What If?

by Shari Low

  That was the problem with us. We were way too young, he was way too stubborn and strong willed and so was I, and the result was five years of brilliant highs and huffy lows.

  ‘Falling at my feet again, Cooper? That’s nothing new,’ he laughed.

  Did I mention that he could also be arrogant, overconfident and witty?

  ‘Just as long as you don’t expect me to do anything to your anatomy while I’m down there,’ I replied tartly, hoping my face wasn’t making it obvious that I was delighted to see him.

  Fate intervened and the lights in the club came on. Shit, why hadn’t I made it to the toilets before this happened? I knew my make-up was landsliding down my face and shining like it had been turtle-waxed.

  ‘How are you getting home?’ he asked.

  ‘Walking.’

  ‘In those heels? You’ll end up in Casualty. Tell you what, I’ll come with you – for protection purposes only, of course.’

  I should have said no. I should have fled the scene, but there was no way I could move at speed in those shoes. Instead, I just nodded.

  I said goodbye to the girls, who had all paired up with their latest boyfriends.

  Mark took my hand and led me out, both of us automatically slipping back into comfortable familiarity. We talked all the way home about everything but us. He told me how he was studying law at Glasgow University. How he had a girlfriend from Edinburgh called Sally. How he still socialised with the guys from school.

  I told him about Amsterdam. About Joe and the club. About René and the Dam Central Hotel. About all the people I’d met and all the strange characters that littered the streets. Twice I stumbled in my skyscraper heels and twice he reached out to catch me, saving me from fractures and dislocations. When we reached my house, he stopped and turned.

  ‘Why did you leave, Carly? You didn’t even tell me you were going. There was Benidorm, then you were grounded, and the next thing I heard was that you’d gone. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Mark, we’d broken up. In fact, if I remember correctly, you’d chucked me.’

  ‘We were always breaking up, but we always got back together.’ It was true. We’d had more comebacks than Elvis.

  ‘It wouldn’t have changed anything, Mark. I just wanted to go away and find something new.’

  ‘You mean someone new.’

  I started to get annoyed. What right did he have to castigate me? After all, he was hardly drowning his sorrows with Sally from Edinburgh. He hadn’t exactly condemned himself to a religious order of celibacy whilst pining desperately for me. How was it that he could instantly press the buttons that made my temper boil?

  I was about to unleash a tirade of recriminations (you know the ones: ‘You did this, you did that, three years ago last Tuesday you hurt my feelings and by the way I’ve always hated your aftershave…’), when his eyes met mine and his face moved closer… and closer… and I didn’t move away, not even when he began to kiss me so softly, so gently, my lungs forgot to breathe.

  He finally stopped. He looked at me, sadness all over his face.

  ‘I know you’ve moved on now, Carly, but I’ll always be here for you. Friends?’

  Was this what friends did? I didn’t think Joe would have agreed. Shit, Joe. What was I doing? How could I kiss someone else? This was a breather. A break. Why was I puckering up with the first, second and third love of my life?

  ‘Friends,’ I heard myself saying. ‘Always.’

  A few weeks later, I knew I was going to have to make a decision. I had been in total denial about Joe, about why I was home and about what I was going to do with my life. This wasn’t just a breathing space; it was a full-scale surgical removal. I couldn’t talk to my parents about it. My dad was only interested in where his next drink was coming from, and my mother was so uptight she wouldn’t understand. Now that I was home again, I’d come to realise a few things about our relationship. I was beginning to understand that we’d never been close because she just couldn’t relate to this daughter who was nothing like her at all. She still lived in the town she grew up in, and she’d married my dad at sixteen and stuck with him because that’s what you did in her world. The concept of having multiple relationships and getting out there and seeing what the world had to offer was alien to her, so I knew she’d tell me to take the safe bet, stay at home, get a job, and live a life similar to hers and that was the last thing I wanted. Being home had only made me see that even clearer.

  I went to see Kate, who was working in a nightclub called Chandeliers, to subsidise her meagre hairdressing salary. At the door of the club was Ray, the owner, whom I’d become friendly with over the previous month, as I spent almost every night in the familiar surroundings of mayhem and blaring music. I had regaled him with stories about the club in Amsterdam and we’d spent a few nights swapping tales of the drunken debauchery and decadence of the entertainment industry.

  ‘You still here, Cooper?’ he greeted me. ‘I thought you were heading back to Mr Wonderful for a spot of clog dancing?’

  I laughed. ‘I’m having a bit of a dilemma on the clog front, Ray. Don’t know if my bunions can stand the pressure.’

  It was his turn to be amused. He beckoned me inside and we went into his office. Two coffees later and I’d explained what was going on.

  ‘Has he tried to contact you?’ he asked.

  ‘He doesn’t have my mum’s address or phone number, so he doesn’t have any way of reaching me. When I started working for him, I just gave him the address of the hotel I was living in at the time. And anyway, that’s not his style. Joe trusts me. If I say that I just need a bit of space, then he’ll trust me to go back. The thing is, I don’t think I want to. I’ve kind of realised that I’m not ready for the whole marriage thing and if I tell Joe that he’ll never forgive me.’ Not that I was even sure he would forgive me for disappearing on him. In my almost twenty year old brain, it was a no-win situation. ‘I think I want to stay here.’ There, I’d finally admitted it. I had goosebumps from head to toe.

  ‘So, stay. What’s the problem?’ he shrugged.

  ‘Ray, it’s not that easy. If I stay here, then I need to find somewhere to live and a job and I have to find them quickly. I’m running out of money and there’s no way I’m asking my parents for help.’ I’d told him all about the set-up at home on a previous visit.

  ‘Tell you what, Cooper, there’s a job for you here. This place is getting so busy and my other three clubs are the same. I could do with someone I trust in here to look after things when I’m not around.’

  It took a moment for me to take that in. ‘How do you know I’m trustworthy? For all you know, I could have embezzled thousands and right now I could be on Interpol’s most-wanted posters.’ I was stunned but over the moon at his offer.

  ‘You’re right, Cooper, you could be, but you’re Kate’s mate and she’s a good girl, so I’ll take a chance. You’ve got a great way with people and I think you’ll make money for me here.’ I was starting to feel warm and bubbly when he laughed and added, ‘And if one penny goes missing, I’ll break your legs.’ Well, at least we both knew where we stood – me on legs that I might one day have to pick up and carry around in a shopping bag.

  I took the offer and started the following evening. Problem number one solved.

  By the end of the week, I’d hijacked the lounge in Kate’s flat and turned it into a bedroom, with a little help from a clothes rail and a futon. Problem number two solved.

  And problem number three? Well, I just put Joe to the back of my mind, blocked out the whole chapter and never did contact him. I knew it was wrong and I was mortified, but putting Joe Cain in a box and sealing it was the only way I could deal with it. I also swore off men for the foreseeable future.

  Unfortunately, the foreseeable future turned out to be shorter than I’d anticipated.

  I was standing on the door of the club a few weeks later, trying desperately to get the bouncers to focus on checking the ages of the females
who were attempting to enter, rather than their breast size, when a crowd approached and I spotted a familiar face: Doug Cook.

  Doug was a year younger than me in school and a friend of Callum. He had been in and out of our house since we were kids and was always the life and soul of every party. I gave him a hug, surprised at how much he’d changed in the two years since I’d last seen him.

  He must have grown about six inches and he towered over me. His short blond hair was falling just over his green eyes. I could see every muscle in his chest and abdomen clearly defined through his tight white T-shirt and his beautifully developed thighs stretched his black jeans. Either he’d had a body transplant or taken up permanent residence in a gym, and I would have to have been wearing a balaclava backwards not to notice that he was seriously attractive. I tried to dampen down the physical reaction that was stirring my libido.

  This was Callum’s best friend. Did that constitute incest? Was I becoming completely depraved and controlled by my oversexed hormones? And anyway, wasn’t I still in mourning for Joe? That did it – the thought of Joe made my heart plummet to the pit of my stomach. My conscience had finally kicked in.

  Doug and I chatted for twenty minutes, catching up on old gossip. That’s when I suddenly realised that I was sitting on my hands lest they develop a mind of their own and wander to the vicinity of his biceps. Every time he smiled, I wanted to stroke his face. So much for conscience. I needed to have a serious chat with myself. Eventually, he went inside to join his friends and two minutes later Callum arrived.

  ‘Callum, inside, now,’ I ordered, motioning to my office. I sat him down and interrogated him for information on Doug.

  Callum was stunned.

  ‘Christ, Carly, he’s like family.’ I was right about the incest bit.

  ‘So shoot me, Callum. I can’t help it – he’s adorable. I nearly jumped his bones the minute I saw him.’

  ‘Eeeew, too much information,’ he groaned. ‘Just promise me something, sis.’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Don’t let me see anything involving tongues.’

  With a shudder, he gave me a quick hug and retreated to the bar.

  At the end of the night, Doug knocked on my office door.

  ‘Carly, I was just wondering if you wanted a lift home.’ He looked nervous, but not half as nervous as I felt. I was pretty positive Callum wouldn’t have told him I was interested so maybe that meant Doug had sensed something between us too.

  ‘No thanks, Doug. There’s a crowd of us going down to Largs. Unless, of course, you want to come.’ Say yes. Say yes. Please, say yes.

  Working in nightclubs reduces your social life to that of an agoraphobic, so we tended to go out after work. There were only two options at 3 a.m.. Option one was Glasgow Airport, where the café was open all night. Option two was Largs, a seaside town about forty minutes away, where we’d make a bonfire on the beach and spend a couple of hours drinking beers and singing along with Mad Mitch, the worst bouncer and guitar player on the planet.

  ‘Eh… sure. Sounds good. I’ll wait in the car,’ he nodded and I sat on my hands again so I wouldn’t punch the air.

  At Largs, it was freezing cold and we snuggled up as Mitch tortured ‘Let it Be’.

  Every time I looked up at Doug, I waited for him to kiss me. My lips were permanently puckered, but there were no takers. At 6 a.m., he dropped me at my house.

  When he pulled on the handbrake, he turned his gorgeous face to me. ‘You know, for years I had a huge crush on you.’

  What did he mean, ‘had’?

  ‘And now?’ I tried to act cool and keep the hope out of my voice.

  ‘Let’s just wait and see.’ With that, he leant over and kissed me on the cheek.

  I got out of the car and went inside. What the hell was all that about? Wait and see? What exactly was he waiting for?

  The following evening, he appeared at the club and again we went out afterwards. We cuddled and talked, but still no smooching. This went on for two months. Most nights, Doug would take me home, we’d talk for a couple of hours and then he’d kiss me on the cheek and leave.

  Thankfully his job as a salesman in a local garage meant that he didn’t start work until eleven o’clock, otherwise sleep deprivation would have killed him.

  My confidence was plummeting to an all-time low. Was I completely unattractive? Had his crush well and truly worn off?

  I discussed the situation with the girls, and then ignored their suggestions of ‘Forget him’ or ‘Just tell him straight out that you ‘re a sure thing!’ I knew I had to leave it up to him.

  Puzzled but persistent, I invited Doug round to the flat I shared with Kate for dinner one Wednesday night, the only night of the week that I didn’t work and Kate did. I promised him a great meal, so it was action stations as my culinary skills extended to Pot Noodles and banana sandwiches. I phoned Roberto, the owner of a nearby Italian restaurant and explained the problem. He came up trumps. In exchange for free tickets to the nightclub for the next month, one of his guys arrived at my door half an hour before Doug with a veritable feast. I bunged it in the oven.

  As I opened the door to him, my hormones surged. He was so beautiful that I just wanted to take his hand and drag him to bed.

  Instead, I served dinner, accepting his compliments on my cooking with grace and humility, knowing that my chances of going to heaven were diminishing by the minute.

  We cuddled up on the couch afterwards and it finally happened. He kissed me. It was tentative and tender as he stroked my face and ran his fingers through my hair. When I eventually came up for air, I gave in to weeks of curiosity.

  ‘Doug, can I ask you something? Why did you wait so long?’

  He shrugged, flushed a little. ‘I just think this is going to be really big and I want to take it slow. I don’t want to rush things and fuck it up.’

  ‘How big?’ I asked, stunned at his sincerity and thoughtfulness.

  ‘Forever big. Huge. Massive. Weddings and babies big.’

  Oh, God. In my head, I hadn’t got past multiple orgasm big. I was still on wild passionate affair and he was already on mortgages and lifelong commitments. Next, he’d be washing my car on a Sunday and I’d be checking his pockets before taking his suits to the dry-cleaners. Panic set in. Hadn’t I just left this situation six months before? I lapsed into a pensive silence. Why did everyone suddenly want to talk about bloody weddings? I thought that all men were supposed to be complete commitment-phobes who avoided the ‘m’ word like it was contagious?

  ‘Don’t worry, babe,’ he whispered, holding me close. ‘Like I said, we’ll take it slow.’

  I should have realised then that I was doomed, but I had more pressing matters to worry about – we kissed and cuddled for the rest of the night, but still not a breast was fondled.

  I called an emergency meeting of the girls the next morning. Jess was in Aberdeen, but Sarah was home and Kate and Carol could make it too. They met me at Roberto’s and as I relayed the previous night’s events, their hilarity was deafening.

  ‘Talk about out of the frying pan and into the sauna,’ Carol exclaimed. Her command of common sayings hadn’t improved, but with the money she was starting to make from modelling, she didn’t care. Nor did she notice that every waiter in the restaurant was staring at her in a catatonic trance whilst sucking in his stomach and puffing out his pecs.

  ‘I think it’s sweet that he’s already thinking about that kind of stuff,’ Sarah offered. She’d always been a hopeless romantic, so I discounted that opinion immediately.

  Only Kate had a modicum of balanced sensibility. ‘Are you in love with him?’ she asked quietly.

  All joviality ceased and four pairs of eyes focused on me, waiting for the reply.

  ‘No, no, no. Well, maybe, potentially. Oh, God, I don’t know. It’s so soon after Joe. But yes, I think about Doug constantly and just want to be with him all of the time. I’m pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.’

 
Their silence offered no contradiction of my self-flagellation.

  ‘Well, just do as he says and take it slowly.’

  Fair point. But in the sex and fondling department, my version of taking it slowly was positively meteoric compared to Doug’s.

  Over the next few nights, he alternated between kissing me passionately, nibbling my ears and nuzzling my neck. Occasionally, his hand would creep up my back under my jumper, but no more than that. I’m ashamed to admit I resorted to guerrilla tactics. I even tried going braless and when his hand crept up my back, I swung around quickly, hoping he’d inadvertently stumble upon a breast. But nothing worked. Nothing.

  Until one night, a few Wednesdays later, after another of Roberto’s masterpieces was fraudulently disguised as my own creation. We sat on the floor, food on the coffee table, when Doug looked up and took my hand.

  ‘Cooper,’ he said solemnly, ‘this has got to stop.’

  My heart skipped a beat. What did he mean, stop? We couldn’t stop now. I was falling more in lust with him by the minute and, barring the fact that he obviously had the sex drive of a monastic celibate, I had come to realise that we were actually really good together.

  ‘What’s got to stop?’ I ventured tentatively.

  ‘The fact that we’ve eaten our way through all of Roberto’s menu.’

  Shit! He knew.

  I collapsed in a fit of giggles.

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘The garnish was a giveaway. Nobody heats up a garnish.’

  Caught red-handed. How was I to know that I should have taken the decoration off the plates before putting them in the oven?

  He stood up and pulled me to join him. What was this? Action stations. Incoming fondles. Without saying a word, he unbuttoned my blouse and took off his shirt. He led me to bed and lay me down, silently removing first my jeans, then his. I reached up for him, pulling him on top of me. He slowly traced an invisible line around my nipples and then down to my stomach. He rose above me, then entered me, all the while staring into my eyes with the most beautiful smile on his face. He didn’t utter a sound as he started to move back and forwards, surging inside me.