Mummy Said the F-Word Read Online Free PDF

offices. Poppy has nothing whatsoever to do with Slapper’s deluxe after-sales service. I try to smile at her, as any decent adult would, but it won’t come. She’s pointing at the highest roller coaster now, resting her chin on the top of Martin’s head.
    Gripping Lola’s hand tightly, I will my eyes to behave as the birthday threesome disappears into the crowd.

3
    We’re home, and although it’s dark and bitterly cold outside, the kids insist on surging out to crack iced puddles in the back garden. They dive in and out of the kitchen, demanding further ice-breaking implements. I locate gnarled plastic spades, but draw the line at dishing out ladles and serrated bread knives.
    ‘Hope you’re not depressed about Miss Wet T-Shirt,’ Sam ventures when the kids are out of earshot.
    I am loading fish fingers on to the grill. Daisy’s breasts still shimmer pertly in my brain.
    ‘Of course not,’ I insist. ‘You were right, though. It was a dumb idea to go today.’
    ‘I didn’t say that …’
    ‘No, but you thought it. You tried to warn me. I was trying to prove that I didn’t care and ended up making the kids feel awful.’ My voice trembles. ‘I shouldn’t have put them through that.’
    ‘Maybe it wasn’t your smartest move,’ Sam says gently, which is marginally better than, ‘I told you so.’
    He smiles and it’s infectious, as if our mouth-raising mechanisms are somehow connected.
    ‘Anyway,’ I add, ‘what did you think of Slapper?’
    The kids are bickering in the garden. Too many children, too few frozen puddles to go round.
    ‘Um … hard,’ Sam murmurs.
    ‘It’s not that hard,’ I retort. ‘I mean, d’you think she’s attractive? I don’t mind. I mean, I
know
she is …’
    ‘No – hard-
faced
. One of those brittle faces that looks like it’d crack and fall off if she laughed … Can she laugh, out of interest?’
    Sam cheers me up, despite everything. ‘I’m not sure. Actually, I meant her wet top and no bra and all that.’
    He crinkles his brow. ‘They were, um, very …’
    ‘Pert?’
    ‘Wet. They were very wet. Something warmer, like a polo-neck jumper, would’ve been more suitable.’
    I laugh and tip peas into a pan. It wouldn’t bother me, honestly, if Sam had been mesmerised by Slapper’s display. He’s a man, after all, yet he seems totally uninterested in meeting anyone. Maybe it’s the still-hankering-after-the-ex thing. Or perhaps, like me, he has no urge to do it with anybody. I haven’t slept with anyone – apart from Travis and Lola in the throes of a nightmare or chickenpox – since Martin left, and doubt if I ever will again. It’s been over eight months and the thought of any man pawing my body still makes me feel nauseous. I have
tried
to fancy Sam, if only to reassure myself that I’m still capable of having lewd thoughts. I have done my utmost to imagine him naked, the two of us kissing passionately and my hands roaming all over his perfectly roamable body, but nothing happens. Not a tingle – not one iota of smut in my head. I have repeated the process with every man I know between the ages of twenty and eighty-five (a pretty generous catchment area, I’d have thought). Still nothing. My libido has died, like a plant that no one has bothered to water.
    Sam mooches out to check on the kids, letting in an icy gust. It feels so right, him hanging out here with us. From the moment we met, sheltering from driving rain beneath the slide in the park, our friendship seemed inevitable.
    ‘Hey,’ he says, jutting his face round the doorway, ‘you really are upset about today, aren’t you?’
    I nod mutely. ‘I used the kids to get at Martin.’
    ‘Oh, Cait. They’re over it, and they had a great time. Just forget about Martin and Slapper.’
    How can I? I think, as Sam comes over and hugs me.
    ‘Listen.’ Sam pulls away, fixing me with a stare. ‘You don’t want him back, do you?’
    ‘God, no.’ I turn away and yank out the grill