Prologue
I was a widow; I had been for sometime, four years to be exact. My husband died with cancer to the brain and was sick a year before he actually passed on, so… for five years I had not… had sex. I know that is a horrible and selfish thing to think about but a finger does not always do. I did not find a male prostitute like some girls – and men – did at my work, I just thought that love would come looking for me and was happy to wait, but my girls decided that at age forty-seven I could dry up like an old prune at anytime – their words not mine. So this is how I ended up marrying Mr. Harry Jones.
Chapter One
My mother could not have possibly been in her right mind when I came out of her womb, because when I came out screaming, full of blood she declared me to be Beatrice. Who in bloody hell names a baby girl Beatrice?
I stopped chewing on my pen cap to briefly write down my full name: Beatrice Margret Dawe. I scanned through the rest of the list and jotted down my other personal information, like my birth date, MCP number and, to my embarrassment, the last time I had sexual intercourse. Over five years. I chewed on the pen cap again and scratched out my last answer and changed it to Five years.
“All done?” An assistant asked me like I was a child.
I nodded and handed her the sheet that revealed how much of an old prune I was, then sat back down in the same seat. I flipped through a magazine, the date on the cover reading 2001.
This is a totally bad idea. I should not be in a place that cannot afford to buy new magazines. I bet there are horrible cockroaches in the room. Oh god, that cannot be my gynotologist already! It’s only quarter to four and my appointment isn’t until four. Oh god, oh god, oh god!
“Beatrice?” The doctor, who was not going to give me a lollipop at the end of the session, asked.
Oh god. I stood up with a forced smile on my face. “Hi.”
The doctor smiled back at me. “Right this way.” She led me to her office. Once inside she turned to me. “You can just remove all your clothes and step into one of those gowns. I’ll be back in about five minutes.”
I nodded with a smile even though I was clutching my purse so tightly that I’m not surprised it didn’t crack in half. I took a deep breath and placed my purse on the floor. I then kicked off my shoes, dropped my pants and underwear, unbuttoned and removed my blouse, unclasped my bra and finally removed my sweaty socks. The gown was papery, much like the one I wore when I gave birth three times. Well actually twice, for my youngest daughter, Ivy, I had a C section. Too much of a wussy, my sister said.
“Okay, all ready?” The doctor, whose name I still didn’t know, asked.
What a complete idiot! Letting someone operate on me and I don’t even know their last name, or first name for that matter! She could not be a doctor for all I know. She could be some sick, perverted woman who is going to look up my vagina!
I glanced around the room, and noted that she had her MD hung up on the wall. Well that makes it a little better. “Already,” I told her, though I didn’t feel it.
She smiled at me as she put on her latex gloves.
Good thing I’m not allergic to latex, or I would get a particularly nasty rash. I sniggered at the thought of people who were allergic to latex. No sex for them!
“Now, you are going to feel a little bit of discomfort,” She told me like I had never had this done before. Like I hadn’t given birth before, but I have Ingrid, Isobel and Ivy for the proof of that, well not so much Ivy, I was apparently a wimp when I had her.
Oh god, oh dear god. OH GOD!
***
“I cannot believe you go see your gyno every couple of months!” I said to my older sister, Janet, who at least got a normal name.
Janet chuckled on the other end. “Well Ray and I are still sexually active, so I need to get checked up on. You should have been getting it done every year, even if you weren’t sexually active for over five years.”
“Five!” I told her defensively.
Again Janet chuckled. “Do you know when Sherry is getting home?” She was referring to our younger sister, the one who I tried to avoid, for the simple fact that she practically dangled having a rich man in her life every time we spoke.
“No clue. Do you know when Joe is getting home?” I asked Janet about our only brother. My mother was most defiantly drunk when she named me.
I heard a beeping noise in the background at Janet’s. “He hasn’t called me back yet. Listen I’ve got to run, supper is ready.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Bye.”
I clicked the phone off and laid it on the counter, next to a block of butter. I too was trying to make dinner, but I knew that whatever I was making would not be as appetizing as Janet’s. My stomach grumbled in hunger and I lifted the cover off of the pot on the stove. The not so delicious smell of spaghetti sauce filled my nostrils. I groaned and put the cover back on the pot then switched the stove off.
“Hey girls!” I called, placing the block of butter back in the fridge. “You want to eat out?”
***
“You know this is the second night this week that we’ve eaten out,” Isobel informed me from behind her menu. She folded it back up and stared at me. “This could turn into a very bad habit.”
I laughed. “God, Isobel you are the only teenager I know who hates eating out.”
“I’m just trying to be conscious about the food I eat. I don’t want to be unhealthy when I’m older,” She told me in such a matter of fact voice, I was annoyed.
Ivy bumped into my shoulder. “Maybe she’s just trying to keep her options open.” Ivy raised her eyebrows suggestively, getting a giggle from Ingrid.
“What do you mean?” Isobel asked who had more logic then Ingrid and Ivy but didn’t catch references quite as fast.
Ingrid rolled her pale blue eyes. “She was joking about mom looking for a man.”
“Oh.” Isobel stared into her wine glass.
She had always been touchier on the subject of me re-marrying or doing anything to replace my husband Dave.
I bit my lip and changed the subject. “Your Aunt Sherry is coming home next month,” I told them. All the girls loved Aunt Sherry because she was the youngest and coolest Aunt that they had. They thought that Janet and Deb, Dave’s only sister, were too old, old prune’s like me.
“Really?” Ivy asked, excited.
“Yes, Ivy dear. I wouldn’t have said it if she wasn’t coming,” I teased her.
Ingrid and Isobel laughed along with me while we each received a glare from Ivy.
“Ha ha,” She laughed sarcastically.
I put my hand on her shoulder as I sipped from my wine glass. “We’re going to pick her up and Aunt Janet is going to get Joe.”
“Are Aunt Deb and Uncle Derrick coming home too?” Isobel asked. She had always taken more liking to Deb then Ingrid or Ivy had, I suspected it was because, deep down inside, Isobel was a mature lady, waiting for her time to actually become one.
When I was picking out baby names for my all my girls I knew that I didn’t want to give them stupid names like my mother had given me. I had thought about naming my first child Nina, but after Dave’s mother passed we decided to name our first baby after her, Ingrid Rose Dawe. Then I became pregnant again, we decided to copy Ingrid the first again, we wanted to name our second child with a name that started with an I. So all my girls, and my husband, had normal, nice names, while I was stuck with Beatrice.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll call them tomorrow,” I mused. A glanced up at the waiter coming to our table, hoping that maybe he was someone that would catch my eye, but he was more Ivy’s age then mine. Every god dammed male that worked at restaurants were too young.
“Are you guys ready to order?” He asked us.
Ivy jumped right in, she always loved food more then the rest of us. “I’ll have the spaghetti with fresh parmesan over it and breadsticks instead of garlic bread…please.”
The waiter nodded as he jotted down Ivy’s order.
“If I knew that you wanted spaghetti we could have stayed home,” I told her as Isobel called out her order.
Ivy didn’t even look at me. “Please, and get food poisoning?”
It stung but I didn’t say anything, just chuckled. I probably should have let my mother teach me how to cook; instead I spent all my time with my current boyfriend or with my biology books, what a waste of time.
“Okay, and for you?” The waiter asked me.
“Hmmm, I’ll have the lemon chicken dish and can I have a loaf of sour dough bread for the table? Oh and some quiche to start off with. Thank-you.” I handed back the menu to him and observed Isobel and Ingrid bickering about something that was most defiantly unimportant. Ivy was texting on her phone so I took the chance to scan the room for opponents for my self.
One man, who looked to be my age, sat at the bar alone. I fantasized about him and how I would go up to him and ask him out right there and then. Then, to burst my bubble, his wife came along and kissed his check. I sucked in my cheeks and took a sip of my wine, it was a shame she wasn’t out of town for the weekend.
! Anyway, I didn't see any spelling errors and grammar looks fine but
