Probably the Best Kiss in the World
“There is nothing wrong with my sex life, thank you Lydia,” Jen growled, getting het up now. “I’ve stayed at Robert’s most Wednesday and Sunday nights since you were eighteen, so you can back right off there.” Just because Lydia was busier with her body, it didn’t lessen what she and Robert had.
“Let me ask you this then, Jen. Where is he now?” Lydia’s expression was rather smug. Jen felt she was walking into some trap.
“He went home, Lydia.” There was no mystery there. He’d said I’ll be off then; early one tomorrow. Goodnight ladies. And then he’d kissed her and whispered Sleep well Nearly-Mrs Thwaites.
“Precisely!” Lydia was triumphant, but Jen was mystified. “He got engaged tonight, Jen. To you. Why aren’t you upstairs ravishing each other, swinging off the rafters in celebration?”
“He has an early start tomorrow!” Jen’s voice had raised now in exasperation. Lydia clearly had little concept of professional behaviour. And besides, on date nights they always stayed at his out of consideration to Lydia and the fact that Jen’s bed had been her parents’ bed.
“He shouldn’t care!” Lydia shouted right back. There was a sudden banging on the wall from the adjacent house. Considering how deaf the oldies next door insisted they were, they had no problem complaining when the sisters’ bickering interrupted their telly viewing. “I’m not talking about your shared values and mutual respect, Jen, I’m talking about the fact he shouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you. There’s no spark between you, Jen.”
Jen didn’t know what to say to that, not without over-sharing; her and Robert’s nights together could be frisky enough. They had a selection of positions. She tried to curb the conversation.
“You’re wrong about that. We are compatible outdoors and in. We aren’t boring. You make it sound like the two are one-in-the-same and they’re not. The whole ‘sparks’ thing is a nonsense, like relationships are somehow lesser if people aren’t pawing all over each other in public. Ever considered that sparks and fire are generally – actually universally – considered dangerous?” There, thought Jen, bet she hadn’t thought of that.
Lydia shook her head.
“You’re right Jen, compatible doesn’t need to mean boring, but you’re wrong about relationships not needing sparks. Something has to ignite it. And here’s the thing you’ve lost sight of; not all fires are bad. Fire’s been used for some pretty good stuff through the ages. Warmth for a start. I don’t see a lot of that with you and Robert.” Lydia was shaking her head now, sad. “You used to be fun, Jen. I get why you lost it, but I thought if you met the right person you’d get it back. Robert doesn’t do that for you.”
Enough! Jen’s temper was piqued. She was not being pitied by her little sister. She’d just been proposed to. She was supposed to be revelling blissfully in it like a pig in poo, but here was Lydia peeing all over it, instead. Suddenly Jen worked out why.
“This is about you, isn’t it? You think you’ll be left all alone.”
“What?” Jen was sure she was right, but had to admit Lydia was good at looking shocked at the suggestion. It didn’t stop her though.
“You might think I’m not fun, but this is what growing up looks like, Lydia. You’ll see that over the next few years. There’s work and responsibilities and all the frivolous stuff falls away and that’s natural. And all the silly dreams we have need to be shelved in the cool light of day. That’s reality. Life moves on. It’s called being an adult.” She knew it would wind Lydia up, but it was true, so she ignored the way her sister’s eyes suddenly hardened and her face grew puce. “Mum and Dad knew Robert and they liked him. Dad said he was a ‘decent guy’, Lydia, and that speaks volumes in my opinion. Robert is an open book; no hidden shockers there and that does it for me. That is the spark for me, if you really need one. And the rest of the family isn’t totally mad, they are just effusive,” Lydia had taken a pop at the sisters, hadn’t she? Jen was sure she had. “Me marrying into it won’t cut you out. You’ll be part of it. Robert knows that.” Jen took a softer tone, understanding this must be a big deal and a shock for Lydia. “My home will always be your home, Lyds. I’m not leaving you alone.”
Lydia’s jaw flapped up and down a couple of times, but she couldn’t verbalise her feelings. Instead she gripped her crutches back in place and stormed out of the lounge door. Jen had never heard her negotiate the stairs so fast, but the slamming of the bedroom door on the other hand was an all too familiar sound. Lydia hadn’t believed her. She’d have to spend some more time convincing her, but for now she knew it was best to let her calm the hell down.
Flopping exhausted back on the sofa, Jen dug out her phone from her dress pocket and started to browse Appstore for a useful tool. A wedding was going to need its own app. She found one she thought best suited to her needs, ChAPPel, and installed it. She loved watching the little dial completing as another tool was uploaded onto the device that kept her life organised and controllable. Each was a little cog of orderliness slotting into place in her life, shoring up her defences.
Opening it, she found herself staring at the screen in front of her. Normally her fingers would race across the keys to spill all her ideas for a project immediately. Jen definitely considered herself an ideas person. That she got them actioned was purely down to her being conscientious and no one else being around to do the jobs. But right now, she couldn’t think of anything she wanted to list.
The low TV buzz from next door went silent. It was late and she’d been up early. Of course she couldn’t think of anything to list, she was knackered. She closed the app. She could look at this in the morning. Who knew what gems of inspiration would come to her in her sleep? That happened all the time. Several of Well, Honestly!’s marketing campaigns had evolved during the night. They were always the best ones.
Jen locked up and scaled the stairs. Lydia’s door was firmly shut. She hesitated for a moment, but turned for her own bedroom, the room her parents had slept in. It had taken her ages to move in there. Sleeping in a bunk again after her uni room hadn’t been ideal, but she’d wanted to be around Lydia, for when the phantom limb pains came during the night. But now, lying spread-eagled across the double bed, Jen considered the space between them a blessing. She gazed at the ceiling, as her parents must once have done, and reminded herself they too must have found parenting and adulting hard at times. Lydia might not always like her decisions, but then Jen probably hadn’t always liked theirs either when she’d been growing up. And she’d turned out all right, hadn’t she?
Pulling her mother’s green patchwork quilt to her chin, she reassured herself Lydia would come round eventually. But perhaps her argument with Lydia had been a good thing on another level. It had focused her thoughts. Life did move on, people did grow up, they adapted their dreams. The more she thought about it, looked at things in the context of their life, of Lydia’s care and her own future, Robert’s proposal was a gift. Being his wife and making a home for them all would fill her time she was sure, because she’d give it everything. So of course, something had to give – that was the way change worked. And the beer she made, which as Robert said, was a hobby, would fall by the wayside. But that was okay, Jen told herself as her eyes lolled shut; not everything in life was forever. She’d experienced enough to know that. She could adapt and adjust. Surely her happiness didn’t depend on beer …?
Plucky amputee Lydia Attison (22), raised £2,000 for children’s prosthetics last Sunday morning, when throwing herself out of a plane. Poor Lydia lost both her parents and her left leg at the age of 14, in a horrific crash on Westhampton High Street when a run-away lorry smashed into them. Now, back on her feet and raring to go, Lydia was on the first plane up and first to jump out. Camera-shy Lydia said it had been “a rush”. Her skydiving instructor, Glen Harris (26), to whom she was strapped for the tandem jump, was happy to tell the Echo, “She’s a natural; fearless and a fast learner. I’m hoping we can hook up for another jump sometime,” he said, giving her a cheeky wink.
-Neil Finch, Staff Reporter, Westhampton Echo, Page 6
Chapter 4
“OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!! Sister!”
Jen wanted to crawl under the desk and disappear as Ava scuttled across the office in her skinny jeans and wedges.
“Robert’s told you then?” Jen asked, turning around in her office chair to face her future sister-in-law, who might have been grinning from ear to ear, had Botox allowed. Oh good grief, she’d also had one side of her head done in cornrows.
“Darling, we knew,” Ava said with a giggle. “Mumsie rang Sunday morning to say he’d asked for the ring. Took her a while to find the thing. It was hidden in the depths of her knicker drawer. Anyhoo, we’re all delighted.” Ava pulled Jen up from her seat and crammed her into a hug. Over Ava’s shoulder, she saw Aiden the intern watching them with a rather heated expression. Jesus God, it was just two women hugging, not lesbian office porn. She had her reservations about Rupert’s eighteen-year-old godson, which was why she generally set him tasks that kept him away from her. Today she’d given him a stack of the local newspapers she’d been ignoring, to scrapbook the ads Well, Honestly! had placed in recent months.
“How was the festival?” Jen asked, wanting to move the conversation, and Ava, off her. She still hadn’t quite got her head around her newly-fiancéed status. Monday had flown by as she’d been immersed in Ava’s mountainous workload. Robert had sent a goodnight text, but that was it and not out of the ordinary. All in all, Jen wasn’t experiencing much difference, with the exception of Lydia giving her the cold shoulder, but they’d been through that enough times. So really, Jen suspected her initial panic and Lydia’s concern was a gross overreaction.
“Glasto was fabulous. Aiden darling, two teas pronto per favore.” Ava sat on the edge of Jen’s desk, but didn’t give her ex-workload a glance. Jen had most of it sorted and piled neatly for filing. “The bands were amaaazing as always, and the kids just loved it. It’s so good to see how they thrive when we sleep under canvas and get back to nature.” Jen wasn’t sure glampy yurts counted as camping. Nor did she think hot showers, porter services and spa facilities constituted getting back to nature.
A thought suddenly hit Ava and Jen worried she was having a seizure, but no. “Oh. My. God. I nearly forgot. Something mind-blowing happened at the festival. I was coming out of a laughter workshop in the Healing field and there was this woman making these things. Actually making them with her own hands. They’re the next Best Thing. For the company I mean. I’m soooo excited.”
“Really?” Whatever it was, it had to be astounding, as Ava was flapping her hands like little birds’ wings.
“Yah, totally. I FaceTimed Zara immedo. She sends her love and congratulations by the way. Says not to bother with the Seychelles for your honeymoon, the hotels still let children in. Which made me laugh as Zaz adores having my babies over. Isn’t that funny? Must be other people’s children she despises. Anyhoo, the thing.”
“The thing,” Jen encouraged. She wanted to know what it was that had Ava so excited, but also she wanted her off her desk as she had tonnes to do. There was an advertorial deadline for Saga magazine to hit and she wanted to get a call in to the National Trust for a flyer in their next mailing.
“So, you know Zaz and I have been talking about expanding the company? Growing the range?”
Jen bit her tongue. She was the one always pointing out the entire business plan was based on one product type. Pads and pants counted as one. It seemed like an all-eggs-in-one-basket approach to business. And okay, on a purely selfish note, more products would give her options when it came to telling people what she did for a living. People always asked what specifically she marketed.
“Well obviously, given our niche strategy and our dedication to the ethical values of the products, it’s been a bit tricky, but this thing just nails it. And once I’d spoken to Zaz, who was totes on board, like ‘duh, no brainer,’ I marched right back to the Healing field and signed the woman up as a supplier on the spot. I had to send Rupes off to all the cash machines with all our cards to get a decent wad for exclusivity too. I don’t mind her selling them at festivals once she’s fulfilled our orders, but there’s no way I’m having any of our competitors getting hold of them.”
Bloody hell. If she’d managed to get Rupert to haul his bum from the yurt and his mates then Ava must have been on a mission. Plus this almost deranged excitement Jen was witnessing was the tail-end of the hurricane. Aiden appeared with the teas, dodging Ava’s flinging arms.
“Well come on then, what is it?” Jen prompted. Hating surprises as she did, the build-up was not fully appreciated, but she had to admit she was intrigued as to what this thing was that had blown Ava’s already blown mind, and Jen was about to be landed with.
Ava looked behind them, lest anyone should be eavesdropping. The office had only the one door and any spies would have been noticed. She then swept a look between Jen and Aiden who was still hovering.
“Crocheted tampons,” she whispered dramatically.
The ensuing silence was deafening; exactly the affect Ava had been wanting as she nodded them through it. “Precisely,” she said, acknowledging their stunned state. “That’s what I thought.” She closed her eyes and shook her head at the momentous memory. “One hundred per cent organic cotton, filled with bamboo, hand-made and machine washable. Available in non-bleached ecru for the die-hards, but otherwise in pristine white. We’ll have to research how the bleaches are disposed of. But they tick all the boxes; organic, a national product and what’s more they’re even artisan. She doesn’t make her children help her either. I checked.” Ava’s beaming face could have kept ships from rocks.
Jen had no idea what to say. Crocheted tampons. Her brain didn’t know where to start. She opened her mouth a couple of times but had to keep shutting it as the right words, office-appropriate words, wouldn’t form.
“I know, right?” Ava was still nodding. “Rupes said I was a business wizard, a Biz Wiz, and Zara opened a bottle of Bolly right there on screen.”
“Do you think there’s a big market, Ava?” Jen managed tentatively.
“Well not yet, silly, nobody knows about them, unless they’ve been hoiking around Glasto, but once you start getting the word out there Jen, you betcha. All those women who use the mooncups but find it uncomfy having a rubber thingy up their ninny? They’ll love it and they’ll still avoid the years of expense, waste and eco-destruction of disposable tampons. All they need is a small stock, a waterproof pouch with two compartments – you know, one in one out – and they’re good to go until the menopause. Like I said, Jen, No Brainer.”
Jen wanted to call Lydia and howl. She’d feel better hearing Lydia mercilessly take the piss. But Lydia still wasn’t talking to her. This though, this might just be the thing to thaw Lydia out. This would tickle her no end. She already thought Ava and Zara were bonkers, this would send her over the edge. Well, if there was silver lining to be had from the crocheted tampon issue, then that might be it.
“How about, Ava,” Jen started carefully, “how about I run a few focus groups first? Say three for example, across various age groups and see how women feel about it.”
“Not just women, Jen,” Ava raised an eyebrow at her, “men can use tampons too. Gay men use them all the time. You need to widen your reading. Organic is important to men too.”
“Right,” Jen said, ignoring Aiden’s look of confusion. He could Google it. “I’d do a group for them too.” She couldn’t wait to do a focus group covering anal sex aftercare. That might just be the highlight of her career to date. Her eyes flitted to the clock and calculated how soon until home-time. She needed a drink. She needed to cocoon herself away in the non-bonkers safety of her brewery, la-la-la-ing to herself and casting all of this out of her mind.
“No need, darling. I appreciate your conscientiousness – one of the many, many things we love about you – but the extra work’s not needed given the response the things got at the festival. I saw it with my own eyes and both Zaz and I know in our hearts this is the right thing.”
Jen had been here before. Once the sisters “knew something in their hearts”, it was effectively an executive order. The vital-but-unused flotation tank in the meeting-slash-inspiration room was testament to that.
“And that’s not all, Jen” Ava said, suddenly looking terribly serious and moving to sit opposite Jen in the nearest chair. “I said I’d wait until Zaz got back for this conversation, but given the engagement thing and our need to act fast on the tampons, I can’t see the benefit of waiting.” This sounded ominous. Even more ominous, Jen adjusted, the great tampon reveal had set a new bar.
“This is a big step for the company and we’re going to require everyone’s efforts. Particularly yours, Jen and we’d like to show you we value you.” Ava sat up straight and took a deep dramatic breath for her proclamation. “Zara and I have agreed we want you to become a partner in the company alongside the expansion.” Ava grabbed both of Jen’s hands, presumably believing Jen needed support in light of this joyous bombshell. “We want you to share in the success, because you deserve it, because you’ll be family and because it simply makes sense.”
Jen experienced new levels of gobsmackedness, causing her to sway slightly.
“I know, darling,” Ava squeezed her hands kindly, “you don’t have to thank us, you’ve earned it. It’s not everyone we’d allow to buy in, but we know an asset when we see it. You should be very proud of yourself.”
Wait, what? Buy in?!
Chapter 5
Jen’s finely-tuned nose was almost exploding with all the scents. Re:Love, Alice and Max’s florist-cum-salvage shop was a riot of blooms and a joyful assault on her senses. Jen often dropped in after work for a chat, today however it was an emergency. The shop was situated at the end of The Arches, adjacent to the arch Jen’s dad had worked in. Alice and her girlfriend Max had made the most of the exposed brick walls and concrete floor with Max showcasing select pieces around the shop – fireplaces, old furniture and some up-cycled items – while Alice’s flowers brought a sea of colour to the space.
“They’ll let you buy in?” Alice asked, incredulous. “I don’t know why I’m surprised, the pair of them are nutters.” She sat on the front desk, legs swinging as she chomped on a stack of chocolate digestives. She wore her staple of a homemade tea-dress, bobby socks and saddle shoes, which she only ever changed up by adding a cardy and Doc Martens with opaque tights in the winter. Other than the fabrics, Alice’s sole variables were her bright lipsticks and her hair styles, which ranged widely from a fully-spherical afro, to two Bjork sprouts when it was hot. Opposite, Jen was taking the opportunity to lie down along the length of an old church pew.
“I know,” Jen groaned, unsure how she had managed to get to this stage in her life. Four days ago she was happily tapping her beer, minding her own business and here she was being press-ganged into being part of someone else’s. And she hadn’t told Alice about the engagement yet. It didn’t quite seem like the right time, not when she’d come storming in, mouthing off about Ava’s offer-slash-decree. It felt like one of those double-edged honours dictators bestowed on people which invariably lead to a difficult demise. “It’s bad enough with the inco pads, but crocheted tampons? I keep asking myself if this is what I got a degree for?”
“I’m guessing you didn’t,” Alice agreed. She’d always been a good ear for Jen, but normally for Jen letting off steam about Lydia’s teenage antics. As the eldest of four girls Alice understood. “And good of them to decide how you want to spend your savings.”
“Which is ridiculous, because there are none. The house is paid for, sure, and there’s this place, but the rents are supposed to fund Lydia’s future prosthetics, not to mention a pension for her.” Jen felt her pulse beginning to race. This was the stuff of her 4 a.m. worries.
“Lydia’s got her head screwed on. She’ll be fine in her job, and she’ll get her own pension.”
“But what if she doesn’t?” Jen whispered, “what if the leg holds her back? People can be so mean and judgey and dismissive.”
“Jen? Stop. There isn’t much to hold Lyds back. Trust me. You’re too close to see it, but she’ll go a long way.” Jen wished she could be so sure. Alice didn’t see the worst days, when things became too much and Lydia retreated to her bed. Her tenacity was impressive, but she was still only human, not a superhero. Not that Lydia remembered this either sometimes; she would make all sorts of mad decisions if Jen didn’t keep a rein on her. She’d even mentioned skydiving some months ago, but Jen had put the kibosh on that. Some things were way too dangerous. “Besides, missy,” Alice fixed her with a beady eye, “haven’t you got something of your own to be worrying about?”
Jen sighed. “The bloody tampons. Ugh. No pun intended.”
“Gross,” Alice said with a grimace. “But no, something of a more personal nature that should have been the thing you came to tell me about, maybe yesterday?”
Jen looked at her blankly, until Alice picked up a posy from the counter and waved it at her.
Oh.
“How do you know about that?”
“That? Your impending nuptials? Because Robert paid for a skywriter and told the whole town.” Alice looked at her po-faced.
“What?! Really?” She hadn’t seen it. Oh crap.
“No, don’t be ridiculous,” guffawed Alice. “Could you see Robert doing that?” Fair point. “Lyds texted me Sunday night, ranting. Believes you’re making a mahoosive mistake.”
“She may have shared that sentiment with me. I think she’s worried about me leaving her.”
“Yeah, no.” Alice seemed sure of this, but then she didn’t live with Lydia. “She’s definitely convinced there’s someone better suited out there for you.”
“She’s been watching too many rom-coms, Alice,” Jen said with a sigh. “She’s a sucker for those.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Sorry,” said Jen, “I forgot you’re an enabler.” Alice and Lydia regularly saw the chick-flicks together because Jen refused. “They’re fun – fluffy fun – but they aren’t real, Alice. Life doesn’t work like that. They give people unrealistic ideas. Either the set-up is ridiculous, or when the characters do get together, the relationship will never sustain itself. All film romance is idealistic and improbable.”
“You really think that?” Alice looked appalled, her current digestive frozen halfway to her face.
“Sure,” said Jen, looking back to the ceiling, totally clear on this. “It’s a life partnership. You have to think rationally and long term, you have to make compromises and be practical, and I don’t think meeting on the Titanic or during an impossible mission is a sound basis for that. Those intense scenarios make people overlook the realities and the enormous flashing warning signs that their relationship is doomed.”
Jen stopped to look back at Alice, who was still looking at her aghast.
“That’s your honest belief?” Her tone was a blend of dismay and moral outrage.
“Deffo,” Jen said, nodding along with her own argument. “I mean, I like a good Mills & Boon now and again – who doesn’t? – but you know it’s as much fantasy as Game of Thrones or Star Wars. I just think, because they’re set in real life, people confuse fantasy with reality.”