What If?

by Shari Low

  ‘Once,’ I murmured sheepishly. That was below the belt! And it wasn’t the point! And God, I still missed Phil so much. Focus, Cooper. Focus.

  ‘But, Kate, he’s a bouncer for God’s sake. They’d shag anything in a skirt.’

  ‘Cooper, you’re being so bloody judgemental. How many females has this guy copped off with since you met him?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘How many have you heard him chatting up?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Well, stop being such a snob then. Just because he’s a bouncer doesn’t mean he’s a slapper. What does he do as a day job?’

  ‘He does personal training for yuppies to support himself. He’s learning Cantonese and practising some karate thing. He wants to open a martial arts school for kids.’

  The volume of her groan nearly made me drop the phone.

  ‘Jesus, Carly. He sounds like a cross between Dolph Lundgren and Mother Teresa. Now take advice from an old married woman. After kids, the sex deteriorates to the occasional knackered fumble, so make the most of it while you can.’

  This wasn’t quite the pep talk I’d been hoping for.

  A wave of homesickness drowned me. To make it worse, Kate brought me up to date with the latest gossip before hanging up. Carol had landed her first national TV commercial. She’d been the Glasgow Tourist Board’s ‘Flirt in a Skirt’ in their last advert for tartan kilts, but this was the first television job she’d bagged since she moved to London.

  ‘How long did you celebrate for?’ I knew I was torturing myself, but I had to ask.

  ‘Three days,’ she answered, hesitantly.

  My bottom lip began to quiver. I missed the girls at home like crazy.

  ‘But we had lots of toasts in your memory,’ she added quickly, trying to console me. It didn’t work. It just made it sound like I had died.

  Jess was next. She’d joined Carol and Kate in London and had a research post with Brixton Council. Only Sarah was still in Scotland. ‘Since she moved in with that guy in Edinburgh she’s fallen off the face of the earth. She’s bailed on everything we’ve invited her to for ages now. Always says she’s too busy. And the once or twice that I’ve managed to get her on the phone, she just says she’s been way too busy to keep in touch. She says she’s really happy though. I guess sometimes friendships just drift apart, but I wish she still had time for us,’ Kate complained.

  ‘Me too. She never replies to my letters.’ I didn’t mind. I was glad she was happy and I knew we’d catch up eventually. Although, I’d have to track down her address because the last one I had for her was lost when my personal organiser vanished.

  ‘Don’t take it personally,’ Kate said. ‘Just one of those things, but we miss her.’

  I could hear Kate’s voice getting sleepy.

  ‘Be good, Cooper. And remember, if you can’t be good, be—’

  ‘I know, be careful.’

  ‘I was going to say “outrageous”,’ she laughed. ‘I know your limitations.’

  I put the pillow back over my head. The sun had come up outside and I wasn’t ready to face the day yet. There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Room service.’

  ‘I didn’t order room service,’ I replied. This was all I needed – a confused waiter with a continental breakfast.

  Another knock.

  ‘Room service,’ he repeated.

  Fuck! I stomped out of bed, grabbed a robe and threw open the door.

  ‘I told you I didn’t…’ I stopped mid-sentence. Leaning against the door frame was Sam, looking tired and sweaty, in shorts and a T-shirt.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a run. Found myself here.’ There was no sense of pushiness or grand gestures, just honesty.

  ‘And?’

  ‘You tell me,’ he shrugged, his expression questioning.

  Bugger the rules. I pulled him inside and wound my arms around his neck, kissing him until I could barely breathe.

  ‘More?’ he asked, when we eventually broke apart.

  I knew what he was asking and I didn’t hesitate before whispering, ‘Yes.’

  He picked me up and carried me to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and stripped off both his clothes and my robe before pulling me under the water jet. He took the soap and lathered me from head to toe, massaging every part of me. I returned the service, reaching for an extra bar of soap.

  He pushed me under the water and lifted me up. Instinctively I wrapped my legs round his waist and closed my eyes tight. The fact that I could potentially drown under the shower didn’t even cross my mind, but I was relieved when he switched off the water and carried me to the bed.

  ‘You sure?’ he whispered.

  I nodded, reaching over to my bedside drawer for condoms. It was the same supply I’d had for months, and when I’d unpacked I’d put them there more out of habit than optimism.

  Meanwhile, primal instinct took over. We made love on the bed, on the floor, against the window, on the desk, over the coffee table. Sam reciprocated, alternating between taking charge and letting me control him. If this was his usual early morning workout, then no wonder he looked the way that he did. This was the kind of exercise I could definitely get on board with.

  Finally, we came together, collapsing against a wall and sliding down it. He reached over to the bed and pulled the duvet off, wrapping it around us.

  I was mentally checking my body for broken bones, torn muscles and bruises as he stroked my hair.

  ‘So what now?’ My powers of initiative and reason had deserted me.

  ‘We’re having a relationship,’ he stated definitively, like it was already agreed.

  ‘We are? Don’t I have a say in this?’ Not that there would be any arguments from me, but still, I couldn’t let him away with that level of surety.

  He laughed and pushed my hair back off my face, looking into my eyes. ‘Why? Do you have any objections, boss?’

  I rolled my eyes and grinned weakly. ‘No.’ I was pathetic, I thought. A few hours of admittedly earth-moving passion and my resolve crumbled.

  We lay in bed until early afternoon when we realised we were starving.

  ‘Let’s go back to my place and I’ll make you lunch.’

  ‘I can’t. I have to house hunt.’

  ‘Or…’ he paused, and I could see he was thinking. ‘You could bring all your stuff over and move in with me until you find somewhere.’

  I closed my eyes. Here we go again. Why did I never have a relationship that started with a gentle friendship, then a couple of years to get to know each other before the engagement announcement went into The Times? Then another couple of years of occasional illicit sexual encounters, before we walked up the aisle, pension plans and endowments in place. I’d seen porno movies that had lasted longer than my courtships. Whoever invented the phrase ‘seize the day’ must have known I was coming.

  I suppose, I thought as I emptied my underwear drawer into my suitcase, I just didn’t see the point of delaying the inevitable. I loved the spontaneity and excitement of the beginning of a relationship. Enthusiasm and optimism, they got me every time.

  At least it solved my immediate accommodation problem, but it created another one. The hotel management would frown upon me becoming overfamiliar with the staff. I explained this to Sam.

  ‘If we are going to do this, Sam, then nobody can ever find out about it. Promise me.’

  ‘And here’s me planning to announce it over the tannoy tonight,’ he replied, looking mortally offended.

  ‘I’m serious, Sam. Nobody, okay.’

  ‘Whatever you say, boss.’

  ‘And stop bloody calling me boss. From now on it’s “babe”, “darling”, “sweetheart” and in moments of passion, “you gorgeous, amazing shag”. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, boss.’ His smirk made me giggle. I had the feeling that this was going to be interesting. Irrational, eventful, unpredictable but definitely interesting.

  I made Sam leave five minutes b
efore me, carrying my suitcase, then met up with him outside. We caught the MTR to Causeway Bay, then climbed a million stairs to street level. Any man who could do that carrying my suitcase and not require oxygen at the top deserved a medal. We weaved in and out the crowded streets before reaching the entrance to a block of flats. We were about to enter when a voice called out.

  ‘Mr Sam. Lay Ho Ma.’ I’d already learned it was Cantonese for ‘how are you?’

  We turned around to see the source of the greeting. I was confused. The only people in sight were three old homeless men lying on camp beds under a flyover across the road. Sam beckoned me over to them and shook their hands, talking to them in Cantonese. He introduced me and they giggled, winking at Sam and patting his arm proudly.

  ‘Carly, this is Huey, Dewy and Louie. They help me with my Cantonese in return for a case of beer and some food money every week.’

  ‘What are their real names?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think even they remember. They told me someone once called them that and it stuck.’

  ‘They live here?’ I looked around at the pile of sleeping bags and the makeshift beds. It was hard to believe that the authorities let them live like this in the middle of one of the world’s busiest cities. Sam nodded, as the other three began chatting to him.

  ‘What are they saying?’ I asked him.

  ‘That you look like a woman with lots of, em, energy,’ he laughed.

  Impressed by their easy friendship, I smiled. Sam Morton was full of surprises.

  We said goodbye and went upstairs. I was feeling nervous. What if his house was a disgusting bachelor pad? It struck me that I knew nothing about him. I know, any rational person would have had these misgivings long before they were standing in the hallway, next to their suitcase, about to enter their new home.

  He swung open the door and as I edged inside, I sighed with relief.

  The flat consisted of three rooms. The largest was open plan, about twenty-five feet square with white walls and wood flooring. In one corner was a double bed, made up with cushions scattered across the top. Piles of books stood to attention next to it. In the centre of the room were two cream sofas, parallel to each other with a pine coffee table in the middle. Against one wall was a hi-fi unit with a television, video and stereo, against another there was a row of wardrobes. In the opposite corner from the bed, there was a small pine dining table and two chairs.

  I explored the other rooms. One was a shower room, with a spotlessly clean white bathroom suite and the other was a tiny kitchen, with only room for two cupboards, a fridge, a two-ring stove and a microwave.

  Sam had obviously discovered the minimalist look long before it was fashionable. I could live here, I decided. It would be cosy, but it was clean and bright and comfortable and so much better than anything I’d looked at in my budget.

  He pulled me to him and kissed me.

  ‘Welcome home.’

  I resisted his manoeuvres to christen our new abode and made for the kitchen. For once my stomach was overruling my libido. I opened the cupboards and searched for sustenance, while he made space for my things in his wardrobe.

  I opened a couple of cans of soup and heated them on the stove, then found a stick of fresh bread in the cupboard. When it was ready, I called him over. As he pulled out a chair at the dining table, he watched, puzzled, as I passed him, carrying a large Pyrex dish on the way to the door.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he enquired, appearing concerned that I was about to flee the scene.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute. I’m just taking some soup down to Huey, Dewy and Louie.’

  His laughter followed me down the corridor. Somehow I knew I was going to like it here.

  We fell into the comfortable rhythm of a match made in heaven. I would go into work every day at lunchtime to take care of the stock, accounts and prepare for opening.

  Running a club that was attached to a hotel was so much easier than an independent, because the hotel took care of all the major cleaning and maintenance. Before we left at night, we cleared all the tables, washed all the glasses and made sure the bar was pristine and locked. But other than that, no matter what state the rest of the club was in when we left at 4 a.m., it was always pristine when I returned in the afternoon. I wish the same happened at home – it would be great to leave clothes strewn around, then return to find them washed, ironed and back in the drawers.

  While I was at work, Sam would alternate between Cantonese classes (both official ones, and the informal ones with his friends under the flyover) and martial arts training. He was completely focused on his plans and supplemented his income by charging an obscene amount of money to overpaid expats for personal training sessions at a local gym every night between 5 p.m. and 7 p.m..

  Afterwards, he’d meet me for dinner. He was the most interesting guy I’d ever met – a complete encyclopaedia on Asia, on history, on life – so much for the stereotypes about bouncers. Not only was he smart, but he was completely without vanity. He didn’t even look in a mirror except to shave. Another theory blown out of the water.

  But the best thing about the relationship was the easiness of it. There were no heavy emotional scenes. No declarations of undying love. No fights and tantrums. It was just simple, relaxed, comfortable and fun, with long conversations and sex that left you smiling for a week. Heaven. I was actually starting to think that I was getting this relationship thing right for once. Every evening, we’d return to the club, separately, of course. Our affair was still filed under the Official Secrets Act and Sam was the epitome of discretion. If anything, it was me who was in danger of blowing our cover. As the months passed, I found it increasingly difficult to stand by while gorgeous women threw themselves at him. One night as I stood at the door with Sam, Kenny, Zeek and Hugh, my patience was tested to the limit.

  A stunning blonde who had obviously shared a womb with Kate Moss, sidled up to him.

  ‘Hi,’ she pouted.

  Sam nodded and then turned back to the door.

  She wasn’t deterred by his indifference.

  ‘I was wondering if you wanted to go for a drink when you finish work.’

  ‘Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think so.’

  She curled her fingers through his hair. I wanted to snap them like a Kit Kat.

  ‘Oh, come on. Just one little, bitsy drink.’ Her fingers were tracing down the side of his face now. I wondered how she would pick things up after I’d removed her thumb.

  ‘Look,’ he said, detaching her hand from his neck, ‘I’m married. The only person I go for a drink with is my wife, okay?’

  The other guys raised their eyebrows. The ‘married’ excuse was one that they all used, but usually only when they were confronted with drunken women they didn’t fancy, not ones who would look stunning on the pages of a magazine.

  ‘She would never know,’ supertramp continued, ‘and it would definitely be a night to remember.’

  That’s it. I looked around for a cleaver to amputate her limbs. Then my mouth started moving before it had consulted my brain and I interjected, trying to act more amused than enraged.

  ‘I’m afraid she would know. You see, she’s standing here wondering why you’re salivating all over her husband.’

  A burst of laughter came from the guys. Sam looked at me, clearly enjoying my reaction.

  Blondie staggered off, seeking a hole to crawl in to.

  ‘Way to go, boss. Don’t suppose you’d do that for me if that little chick who’s been stalking me appears again tonight,’ Hugh asked.

  ‘Sure, Hugh. All part of the service.’

  I glanced at Sam. His amusement had turned to smugness, but the tables soon turned. Zeek spoke up, very bravely as the others were within earshot.

  ‘Boss, I was wondering if you’d like to grab some lunch with me tomorrow. Maybe go over to Lan Kwai Fong?’

  Tempting. Lan Kwai Fong was my favourite area, a collection of streets packed with cool bars and rest
aurants. But there was a Sam-shaped problem with the idea.

  ‘Sorry, Zeek. I’ve already got plans.’

  He was just being friendly, I thought, nothing more.

  Maybe not.

  ‘How about dinner then?’

  ‘Sorry, Zeek, I can’t. I’m already seeing someone, you know that.’

  I’d been telling them for months that I was seeing someone, but I was sure they thought he was a figment of my imagination.

  ‘No offence, boss, but how can you be? You’re here every day and night and he never comes to visit you. No guy would put up with that. C’mon, tell the truth. You just give us the boyfriend story to put us off. Come out with me tomorrow. You could do with a bit of fun.’

  I could see Sam flushing and grinding his teeth. Mr Cool was looking decidedly lukewarm. I was starting to enjoy this.

  ‘You’re right, Zeek, I could do with a bit of fun.’

  Sam coughed loudly.

  ‘But I’ll still skip tomorrow. Sorry.’

  Zeek shrugged his shoulders. ‘Let me know if you change your mind.’

  That night, Sam made love to me like a man who wanted to make sure I’d never let him go.

  By Christmas Eve, Sam was losing patience with the subterfuge. Apparently, the staff in the club were running a book to see which of them could persuade me out on a date first. He couldn’t understand the need for secrecy. He brought it up again in the office that night just before opening time.

  ‘Please, Sam, don’t get upset. I just want to keep my personal life private. It’s got nothing to do with anyone else. I don’t want the people who work for me to know I’m living with one of the bouncers.’

  ‘But why?’ he yelled. ‘What is it, Carly, are you embarrassed by me? Well, I tell you what, I’ll just fuck off out of your way then.’

  He stormed off to his position at the door. I was dumbstruck. I’d never heard him raise his voice before, never mind swear at me in anger. He avoided me for the rest of the evening.

  As G counted down the minutes to the arrival of Christmas Day, the club was in uproar. I fought my way through the bar to the door. I looked at Sam pleadingly, but he just turned away.