Three In a Bed

by Carmen Reid

  ‘Sod off, I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Byeeeee.’

  Tania and Bella’s usual routine was a gruelling workout in the gym, followed by a swim, a sauna, then a long, gossipy meal with gin and tonics to start and a bottle of wine to follow, which undid all their hard work.

  They had been friends since university where Bella had taken one look at Tania, the only other girl in their maths tutorial group, and fallen in love.

  Tania was the most glamorous thing 18-year-old Bella had ever seen. She wore tight, short dresses, had masses of highlighted hair, two boyfriends, a French mother, and contact lenses. She smoked Marlboros, giggled in a tinkly, flirtatious way and drove to class in a scarlet, open-top Beetle.

  Newly out of a feministy all girls school in Oxford, Bella could not have been more different. She wore jeans, Dr Martens and dark jumpers, accessorized with short hair, glasses and about ten pounds of excess puppy fat. She always took the tube and was virginally single.

  Bella had assumed there was absolutely no hope of Tania ever talking to her, let alone becoming a friend. But she’d been wrong. Tania was, like the rest of the class, in awe of Bella’s freaky maths genius and determined to get to know her better. Underneath the dweeby, spec-wearing exterior, Tania found Bella a surprisingly funny, upbeat, ambitious kind of girl – ripe for a makeover and had seen her as something of a project.

  Tania had taken her to the gym, the hairdresser and even out shopping with her impossibly chic mother, Valerie. Bella still followed Valerie’s make-up advice: ‘Always Chanel darlings, anything else rrrruins the skin – and take it off with cleanser, not this terrible soap.’

  By the time Bella left university she was slimmer than Tania, had longer hair, eyes which had been surgically corrected and was madly in love with Daniel, her boyfriend of two years. She also knew exactly where she was going next – straight into a graduate traineeship with Laurence and Co.

  Her own parents had been horrified at the transformation, especially her mother. Celia Browning, the wife of an Oxford professor, had put her own academic ambitions on hold to have children. She had settled on a career teaching maths at a very good school but had always felt disappointed with her choice, especially as she’d only managed to have one child and she’d had to watch her husband’s stellar academic career from the sidelines.

  What she’d always wanted for Bella, who had even more ability than her, was the prestigious university path she’d turned down. But Bella had deserted that for a job in the City! The City! Where you didn’t even need a maths O Level to get on. It still made her feel physically ill. No matter how hard she tried to analyse it, she basically didn’t understand Bella, had no idea why her gifted daughter had wanted this sort of career. She thought it deeply unsettling that Bella worked shoulder to shoulder with the City sharks, squeezing companies and having people sacked, all in the pursuit of a vastly inflated salary.

  She understood Bella’s fascination with herself even less, although Celia never mentioned this now. Her daughter’s long hair, painted nails, high shoes and short skirts made such a mockery of all the ideals she had tried to instil in her.

  Their one argument about this had gone very badly, because Bella had been furious enough to bring up the G-strings. One afternoon when she was about 13 years old, Bella had been poking about in her parents’ wardrobes trying on jumpers and jackets. There was never anything sparkly or fun to be found in her mother’s side of the cupboards, just grey, black and beige knitted separates and trouser suits. Her schoolmarmish mum had the plainest, frumpiest taste in the world.

  Bella had put on one of her father’s tweed jackets, turned up the collars, stuck her hands in the pockets and pulled out a pair of pale pink G-strings. On closer examination, she saw they were stretch cotton and unwashed. They were nothing like the sensible white Sloggi briefs her mother kept in the underwear drawer.

  With rather stunning naivety, she’d actually shown them to her mother, laughing and teasing her about how uncomfortable they must be.

  Celia had snatched the knickers out of her hands and in a shaking voice demanded to know where Bella had found them. When Bella said in her father’s jacket pocket, her mother had turned white and without the need for another word, Bella had received her very first painful lesson in her father’s fondness for fucking his poetry students.

  So, years later, when Bella and her mother had argued furiously about the rights and wrongs of dressing to impress the boys, Bella had of course been angry enough to bring up the G-string incident, telling her mother that if she’d tried a bit harder, maybe her dad wouldn’t have looked elsewhere.

  It had been an unforgivable thing to say, she’d known that as soon as she’d said it. Her weeping mother had accepted her apology but Bella knew she’d done something she couldn’t take back.

  Neither of Bella’s parents had yet reconciled themselves to her whirlwind marriage to a forty-something tabloid journalist. They had argued and argued against it, racking up monster bills on the telephone from their retirement villa in Italy. They had not come to the wedding, had refused to meet Don, and Bella had not seen them since, although once a month or so they spoke awkwardly on the phone and Bella e-mailed them a little more often than that.

  It had not helped Don’s case that her father had once ended up in the Sunday tabloids after a disciplinary hearing about an ‘improper’ relationship with a student. ‘Professor Perv’ they’d labelled him, of course. And how Celia had rallied to the cause, standing by her man and claiming it was all untrue.

  Her father had moved sideways into a different department, just for a term, and once the fuss had died down, Celia had suffered a very quiet nervous breakdown and gone into therapy, which had lasted for years. It was her dad who’d fucked around, but her mother was labelled ‘the problem’. The injustice of this still enraged Bella.

  So, when she’d moved to London and discovered Tania and a whole new way of life, she’d cheerfully stuck two fingers up to her supposedly liberal-intellectual upbringing and decided to rebel.

  After their gym session, Bella and Tania went back to Tania’s new flat. All her friend’s fussing over paint shades and curtain fabric made Bella realize how much she wanted to have a home of her own. How did she get to be so old without ever owning property, she wondered?

  She didn’t exactly envy Tania her love life, though. Bella made the mistake of admiring an exquisite gold and diamond bangle Tania was wearing and Tania dissolved into tears.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Bella asked, putting an arm round her shoulder.

  ‘Oh darling. It’s bloody Greg. This must be about the fifth time he’s brought home a pale blue box from Tiffany’s and I’ve thought “Thank you God, he’s finally going to propose” . . . only to open it and find a bracelet, a brooch, a necklace . . . any bloody piece of jewellery you like, apart from a ring.’

  ‘Does he know you want to get married?’ Bella felt she had to ask the obvious.

  ‘Well, it’s not just something you come out with, is it? I bloody well want to be asked. I don’t want to propose to him. It should be damn well obvious I want to marry him. Otherwise, why would I still be with him?’

  ‘Maybe he thinks you’re happy not being married. I mean you’re not even living together,’ Bella said.

  ‘He’s the one who insists we have our own flats. He says it’s a better investment and he only lives around the corner from this place. That’s why I moved.’

  There was a pause, then Tania quickly wiped her eyes and tried very hard to stem the flow of tears.

  ‘God, I’m sorry. I hate sounding like some sad woman obsessed with getting a ring on my finger like you used to be,’ she joked.

  ‘No I did not,’ Bella replied. ‘I never wanted to get married at all. It was Don who insisted . . .’ Shut up, shut up, you’re not helping, she told herself.

  Spookily Greg and Don were the same age. She’d always wondered if Tania hadn’t been in search of a Don of her own whe
n she found Greg. But whereas Don was a free-thinking, rolling stone, rebel 41, Greg was a bloody boring, banking, masses of personal finance plans 41. Maybe Tania craved the security, but he didn’t seem to give her that either, and it was weird the way he wasn’t even hinting at marriage. Men like him were usually desperate to get all traditional and settle down.

  ‘Let’s talk about work,’ Tania broke the silence. ‘I’m brilliant at work, you know. In fact, I have a client who’s looking for a good consultant, I must give you his number.’

  Bella got a very good idea of how well Tania’s PR company was going when Tania named the client. Hugely impressed, Bella passed the information on to Chris when he came back to the office on Wednesday.

  ‘You realize we’re going to be late tonight?’ Chris said, as he headed back to his room. ‘They need those proposals stitched up by start of play tomorrow.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s no problem, I’ve nothing else planned,’ she told him, thinking that it would be their first time alone together since the night in the taxi.

  By 8 p.m. everyone else had gone out and Chris asked her to set out papers and plans on the big table in the communal office space while he finished off some other work in his office. She was leaning over to study one of the charts when he came out and walked over to stand right beside her. She didn’t look round, but felt the hairs on the back of her neck move.

  ‘I do remember exactly how the office night out ended, you know, and I suspect that you do too,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I just need to know how you feel, Bella.’

  She turned then and looked into the dark eyes riveted on her and somehow the words ‘Chris, I’m married’ just did not want to come out.

  She parted her lips to say something, but Chris had already moved in and they were kissing, then biting, grabbing at each other, teeth banging together.

  Chris broke off from her lips to suck at her neck then moved down, pulling open her blouse buttons. He pushed up against her so she was wedged tightly between his hard-on and the edge of the table.

  He was pressing his hips into hers and she was on fire. The blood pounding in her ears overruled every sane objection. She closed her eyes, felt for his belt buckle and could only think about the thrill of having frenzied sex on the office table.

  An incredible rush was starting to take hold of her. She gripped the warm skin under his shirt and moved against his erection. ‘Oh God,’ she heard herself whisper. She could feel nothing but adrenalin surging through her veins, she was that junkie finally giving in.

  She unzipped him and put her hand inside, hearing him groan. His hands were under her skirt now, rubbing the skin at the very top of her thighs while he kissed and licked at her mouth.

  Her heels lifted off the floor as he slid his fingers under her knickers and moved them around, feeling how wet she was. She was so turned on, she could barely breathe.

  As his finger ran up and down her clitoris, she kissed him and tasted coffee. Dizzy with pleasure, she let him lift her onto the table and pull up her skirt.

  ‘Is this OK?’ he whispered, pulling her knickers to one side as he pushed his warm cock up close.

  ‘Oh yeah, yeah,’ she murmured and then heard the unmistakable ping of the lift doors opening in the hall. SHIT.

  They jumped apart, hurtling back to reality, and scrambled to sort out their clothes as Susan walked in.

  Shit, shit, mega shit. Susan must have guessed. How could she have missed it? The two of them must have looked like startled rabbits. SHIT.

  However, Susan gave nothing away, she simply said: ‘Hello, working hard I hope?’ and went into her office, but pointedly left the door ajar.

  There was nothing Chris and Bella could do apart from shakily get down to work again. Several hours later, when Chris was on the phone, Bella took the chance to slip out.

  The cool night air hit her like a slap in the face. What the fuck am I doing??? Fuck, fuck, almost completely fucked, she thought. Opening the low door of her sleek little car, she flung in her bags before scrambling in, then slammed the door shut and shouted at herself: ‘Bella, you slut. You totally idiotic slut.’

  The reality of the situation was beginning to sink in. She had just cheated on Don. Why? What for? A few minutes of tabletop action with one of her bosses. Thank God Susan had walked in.

  She fired up her engine but for a moment could only see blur in front of her eyes before tears spilled down her cheeks. She was the worst person in the world. ‘What is the matter with me? Am I out of my mind?’

  Her mobile began to ring, she picked it up and saw the call was from the office. She switched it off and sped out of the car park before Chris could catch up with her.

  Somehow by the time she put her trainers on and started pounding the pavement early the next morning, the situation did not seem nearly so gruesome. OK she had come within a hair’s breadth of an enormous, big-time, major mistake, but she hadn’t had sex with Chris, quite, and now she knew she absolutely should not, no way. She was married, committed, trying to get pregnant for God’s sake, and anyway, Chris was a boss. It was totally against the rules.

  When she got into work, there was of course an e-mail waiting for her.

  Bella, I’m out of the office all day today and tomorrow, but could we talk? Is there any chance of meeting for a quick drink tonight? Chris

  She was going to have to nip this straight in the bud . . . but very nicely. She opened a new file and started typing.

  Chris, what can I say? That was a lot of fun, totally unexpected. But I feel really bad today. Really bad. I’m married. And I’m sorry if I’ve made you think, well, what can I say?

  I love working with you and I would hate to have spoiled that. Can we possibly put last night behind us and be ‘just good friends’ again? I’ll meet you tonight if it would help, but I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. Bella.

  Just minutes after she had hit send, the inbox flashed. She felt a flicker of nervousness as she opened the file. Chris was her boss, after all and she was blowing him out big time.

  Friends????? Oh. OK.

  I am a bit hurt.

  But you are being very sensible. Forget tonight, I’ll see you soon.

  She sent back a simple ‘thanks’ and crossed her fingers that things were going to be OK, then she got down to the only thing that would take her mind off all this madness. Work.

  Don came home close to midnight on Friday. His story had finally come off and was splashing in the paper tomorrow, so he was in a fantastically good mood. She met him at the front door showered, wrapped up in her silk robe and smelling delicious.

  ‘Hello, fantasy wife,’ he said giving her as much of a hug as he could without squashing his armful of goodies.

  ‘Hi, I’ve missed you loads,’ she said, feeling the stab of guilt hit her right on the breastbone.

  ‘This is for us.’ He waved a champagne bottle.

  ‘This is for me.’ He jiggled his takeaway bag.

  ‘And these are for you.’ He held out a scruffy bunch of petrol station roses.

  ‘Thank you. These are for you,’ she laughed and pulled open her gown to flash her breasts at him.

  He plonked everything down on the floor and moved in for a proper kiss.

  After a few moments, he broke away saying, ‘It’s no use, Bella, I am going to have to eat first, I’m absolutely starving.’

  He ate the takeaway in bed, drinking champagne with her and telling her the week’s adventures. When he’d finished, he leaned over, kissed her on the forehead and apologized for the weekend before.

  ‘Don, I’ve already forgotten about it.’ He had nothing to apologize for compared with her. But in her experience, unprompted confessions were always a mistake.

  ‘You’re so self-contained and self-sufficient,’ he said. ‘I sometimes forget that you might want me around more. I’m not going to dare suggest that you might “need” me around.’

  ‘Of course I need you,’ she said, wrapping herself around hi
m. ‘We all need to be loved and held and brought to incredible sexual climax.’

  He smiled broadly. Putting the foil dishes on the floor, he said: ‘OK, can we start making up now?’

  Her dressing gown slid down over her shoulders as he kissed and touched her slowly.

  She helped him out of his clothes until they were curled up naked together on the bed where they made love tenderly, looking deep into each other’s eyes and Bella realized how much she loved him. What the hell had she been doing? This was where she belonged. Don was her real life action hero, he went to war zones, had even resuscitated someone from a heart attack, for God’s sake. Next to Don, most other men seemed pretty tame. Her infatuation with Chris suddenly made her want to laugh.

  She also saw that it was crazy to be trying to get pregnant without Don knowing. They needed to figure this out together, they needed to buy a house and anyway, work was about to get very busy again. Two major new clients had been taken on and she was going to be doing at least one of the restructurings herself for the first time.

  The next day Bella went into town and bashed her credit card buying a scarily expensive new work suit, just to underline her new resolve.

  Chapter Five

  IT CAME AS something of a shock when she double-checked her dates and there was no doubt about it: her period was five days late.

  At lunchtime she slunk out to Boots and bought The Test, feeling rising panic as she handed over the cash and stuffed the box into her briefcase.

  By 6 p.m. she couldn’t stand the tension any longer, so she e-mailed round the office that she had drinks with a prospective client, and left.

  She rushed back with the test burning a hole in her bag all the way home. By the time she finally made it through the door she was so desperate to get this over with that she went straight into the bathroom.

  She dumped her briefcase and laptop on the floor, then fished out the Boots bag.

  OK, pee on stick, watch result come up one minute later. Not exactly rocket science, then.