My Not So Perfect Life(55)

Damn Denise. I do not want to have to explain to my stepmother what a Rampant Rabbit is.

“It’s…a thing,” I say hurriedly. “Denise, put it away. Which yurt was it in?”

“Dunno,” she says with an unconcerned shrug.

“Denise!” I clasp my head. “We’ve been over this. You have to label the lost property. Then we can send it on to the guests.”

“You sending that through the post?” Denise gives a short laugh.

“Well…” I hesitate. “Dunno. Maybe not.”

“Or this?” She brandishes a tube of cream labeled FOR PERSISTENT GENITAL WARTS.

“Oh God.” I make a face. “Really?”

“Nice top, though.” She plucks a purple T-shirt from the crate and holds it up against herself. “Can I have this?”

“No! Let’s have a look.” I peer into the crate, and, she’s right, it’s full. There’s a water pistol, a pair of children’s wellies, a bundle of papers, a baseball cap….“God, they’ve been messy this time.” My phone rings and I answer, “Ansters Farm, how may I help?”



“Oh, hello!” It’s the voluble voice of the mum in the stripy top. “Katie, is that you?”

“Yes! Is this…?”

Shit. What’s her name? I’ve forgotten already.

“Barbara! We’re on our way back. About twenty minutes away. We left behind…”

Her voice descends into crackles. The signal is so bad on the local roads, I’m amazed she got through at all.

“Barbara?” I raise my voice. “Hello, Barbara, can you hear me?”

“…very sensitive…” Her voice suddenly comes down the line again in a buzz of static. “I’m sure you found it…you can imagine how I feel…”

Oh my God. Did Barbara leave behind the Rampant Rabbit? I clap a hand over my mouth so I don’t laugh. Barbara with her clean, makeup-free face and her wholesome triplets?

“Um…”

“…absolutely mortified…had to come and get it in person…see you soon…” Her voice disappears. I gape at the silent phone, then look up.

“OK, I think we have the owner coming back.”

“Did she fess up?” Denise gives a short laugh. “I’d lie.”

“Not exactly. She said it was very sensitive and she was really embarrassed—”

“Could be this.” Denise holds up the tube of cream.

“Oh shit.” The realization hits me. “Yes. It totally could.”

I look from the Rampant Rabbit to the genital-warts cream. What a choice.

“You’re more likely to come back for a cream, maybe?” offers Denise. “If it’s on prescription or whatever?”



“But you could get that replaced.”

“The Rampant Rabbit’s worth more….”

I catch Denise’s eye and a wave of sudden hysteria comes over me.

“This is hideous.” My voice is shaking. “Which one are we going to offer her?”

“Offer her both.”

“We can’t say, Here’s a vibrator and some genital-warts cream; take your pick.” I clutch my stomach, unable to stop laughing.

“Find out which one it is,” says Biddy from the stove. “Get her into conversation about it, then when you’re sure which it is, go and get the item.”

“Conversation?” I double up. “What kind of conversation?”

“I’ll do it,” says Biddy. “Honestly, you girls! And put it in a bag,” she adds firmly. “Your dad doesn’t want to see that kind of thing lying around. And, yes, I do know what it is,” she adds, catching my eye with a little spark. “They’ve changed the designs, that’s all.”

Wow. This is the thing about Biddy: always full of surprises.

It’s only about ten minutes later that the SUV roars back up the drive. They must have been flooring it. We’ve decided that Biddy will get Barbara into conversation outside, while Denise and I lurk in the kitchen. And the minute we’ve worked out what the lost property is, we’ll come out with it, discreetly wrapped.

“Barbara!” Biddy steps out of the kitchen door. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to delay your journey.”



“Oh, it’s my own stupid fault,” says Barbara, who has leapt out of the SUV and looks very pink about the cheeks. “But I couldn’t relax till I’d retrieved it. A lot of things, you wouldn’t bother about. But that…”

I look at Denise and reach for the Rampant Rabbit with raised eyebrows. It’s sounding like the sex toy….

“Of course not, dear,” says Biddy in that cozy way she has. “Not when it’s such a very personal item.”

“Oh, it’s not mine, strictly speaking,” says Barbara. “It’s my husband’s.”

What? Denise and I stare at each other with wide eyes, then I take my hand off the Rampant Rabbit and put it on the genital-warts cream. It has to be that. Surely.

“Although he’d say I get more enjoyment out of it than he does,” Barbara says with a friendly smile.