The Bad Mother's Handbook Read Online Free Page A

for that.’
    ‘Shut up.’ I was trying not to swear at her.
    ‘Or Dr Cassell’s Miracle Cure-All Tablets. They cured
Uncle Jack and he had malaria. Caught it in Mesopotamia
during the Great War. He always had to have the doors
shut and a big fire. When he emigrated he sent us a lamb.
My mother took it to t’ butchers to be jointed up but she
never got back what she should have done.’
    ‘WILL YOU COME TO BED!’
    She turned and stared at me, trying to focus. Then she
put her face close to mine.
    ‘I don’t have to do what you tell me,’ she said quietly.
‘You’re not my daughter. Your mother was called Jessie.
Didn’t you know? You’re not mine.’

    *

    ‘ Did you have an orgasm? I want to give you an orgasm,
Charlotte.’ Behind him David Beckham grinned confidently; no sexual hang-ups for him. We were lying under
a Manchester United duvet and it was four weeks since
we’d first done it. Outside children were screaming and
an Alsatian barked from behind wire netting in next
door’s garden. His house is no quieter than ours. I glanced
up at the window (Man U curtains).
    ‘Is it snowing yet? It’s cold enough. Snow’s about the
only thing that makes our estate look any better.’
    ‘Did you hear what I said?’
    ‘Sorry. Yeah. Well, no. It doesn’t matter. It was nice.’
    ‘Nice? Is that it?’ Paul rolled away onto his back and
gazed at the ceiling, hands behind his head. He had little tufts of hair under his arms that I loved to stroke. ‘I want
it to be fantastic for you, fireworks going off, that kind of
stuff. I don’t feel you’re always . . .’
    ‘What?’ I leant up on an elbow and watched his face
struggle.
    ‘Sort of, I dunno, with me. Oh, I can’t explain. It’s not
like it is on the telly, is it?’
    ‘Nothing is. This is Life.’ I lay back down and put my
face close to his. ‘It’s loads better than it was, though.’
This was true. It wasn’t painful any more, for a start,
especially now I’d sorted out the cystitis. And when we
did it at his house it felt more relaxed; no leaping up and
legging it afterwards, no fear of interruptions. Paul’s mum
left two years ago, and his dad was so laid back about his
son’s sex life I got the impression we could be having it off
on the living-room carpet and he’d only complain if we
got in the way of the TV screen.
    ‘Yeah, well. Practice makes perfect, eh?’ He reached
over and ran his hand over my breasts. ‘These are great.’
He circled a nipple with his finger and watched it firm to
a peak. ‘Brilliant.’ Then he moved sideways and put both
palms flat over my chest. He sighed happily. ‘You’ll get me
goin’ again.’
    It was thrilling, this power I never knew I had. I
pushed the duvet back and watched his cock grow and
twitch against his pale thigh; it wasn’t scary any more.
I felt like the goddess of sex. I wriggled against him and
he groaned.
    ‘Touch it.’
    I still didn’t know the proper technique but it didn’t
seem to matter. Whatever I did he rolled his eyes back as if he was having a fit, and panted. There was all this loose
skin below the tight, shiny stalk. I fiddled experimentally
and he began to swear quietly.
    ‘Like that, yeah. Fuck. Fucking hell.’
    When my hair fell forward and brushed his stomach
he drew his breath in sharply.
    ‘Wait a minute.’
    He groped around on the bedside table and snatched
up a condom, which he dropped with shock when I
dipped my head and kissed his navel.
    ‘I’ll get it.’ I leant over and retrieved the little foil
packet from off the floor.
    ‘Put it on for me. Go on. It’d be so sexy.’
    I must have looked doubtful.
    ‘I’ll show you how.’
    I thought, you have to learn these things if you’re a
woman, it’ll be another string to my bow.
    He tore off the packet end and squeezed out the slimy
ring. I watched closely, the way I used to in science lessons
when Bunsen burners were being demonstrated. Then he