them. I was getting wrinkles. The odd grey hair or two under my dye job.
I thought of the young girl I’d encountered by the cave a few days ago, so young and smooth with those pert nipples of hers. I lifted my breasts, noticing the fine lines between them. I knew I was attractive, had been told it all my life, just as my mother had. But lately, I’d been less confident of it.
I suddenly got a flash of my mother staring at herself in the mirror with the same disappointed look on her face.
No. I’m nothing like her.
I grabbed a patterned scarf, winding it around my neck to cover the fine lines on my cleavage, then I smeared some red lipstick on and twisted my long dark hair into a bun at the nape of my neck, pulling some locks down to frame the front of my face.
‘Gorgeous,’ Mike said as he walked into the bedroom. He wrapped his arms around me. I resisted a moment, then leaned into him. He loved me, found me attractive. Wasn’t that what mattered?
‘What if we just forget about the party?’ I said. ‘Get Julie and Greg to look after Becky, go on an impulsive weekend away like we used to?’
Mike laughed. ‘What about the cake?’
‘What about it? Julie can come and collect it. We’ll say we’re ill. Food poisoning …’
Mike shook his head, unwinding his arms from my waist and turning around to check his checked shirt in the mirror. ‘You’re being ridiculous. Come on, we’ll be late.’
I felt disappointment roar through me. ‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ I said.
When Mike walked out, I looked at myself in the mirror again, saw the smile drop instantly from my face. For a moment, I was sure I could see the four walls of the room behind me shifting inwards.
‘Trapped,’ I whispered to myself. ‘I feel trapped.’
‘Why are you trapped, Mummy?’
I jumped, putting a hand to my chest as I noticed Becky standing in the hallway, watching me. I walked over to my daughter and pulled her into a hug, burying my nose in her soft sweet hair and drawing comfort from her.
‘No, darling, Mummy’s not trapped. Come on, let’s go to this party.’
Ten minutes later, we were at the village hall, the monkey cake held up at my chest as Becky looked on proudly.
Haley jogged over when she saw us, blowing a wisp of hair from her eyes.
‘Stressed?’ I asked her.
‘Organising a library event for a hundred dignitaries was less stressful than this.’ She looked down at the cake in my hands, her pretty face lighting up. ‘But so what, I have a monkey cake! You are a genius, Selma!’
‘She is, isn’t she?’ Mike said proudly.
‘My mummy’s very clever!’ Becky added, jumping up and down in excitement. So this was how it felt to be the wonderful mother and domestic goddess Mike wanted. Why did it make me feel so empty?
‘Oh Selma, how do you do it?’ I peered up to see Cynthia approach, looking at the cake in awe as she elbowed Donna out of the way. ‘Working, writing … and cake-making! I’m pre-booking you for Elijah’s first birthday.’
So now suddenly I was flavour of the month. What measures these people judged success on!
‘Sorry but I’m never making a cake again,’ I declared, forcing myself to be jolly. ‘I’m still emotionally scarred from this experience.’
‘So’s the kitchen,’ Mike said with a laugh. ‘It looks like a bomb hit it.’
Other mums jogged over, cooing over the cake, but I felt numb. I was hoping I’d enjoy it, the secret deception. But I felt nothing, not even guilt. In fact, as I watched Haley carry the cake over to the large food table, I hoped she’d slip over, and that the cake would tumble through the air before landing face-down on the hard floor, sickly sweet monkey skull caving in, sugar bananas flying everywhere.
Music started blaring from some speakers as a sprightly-looking woman in a ‘Monkey Fun Children’s Entertainment’ T-shirt bounded into the room. Behind her, Julie and Greg walked in. My stomach sank at the sight of Greg. I’d hoped he wouldn’t be there. I wasn’t sure I could take much more of that man.
‘Gather around, children!’ the entertainer cried out as the children rushed over.
I retreated with Mike to the back of the hall as the party games unfolded. Over the next hour, I gulped down warm wine, growing hot in the stifling hall. I went to unwind my scarf but Mike put his hand on my arm. ‘Best keep it on.’
‘But you wanted me to look sexy,’ I whispered, smiling at him, the wine making my head whir.
He glanced at the fine lines between my breasts. ‘It’s a bit low cut.’
I felt my cheeks flush again and caught sight of Donna, who was watching from nearby with her son Tom.
I suddenly felt the urgent need to be the person she thought I was. So I yanked my scarf off.
‘Well, I’m hot so I’m taking it off,’ I said defiantly to Mike. ‘I’m also getting another wine.’
Donna smiled.
By the end of the party, children were running around, hyper from a mixture of E numbers, exhaustion and excitement. Becky’s pink tutu and white top were filthy, her cheeks red from all the fun. The party entertainer started singing an off-key version of ‘Happy Birthday’ and everyone joined in, including Becky, who screamed the lyrics at the top of her lungs as she bobbed up and down. I felt my heart surge as I looked at my daughter. There’s never been anything fake about Becky, especially back then. It was all pure and unadulterated joy. As I watched her, I wished I could be like that.
‘Pub?’ Greg said to Mike as the party wrapped up. ‘Few of us going to The Kingfisher next door.’ I noticed he didn’t look at me this time, even with my low-cut top.
‘Yay, pub!’ Becky said, clapping her hands.
Greg and Julie burst out laughing. ‘It gets Becky’s vote,’ Mike said. ‘That okay?’ he asked me. ‘Just one pint.’
I shrugged. ‘Go on then.’
That one pint turned into many and one hour turned into three as several sets of parents gathered around two pub benches in the setting sun. The pub had a pretty garden surrounded by trees, with benches littered all over. As I sipped my gin, a welcome reprieve from the warm wine, I grew quiet, watching the others chat, enjoying the way the gin made my head swim.
‘Right, listen up everyone,’ Cynthia said dramatically, clapping her hands like a headmistress, the sun dipping into the sea behind her. ‘I’ve started a petition to get rid of that homeless man.’
I looked at her over the top of my sunglasses. ‘Idris, you mean?’
Mike frowned. ‘Is that his name?’
‘That’s
