Posh Frocks & Peacocks - Tracie Podger Page 0,13

for the house. I bounded up the stairs and slid around the corner coming to rest in Ronan’s chest.

“Where’s the fire?” He laughed.

“I smell, don’t I?” I blurted out.

“Huh?”

“My mum just informed me I have an odour, from down below,” I said, pointing to my crotch.

“Why is your mum sniffing…?”

“She isn’t, she just announced it when she brought me a tea. Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked, as we headed to the bedroom.

“Because you don’t.”

“Are you sure?”

I closed the bedroom door and whipped off my jeans; I wasn’t about to sniff my hooha, but I did instruct Ronan to search the Internet and see if a sniffy hooha was part of the menopause. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he did, complaining if he ever lost his phone, he pitied the person who checked his history. I headed to the bathroom for a pits and bits wash.

“Lizzie, there’s an article to say that all vaginas should have a slight odour and that you’re not to worry. You’re also not to use soap or any of that shit because that can make your partner ill,” he shouted through the door.

I opened it. “It says I can make you ill?” I reached out to grab his phone.

His lips were curled into that wonky smile I loved so much. “Okay, so it doesn’t say that you’ll make me ill, but no man wants a mouthful of shower gel. Now, I have no idea what your mum is on about, maybe she’s been sniffing something she shouldn’t, but you don’t smell, okay?”

“Are you sure?” I asked, again.

“Positive. I can be more certain if you let me have a look.” His eyebrows rose in question.

Since I was standing naked anyway, I thought it perfectly sensible to oblige. I started to laugh as I sat on the edge of the bed and he kneeled in front of me.

Before he got to work examining me, as he called it. He kissed my stomach. “Nope, no smell other than you and me and love.”

As the day wore on, I became more excited. There wasn’t anything left for me to do on the estate; it was manned by the students, one of whom was covering for Angie the following day. I took a walk around the side of the house to the terrace. It overlooked part of the lawn, the peacocks, and into the woodland beyond. At one end was a metal arch that would be decorated with flowers early the following morning. White metal bistro tables and chairs were set out, we had decided to forgo the usual rows and just have a casual set-up ready for the afternoon tea that would follow.

Ronan, as promised, had rigged up a wooden planked walkway from the terrace to the marquee. I walked along it, stood alone in the space and slowly circled. At one end was a stage and dance floor, at the other were more tables and chairs and a bar. I was looking forward to the local band Ronan had booked.

I’d taken a call from the vicar to check on some final details, and then I settled down in the kitchen for five minutes of peace. I think I got about three.

“Lizzie!” I heard my mum call. “I’m being held hostage.”

I raised my eyebrows and took another sip of tea. “Lizzie?” my mother shouted again.

I smiled, placed my tea on the table, and then walked to the back door. “Gerald, get away from Nanny,” I said. Gerald was down on his front knees, revving his hind legs in preparation to attack.

“He won’t let me pass,” she said.

“Then just let him headbutt you, it doesn’t hurt,” I replied.

My mother waved her arms at him, shooing at the same time. That did nothing but to anger Gerald more. “Only you could have a mean goat,” she grumbled and I laughed.

I walked over and grabbed Gerald by the horns. He was surprised to have his attack interrupted and proceeded to bleat to tell me so.

“Why aren’t you in the paddock?” I mumbled to him, not that I expected an answer, of course.

Luckily, Colleen came calling.

“What on earth is that?” Mum asked, standing on the step to the back door.

“A llama. And don’t be mean, she’ll hear you. We also have two violent chickens and a pig with rickets.” I let go of Gerald and he sidled up to Colleen. She nuzzled him and with a harrumph, off they trotted.

“Do they just run around?” Mum asked, horrified.

“Yes, they’re free range.” I