Mum On The Run. Fiona GibsonЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter Six

      I return the playsuit, for which I am thanked profusely (although I omit to point out the ripped seam and missing button) and saunter into my next port of call with renewed optimism. Result: they do not cater solely for shaved Twiglets, and actually stock size 16s. Grabbing a handful of dresses, I pull on the first one in the changing room. I don’t know if they have trick mirrors or lighting but I look kind of . . . radiant. As if I might have been whisked off to a spa, given a thorough all-over scrubbing and hourly shots of wheatgrass. My long, wavy dark hair looks shinier and somehow more nourished, and my normally pale cheeks have acquired a healthy glow. I no longer look like a woman who breakfasted on her children’s fried egg whites as all three decided that, from now on, they will only tolerate yolks.

      The dress is a gorgeous emerald green and has obviously been designed by someone who recognises that real women have bums and hips and boobs, and knows how to make them look rather yummy. ‘Oh, yes, that’s perfect,’ the salesgirl exclaims when I step out of the cubicle. ‘It really brings out your lovely green eyes.’

      ‘Think so?’ I ask. ‘It’s quite bright for me. It’s not my usual shade at all . . .’

      ‘Oh, it’s definitely the one for you. Are you tempted?’ She smiles encouragingly.

      I nod. ‘Sorely tempted.’

      ‘Well, I hope you’re going somewhere special to wear it.’

      ‘Yes,’ I fib, ‘I am.’ Back in the cubicle, I change back into my own clothes at top speed, filled with a renewed sense of purpose. Jed was right: today has done me a world of good. I no longer feel all chewed up about Celeste and all that pathetic picking-at-my-husband’s-clothes at sports day. All I’d needed was a little time on my own to put things in perspective (oh, and to have coffee with a cute, friendly man; maybe I’ve just been starved of male company lately). Trying to tame a rogue grin, I decide not to mention the coffee part to Jed. Or the accidental shoplifting, him being Local Hero, pillar of the community and all that.

      As I head for the till, a small thrill ripples through me as I wonder what the kids have been up to today. I know I’m supposed to be grateful to be let off the leash, but I’m not used to being without at least Toby, when I’m not working. God knows how I’ll feel when he starts school after the summer holidays. Naomi keeps asking what I ‘have planned’, which suggests that I should have everything sorted – a PhD to get started, maybe – in readiness for this forthcoming development.

      A display of stockings and tights catches my eye in a display cabinet by the till. As I’m not up to flashing my sun-starved legs, I pause to choose a pair. ‘Slender Deluxe’, one packet reads. ‘Impregnated with skin-smoothing extracts. Counters cellulite and offers a silken tone.’ Hmm. The word ‘impregnated’ is a little off-putting, but I’m intrigued by the promise of ‘visibly slimmer legs, thighs and bottom after just one wearing’. Can tights really do this? If so, why does anyone bother going to the gym?

      Next to the tights are things called Body Reducers which promise to ‘squeeze away inches’. I grab one of those too. In the picture on the packet, the model is wearing a curious undergarment which goes all the way from her knees right up to her boobs. It’s the colour of a digestive biscuit and quite hideous, like a sort of gigantic support bandage. Surely, though, being all bound up like that is a small price to pay to have inches squeezed away, and less hassle than being lipo-sucked. I pay up and head out, breathing in the fresh, blue-skied morning.

      Even without my new fat-melting underwear on, I feel unusually carefree and light. Maybe that Body Reducer starts working in the packet. As I walk, I glimpse a woman’s reflection in a shop window, and it’s a moment before I realise it’s me. I’m striding along like someone who knows where she’s going and feels good to be alive. A besuited man heading towards me flashes a wide grin. I smile back. It’s as if a switch has been flicked and I am visible again. As I pass Starbucks, where I banged into Danny, I feel a flurry of pleasure.

      After a leisurely lunch, and perusing posh make-up which I can’t afford (and which Toby would probably destroy anyway), I drive home with the windows open and music blaring. The posh paper carrier bag containing my new dress, tights and corset thingie sits perkily on the passenger seat.

      Back home, Toby hurtles towards our front door to greet me. ‘Mummy’s back!’ he cries, wrapping himself tightly around me.

      ‘Hi, darling. Had a fun day with Dad?’ I crouch down and bury my face in his messy fair curls.

      ‘Yuh. Where you been?’ he asks, swinging Ted by a leg.

      ‘Just to York, shopping.’ He pulls away and bites his full bottom lip, as if fearing that I might desert him again very soon (unlikely). Even when he’s older, lying on the sofa in a fizzle of hormones like Finn, I can’t imagine him trying to disown me.

      Jed is standing a little behind him, looking rather aimless with hands thrust into his jeans pockets. ‘Had a good day?’ he asks.

      ‘Yes, great, thanks. Just what I needed.’ I meet his gaze. He is sexily unshaven and horribly, irresistibly handsome. I love a grazing of dark, swarthy stubble, until it becomes needle-prickly by which point I usually ask him to shave. Correction: used to ask. Jed hasn’t bristle-grazed me in a long time. We don’t seem to kiss these days. I’m not sure at what point we stopped.

      ‘What did you buy, Mummy?’ Grace asks, clattering downstairs. Her caramel hair is loose and wild, and she’s wearing a huge black T-shirt with a shark on the front, baring its teeth.

      ‘Just a dress, love, and some tights and, er, an underwear thingie.’ I try for a hug, but she wriggles from my grasp.

      ‘Aw, that’s boring.’

      ‘Oh, and these.’ I tease her by fishing about in my bag for ages. With a flourish, I pull out the giant chocolate coins.

      ‘Yummy!’ she squeals. ‘Can I have one?’

      ‘Of course you can. They’re not for me.’ Perish the thought . . .

      ‘Thanks, Mummy.’

      ‘Fanks,’ Toby barks, ripping the foil from his gift and stuffing it into his mouth. Grace takes a huge chomp out of hers.

      ‘I got this for you,’ I say, brandishing the remaining coin as Finn strolls downstairs in a fug of recently-applied Lynx and hair gel.

      ‘Oh. Right. Cool,’ he mumbles, which causes my insides to twist a little.

      ‘Guess what,’ Grace announces through a full mouth.

      ‘What, love?’

      ‘Celeste was here.’

      ‘Was she? Why?’ Frowning, I glance at Jed.

      ‘She was just passing and popped in for coffee,’ he says quickly, sweeping back his hair.

      ‘Did she?’ I study his face, trying to read his expression and ignoring the fact that Toby is repeatedly whacking my leg with Ted.

      ‘Yeah, well, uh . . .’ Jed murmurs.

      ‘I didn’t know she knew where we lived,’ I add.

      ‘It’s just, she still doesn’t know many people around here,’ Jed explains, looking a little more relaxed now. ‘I just said, if she was at a loose end at the weekend she was welcome to pop round, have a bite to eat with us . . .’

      ‘While