Love Songs for Sceptics

by Christina Pishiris

  Luckily, I had bought a massive lemon cheesecake, and after two slices, Gav’s injured pride was restored.

  I was in the kitchen making another round of teas and coffees when I noticed a text from Nick. He was asking for my address so he could pick me up later. I texted back without thinking much of it, but as I rinsed everyone’s mugs, Nick’s suggestion niggled me.

  When I realised why, I rang him.

  ‘Why would you want to come to Shepherd’s Bush?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You said you had a meeting in London Bridge beforehand.’

  ‘Oh, right. Yes. My meeting got cancelled.’

  He sounded off, but I had no idea why. He wasn’t really treating this like a date, was he?

  ‘Let’s just meet by the river at half seven.’

  ‘Whatever you prefer.’

  We rang off just as Lucy walked into the kitchen.

  ‘Everything okay, boss?’

  She must have noticed me frowning. ‘I’m fine.’

  Was Nick being weird or was I imagining it?

  Lucy opened the fridge to get the milk. ‘He’s such a sore loser.’

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘Gav, of course. Who else?’

  She then proceeded to give me a litany of Gav’s complaints, the first of which was that he’d come without his lucky dice.

  When we returned to the living room we were shocked to find Jody in floods of tears.

  ‘What have you done now, Gavin?’ said Lucy, sharply.

  I have to admit, I’d had the same thought. Ayisha and Rob had left soon after the game ended and Mike had stepped out for a cigarette break. Gav was the prime – and sole – suspect.

  He shook his head in protest. ‘All I did was ask if she’d like to finish my cheesecake – she hasn’t had any and I felt bad having a third slice.’

  I went to sit next to her. ‘What’s wrong, Jody?’

  ‘It’s not Gavin,’ she said, between sniffles. ‘I got dumped – by text.’

  I rubbed her shoulder. ‘Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘What, just now?’ Gavin had taken a new interest. ‘That’s low.’

  Lucy arrived with a tissue. ‘Here you go, Jodes.’

  She dried her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin everyone’s fun.’

  ‘You’re not ruining anything,’ I told her. ‘You’re allowed to cry if you feel like it. Do you want to talk about it?’

  Her hazel eyes were ringed with red. Without make-up she looked so young – barely into her twenties.

  ‘He said he didn’t see any future for us because I didn’t care enough about my appearance.’

  ‘What sort of bullshit is that?’ said Lucy. ‘You are gorgeous and you always look amazing.’

  ‘He said I had a nice face but that . . . I was fat.’

  I blinked in shock. ‘He said what? The problem is him, not your weight. You’re better off without him. And if I ever lay eyes on him—’

  Mike returned, trailing the scent of fresh cigarettes. ‘What’s going on here then?’

  ‘Jody has discovered that her ex-boyfriend is an arsehole,’ said Lucy.

  ‘We might be in need of your green beret friends,’ I said.

  Jody gasped. ‘You’re joking, Zoë.’ Then, a touch wistfully: ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘Just say the word,’ said Mike, winking. ‘No one will ever find the body.’

  We convinced Jody to try half a slice of cheesecake, because she was definitely not fat, and because it was definitely the best cheesecake ever made, according to Gavin.

  An hour or so later, it was just me and Mike left sitting at the table. Gavin had suggested a rematch, but when everyone had groaned, he relented, picked up his game and walked to the tube with Lucy and Jody.

  ‘Another coffee, Mike?’

  He shook his head. ‘You did well with Jody earlier.’

  I shrugged. ‘I only said what anyone would say.’

  ‘You’re a good leader, Zoë.’

  The conversation had taken an odd turn and I found I had a lump in my throat. ‘They’re a great bunch. They probably deserve an editor who’s not taking such a big risk on the magazine’s future.’

  ‘Your vision might actually secure a brighter future for Re:Sound.’

  ‘What do you mean, Mike? That sounds like good news, but your face when you arrived told a different story.’

  ‘A directive came down from Ed the Shred late Friday.’

  My neck muscles tightened. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He wants to trim the editorial team.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Lose either Gavin or Lucy.’

  I felt myself go light-headed. ‘I have to choose?’

  He shook his head. ‘I told Ed we wouldn’t stand for it.’

  ‘And that was enough?’

  He gave a wry smile. ‘Yes. That and me forgoing fifty per cent of my salary for the next six months.’

  I gasped. ‘You can’t do that, Mike. You’ve got a mortgage and kids.’

  ‘I’ll cope. I did it to buy us more time. This is a campaign of attrition – they’re going to keep coming back with more and more demands. We need that Marcie interview.’

  I hadn’t told Mike that I didn’t trust Nick to deliver me Marcie anymore, but now didn’t seem the time to mention it.

  ‘And I’ve worked it into our contracts that we get bonuses when we beat their sales targets.’

  I noticed he said ‘when’, not ‘if’. God, he really was full of confidence at the moment. Maybe we should all eat French toast every day.

  After Mike had left, taking some leftover sausages, the weight of what he’d told me began to sink in.

  Mike wouldn’t be able to keep taking pay cuts. I’d offer to take one too if it meant I could keep both Lucy and Gavin, but after that . . .?

  He’d put a lot of faith in me. It was time to pay it back.

  17

  Smooth Operator

  Mike’s news gave me fresh resolve to do everything I could to make tonight go to plan. I stood in front of my wardrobe, trying to decide what sort of outfit a girlfriend of Nick’s would wear. A dress, for sure. Something slinky, paired with high heels.

  Well, sod that. I’d wear whatever I wanted. I tried on a couple of outfits before deciding on some black, high-waisted jeans, a wrap-around white shirt and flats.

  I was pretty happy with how I looked, but as I was applying eyeliner it dawned on me that I did know how Nick’s girlfriend dressed. Because, according to the rumours, Nick’s girlfriend was Marcie.

  My hand slipped and I smudged black kohl on my brow bone. Christ. Talk about impossible shoes to fill.

  I spent the next few minutes with a cotton bud and makeup remover, trying to erase the evidence of my shaky hand. I was being silly. They were just rumours. Nick was far too strait-laced to be shagging his employer. He wouldn’t be comparing me to Marcie all through our ‘date’.

  At 7.30 I found myself people-watching from a bench by the river, waiting for Nick. The bar he’d suggested for our meet-up was a couple of minutes away. It was surprisingly middle-of-the-road. I thought he’d have chosen something a bit fancier, not one that advertised live rugby games.

  Fifteen minutes passed and still no sign of Nick. Had something come up? I checked my phone, but I didn’t have any missed calls.

  I was debating whether I should go straight to the bar, when I heard a voice in my ear.

  ‘Hello, gorgeous.’

  I turned round to find Simon. ‘Hey, Si.’

  He grinned and sat down next to me. ‘Not like you to be early.’

  ‘I’m supposed to be meeting Nick. My boyfriend.’

  His grin faded. ‘Remind me whose dumb-ass idea this was? Oh right, mine.’

  He was wearing a charcoal suit rather than his more usual casual gear. ‘You dressed up for the occasion?’

  Simon looked down at his shirt and tie. ‘Well, I figured I needed to keep up with Mr Sa
vile Row.’

  I tried to hide my smile.

  He brushed invisible specks off one sleeve. ‘How well do you know this Nick guy?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know he’s Marcie Tyler’s publicist, but what’s he like as a person? He might be some creep who’ll use tonight as an excuse to get hands-y with you.’

  I bit my cheek to hide a smile. Was Simon a teensy bit jealous?

  ‘He’s been with his company for years. Abroad mostly – most recently in South America. And I know he speaks eight languages.’

  ‘Eight?’

  ‘Okay, maybe just three or four.’

  Simon didn’t speak for a while, and we both watched the world go by.

  I stifled a sigh. If only we could blow off Jess and Nick and do our own private thing tonight.

  Simon was breathing deeply. Was he thinking the same thing?

  ‘I guess it’s almost show time,’ he said.

  He sounded wistful. But he was right – it was eight o’clock. Time for the main event.

  A couple of minutes later we’d made it to the bar. It was about half full and dotted with the usual muted Sunday-night drinkers. It was nicer than I’d imagined, with shining parquet floors, polished brass bar-top and arched windows.

  ‘Jess is outside,’ said Simon, pointing to where a few tables were gathered on a thin strip between the pub and the pavement. A row of potted plants was doing its best to hide the busy road beyond it.

  She was sitting in the smoking section, puffing on a cigarette. A Zippo lighter lay on the table next to a bottle in a cooler. I wasn’t crazy about sitting among the swirls of stinky white smoke, but it seemed churlish to complain.

  ‘Hiya,’ said Jess as we approached her. Simon leant down to kiss her on the cheek and I awkwardly followed suit. She was wearing a low-cut black top and her wrist was weighed down with jangling bracelets.

  ‘Nick didn’t come with you?’ asked Jess, peering over my shoulder as I sat down opposite her.

  ‘He’s on his way.’ He’d bloody well better be on his way.

  The cooler was housing a bottle of champagne. Simon reached for it and poured us both a glass. Jess’s flute was still full; she must have only just arrived.

  I was surreptitiously checking my watch when Nick arrived a couple of minutes later. Well, cleared past the first hurdle of getting the four of us into the same room, even if that ‘room’ was an outside table in the middle of the city. Nick didn’t bother to go round the front, and instead edged past a potted buxus to reach us. He was wearing a dark blue suit with a white shirt and red tie. It was the same outfit he’d worn the night we’d first met at Patrick’s party. I wanted to tell Simon as much – to let him know Mr Savile Row didn’t have a limitless supply of suits.

  Simon stood up to shake Nick’s hand and then Jess struggled upright with a lot of chair-scraping and swearing.

  ‘I don’t do handshakes,’ she announced, leaning forward to smack a kiss on both of Nick’s cheeks.

  We now had a small problem. If he was happy to greet a virtual stranger the continental way, how would boyfriend Nick say hello to me?

  For a horrified second I thought he would kiss me on the lips, but without skipping a beat he kissed the top of my head and then sat down. He moved his chair closer to me and leant to murmur in my ear.

  ‘This is me greeting you with something unspeakably filthy.’

  I noticeably – embarrassingly – shivered and he grinned like a Cheshire cat.

  It wasn’t his words that had goaded my goosebumps; his breath had been a feather down my neck. Anyone’s breath would have triggered the same reaction. I had sensitive skin.

  Unfortunately, the person whom this show was for – Jess – wasn’t even looking; she was busy peering at her phone. Nick’s move hadn’t escaped Simon’s notice, however. He was staring at Nick with laser beam focus, his lips pressed into a hard line. It was sort of gratifying that Simon was struggling with this, but it had been his idea and we were in for a long evening if everyone was going to act so unnaturally.

  I reached out to pat Simon’s arm. Unfortunately, Jess chose that moment to put her phone down.

  She looked from me to Nick then back to Simon. It had been a harmless touch; she couldn’t really suspect anything – could she?

  Without thinking, I placed my hand on top of Nick’s where it was resting on the table. His skin was cool where his knuckles jutted into my palm. Oh God, this was weird. But I couldn’t just snatch my hand away – that would look even weirder.

  Nick didn’t seem to notice. He looked perfectly at ease, sprawled in his chair. ‘So, what are we drinking?’

  ‘Champagne,’ said Jess.

  ‘Sounds great.’

  Well, at least Nick wasn’t going to profess to prefer mineral water tonight.

  I withdrew my hand to pour him a glass.

  ‘Cheers,’ he said, and proceeded to drink half of it in one go like it was a bottle of Lucozade.

  I stared at him. How thirsty was he?

  ‘Rough day?’ said Jess.

  ‘Something like that,’ he replied.

  I felt irrationally slighted. Great, I was the sort of girlfriend who drove her man to drink.

  No one was saying anything and an awkward hush was descending. I glanced around, desperate to spot something to comment on. A cute dog would have been ideal, but the only animal nearby was a pigeon with a misshapen foot pecking at a crisp packet – hardly a red-hot conversation-starter.

  ‘So, Nick,’ said Simon, who hated uncomfortable silences more than I did, ‘Zoë says you speak loads of languages. How come?’

  Bless Simon for trying.

  ‘I moved around a lot growing up.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’ asked Jess.

  ‘I bounced around between England, France, Spain and Italy.’

  ‘Must be a real headache during the Six Nations,’ she said.

  I didn’t see Nick as a rugger bugger, but he smiled gamely.

  ‘Where do you prefer living?’ said Simon.

  ‘I like England, these days.’

  Jess leant forward. ‘Is that because of our Zoë?’

  When had she turned into a Coronation Street character?

  Nick reached for the champagne and started refilling all our glasses. ‘She certainly keeps me on my toes.’

  It was hardly a ringing endorsement for true love, but Jess didn’t seem to care.

  The champagne ran out before Nick got to his own glass.

  Simon frowned. ‘I meant to order another bottle.’

  Nick stood. ‘It’s no problem, I’ll go to the bar.’

  Once he’d left, Jess announced she was off to the ladies, leaving just Simon and me at the table.

  I groaned and hid my face in my hands. ‘This is excruciating.’

  ‘But kinda entertaining.’

  ‘Nick’s not even trying to get Jess to talk about Marcie.’

  ‘He seems kinda uncomfortable.’

  I nodded, impressed that Simon had sensed it too. ‘It’s probably because I make a crappy girlfriend.’

  ‘Nah, it’s Nick that makes a crappy boyfriend.’

  It was a throwaway line, but he said it with feeling.

  I smiled, amazed at Simon’s reaction. Initially, I’d been peeved that he’d suggested this stupid charade, but bizarrely this stupid charade seemed to have thrown things into focus for him. Like how maybe he’d quite like to try out the role of my boyfriend . . .

  ‘You look very pretty tonight, Frixie.’

  I smiled again. I wished fourteen-year-old me could have been here. I’d spent years trying to work out how to get Simon to like me. I would have got here a hell of a lot quicker if I’d enlisted the green-eyed monster sooner. Simon was hating seeing me with another man.

  ‘Nick should try to flirt with Jess a bit,’ I said. ‘I bet she’d start singing like a canary.’

  Simon frowned. ‘That would be kinda low, don’t you think?’

/>   It jarred to hear his concern wasn’t uniquely for me. Now he was getting all protective of Jess? I bit my lip to hide my disappointment.

  ‘I just want all this done and dusted so none of us has to pretend any longer,’ I said.

  ‘Hold onto that thought,’ he whispered. ‘They’re back.’

  I turned round to see the pair of them walking back towards us. Jess was holding onto Nick’s arm like a debutante about to be announced at court. In Nick’s other arm was a fresh bottle of champagne.

  God, were we all expected to buy such expensive rounds?

  ‘You’re not usually such a big drinker,’ I said, as Nick reclaimed his seat next to me.

  ‘Champagne never gets me drunk.’

  ‘How weird,’ I said. ‘It gets me pissed faster than anything.’

  ‘I’ll have to look after you, then.’

  Fake-boyfriend Nick was the over-protective type.

  Jess elbowed Simon in the ribs. ‘They’re so cute together, aren’t they?’

  Simon half shrugged, half nodded.

  ‘Nick was just telling me how they met. It’s such a darling story.’

  I twisted in my seat to gawp at Nick who was sitting there wearing an enigmatic smile. What on earth had he been telling Jess? Surely not the Jonny story?

  ‘Tell Simon, too,’ she said to Nick,. ‘It shows a side of Zoë I bet he had no idea about.’

  I didn’t like the sound of this.

  ‘I’d better not,’ said Nick, the Mona Lisa smile morphing into a faux-sheepish grin. ‘It might embarrass her.’

  What the actual fuck had he been saying?

  ‘They met in a boxing class,’ said Jess.

  What did she just say?

  ‘Boxing? I thought you knew each other from work,’ said Simon, looking alarmed.

  I jumped in to reassure him. ‘Boxercise, there’s a difference. We knew each other from work, then happened to be in the same class one night.’

  Nick leant closer to me and bopped me on the nose. ‘And as the punches flew, so did the sparks.’ I stared at him openmouthed. Had he really just said that with a straight face?

  Simon looked ready to throw a punch of his own. ‘Christ, Nick, you weren’t hitting her, were you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I told him. ‘We just did a bunch of cardio exercises and practised punches on Styrofoam boards.’