Talk to Me

by Jules Wake

  Entering the suite this time, I closed the door with a firm click, leaning giddily against it. I was queen of the castle. Could one room possibly be worth this amount of money for one night?

  It even smelt different up here. Miranda’s Samsara was the most recent in a palimpsest of subtle smells, new carpets and leather furniture mixed with Windolene and furniture polish overlaid with liquorice and cigars.

  Nikki’s boxes had gone. All that was left was the discarded packaging from the stockings and a Hansel and Gretel trail of polystyrene beads. A used glass with ‘Minx Red’ lipstick smears around the rim was the only other evidence of occupation.

  The full-length windows, unfettered by blinds or voile, looked out over the rooftops of London. Nearby I could see the globe atop the London Coliseum and just beyond it the top of Nelson’s hat in Trafalgar Square.

  I drooled in earnest the minute I pushed open the bathroom door. The rest of the suite was palatial and luxurious in a magazine double-page-spread sort of way. The pillows were plumper than plump, the décor was straight from Homes & Interiors, the bed was emperor-sized rather than king and the carpet virtually velvet – it was all stylishly gorgeous. But the bathroom was instant orgasm, the culmination of every one of my Cleopatra fantasies. I clapped my hands to my face in sheer delight, my smile leaking out from beneath my fingers, unable to suppress the squeaks of joy. This was bathroom heaven and you’re talking to an aficionado; subdued lighting, black slate, a double-ended bath, a Philippe Starck sink and full-sized expensive toiletries, none of this miniature rubbish. I wouldn’t have been surprised if asses’ milk poured from the high-spouted tap.

  Fresh orchid petals were strewn around the edge of the bath, vivid fuchsia against stark white and black. Bouncy, fluffy towels were piled inches thick on a long wide shelf, from which hung a monogrammed cotton waffle bathrobe. Completing the utter decadence was a flip down plasma TV screen.

  I’d definitely be using that bathroom but first I needed an ice bucket and two champagne flutes. Kate and I were going to enjoy this bottle of Cristal.

  ‘I could get used to this,’ said Kate, lying full-length on one of the chocolate-brown leather sofas, her head propped up with one arm, clutching a full glass.

  ‘It is rather lovely.’ I gazed around looking appreciatively at the gorgeous glass coffee table between us, just one of the many artefacts decorating the room. It was a squat hippo, his small ears, eyes and broad snout rising above a sheet of glass as if it was surfacing in water. Like everything else in the room, it was beautiful.

  ‘I never thought I’d be grateful to Miranda for anything. Here, drink up. I’m a glass ahead.’

  To my surprise Kate’s glass was still virtually full and then she put it down on the polished table.

  ‘No more, thanks.’

  I stared at her flat stomach, her hand hovering protectively above it. Suddenly everything clicked into place. Mood swings. Tiredness. Tummy trouble and Boots. I knew immediately.

  ‘Yes,’ she said bitterly. ‘I’m pregnant.’

  ‘Really?’ My eyes widened. Kate never made mistakes. The first time she applied liquid eyeliner she ended up with perfect Cleopatra doe eyes, unlike me. I looked like a tart who’d been crying for a week. Still gaping at her, I asked what I thought was the obvious question. ‘Have you told Greg?’

  It was her turn to look startled.

  ‘You know, the father?’ My sarcasm was wasted.

  Kate’s lips twisted. ‘He’s not the father.’

  There was a gaping silence. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. I was astounded. How could she know with such certainty?

  ‘How do you know?’ I asked puzzled.

  She looked pityingly at me. I was obviously missing something.

  ‘Because,’ she paused. ‘There is no Greg.’

  ‘What? No Greg. I don’t understand.’

  ‘There never was.’

  I still looked blank.

  ‘I made him up,’ she snapped.

  Why? Kate! Of all people. She was the last person who needed to invent boyfriends. Since the age of fifteen she’d been bringing the opposite sex to their knees.

  ‘So,’ I asked casually, as casually as I could when I was practically bouncing with agog-ness. ‘Who is the father?’

  There was a long silence. Kate looked away and picked at a speck of fluff on her trousers. She swallowed a few times but she still didn’t say anything. I waited. Now she turned her attention to the button on the cuff of her jacket.

  Then in a very small voice she said, ‘Bill,’ before bursting into tears.

  What! No way. I shook my head, I must have misheard her. Unable to think of a single thing to say, I stared for a moment. How? More to the point, when? And what was she going to do about it? There were so many questions I wanted to ask, I didn’t know where to start. Instead, I put my glass down, moved over to sit next to her and held her tight as she rocked back and forth sobbing silently.

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything before?’ I said, when her sobs finally slowed, smoothing her hair back from her face.

  Wiping the tears with the back of her hand, she pulled a face and put her head on my shoulder. ‘I thought if I didn’t say anything to anyone it would make it less real. Stupid, huh?’

  I stared at her waiting for her to go on but not wanting to rush her.

  ‘I suppose you want to know what happened?’ Her ribcage lifted and fell with the heavy sigh.

  ‘Only if you want to tell me,’ I lied.

  It turned out that, despite her earlier denial, she had seen Bill when in he was in Australia. Being a rugby player in Australia was next best to royalty, so he’d been put up in one of the best hotels.

  ‘It was so amazing. The Swarovski crystal fountain in the lobby was incredible and you should have seen the room Bill had. Complimentary everything. Veuve Clicquot champagne, Godiva chocolates, you name it.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘I was only going to stop for a quick drink. Say hello, but then he invited me for dinner. And it was so lovely to see him. I’d forgotten how easy he was to be with. And so English. And the restaurant had a Michelin star.’

  It sounded as if she was so homesick and lonely she’d have met him for a Big Mac if he’d asked.

  ‘I went up to his room for a nightcap and … It just felt so good to be held for a change. Someone looking after me. Someone thinking I’m wonderful instead of taking the piss out of my accent and the things I say.’ She put her head in her hands, starting to cry again.

  I took her hand, squeezing it.

  ‘I didn’t want to go back to my place. He was home … and when he kissed me. It felt so right. So I stayed.’

  My heart lurched in sympathy. I stroked the back of her hand. ‘So what now? How pregnant are you?’

  Kate gave me a wry smile. ‘Totally.’

  We both giggled hysterically.

  ‘Sorry, I …’

  ‘I’ve done four tests and every time that blue line appears.’

  ‘So, when? I mean how long?’

  ‘Nine weeks.’

  Neither of us said anything. I wasn’t sure what to ask next. The obvious question was, ‘What are you going to do?’ but I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer.

  ‘Are you going to tell him?’ I asked quietly

  Kate sniffed, put her head up and stroked her neck thoughtfully. ‘There’s no point.’

  ‘Kate, whatever you decide to do, you know I’ll support you, but don’t you think you ought to tell him?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘He’s the father.’

  ‘Olivia, it’s the size of a coffee bean, if that. I’m going to have an abortion. In Australia. I’ve done some research. They do them up to twenty weeks. Anyway Bill won’t want to know now.
’

  I stared at her. Surely, she didn’t mean that. ‘He might.’

  ‘No, I don’t want him to know.’

  ‘But you don’t have to go back. Stay here. You can’t face this on your own.’

  ‘I have to go back. If I don’t Mum and Dad will want to know why.’

  ‘But you can tell them. Come on, they’re pretty liberal, hardly the “never–darken–our–door” sort. You know they’d be supportive.’

  Her breath exhaled noisily. ‘Yeah, and they won’t want to know who the father is? Mum will never stop badgering me. The worst thing is they know Bill. They really like him. Knowing my luck they’ll tell him or insist I do. He’s playing in your bloody Bodgers match next week.’

  Shit, I’d forgotten he’d be there. How was I going to face him knowing this?

  ‘But—’

  ‘Olivia. I’ve made my mind up. I have to … have an abortion and I don’t want him to know.’

  ‘But why not? He’s a decent guy. He ought to know.’

  ‘Because …’ she started to cry again

  ‘Because,’ I prompted.

  ‘I made a mistake.’ She paused, looking at her hands. ‘All that time when I worked for him … I really didn’t fancy him. You saw what he was like … never dressed properly. He ran a bloody plumbers-merchant, for God’s sake. That’s why I went to Australia. To get away. When I saw him out there, he was just Bill. All those times I’d turned him down. Been rude to him. Ignored him. And he was still prepared to look me up, take me out and look after me. I realised that night … I’d really missed him.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’ It sounded as if she really did feel something for him.

  ‘I panicked.’

  ‘You,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. My whole life is a mess. I ended up working with tradesmen who swear like troopers, with a boss who’s self-made and would do anything for me. What happened to working in the City and being swept off my feet by a sophisticated banker or lawyer in a Hugo Boss suit? Bill thinks the height of fashion is a pair of Johnnie Boden cords! I thought by going to Australia I’d get away from all that. Make a fresh start.’

  ‘But, Kate, you were good at that job. I thought you enjoyed it.’

  ‘I did. It just wasn’t where I thought I’d end up and now it’s too late. Bill probably hates me.’

  ‘Why? He spent so long chasing you and then he saw you in Australia.’

  ‘Take it from me. He hates me and even if he doesn’t, I don’t stand a chance with him now. I’ve really messed up.’

  It turned out that the morning after they’d slept together, Bill thought that they’d got something going but Kate had had too much time in the night to think and in her usual blunt way had quickly disabused him of that idea.

  ‘But you could explain—’

  ‘Olivia. The timing couldn’t be worse.’

  I stared at her. I was obviously missing something. Her eyes filled with tears again.

  ‘He’s just been picked to play rugby for England, hasn’t he? All of a sudden he’s a big hero. Doing some modelling. A celebrity. So how’s it going to look if I roll up and say actually I’ve changed my mind, I would like to see you and by the way, I’m having your baby?’

  I could see her point but I still didn’t think going back to Australia was the best plan.

  ‘Couldn’t you stay here and have an abortion? Cancel your flight. Don’t go back.’ A tear began to roll down my cheek.

  Kate tightened her mouth and straightened up. ‘Olivia, I have to.’ She turned and looked at me. ‘If I stay any longer someone might realise. Mum’s already suspicious. Besides I’ve got a good job over there. Nice flat. I just need more time to get used to … you know the culture. But I want you to do something for me.’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Don’t come to the airport to say goodbye.’ She managed a sad smile and with a wet tissue dabbed my tears away. ‘I know what you’re like. You’ll get upset. Give the game away to Mum and Dad.’

  ‘But I won’t see you after tonight.’ I sniffed. ‘You fly the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, but now I’ve told you, it’s a bit of relief. It’s been so—’

  The knock at the door startled us both.

  ‘Who?’ she asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders. I had no idea. Could it be room service? ‘I’ll get rid of them.’

  ‘I need some tissues. I’ll …’ She cocked her head towards the bathroom and disappeared inside as I went to open the door.

  Daniel stood there, a tentative smile on his face. With so much emotion swirling around me, for a moment I wanted to hurl myself into his arms and let him take care of me the way he had at the hospital.

  ‘I heard you didn’t get in to the premiere. Sebastian texted. Wondered if you wanted…’ his voice faltered, and I followed his gaze over my shoulder as it fixed on the pair of champagne flutes on the table. His mouth snapped into a firm straight line and his eyes flashed with sudden emotion.

  ‘You’ve got company.’ He shook his head, a sneer twisting his face. ‘I should have realised. I hope he’s worth it.’ He spat the words and looked me up down.

  My mouth flapped feebly, the words completely lost. He looked so furious and disgusted with me, my heart raced. I put my hand out and touched his forearm, to make contact and slow him down.

  ‘Daniel?’ My voice wobbled.

  He shook my hand off as if it was contaminated and then he wheeled around and stormed off, his long strides eating up the distance back to the lift.

  Finally I managed to get my vocal chords back under control. ‘Daniel,’ I cried. ‘Stop. I can …’ Even to my ears it sounded a terrible cliché.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It should have been bliss after the premiere to climb down from 95,000 feet but I couldn’t stop worrying about Kate, now back in Australia, and Daniel, who might as well have been.

  I phoned and texted him several times. Anxiety at the injustice of not being able to find out what had made him so angry made me sleepless and irritable. It wasn’t like him to jump to conclusions or to get so mad without giving someone a chance to explain. I felt aggrieved that he hadn’t and still wouldn’t talk to me and the more he ignored my attempts at communicating, the angrier I got and the more determined that this was it. I’d had it with his constant about turns.

  I certainly wasn’t going to say anything to Emily, who happily lapped up the success of the event and the resulting press coverage. It made a very pleasant change for her to be so easy-going. I made the most of it.

  The best part of my week was the premiere post-mortem with the happy clients from Beautiful Babes Luscious Lips. They were delighted with all the pictures in the Sun and Mirror of Miranda and the close-ups of the Minx Red kiss on her bottom. They might have been even happier if we’d been able to show them the five minute slot we got on the BBC news, but someone had forgotten to arrange for it to be recorded.

  How many ways can you interpret, ‘Please ring the press cuttings agency and make sure they monitor all broadcast coverage’. Unfortunately by the time I realised that Emily had failed to even manage this, it was too late to even resort to BBC iPlayer.

  ‘That went well,’ exclaimed Emily, as the client disappeared escorted by David. I glanced at her. She was perfectly serious. No sweaty palms for her then when the client asked where the DVD of the news coverage was. Shaking my head, I started to pack up my desk.

  ‘Well, I’ve had enough for one week. I’m off. Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind and come down with me? Nip back to the flat and get some stuff for the weekend. I don’t mind waiting.’

  What a total hypocrite. At least making the offer for her to come along made me feel better. Not quite so guilty. She was staying at home by herself while I was h
eading off for a weekend at home, the big cricket match and to face Daniel. After a lot of heart searching, I knew I needed to make more effort stay away from him. Maybe I should go out and join Kate in Australia. This weekend would be the last event I’d go to where I knew he’d be without Emily. Avoiding him was difficult in the flat, if not impossible, but doable. I would just do social chit chat when I had to and then retreat to my room, making sure I stayed out of his way as much as I could.

  Unfortunately there was no way I could back out of the weekend. My family would know something was wrong. I never missed this fixture. It would be a dead giveaway if I didn’t go at this late stage.

  Emily fidgeted in her seat before looking up at me with a pitying expression on her face. ‘Thanks, Olivia, but no thanks. I’ve got better things to do than play cricket widow.’

  It never occurred to me at the time that she really did have ‘better things to do’. I thought it was just sour grapes.

  ‘I don’t see why I should spend my Saturday making sandwiches for a bunch of blokes I don’t even know. Some women might enjoy being a throwback to the fifties, humouring their men – not me. Daniel’s welcome to play cricket. His choice, but I’m not giving up my weekend to have the pants bored off me. It’s all right for you. You know everyone. You’re staying with your family. I’d have to stay at Daniel’s and I can’t stand his stepmum.’

  My guilt pangs curled up and died. They’d done well to survive the snide remarks about cricket groupies and teas that had been tossed my way in the last couple of days. Sod her. I didn’t care if she was on her own this weekend.

  Heaving my holdall over my shoulder, I was about to leave when David appeared in the office. He didn’t say anything but with one finger he beckoned to me. Shit, was I going to be in trouble about the missing BBC coverage? Emily exchanged a quick, nervous glance with me and then shrugged her shoulders, as well she might. It wasn’t her problem, was it?

  As if I hadn’t had enough drama for the week, David’s summons to his office was just what I didn’t need late on a Friday afternoon. I thought I knew what was coming and was fully expecting a bollocking.