Let’s Talk About Sex Baby

Leave a comment Standard
Let's talk about sex baby vanessa wilde

“Have you phoned your parents yet? We need childcare,” I say surfing babysitting websites in bed, still unable to drag my sorry hung-over carcass out of it. My head is throbbing and my breasts feel like they’ve done work experience at Yeo Valley.

I look at Si. He still can’t quite look me in the eye, having found me spooning with Doctor Nick in the small hours, after returning with Sienna from A&E.

“You never do that with me,” says Simon sitting on the bed, Vita in his arms.

Me: “Do what?”

Si: “Cuddle up like you did with Doctor Nick. You don’t.  I try to spoon you and all I get is thanks, now f*ck off and goodnight.”

I laugh.

Si: “It’s not funny. I’ve done my best to be sensitive to your needs but you’ve shut up shop and I need sex. We need sex.”

“That’s why we are going on a two and half thousand pound holiday to Italy – doh – to have SEX.”  Sienna walks in and looks quizzically at us both. We hold our breath waiting for her to say the s-word. She doesn’t. Instead she climbs into bed with me for a cuddle.

Simon is pole-axed. “Two and a half grand? TWO AND A HALF GRAND?! We don’t have any money!”

I cuddle Sienna a little too tightly. “Ow!”

Me: “Lower your voice, Si.”

Si: “Lower your expectations.”

Me: “That’s why I married you.”

Si: “Cheap.”

Me: “Unlike the holiday which is about us being together and reconnecting.”

Si: “I get that but why does it have to be so expensive.”

Me: “Because I think we’re worth it but we’re not going anywhere unless we can find someone to look after the girls.”

Sienna: “Mummy, my arm really hurts.”

Me: “My poor little poppet.  What else is Daddy going to do? You put athlete’s foot cream on her fandango, take their toys to a war zone, lock us out of the house, don’t put her bed rail up so she falls out and now you begrudge us our first holiday in nearly three years.” I say, tears welling up as I move myself with my own heartfelt words.

“Naughty Daddy!” Shouts Sienna and Vita trumps on his hand.

“Jesus! Of course, Mummy’s perfect even though she went binge drinking with her friends and was found cuddling the bloody neighbour!”

I try to stifle a snort. Si and I look at each other, our eyes twinkling. We burst into laughter. “Bring on Italy,” he says clambering onto the bed to kiss me. “You’re right – sod it. How many days?”

Me: “Five.”

Si: “What for two and a half grand?”

Me: “Let it go.”

Si: “Where are we staying – a palace?”

Me: “Yes. Call your parents. We need childcare,” I say handing him the phone.

Si: “Okay, okay. But what about your Mum?”

I shake my head. He sighs and dials his parents’ number. It rings out so he leaves a message.  “I’m not holding my breath,” he says.

“And I’m not taking the girls to Positano,” I say.

Si: “Well, you’re going to have to work on my Dad.”

I groan, putting a pillow over my head.  Sienna jumps on top of it.  I will do anything to get to Italy. Anything! Even sweet-talk Simon’s father who Si would describe as a straight-talking, paternal Jock (Scot). I, however, would suggest tricky and reminiscent of the Dickensian patriarch Mr M’Choakumchild in Hard Times is more accurate.

Habitually I am able to charm the elderly into submission (having dated a few Saga-louts in my twenties, including Humphery Hurtwood, a naughty equestrian with hands the size of dinner plates), with a little saucy humour and the heave of my ample bosom it’s been enough to make any sanguine crusty crack a smile, but not Edwin Kettle. He has a steadfast immunity to my wiles and is deeply suspicious of anyone who hasn’t put their hand up a cow’s backside. And I’ve done a lot of things in my time but that particular pleasure has eluded me.

“Right, I’ve left a message; your turn. Try your Ma again.”

I call Granny and Roge who been angry since the Salisbury incident (not Nobuchok, the other crisis involving soft toys on The Plains). In fact, it’s more that I left them alone to cope with the children in order to go drinking with my wayward older sister, which they find unforgivable.

“Hello Granny,” I say upbeat.

“Hello,” she says coolly.

I tell her about Sienna’s green-stick fracture to her wrist and Granny defrosts in seconds, wanting to know how her little sunbeam is.  I tell her I was out with some girlfriends at the time.

She groans. “Did you drink too much?”

Me: “Yes.”

Granny; “You’ve got to stop this, you’re nearly 40.”

“I’m 34! Si was looking after them and forgot to put up her bedrail.” I say, throwing him under the bus.

Granny: “Typical.”

Me: “I know, he does one night and she ends up in A & E.”

Granny: “Men!”

Si rolls his eyes and leaves the room. I imagine he’s sneaked off for an hour visit to the loo with the newspapers but miraculously he returns having folded the washing.

“We’re not all bad, Granny,” he says loudly.

I tell her he’s folded the laundry.  She says I don’t know I’m born, Roge hasn’t lifted a finger for the past 49 years, which I know isn’t true but it makes me laugh.  Si is laughing that now Roge is getting it in the neck instead of him.  I am glad to be back on good terms with Granny, we clash from time to time but it’s never for very long because we love each other dearly.

I’m just about to ask about next week when she reads my mind, “Listen, your father and I have spoken and now we’re feeling a bit stronger – we think we can manage the little ones.”

And instead of saying thank you, I say. “I think it might be a bit much so why don’t you just have Sienna and I’ll ask Edwin and Penny if they’ll have Vita in Parracombe (the farm in Devon).”

Granny likes the sound of this plan very much. “Because Sienna doesn’t wake up as early as Vita, does she?”

Me: “No, not ’til 7.30.”

Granny: “That’s still very early but Roge can do the morning shift until I’m ready at 10.” (Granny doesn’t do mornings).

We organise the drops off plan and I hang up. “One down. One to go.”

Si: “You lied and are going to hell.”

Me: “If I told her Sienna gets up at 5 she wouldn’t do it.”

My phone pings; it’s Mandy WhatsApping me: “I just drank your f***ing b milk in my coffee!!!!! I didn’t put it on Buck’s cornflakes cos I realised it was gross but he used it in my coffee (he takes his black). Just made myself sick. Hate you – all your fault. [PUKE FACE]

***

Some hours later, Simon’s father calls.  Si spends 15 minutes buttering him up and I am supposed to close the deal.  “Well, I’m glad the bull’s performing well, Dad.”

Edwin: “Yes.”

Si: “Wish this one was.”

Edwin: “What?”

Si: “Just handing you over to Nessa.”

I take the phone and he says: “Now let’s not beat around the bush I know why you’re calling. Penelope and I will have the children on one condition.”

Me: “Okay…”

Edwin: “I’m after some publicity for my new Limousin genomics programme so I’m laying down a Country Matters challenge for you.”

Me: “Right…”

Edwin: “I want you to collect semen from Shakin’ Stevens and I have a feeling you’ll be very good at it.” Bizarrely Edwin names all his bulls after 80s pop stars. I accept his challenge and hang up.

W*nking off Shakin’ Stevens – talk about taking one for the team.

***

 Si is still chuckling about Shakin’ Stevens at bedtime when we fall into our love nest, me, dog tired from my hangover, Simon, dead, from looking after the kids for a whole 24 hour period. Weak.

We cuddle up and start to kiss. My phone pings and we break apart. It’s Mandy on What’sApp. Si sighs. “Parking Nazi is back on Facebook.” And the sad truth is, instead of having sex I swipe to the page and read out the latest missive from Queen Fiona, more excited by Miss Julie calling The General a ‘pr*ck’ and ‘giving him the middle finger’ than the prospect of sex with my husband. Poor Simon.

Still, we’ll always have Italy….

Advertisements

Lock and Key

Leave a comment Standard
Key Husband Taken Key Vanessa Wilde

Sienna gently shakes me awake, before shining my iPhone torch into both retinas. Argh!  I grab the phone. It’s 5.48am.  “Go back to bed,” I say but she is wide awake. “It’s morning,” she replies. I swipe to the Cebeebies App, select ‘Hey Duggee’ and give her the phone to take back to bed. My head is pounding, my mouth furry and I just want to go home, to get back to normality and forget about the last few days. I look at Simon, he is staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. He is not going to let any of this go easily.

Si: “Vita’s been up all night while you were snoring your head off.”

Me: “Sorry. I’ll feed her.”

Si: “Is it safe?”

Me: “I didn’t smoke anything.” Then I remember all the Marlboro Reds. Oh, God. Still, they are legal.

Si: “You’re still over the limit,” he grunts.

***

In the small kitchenette of the Granny annexe, built over Roge’s workshop for my mother’s mother, I defrost a pouch of expressed breast milk in the ancient microwave my Granny once used.  I pour the milk into a MAM bottle and stir it with an 80s Royal wedding teaspoon. Apparently, Vita’s refusing to take the bottle again and hasn’t been eating much at all. I open the door to check on her, she is awake so I try to feed her from the bottle. She punches it away and nuzzles into my boobs. Oh god, I’m back where I started. I take a breath, cuddle her and mercifully she starts to drink from the bottle. She is hungry and gulps down the contents.

Si is cleaning his teeth with Sienna when I suggest we all head back to London and enjoy the weekend together there. “We can potter in the garden or go to Kew…”

Si: “Can’t, Army 100k cycle today.”

Me: “Not again.”

Si: “It’s been in the iCal for ages.”

Me: “But…”

Si: “This isn’t about cycling, it’s about repairing my career. I need to show my face at everything, do everything right from now on, not get pulled out of work by your parents because you’ve gone AWOL and left them with the kids. General Smith is gunning for me.”

Me: “Can we come and watch? The cycling, not the gunning, I mean.”

Si: “Not exactly a spectators sport,” he says curtly.

Me: “I think we’ll head back to London then.”

Si: “You need to apologise to your parents first.” I nod.

***

Si heads off and I get the children their breakfast. When they are both happily munching I call Granny. “Hello,” she says in a strained voice.

Me: “Can we come for coffee?”

Granny: “We are not receiving before 10 o’clock.”

“Oh, right. Okay,” I say, knowing I am firmly in the pooh.

So I decide to take the girls out on a country ramble instead, the sunshine will do us all good. I put Vita in a sling, help Sienna into her red wellies and open the door. Except it’s locked. I yank the handle down again.  I then start looking for the key, but it’s nowhere to be found and in my heart, I already know what the problem is. Simon’s locked us in.

I call him but he doesn’t answer, so I call Granny back, knowing I will get both barrels.

Granny: “What now?” She says out of breath. “I keep putting a foot in the bath and then the phone rings.”

Me: “I’m locked in the flat, Si’s taken the key.”

Granny: “What’s wrong with you all?”

***

Roge opens the door with his key. He looks cross.

Roge: “You’ve broken me and your mother. You said the day.” He looks at me. “Eyes like piss holes in the snow. Why do you do it to yourself?” He gives me a hug.

Me: “I don’t know. Don’t worry we’re going back to London.”

Roge: “How? Your car’s in Cheltenham.”

Oh, bugger. I’d forgotten about that bit. And Granny’s not taking me back to the car until after lunch, because she’s brought in all our favourites and we are going to have to eat it, all of it.

Granny: “I can cope with the girls when you’re here but not on our own.” She says tossing a salad. The girls munch happily on olives and breadsticks, enjoying eating outside in their grandparents’ beautiful garden. Vita has thankfully found her appetite.

Granny: “We were so worried, she didn’t eat anything and wouldn’t stop crying and screaming and grandpa was brilliant because you know I can’t deal with crying babies but it almost pushed him over the edge.”

Me: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but Granny….”

“I haven’t finished. We love our grandchildren with every fibre of our being but yesterday was a nightmare and you’re not doing that to us again. So we have decided – and I’m sorry daring – we are not having them when you go to Italy. We just can’t. You’ll have to see if Si’s parents will have them in Devon – they’re much younger than us.”

Me: “The same age.”

Granny: “Vanessa I don’t think you realise how ill I am. I look okay on the outside but inside I’m 92. Would you like to see the amount of tablets I’m on?”

Me: “Dad said you could cope.”

Granny: “He says a lot of things.”

Roge: “I said for the day, not the whole night.”

Me: “But Simon came back in the afternoon.”

Granny: “None of us could cope.”

Me: “Well if three of you couldn’t, how do you think I do?”

Granny: “We are in our 70s and they’re YOUR children.”

Me: “I needed a day to myself.”

Granny: “Going to smoke wacky backy with your sister is not the answer.”

Me: “I didn’t.”

Granny: “But she’s still on it?”

Sienna: “On what Granny?”

Granny: “Eat your ham.”

Me: “She seems in a much better space.”

Granny: “Still with that appalling man, Brian the gorilla?”

Me: “Dog. They seem pretty close.”

Granny: “Until he goes back to his other wife and children.”

Me: “She’s touring with the West Country circus this summer I think we should go.”

Granny and Roge exchange uncomfortable glances.

***

We drive en-masse to pick up my stranded Volvo, me in the back again like a child between my own children. It shouldn’t feel humiliating but it does.

Granny: “Let’s see if there are any wheels on it.”

Me: “It’s Cheltenham.”

Granny: “The wrong side.”

The car is, of course, intact and mercifully Steph and Brian are out.  Roge and Granny look disappointed; they haven’t seen Steph in over six months.

***

My car is finally packed with children, the beloved cuddly toys: Bunny, Tiggy, Taggy and all the other accoutrements. As I motor down the M4 back to London, I start to feel better, which is strange considering I’ve never wanted to live in a city, now I am leaving this recent blip behind me, I feel I can start anew.  I will be better at this marriage and motherhood stuff. No more ball dropping.

I park up in our drive and wave at Mandy & Buck sitting on their picnic bench watching the children play in our close.  And that’s when I realise I don’t have a front door key.

I turn my handbag upside down, the nappy bag and its contents are emptied over the lawn, just as Fiona returns from running her tits off again. She scowls at me and disappears into her house.

SIMON HAS TAKEN THE KEY.

This is too much. First the toys, then locking me in, now this. No wonder I went on a fricking bender. He’s driving me to it.

I call him and this time he answers. “Si you locked me in the Granny flat this morning and now you’ve taken the effing house key!”

“What?” he says out of breath. “Cycling. Big hill.”

Me: “House key!”

Si: “Oh.” He says. “Spare?”

Me: “Course we don’t have a spare, that would mean we were organised! (pause) Now we’re even.” I hang up before he can reply and saunter over to Mandy and Buck.

Me: “Hi guys. Enjoying the sunshine?”

They nod.

“Listen, I’ve got a slight problem….”