Day Three my love bunnies! I'm on a couples' trip; celebrating all the machinations that couples have to engineer in order to be alone on the most romantic day of the year. It's good for all of us. Oh and the photo is a Plasticine model of a married couple doing the naughty. It's not my creation. One is not as talented...
Set On You © Billy London
“She’s not going,” my husband announced before I even finished the sentence.
“Babe…” I started, only to be on the receiving end of his bowel loosening stares. Oh dear. I’d already told Philly that she could go on a date with one of Joseph’s friends. The boy was very sweet and they were only going to the pizza place and follow it up with one of those guns, machines and explosion films at the cinema. Joseph would drop them and pick them up at the film’s end.
“What did I just say?”
Rather than seeing the bigger picture, my normally docile as a rabbit husband was focused on a hormonal teenager being within touching distance of his baby girl. It would mean both our children out of the house and we could enjoy one night, just one night in bloody ages – after examinations and tutors and collecting people from sporting activities and driving them to see grandparents who would only have them for a few hours. Selfish geriatrics. I’d picked out, or rather my daughter allowed me to pick out a date appropriate outfit for her. If my husband saw, even he couldn’t disapprove. Maybe. He was far too overprotective. I just wanted rid. And if I needed my plan for Joseph and Philly to be out of the house within the next three years to work, then this was stage one. Valentine’s Day alone. Pitch the good life to the House Master General.
“Babe, listen,” I said, my tone suggestive, “you know Joe won’t let anyone put a hand on his sister. And he’s really good friends with Pete. They’ll look after her.”
My husband dissolved into full Irish rage, his accent so thick I could barely understand him. I caught the words “fucker” and “precious” and “Virgin” and “dies”. But that was about it. I left the room to get myself a glass of water and came back. He was still raving mad. Taking a deep breath I placed my hands on either side of his bearded face and squished. “I told her yes.”
His dark eyes flashed and I nearly bottled it. “You did what?”
“It’s for us.” I soothed. Tried. God he was mental.
“What did I say to you about making decisions about our children without talking to me?” He’d said a lot and he’d been right about it. Poor Joseph, he had been the guinea pig for our parenting, but he’d turned out fine. And would I ever admit that my husband was right? Would I fuck.
“It is just this once. Because Philly’s going with the equivalent of the Queen's Guard.”
He crossed his arms and looked over my shoulder “I’m so angry with you right now.”
Liar. I dotted kisses all over his face until he protested, trying to edge me away with a tattooed arm. “Stop your madness!”
“Oh come on, don’t be a grouch!” I begged. “I want us to have a nice night.”
“A nice…? How are we going to do that if I’m worried about if some little dicked cunt is trying to fiddle with my child?”
My husband pointed at me. “If she gets pregnant, and we survive the Apocalypse I will reign if she does, you’re raising that baby.”
I swivelled around to look for the other person he must be referring to. He couldn’t possibly mean me. I was fully over babies. I was only excited about tonight because I’d had a thorough bikini wax, my back wasn’t giving me any problems and I didn’t feel gassy. “Me? And what will you do?”
“Time for murder, woman, what do you think?”
With another huff he left the room. Hell. Why was he being so irritable? He knew how important it was for us be alone with each other, which had been lacking. I was fed up of quickies and muffling my good time. I wanted to have oysters and caviar and asparagus and be freaking loud! No dirty looks from either of my children, who had – and it was best for their psyche – no idea that my husband could make me black out. Not remember the last half hour, whole body pulsating, have to crawl to the bathroom black out. Mummy wasn’t getting any and mummy was getting irritable. Fucking irritable.
Philly would talk him around. If she wasn’t my daughter, I’d be jealous of how my husband accepted her words of wisdom and doubted mine unless they featured food or my breasts or what was happening in the government. My dinner better be spectacular if I was to get my way. Really. All this effort just to have my husband’s head between my legs for five minutes without being interrupted.
I watched my daughter perched primly in the back seat of Joseph’s KA. I had to give my wife props for selecting her date outfit. Plus it was too cold for her to be wearing anything other than four layers and a coat and scarf. With her wild curls gleaming in the street light, she grinned at me and waved while Joseph sent me a sarcastic salute and drove off into the distance.
Quite frankly if I punched something, I’d have a right to. My baby, the one who still called me Daddy, was out on a date. I’d been so annoyed with my wife I nearly forgot what day it was. Sneaky mare that she was, she’d put a reminder in my phone to make sure I didn’t forget. The gift was half hearted. A voucher for her salon so she could enjoy a day of pampering. Not that she deserved it after this little stunt.
What I really wanted to do was drive to the complex and put little Pete in my cross hairs and take a shot if his hands hovered anywhere near the personage of my baby. With a sigh I headed to the kitchen for a beer. Deep down I knew Philly was sensible and like her mother, had a vicious streak in her if she ever felt threatened. We’d talked a lot about boundaries only for Philly to tell me, “Daddy, he’s in the gospel choir. He knows the bible better than you.”
Church boys were even worse, I thought in disgust. “I just want to make sure…”
“Daddy,” she said, big eyes focused on me with nothing but sympathy. “I remember everything you taught me. Aim for the nearest artery. I’ll be fine.”
She’d hugged me and for a silly moment, I felt emotion clog my throat. I’d blinked and she’d grown up. When she was little, no more than five, she’d gone to nursery and they’d made paper hearts and baked heart shaped biscuits. She’d given one to me as soon as I got home from work, telling me I'd always be her Valentine. I’d happily kill a bloke over my wife. My daughter? I’d raise a fucking city. But my wife and son and said daughter all told me that she was safe and protected and I shouldn’t mop…
Ah. That’s why the wife wanted everyone out. Wearing a nightgown that seemed to be peekaboo all over, with lace cut outs, my wife leaned over the dining table, lighting three candles in the centre of the darkened room. The kitchen looked like a boudoir, with silk scarves scattered over the room, draped over the windows. She caught my stare and smiled. “Now, do you think if your baby was upstairs demanding a can of diet coke and playing The Wanted at full damn volume, we’d be able to do this?”
Sneaky, sly, terribly clever woman. Sometimes when I looked at her, all I saw was the cheeky girl from communion who spent the service turning up the hem of her dress. Other times, I realised that I’d married a nympho. She snuggled up behind me and edged me into a chair. “For your starter, my darling, mango and lobster salad.”
“You never let me eat lobster any more,” I reminded her, her breasts pressing to my shoulder as she leaned over me to drape a napkin on my lap. My body hummed in response to her sweetly scented skin warmly seeping through my shirt.
“And for main, we have veal chop.”
“You don’t let me eat red meat either.” One word from the doctor on cholesterol and she’d lost her damn mind.
“And for dessert,” she whispered, filling my glass with champagne, “you get to eat the sweetest thing that ever gave you two beautiful children.”
Game, set and match. We never had time for dessert these days. She was right. Time alone would be worth it. “For the next two hours, I don’t have children,” I growled. My wife laughingly pressed her mouth to mine.