Diary of a Desperate Wife and Mother - aged 35...and a half

Should I Wear A Scarf?

Thursday

I threaten Paul before we leave our bedroom to go downstairs not to be too attentive. His reaction to that is to laugh and then to kiss my shoulder that is exposed courtesy of my baggy sleep t-shirt falling off me. I point out that our kids don't need to pick up on sex on consecutive nights and he laughs again but seems to threaten that there will be no doubt in anyone's mind if I make it 3 for 3 tonight. I silently promise myself and the world at large that I won't have sex again tonight.

The kids don't seem to suspect anything, I was going to say untoward, but that seems wrong because I don't think I can class sex with my husband as untoward. Anyway they notice nothing until I sit down at the table to eat my Weetabix that is loaded with fruit and derogatory glances from my husband and children and that is when innocent Finn asks if I need a plaster. I am confused until my son explains that there's a bruise on my neck and immediately I know what it is, as do my older children, Martin who looks in need of the Heimlich manoeuvre as he chokes on his jam and toast whilst his sister has an expression that really might turn the milk on my Weetabix sour. I am crimson, I can feel the heat radiating off me at the mortification of a bloody love bite at almost 36 never mind being busted by my kids. This might be worse than the time I was busted by mother, although nobody has slapped my face yet so I might be ahead on points, just. Paul is grinning, like a dog with two dicks never mind tails. This really is my cue to get ready for work and cover up my bloody love bite.

At work I have a lovely couple come in to book a holiday away. Sometimes it feels like people will share some fairly intimate details with you in the time it takes to find them the holiday of their dreams and these two, well she, is no different. Once they decide on location and hotel specifics we look at dates and she gets her diary out. The week that will work out a little cheaper causes her some thought and she explains that her contraceptive injection is due at the end of that week and she doesn't want to risk sun, sea, sangria and sex if there's a chance she isn't protected. I can appreciate what she is saying and even tell her there are other methods they could use if they wanted the cheaper week. He grimaces and she frowns at him meaning condoms might be a no-no for him. 'Oh well, nothing's 100% certain apart from abstaining,' is what I actually say and sound just like my mother. I waffle a little more and somehow think it's a good idea to tell them that my eldest children were both conceived using contraception of sorts. Fortunately, I stop myself from expanding to include the details that Scarlett was a broken condom and Martin was a very badly timed withdrawal. Anyway with my words filling them with horror and fear they go with the second, dearer week and minimal chances of a holiday baby.

By the time I get to school to pick Finn up Gemma is already there and grinning at me making me wonder if she knows I've had sex the last 2 nights. She doesn't which I gather when she explains that Paul is like a hero amongst the mothers on the playground for standing up for Monique, who is nowhere to be seen, neither is her husband which might mean Ned is off school today. Mrs Forbes appears at the door and does her usual thing of ignoring me and then when she has no choice but to acknowledge me she releases my son into my care, my son who looks like he has been bathing in mud.

I walk home with Gemma who lives almost opposite me and it's as we stand outside her house that she remembers that she has a book for me. We swap books and magazines fairly regularly, although my reading material is tame compared to hers, although I get a few of my books from my Mum or mother-in-law. As she hands me a book wrapped inside two magazines I figure it's a racy one and most likely has a risqué cover. Before I cross over to my own side of the road she questions whether I need a book to 'spice things up' and points at my love bite which is clearly visible making me panic that the other mums and Mrs Forbes may have noticed.

After the kids are sorted for the night I shower and put my pyjamas on and sitting on the bed risk a look at the book Gemma has lent me and it is most definitely racy. The cover is adorned with a topless man with muscles pinning a very scantily clad woman up against a wall. I resist the temptation to read the blurb and save if for later, but do have 5 minutes with one of my old diaries and wonder if I should read them in order or if it's ok to dip in and out of them. I figure it's ok to dip in and out as it's my life.

Victoria's Diary aged 13 and a half (except I think I was probably 14 and a half)

Last night I was at Steven's house, his parents were out meaning we were alone. We did things we've never done before. We kissed, a lot with tongues and Steven put his hand under my t-shirt to touch my boobs and he kissed my neck, really hard, but it felt nice too.

I can't believe it's Sunday again meaning I have to go to mass with my Mum. I am hoping I can start going less often soon, like my brothers and my Dad, but today I need to go. I dress in a nice summer dress that comes to my knees and a pair of flat white ballet pumps. As I check my appearance in the mirror I see it, bright red and purple and on my neck where Steven kissed me, a love bite. I have never had one before and I know my Mum will flip so I try to cover it with some toothpaste, I read about that in one of Gemma's magazines and then I add some make up and then add a scarf!

When I get downstairs my Mum is ready to go and other than a quick smile she doesn't pay much attention. We go to church and afterwards when she has spent about half an hour or more talking to her friends we return home. As we stand on the doorstep while she fishes her key out I turn to wave to Gemma who is rushing past with her own mum and then my arm is being pulled. I am being dragged into the hall where the front door slams and my scarf is being pulled from around my neck. She is furious when faced with my love bite in all its glory and then I am rocked off my feet by the hard slap she gives me. I don't think she has ever smacked my face before and it bloody hurts. I don't want to cry but I do and then she starts shouting and screaming at me, about sin and God, about not being that kind of girl, that I have been raised better than that and then she really hurts me when she says I am not allowed to see Steven again. She even threatens to make me move school, to the church school. She sends me to bed where I lie and cry, unable to stop the pain or the tears. If I can't see Steven there will be no point in anything anymore. My heart is officially broken, without Steven in my live I am broken.

Victoria's Diary aged 35 and a half

I look down at the closed book in my hands and feel genuinely sad for my younger self but also for my mother. I can't imagine treating Scarlett that way, not ever, but certainly not for a love bite and then I remind myself that I am almost twice my younger self's age and am currently sporting a love bite that I again failed to conceal. Paul walks in and eyes the diary, the book off Gemma and the magazines. He joins me on the bed, picks up the book and laughs as he reads the blurb before asking why the men are all rich in Gemma's books. I laugh back and shrug before grabbing one of the magazine having already put my diary away. I am skimming through the pages of the first magazine and stare in disbelief as one article catches my eye. My expression must have morphed into distaste and horror because Paul asks if I am ok. I am unsure and turn the magazine towards him, showing the article complete with 5 photos and descriptions under the headline claiming there are five different types of vagina and I think we both know that sooner or later I am going to have to investigate which type mine is, with or without Paul who seems far too interested in it. I cast the magazine aside and grab the book, but as I turn the first page to be confronted with a description of a lady being bent over a desk dressed in very little I decide the 'which vagina are you' article might be happening sooner, much sooner!