Steph Newlove covered her head with the pillow and hoped to prolong that moment when daytime happened and she would be forced to remember there had been a night before. A very good night before. A night before worth a painful smile. A night before worth remembering – once the hangover lifted.
Bloody hell, Nick, can’t you just bugger off to work and leave me alone. That’s what she’d wanted to say and what in hindsight she wished had come out. However, her alcohol fogged brain could only manage. “URRRGH!” Or something equally primeval. The process unstuck her tongue from the roof of her dry mouth. She was quite sure her breath stank.
“While you were out I dressed in your clothes.”
“That’s nice, dear.” It was the go to phrase when he said things she didn’t really comprehend and couldn’t be bothered listening to. All she wanted to listen to right now were her own snores.
“You’re not listening?” he sounded hurt.
“I am listening, really I am. Just my head hurts.” She uncovered her head and did her best to prop herself up on the pillows.
“I want to be a woman – at least I think I do.”
Mid eye wipe she halted and stared at him. “Have you been wearing my tights?”
“No I bought my own.”
She could tell by his expression he was lying. “Well don’t wear my bloody tights. You’ve got great long legs and you’ll stretch them.” With that she rolled over put the pillow back over her head and went back to sleep.About ten minutes later: Steph sat up, threw her pillow and screamed, “Crap! Crap! Crap!” She sipped water from the glass on her bedside table. "Nick!"
"He's gone to work," one of her sons shouted back. It was hard to tell them apart when she was fully compos mentis.
She fumbled around the bedside table, under the various papers until she found the house phone. “Stefan… where the hell are you? I bet you’re at work. How dare you be at work. I have to be a lesbian by the time Nick gets home. Help! You’re the only one I can turn tooo...” The end was a melodramatic wail. The phone handset was tougher than it looked as it survived being flung against the wall. It was probably a good job her mobile was on charge downstairs or it would now need replacing.
“Bloody hell, Nick!"
"Mum. I'm trying to sleep. Shut up," a tired and angry Ellie shouted from her bedroom.
Could it be that bad? After all the other woman in their relationship would just be Nick in a dress.
"Best Possible Taste" is very loosely based on real life events.