Cass Starts Over 3
Without Prejudice
Cass peered at the pretty ormolu clock beside her side of the bed. A present from Patrick. An anniversary present, ironically to celebrate their fifteenth wedding anniversary. Cass thought back to that night that he gave it to her. Dinner at The State Room in town. Roast beef with Yorkshires and strawberries Romanoff. How contented she thought she was then. No fool like an old fool she admonished herself and realised he was a fool too.
In the last twelve months he had started dyeing his hair, she had thought the slight greying at the temples quite distinguished. But he had been visiting the barber to get it touched up to blend in with the rest of his crisp black curly hair. She imagined his new love running her hands through it and almost groaned aloud. Jealousy coursed through her body like a wave and she let it wash over her.
"How dare he " was her thought, tears threatened again and she tucked her fingernails into her cupped hands and squeezed. She knew if she continued along this way she would get overwhelmed again and couldn't afford to. There was too much to do.
She stepped out of her now twisted tousled up pyjamas and grabbed the towel turban off her head. Crossing to the beautiful antique armoire she presumed the contents dolefully. Not much color in there. All sensible stuff, God, she breathed, there was even a tweed jacket and skirt. Who the hell had she been becoming ? Hyacinth Bucket ? Agatha Christie ?
She wanted jeans and tees and cashmere sweaters in every colour. She dragged out the most up to date outfit she could find, a pair of black yoga pants ( Yoga, who did Yoga ? ) and a soft black oversized jumper from Debenhams, it was ancient but it would do. She pushed the sleeves up to her elbows. She crossed to the en suite and surveyed her mostly unused makeup. Another present from Patrick. She re wet her hair and tied it up in a high pony tail ending in a messy pile of curls at the top of her head.
She moisturised, plucked, slathered her face in cream and waited for it to soak in to her skin. While she waited she reached under her side of the twin basin vanity and found what she was looking for. A forbidden packet of cigarettes and lighter hidden inside her sanitary pad box. Patrick would never think to look inside. She lit up, taking a long drag and exhaled without coughing, while she flipped on the exhaust fan.
She felt immediately the head rush of nicotine hitting her brain and grabbed the edge of the hand basin to steady herself. Placing the cigarette carefully on the shell like soap dish she began spreading foundation on her face. Between drags she also applied mascara, lipstick, powder and blush. She was older now so was careful to not use too much. She didn't want to look like a drag queen for heaven's sake.
The end result was not too bad and she congratulated herself with a smile.
" Thank you, Patrick. " she murmured to no one. At least he had good taste in some things.
Cass peered at the pretty ormolu clock beside her side of the bed. A present from Patrick. An anniversary present, ironically to celebrate their fifteenth wedding anniversary. Cass thought back to that night that he gave it to her. Dinner at The State Room in town. Roast beef with Yorkshires and strawberries Romanoff. How contented she thought she was then. No fool like an old fool she admonished herself and realised he was a fool too.
In the last twelve months he had started dyeing his hair, she had thought the slight greying at the temples quite distinguished. But he had been visiting the barber to get it touched up to blend in with the rest of his crisp black curly hair. She imagined his new love running her hands through it and almost groaned aloud. Jealousy coursed through her body like a wave and she let it wash over her.
"How dare he " was her thought, tears threatened again and she tucked her fingernails into her cupped hands and squeezed. She knew if she continued along this way she would get overwhelmed again and couldn't afford to. There was too much to do.
She stepped out of her now twisted tousled up pyjamas and grabbed the towel turban off her head. Crossing to the beautiful antique armoire she presumed the contents dolefully. Not much color in there. All sensible stuff, God, she breathed, there was even a tweed jacket and skirt. Who the hell had she been becoming ? Hyacinth Bucket ? Agatha Christie ?
She wanted jeans and tees and cashmere sweaters in every colour. She dragged out the most up to date outfit she could find, a pair of black yoga pants ( Yoga, who did Yoga ? ) and a soft black oversized jumper from Debenhams, it was ancient but it would do. She pushed the sleeves up to her elbows. She crossed to the en suite and surveyed her mostly unused makeup. Another present from Patrick. She re wet her hair and tied it up in a high pony tail ending in a messy pile of curls at the top of her head.
She moisturised, plucked, slathered her face in cream and waited for it to soak in to her skin. While she waited she reached under her side of the twin basin vanity and found what she was looking for. A forbidden packet of cigarettes and lighter hidden inside her sanitary pad box. Patrick would never think to look inside. She lit up, taking a long drag and exhaled without coughing, while she flipped on the exhaust fan.
She felt immediately the head rush of nicotine hitting her brain and grabbed the edge of the hand basin to steady herself. Placing the cigarette carefully on the shell like soap dish she began spreading foundation on her face. Between drags she also applied mascara, lipstick, powder and blush. She was older now so was careful to not use too much. She didn't want to look like a drag queen for heaven's sake.
The end result was not too bad and she congratulated herself with a smile.
" Thank you, Patrick. " she murmured to no one. At least he had good taste in some things.
