Talk to Me

by Jules Wake

  Things on the Luscious Lips launch were starting to get hectic. Emily was still in the office at six-thirty, which was unheard of, and her shoulders were so tense her neck had almost disappeared.

  Across the room her face was turning redder and redder as she carried on a conversation on the phone. I got a ‘God-give-me-patience’ eye roll before she slammed down the phone and hurled a pen at the wall opposite.

  Shrugging on my coat – a flak jacket might have been safer – I wandered over.

  ‘You OK?’ I asked briskly, as she tossed papers into her file tray.

  ‘What does it look like? You have no idea. You wouldn’t believe the hoops we’re jumping through to please “darling” Miranda.’

  Served her right. Although it was still nothing compared to my afternoon. An hour long phone call placating my client, a doppelganger for Jabba the Hutt, when a planning application didn’t go his way. His company had just seen several million go down the Swanee.

  She looked appealingly at me. If she was looking for sympathy, she’d come to the wrong place.

  ‘I suppose you could say it serves me right,’ her voice softened. ‘I’m sorry, Olivia. I should have told you that we were using the dress idea.’

  Normally I would have said something conciliatory like, ‘Don’t worry about it.’ But an ear bashing from Jabba had left a full-blown disco beat pounding in my head. All I wanted was to get home.

  ‘I’m leaving,’ I said wearily. ‘Now.’ Just talking to her was taking too much effort.

  ‘I’ve said I’m sorry,’ she said in a lost little voice. ‘Please don’t be mad at me.’

  It was just like being back in the playground.

  ‘Emily, at this moment I couldn’t care. I just want to go home. Swallow half a dozen Anadin and wallow in a bath. Coming?’

  Casting a look of loathing at the piles of papers spread across her desk, she scooped them all up and dumped them in her pending tray. Then, leaning down, she gathered up a selection of files from the floor and shoved them in, too. I watched horrified, hands twitching. Talk about disorganised – no wonder she was stressed.

  ‘I shouldn’t but … I can speak to Miranda’s agent in the morning. You wouldn’t believe the stuff Miranda wants. Do you know—’

  ‘I’m going, now.’

  ‘All right. All right.’ Suddenly she looked at her watch. ‘Shit, I forgot. Daniel’s coming. He phoned earlier. He’s got a meeting first thing so he’s staying over tonight.’ She pulled a face. ‘I could do without it. I’m not cooking.’

  Cooking? Emily! That would be the day. She liked being taken to restaurants and was very old-fashioned when it came to splitting the bill.

  ‘He’ll have to make do with a takeaway. I’ve got a bit of a headache. Not that I need to worry on that score.’ She snorted. ‘I can’t remember the last time we had sex.’

  And she thought she had problems. I wasn’t sure my body still knew what sex was.

  I tuned her out as we left the building. Every other word was Miranda.

  Tottenham Court Road was heavy going, thick with bus queues and dawdling tourists blocking the crowded pavements. I wound ruthlessly in and around the throng of people and Emily had to jog to keep up with me, which was deliberate. If she was concentrating on breathing she’d have to stop talking.

  I was halted mid-stride by a sudden, sharp tug on my jacket as Emily grabbed my arm and pointed to the other side of the busy road.

  ‘What?’ I snapped. All I wanted to do was get home.

  Her mouth was moving but the words were incoherent. The wall of red double-decker buses made it difficult to see what she was pointing to.

  ‘Did you see him?’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Who?’ I asked impatiently. It was impossible to pick out anyone with so many pedestrians waltzing between the bumpers of the stationary traffic.

  Emily was always spotting famous people. Last month it had been Elton John in Starbucks, wearing a fluorescent jacket and hobnail boots. She wouldn’t believe it wasn’t him until he left the coffee shop, put on his hard hat and walked onto the building site next door.

  Just outside the entrance to a tube station was a bad place to stop, especially in rush hour. A few choice words were hissed at us as people jostled past.

  Emily frowned, rubbing her forehead. ‘He’s gone now.’

  ‘Who?’ I asked exasperated, starting down the steps, rubbing my hip, which had been jabbed by a briefcase.

  ‘Perhaps I’m imagining things. I thought it was him. Peter the emailer.’

  ‘You sure?’ I looked round, examining the people coming down the stairs behind us.

  ‘No, it was just a glimpse. Broken glasses mended with tape.’

  Goosebumps rose along the hairline around the back of my neck.

  I nudged Emily downwards, anxious to keep moving. ‘We’re in the way. Mind that pushchair. Here.’

  Shoving my bag into her hand, I went to the rescue of a tired looking woman who was trying to manoeuvre a buggy down the steps. I felt for her, she had a toddler to deal with and I had Emily!

  Once down on the platform, having said goodbye to my grateful new friend, Emily and I stood six deep waiting for our train.

  ‘I think I just imagined it.’ Emily laughed nervously. ‘I’ve got him on the brain.’ But we both took an unconscious step back from the platform edge, eyeing up other commuters.

  ‘Mm,’ I responded reassuringly.

  When the train arrived the flow of bodies inched into the carriage. The doors slid closed just as one last chap squeezed between the doors. His hand reached up to clutch his glasses. Through the heads crammed in the space between I could just see the silver tape holding the frame together. From the look on Emily’s face she’d seen it too. I tried to get a better look but the mass of people and newspapers got in the way.

  ‘What do we do?’ she whispered, her teeth gnawing her lip. ‘Is it him?’

  ‘I can’t see properly. Can you? Don’t catch his eye.’

  ‘You’re taller, you look.’

  Taking a deep breath, I sneaked a glance over my shoulder. A gap appeared in the crowd. The hand obscuring his face had moved. My shoulders relaxed as the tension whistled simultaneously out with my breath. I stepped aside so that Emily had a clear view. The man by the door, huddled into an old trench coat like a cold war spy, had wispy grey hair in a comb over and was well into his sixties.

  Relief made us giddy and silly. Our sniggers grew to wholesale giggles and by the time we got to our last stop, they’d turned into peals of laughter. The rest of the carriage thought we were idiots and as the passengers thinned, George Smiley glared at us over his horn rims.

  ‘Can you believe it?’ snorted Emily as we doubled over on the street again. ‘Talk about neurotic nellies. Totally harmless and we’re nearly wetting ourselves. Bet half of London tapes their glasses together.’

  ‘It’s certainly made me forget my headache.’

  ‘And me, Miranda. We deserve a glass of something. Let’s stop at the offy and I’ll get a bottle.’

  For once, Emily and I were united in rare accord. Sometimes she could be very generous. Not just with wine, frequently she tried to press her clothes on to me, even though most of her tops would go round me three times and her trousers only reached mid-shin. No such problems with her accessories though and she owned a fabulous selection.

  Luxuriating in the hot water, which I’d just topped up for a third time, I was tempted to ignore the polite knock at the door.

  While I’d been in the bathroom I’d heard Daniel arrive.

  Was it him at the door? Emily was more likely to have hollered through the glass.

  ‘Hi, Olivia.’ I closed my eyes.

  As if everything else wasn’t perfect enough. Why did he have to have a
lovely deep voice, too?

  ‘We’re getting an Indian takeaway. Do you want something?’

  ‘Yes, please. Can I have a chicken dhansak?’

  Behind the closed door Daniel chuckled. Did he have to do that? Even that was attractive.

  ‘Creature of habit.’

  ‘Sometimes I have prawn pathia,’ I yelled back. Sticking to the same thing was much easier. It saved having menu envy.

  ‘Anything else, modom?’ he teased.

  ‘No thank you, Jeeves. That will do nicely.’

  ‘No wonder you’re so skinny, woman.’

  ‘Slender,’ I admonished, thinking it was a good job he didn’t have X-ray vision. Throughout my life I’d grown up to the refrain, ‘Aren’t you lucky? You’re so thin.’

  No, I’m not. Being thin has its downsides. My knees are dead ringers for large knots of wood on a twig and I look like a boy from behind. Glumly I looked down. As for my boobs; they’d been described as a pair of nasty mosquito bites. Of course, whenever I moaned about them, Emily would pat her 36 double Ds complacently.

  ‘Grub up in about twenty minutes,’ he said.

  I heard a muffled confab with Emily before the front door slammed shut. I stretched lazily in the water and gave myself a stern talking to. You have to pull yourself together. Think of him as an ordinary bloke. Ordinary. Well, not ordinary. Think brick walls. Not about that chip in his tooth when he smiles or … the time we once kissed.

  I closed my eyes and in a rare moment of weakness let the memory come burrowing out of the hole from where it was normally firmly tucked.

  We’d both had a bit to drink. Well, I’d had quite a lot. Still reeling from Mike’s betrayal, I’d spent that particular evening proving for his benefit what a great time I was having without him. Daniel decided, for the welfare of both my liver and dignity, to intercede and insisted on taking me home.

  I repaid his kindness by weeping all over him the minute he settled me on my sofa. With his arm round me, hugging me, the scent of him filling my nose, I gave into the attraction that had always simmered just below the surface since the day I’d met him and leaned forward to trail a series of kisses along his jaw line to his lips.

  The only saving grace of this cringe-worthy memory was that it wasn’t entirely one sided. Gentleman that he was, he didn’t push me away in disgust, but let me kiss him. I remember moving my lips over his, the tingle of the first touch and then that joyous burst of sensation when his lips moved beneath mine.

  I squeezed my eyes closed and slid further down into the bath water, recalling the feel of his hand sliding into my hair to pull me close and the kiss that went on and on with a headiness as if neither of us could get enough of the other.

  As the memory smouldered, I felt my cheeks heat up. There’d been longing and pent up passion in those kisses which led to a breathless embrace where I found the long lean length of Daniel’s body fitted perfectly against mine.

  The crash of the front door announcing the return of my housemates made us spring apart. The horrified look in his eyes made me feel slightly sick. There was no time to say anything as the others burst into the room.

  The next day I pretended I had absolutely no recollection of the previous night.

  Sloshing water everywhere I sat up quickly and hauled myself out of the bath, trying to ignore the dull ache around my heart. I was an idiot. How on earth did I think rehashing old memories was going to help?

  Food was a great distraction and it was fine while we were eating. Shared moans of appreciation filled the flat, as the lids were peeled off the foil trays to reveal the turmeric infused sauces, the fragrant blend of spices and my all-time favourite smell, the distinctive aroma of basmati rice.

  It was only after I’d tidied up – no surprise there then – removing the foil trays littering the coffee table and taking the plates through to the kitchen, that I started to feel uncomfortable. Emily had found an old episode of Friends to watch and had moved to sit on the sofa next to Daniel who was wrestling with a Sudoku in the Times.

  Suddenly Emily squealed in delight. ‘Look, Daniel. It’s Sebastian.’

  Daniel raised his eyebrows. ‘Haven’t you seen this ad before?’

  On screen Sebastian, Daniel’s younger, prettier brother, was wafting around a horribly contemporary flat, all white and dark wood, spraying air freshener to mask the scent of gorgeous girlfriend number one’s perfume before the arrival of stunning girlfriend number two.

  ‘Definitely art imitating real life.’ Daniel grinned good-naturedly.

  Sebastian’s exploits with women were legendary, but he was so charming and handsome all his girlfriends forgave him.

  In a way, he and Emily would have been better suited. With a modelling and acting career, he had the celebrity lifestyle that she aspired to.

  As I was watching TV I became conscious that Daniel kept looking at me. Had I got curry on my chin? Every now and then I would look up to find him staring at me, as if trying to solve some puzzle. I couldn’t help feeling it had nothing to do with the Sudoku.

  With Friends over, Emily switched channels to some comedy drama on ITV. Speaking personally, the trials of some thirty-plus woman and her on-off relationship with a married man left me cold. My heartstrings resolutely refused to be tugged when her car broke down on a dark night in the pouring rain. Cue the shot of lover boy in a warm, cosy Indian restaurant with his wife, ignoring his ringing mobile.

  ‘What a bastard,’ chimed Emily.

  ‘Dumb bastard more like,’ said Daniel cuttingly. ‘Messing up two lives. The girlfriend needs to wise up. She’d be better off on her own.’ He turned and looked at me with a challenging look on his face. ‘Nothing ever comes out of going out with a married man.’ Then he said more gently, ‘No matter how much you hope it will.’

  Surely after Mike he knew my views on that sort of thing? Embarrassed, I just shrugged and kept my gaze glued to the screen until the credits rolled.

  Jumping up without looking at Daniel I announced I was heading to bed.

  ‘By the way you’ve got something on your chin,’ muttered Emily glancing up. ‘No other side,’ she directed, as I brought my hand to my face. My fingers touched a slightly sticky patch. No wonder Daniel had been looking at me. He could have told me. Feeling foolish I sloped off to bed leaving the two of them like an old married couple; side by side but not touching, he engrossed in his paper and her watching television. It wasn’t my idea of a romantic evening.

  Snuggling into bed, not even bothering to take my make-up off, I tried to ignore the feeling of dissatisfaction. Turning over I plumped up my pillow and after a long while I drifted into a lovely dream; lying on a warm beach, bathed in sunlight, wearing the perfect tan-enhancing bikini with a cleavage to die for – when some bastard picked me up by my ankle, and dropped me into a dark icy pool with a loud crash.

  Sputtering to the surface, I realised that the cold wasn’t a dream. It took me a moment to come to. What had happened? A jagged draft of freezing night air swept over me from the window, which couldn’t be right. It was closed. I sat up and winced, my ankle hurt. It more than hurt, it throbbed but as I moved to examine it in the half-light, the wind caught the curtains, which billowed up revealing a large hole in the window. Through the broken glass, in the quiet of the night, I heard the crunch of gravel underfoot. I went completely still. Someone was outside.

  Heart thudding I listened, not daring to move or put the light on.

  Suddenly my bedroom door was thrown open and Daniel burst in.

  He shoved the door open, his heart pounding. ‘Olivia! I heard a crash. Are you OK? What’s happened?’

  It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the change in light but then he saw Olivia raise a shaky hand and point to the window.

  Crossing to the shattered glass, he looked out of wh
at was left of the window.

  ‘Careful,’ she said, ‘there’s glass everywhere.’ Despite her calm words, her voice had a distinct wobble to it as if trying to be brave. ‘Can you see anyone?’

  Peering into the lamp lit street, he craned his head right and left. Nothing moved in the shadows below.

  ‘They’ve scarpered. Probably messing about after a session at the pub. Are you OK?’ he asked again automatically. Then he turned and looked at her properly.

  She looked awful. The colour had bleached from her face and the harsh beam of the un-shaded bulb in the hall threw her features into relief making her look haggard and haunted.

  Splinters of glass were strewn across the bed and her arm sparkled where a sprinkling of tiny shards punctured the skin. It was only when he snapped on the overhead light, that he saw the blood. Bright, vivid, scarlet, red, pouring down her arm. Fear lanced through him as he followed the glistening river to its source – a large triangular slice of glass embedded in her forearm.

  Shit, that had to hurt like hell but she didn’t seem aware of it, not yet anyway. She started to haul herself to the edge of the bed still not saying anything. That worried him the most. She seemed almost catatonic.

  ‘Wait,’ he said, conscious that the blood needed to be stopped but putting a pad on the wound was going to be impossible. Shit, his first aid training ended at being a boy scout a million years ago.

  She stared down at the wound as if mesmerised by it and then a sudden grimace shot across her face. He guessed the pain had finally kicked in over the shock and surprise, but he felt relieved that she’d reacted and lost that numb look.

  Blood welled up around the angry looking wound with mini rivers of ruby red spilling down her arm, pooling and leeching into the pure white duvet. The stark contrast made him want to shudder but he couldn’t let her know that.

  Her eyes went blank as if she was about to black out.

  ‘Olivia,’ he said, making his voice deliberately calm as he didn’t like the look of the wound or the amount of blood she was losing. ‘Don’t move.’ He lifted the bad arm as carefully as he could. There were tiny specks of glass everywhere. Pursing his lips, he blew gently over the surface of her skin to try and loosen them. It didn’t work. He needed something else, something soft.