Wedding Night

it?”
    “I’ll just … check.” My smile feels glued into place. “Play on the climbing frame a moment.”
    I step away and speed-dial Daniel.
    “Daniel Phi—”
    “It’s Fliss.” I cut him off evenly. “Are you by any chance speeding toward the school holding a papier-mâché hot-air balloon with Batman in the basket?”
    There’s quite a long pause.
    “Oh,” Daniel says at last. “Shit. Sorry.”
    He doesn’t sound remotely concerned. I want to kill him.
    “No! Not ‘Oh. Shit. Sorry.’ You can’t
do
this, Daniel! It’s not fair on Noah and it’s not fair on me and—”
    “Fliss, relax. It’s just some little school project.”
    “It’s not little! To Noah, it’s huge! It’s— You’re—” I break off, breathing fast. He’ll never get it. There’s no pointwasting breath. I’m on my own. “Fine, Daniel. Whatever. I’ll sort it.”
    I switch off before he can answer. I’m feeling a red heat of determination. I am not going to let Noah down. He’s going to have his hot-air balloon. I can do this. Come on.
    I bleep open the car and snap up the lid of my briefcase. I’ve got a tiny cardboard gift bag in there, from some fancy lunch. That can be the basket. Shoelaces out of my gym crosstrainers will be the ropes. I grab a sheet of paper and pen from my briefcase and beckon Noah over.
    “I’m just going to finish off our hot-air balloon,” I say brightly. “Why don’t you draw Batman to put in the basket?”
    As Noah starts drawing, leaning on the car seat, I swiftly take out my shoelaces. They’re brown and speckled. They’ll make perfect ropes. I’ve got some Scotch tape in the glove compartment. And for the balloon itself …
    Bloody hell. What can I use? It’s not like I travel around with packets of balloons, on the off chance that—
    A ridiculous, unspeakable idea grabs me. I could always—
    No. No way. I
can’t
.…
    Five minutes later, I approach Mrs. Hocking, nonchalantly holding Noah’s project. The mothers standing around gradually fall silent. In fact, it feels as though the whole playground has fallen silent.
    “That’s Batman!” Noah is pointing to the basket proudly. “I drew him.”
    All the children are looking at Batman. All the mothers are looking at the balloon. It’s a blown-up Durex Fetherlite Ultra. It inflated to quite an impressive size, and the teat on the end is bobbing in the breeze.
    I hear a sudden snort from Anna, but when I look around sharply, all I can see are innocent expressions.
    “Goodness, Noah,” says Mrs. Hocking faintly. “What a … big balloon!”
    “That’s obscene,” snaps Jane, clutching her boat to her as though for protection. “This is a
school
, in case you’d forgotten. There are
children
here.”
    “And as far as they’re concerned, this is a perfectly innocent balloon,” I retort. “My husband let me down.” I turn apologetically to Mrs. Hocking. “I didn’t have much time.”
    “It’s very good, Mrs. Phipps!” Mrs. Hocking rallies herself. “What a creative use of …”
    “What if it bursts?” says Jane.
    “I’ve got spares,” I shoot back triumphantly, and proffer the rest of my Durex variety pack, splayed out like a pack of cards.
    A moment too late, I realize how this looks. My cheeks flaming, I surreptitiously adjust my hand to cover up the words
Ribbed for extra pleasure
. And
lube
. And
stimulation
. My fingers are doing a starfish impression, trying to censor the condom packets.
    “I think we’ll be able to find a balloon for Noah in the classroom, Mrs. Phipps,” Mrs. Hocking says at last. “I’d keep those yourself, for …” She hesitates, clearly searching for a way to finish her sentence.
    “Absolutely.” I hastily head her off. “Good idea. I’ll use them for … exactly. That. I mean, not.” I laugh shrilly. “Actually, I probably won’t use them at all. Or at least … I am
responsible
, obviously.…”
    I trail away into silence. I’ve just shared details of my condom use with my son’s teacher. I’m not sure how that happened.
    “Anyway!” I add in bright desperation. “So. I’ll take those away now. And use them. For … some purpose or other.”
    Hastily, I stuff the condoms back in my bag, dropping a Pleasuremax and diving for it before any of the seven-year-olds can reach it. All the other mothers are staring, jaw-dropped, as though they’ve witnessed a car crash.
    “I hope the assembly goes well. Have a lovely day, Noah.” I hand