfortunately, the jam doughnut has buggered off so, until you find a new supplier, you have a choice.’
‘Which is?’
‘You could try to style out the doughnut famine, but I think that’s making you miserable, probably in danger of getting some kind of wrist injury and affecting your writing.’
‘Or?’
‘Or you could satisfy your need for sweet treats with the custard doughnuts of Goliath there. Does that make sense?’
The honest answer to her question is no, she’s not making any sense at all with her doughnut analogy, but I can see she might have a point generally.
Goliath is way too intimidating, but perhaps I should do some research of my own and see if there’s something less likely to injure me that I might enjoy.