Jemma Forte - If You're Not The One

Having finally finished tidying downstairs, even going so far as to squirt a bit of polish on the coffee table so at least the room smelled clean, she started on the children’s bedrooms. By the time she’d got to her and Max’s room though she’d lost the will, and was suddenly overwhelmed by the prospect of still having to produce a meal for four adults, three children and a baby. So, after she’d stuffed everything that was on the floor into the laundry basket, she stopped for a second and sunk onto the bed, taking advantage of the unusual silence. For a few minutes she reflected on how easily she’d given up on her mission to seduce Max. As she did, the disappointment from the previous evening washed over her once more, and she found herself wondering idly when and indeed if she should try donning her new underwear again. After all, Max wasn’t psychic, so to be fair to him how could he have known what she’d had in mind? If she’d been really serious about having her wicked way with him she probably should have gone downstairs and shown him what she was wearing because if he’d had the visual stimulation she suspected he definitely would have gone for it. So why hadn’t she done that?

She sighed. Marriage. It was such bloody hard work sometimes. Make an effort was all anybody said and it was an effort. That was the problem. She missed the days when being with each other wasn’t any effort at all. The days when not being together were the ones which felt like the effort.

Jennifer willed herself to get up and continue her attack on the house but it wasn’t happening, mainly because her thoughts had turned to a subject which had been occupying her mind a lot lately. Sex. Or rather, her lack of it. As soon as she allowed the thought in, she felt a lurch of possibility in her nether regions.

The next thing she knew, despite the fact the potatoes desperately needed peeling if lunch had any hope at all of being served for one o’clock, her hand had slid into her knickers. Right, she needed to be quick so who should she think about? Aware that time wasn’t on her side she turned to an old favourite, if you like, a golden oldie, though part of her detested the fact she was still dining out on sex she’d had nearly twenty years ago. However, when it came to fantasy, Aidan was still guaranteed to get her going. And fast.

Once again Jennifer returned to a hot, airless room, which had a bed with a squeaky mattress and a ceiling fan, and replayed the best sex she’d ever had in her entire life. Images of brown limbs entwined and his strong hard body pressing into hers, manoeuvring her into positions she hadn’t even known existed, swam into her head. An enjoyable three minutes later, and her very old flame was just on the brink of giving her an almighty orgasm when she became dimly aware of the key turning in the door downstairs. She couldn’t believe it…

‘We’re back,’ called Max up the stairs.

‘Muuuuummy,’ two little voices yelled in unison, feet charging up the stairs.

‘Shit,’ gasped Jennifer, withdrawing her hand, and springing into an upright position, feeling utterly frustrated. Thirty seconds more and she’d definitely have been there. ‘Hello-ooo,’ she called back, slightly screechily. ‘Have you had a lovely lovely time, kids?’

As she leapt up from the bed she experienced a bit of a head rush. Quickly she patted her hair down and did her jeans up, legs feeling slightly wobbly.

The children barrelled in. ‘Mummy.’

‘Hello my little loves, how are you?’ she warbled ‘I’ve missed you. Were you good for Grandma?’

‘Yes,’ said Eadie.

‘What about you, Pol?’

‘Yes,’ her youngest agreed, though she seemed more interested in trying to get her T-shirt off.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I need a wee.’

‘OK, well you don’t need to take your top off to have a wee do you? Come here.’

Just then Max called up the stairs. ‘Jen, what the hell have you been doing? You haven’t peeled the bloody potatoes. They’re going to be here soon and nothing’s ready. You haven’t even laid the table.’

Jennifer rolled her eyes so vigorously they actually hurt a little bit. ‘Well…feel free to go for it.’

‘All right, there’s no need to be sarcastic about it, it’s just you said you’d get things under control while I got the girls and nothing’s done.’

‘All right,’ said Jennifer testily, stomping onto the landing and into the bathroom so she could plonk Polly on the toilet before heading downstairs.

She found Max in the kitchen, peeling potatoes angrily. Whole chunks were coming out.

‘I’ll do that,’ she said, trying to grab the peeler off him.

‘No, it’s fine, I’m doing it.’

‘What are you so grumpy about anyway? Is it that much of a big deal that little wifey hasn’t done everything by the time you’ve got back?’

‘Little wifey hasn’t done anything, let alone everything,’ muttered Max.

‘Oh rubbish,’ disagreed Jennifer. ‘The house was a complete state if you must know, and besides, I’m getting a bit sick of having people over every single weekend when we don’t even enjoy it.’

‘Yes we do,’ said Max, shooting her a look of real disdain.

‘No we don’t,’ she replied petulantly, simultaneously acknowledging that now they were sounding like their children.

‘We do,’ said Max, oblivious.

‘Oh yeah, we’re having a great time preparing for the arrival of smug-arse, “high powered” Judith and dullard Henry. And it goes without saying I can’t wait to spend the rest of the day washing up after them while you bum lick her,’ huffed Jennifer.

Max wrinkled up his nose at her choice of words, which actually made Jennifer giggle for a second and broke the tension a little.

‘Muuuuuuuuuuuum,’ yelled Polly from upstairs. ‘I’ve got wee wee on my sock.’

‘Yours,’ said Max.

Jennifer tutted before turning on her heel, faintly wondering if she’d get away with quickly locking herself in the spare room, so she could finish what she’d started earlier. Hmm…probably not.

Half an hour later the doorbell rang meaning the people she couldn’t be bothered to see, let alone entertain, had arrived.

Taking a deep breath and summoning up a smile she opened the door.

‘Hello everybody, come in, come in,’ said Jennifer, ushering them all into the house and down the hallway. ‘It’s so lovely to see you all. Oh my look at James, hasn’t he grown and doesn’t he look so like you, Henry?’

‘He’s a chip off the old block all right,’ agreed Judith, immaculate as ever in tasteful navy, which she’d offset with funky ‘weekend’ jewellery and ballet pumps. ‘No questioning who his dad is.’

Jennifer agreed totally, because actually James really did look exactly like Henry, only given that he was only ten years old, looking like a gone-to-seed, middle-aged man wasn’t necessarily a good thing. ‘So how was your journey?’ Jennifer enquired brightly, snapping out of her reverie before anyone noticed her staring.

‘Fine,’ said Judith, kissing her on both cheeks and handing her a bottle of wine. ‘Sorry we’re a bit late. Work’s been sooooo manic this week I simply had to have a bit of a chill out this morning. I bet Max did too, we’ve literally been working like Trojans this week.’

‘I can imagine,’ said Jennifer, quite wanting to punch her.

An hour and a half later than planned, lunch was finally on the verge of being served up.

The children were all starving despite having been fed various ‘just to keep you going’ snacks and were getting fractious. Judith and Henry had polished off two entire bags of Kettle Chips and had already had an argument about who was driving home. Oscar, their eighteen-month-old baby, was having a sleep upstairs and they were well into a third bottle of wine. Meanwhile, Max was sucking up to Judith so much it was making Jennifer’s skin crawl. She herself was worryingly pissed given that she still had to get lunch on the table.