Julia went back to her cakes, pincering silver balls into the centre of each one. It was hypocritical of her to roll her eyes at Charlie because he was just reflecting back her own insecurities. She wasn’t thrilled at the idea of being in just her swimming costume at the party either, but she didn’t want to be that couple. Hamish and Lexi wouldn’t have any qualms about stripping off; they’d probably get naked given half the chance.
Julia’s phone beeped on the kitchen counter. It was a WhatsApp from her work friend Meryl. She reached over with icing-covered hands to read it.
Meryl: Had any more Hot Hamish fantasies?
Oh God. Julia leant over the counter to see that Charlie was definitely no longer around, her heart racing.
On Thursday night, Julia had gone for after-work drinks to celebrate Meryl’s new job in Hong Kong. A bit pissed on countless glasses of Pinot Grigio Blush in the boiling sunshine, and sad that Meryl was off on a new adventure, Julia had admitted to the fact that, over the last few weeks, she’d been having erotic dreams about Lexi’s husband, Hamish Warrington. Julia had never had erotic dreams before. Even the fact she used the word erotic suggested to her that this was not her normal territory. As she’d told Meryl, dimly aware of her uninhibited insobriety, ‘I’m not an erotic sex-dream person. I have quiet, nice sex. I can’t even believe I’ve said the word sex so many times in this conversation, I’ve never talked about sex this much in my life.’
Meryl, who talked about sex a lot, had guffawed. Congratulated her even for this unexpected candidness. Then insisted on seeing Hamish’s Instagram page which was all pictures of him with his top off; six-foot-two, washboard-stomached, dirty-blond hair, on holiday in the Maldives or sweating through a HIIT workout. Meryl had highly approved and the sex-dream conversation had segued into Meryl disappearing down a Hamish Warrington Instagram wormhole.
Later that night Meryl had WhatsApped Julia with a drunken diagnosis:
I think the problem is that you’re trapped in normality. On paper you have everything but maybe you’re feeling constrained by convention. Your bored brain is seeking excitement, Mx P.S. Never let me drink Blush again
Julia had pondered the notion. When she and Charlie had bought the house on Cedar Lane last year it had all seemed very exciting. Charlie’s granny had died and left him enough money, along with their savings, to make up the deposit. They had attained what had been deemed unattainable, a rung on the housing ladder. Even her parents had been impressed. Julia had splodged each wall with Farrow & Ball tester pots and made a Pinterest board for every room. She had dreams of pale grey Scandinavian kitchen cupboards, high stools and a snazzy hot water tap.
But now, after spending out on a new boiler, a new bathroom because the shower leaked, having the Asbestolux all over the top floor removed, and experiencing the nauseous horror of being told they needed a new roof that they couldn’t afford and paying to patch it up instead, they were at a cash flow standstill. They were having to hold out on further renovations till they could afford them. The Farrow & Ball paint had been immediately downgraded to Homebase own-brand, but even that was sidelined when it was revealed the bedroom wall needed replastering. It meant they were living in depressingly wallpaper-stripped rooms with orange swirly carpet throughout and a half-torn down kitchen with bare plaster walls. They had sucked every last pound of their savings and interest-free credit. Their joint income was now spreadsheeted and accounted for for the next three years, including adjustments for possible interest rate rises and a freeze on bonuses, so that with every eight to ten months came the possibility of decorating a room, bar any further disasters. Charlie had weighted the spreadsheet to include a baby next year but, looking at the figures, possibly the year after would be better financially.
Even thinking about it made Julia feel claustrophobic.
She thought about how when Meryl had announced she was going to Hong Kong for a year’s secondment – essentially to escape from a vile, harrowing break-up – Julia had actually felt a stab of envy at the excitement of it, even the relationship turbulence and anguish that went with it.
It had made her conclude that Meryl’s drunken WhatsApp diagnosis was probably correct.
Now, in the sweltering kitchen, Julia wiped the icing off her hands and typed a message back to Meryl:
Don’t! I’m being plagued by them! I had another Hamish dream last night. We did it in the middle of the day, in the bushes by the children’s playground in the rain! I feel so bad. It’s like my brain is having an affair that my body has to keep quiet. It’s awful.
Lol. Doesn’t sound awful ;-)
Meryl
Julia rolled her eyes at Meryl’s reply. It was awful. Lately, she found herself night after night, lying in bed next to Charlie, feeling like a traitor.
Standing in the kitchen, she was suddenly jolted by a flash of the dream. Hamish all rain-slicked, pressing her tight to him with bulging muscles, eyes all lust and adoration, grinning down at her with his dazzling teeth.
From upstairs Charlie shouted, ‘Have you seen my white polo shirt anywhere?’
Julia’s cheeks immediately flamed with guilt. She fumbled her phone, dropping it onto one of the fairy cakes. ‘Damn.’ She hastily wiped the frosting off. ‘Hang on, Charlie,’ she called, trying to sound normal. ‘I’m just coming up to get changed. I’ll find it for you.’
Chapter Two
Across the road in Lexi’s front garden, the ancient olive tree was festooned with white fairy lights and white concertina lanterns. Faux tealights in white paper bags lined the garden path. And white bunting hung from window to window. They even had a light projector that made snowflakes dance over the front of the house.
The heat blazed down on Julia’s Tupperware full of cakes, the white clouds a laughable barrier to the ferocity of the midday sun. Charlie was frowning at a battered yellow VW camper van parked in the space outside Lexi’s house. On the windscreen was a sign that read: PLEASE DON’T PARK THIS VAN OUTSIDE OUR HOUSE!
‘Did Lexi write that?’ he asked, even though it was obvious she had.
Just the week before, Lexi had WhatsApped the Cedar Lane Group the message:
Sorry to do this, guys, but re parking. I know the space outside MY house is not technically mine but I think we should RESPECT people’s right to park in front of their OWN houses. In my last street we did this as an unwritten rule and it worked REALLY well!! Lexi xxxx
Charlie shook his head. ‘She can’t stick things on people’s vans. She doesn’t own the street.’
Normally Julia would agree, but she knew the effort Lexi had gone to for this party and she could forgive her for wanting it all to be perfect. As Julia’s father would say, woe betide anyone who got in her way.
They walked up the path together, Julia wowed by the effort of the decorations, Charlie still shaking his head, incredulous about the van sticker.
Charlie had changed his top to the polo shirt and only after a massive row had conceded to wear his green shorts that doubled as swimming trunks, but still flatly refused to get in the tub. Julia had her new bikini on under a new white dress with a floaty skirt – both of which she’d bought in H&M but they were exact copies of more expensive ones she couldn’t afford – and a new pair of white Superga plimsolls that she had stumbled upon in TK Maxx and almost wept for joy. She had tried to thread a white ribbon into her hair like she’d seen on Pinterest but she’d run out of time to do it properly and in the time she had it looked a shambles. As a result of being overworked, her hair had gone annoyingly flat.