‘Bad scene.’ Drew’s black look suggested that he was remembering, too. ‘You don’t need that kind of aggro. She should’ve told you. You liked her. She looked top in the wet T-shirt, by the way. Shame she had to be so troublesome.’
‘Certainly is.’ Justin thought of Cleo, ringing on her own phone, the one in his pocket. Wary, apologetic, worried. Defensive. If she and her old man had got it back together, she’d be mostly worried. He thought about her naked on his bed, in his arms. Taking the phone out again, he switched it off to preserve the battery. Friday would be interesting.
Cleo and Gavin had been invited to midweek supper at Keith and Dora’s Tudor-look posh pad in a cul-de-sac of other posh pads in Orton Longueville. When they arrived, Rhianne and Ian were already settled with glasses of wine while Will and Roland, their overactive sons, raced circuits through doors and up and downstairs.
Cleo felt edgy and uneasy. She ought to be cheerful and relaxed, letting Dora, plump and smiling, take their jackets, Keith deliver glasses of wine held exaggeratedly high as he stepped over his kids, Meggie and Eddie. Roland and Will whizzed past again, flying two of Meggie’s dolls alongside them, howling, ‘Super-doll!’ and ‘Bat-doll!’
Probably it was the kids being so noisy that was winding her up. From the start, she and Gav had agreed not to have kids. All their friends had embraced the horrendous-sounding sacrifices of sleep, money and leisure and putting the children first.
For the first time, Cleo wondered why their close friends were people with families. Cleo and Gav were so determinedly childfree; it didn’t make sense.
Meggie, poor soul, began tugging at Dora. ‘Mummy …’ Pointing sorrowfully at her undignified dollies. Dora sighed and looked at Rhianne.
‘’S all right, Meggie,’ Rhianne responded unhelpfully, ‘it’s only ’cos they’re boys.’
Ian mumbled into his glass of red, ‘Boy-devils.’
Keith, Gav and Ian began discussing Wimbledon.
Dora and Rhianne turned to their favourite topic – children. ‘That little Davie boy’s got worms, so I’m keeping Meggie off playgroup for a week. It was nits a fortnight ago.’ They were an unlikely pairing: Rhianne so slender and invariably carefully painted before ever facing the outdoor world; Dora reminding Cleo irresistibly of a giant schoolgirl, fresh-faced and clumsy.
Cleo, pretending to listen, watched Gav. Smiling, talking, laughing, arguing. Sipping wine, nodding. Gav, apparently, had returned from whatever planet he’d been on.
The conversation moved on to money – Keith complaining about the pressures of earning loads, Ian bitter about the pressures of not earning enough.
As Roland and Will raced by once more with Meggie’s favourite dolls, now naked and with their hair stuck together in clumps, Meggie tugged Dora’s trouser leg, eyes melting with tears. ‘Mummy …!’ Dora smiled uneasily and whispered about guests.
The little girl’s shoulders drooped and Cleo wondered how Dora could bear to let her agonise like that over her much-loved dolls. As Roland and Will raced past on their fortieth irritating lap, she stuck out her arm. ‘Give the dolls to Meggie, please,’ she said, quietly.
Roland, after a stunned moment, gave Bat-doll back to an awed Meggie. But Will ran at Cleo and slapped her leg.
Unmoved, Cleo raised her eyebrows. ‘Give the doll to Meggie, please.’
Will threw Super-doll sulkily in Meggie’s direction.
Several seconds passed. Rhianne stared at Cleo as if correcting her boys’ behaviour was a totally foreign concept. ‘Never mind, boys, go and get Coke from the kitchen.’
Keith, no doubt thinking about his carpets, rose reluctantly. ‘Best if I help them.’
Smiling sweetly, Cleo said, ‘Yes, do hype them up with sugar. Lovely.’
Uncertainly, Rhianne tittered. ‘Are you practising to be a parent or something?’
Chapter Five
‘I want to try tantric sex. It’s a deeply gratifying experience, apparently.’ Rhianne had finished eating long before the others – if she was going to imbibe huge numbers of calories she generally drank them. She twirled her wine glass and looked around expectantly.
Ian was only halfway through his mound of pepperpot stew and talked through a mouthful. ‘Very twentieth-century of you, darling! I suppose you’ve read an old magazine article in the hairdresser’s and suddenly you’re an expert. A three-day build-up to a bit of the other? Between Roland wetting the bed and Will getting up at half five to watch telly, I suppose?’
Rhianne admired her long, almond-shaped nails. Cleo knew Rhianne actually had a favourite nail, the most elegant and perfect. ‘Who changes Roland’s bed? And what do you know about Will getting up at dawn? You’re still snoring.’
Cleo watched Roland and Will listen to their parents bicker, exchanging conspiratorial glances as their names came up. Now that Meggie and Eddie were in bed, the older boys had quietened enough to watch Cartoon Network eek-zing-pow-banging on the television.
Rhianne pursed perfectly orange lips unspoilt by contact with her wine glass, crinkling her full-face make-up. She lifted one long, thin, shiny-orange-nailed hand, palm up. ‘We could make time.’
Ian smothered a belch. ‘OK. You spend an hour stroking me. I’ll watch Match of the Day.’
‘The idea is to lavish attention on each other, Ian! We need an intimacy space to retire to where we can breathe each other’s breath and harmonise –’
Cleo stared down at her plate. Must they keep talking about sex? All her problems were because of sex.
What was sex after all? An urge to be gratified? An expression of love and intimacy? Or a weapon?
‘Your wife’s asleep, Gav.’
She lifted her eyes to see all faces turned towards her. ‘Sorry – did I miss something?’
Gav smiled at her. ‘You OK?’
‘Tired, that’s all.’ She managed a smile in return. Tired of listening to variations of the same old, same old, that was for sure. Ian complaining about Rhianne; Rhianne wanting something more than she had. Keith a world-weary wage slave; Dora a put-upon domestic slave.
Cleo wondered again why she and Gav were part of this group. In fact Gav, Keith and Ian were friends – Cleo, Dora and Rhianne were the women that they’d married. Expected to become part of a set that spent a significant portion of their time together because the men were friends.
And what happened when Cleo wanted to see her old college friends? Gav threw a wobbler and declared an end to the marriage.
Sometimes, it seemed as if there was only Liza there for Cleo. How had that happened?
Frustration swelled inside her and suddenly she experienced a fierce and unexpected longing to be like Liza. Answerable to no one.
Gav settled on his side under the crisp comfort of the duvet as Cleo climbed into bed in his favourite tumble-haired, unmade-up, clothes-discarded, bedtime state. He ran his thumb up the inside of her bare arm. ‘Mmm, all that talk of sex …’
But there was no answering sexy smile or twinkling eye. No dive into his arms, no delicious wriggle. Instead, she sighed her way under the duvet, well on her own side of the bed, and shut her eyes. ‘I’m really tired.’
Gav laughed incredulously. ‘For crying out loud, when have we ever been too tired for sex?’ He ran his hand gently across her breasts.
She opened her eyes. ‘I’m too tired for anything.’ And shut them again.
‘This isn’t like you!’ He shunted across the empty sheet between them, confident he could get her going. He nuzzled his face into her neck, kissing, nibbling, humming, ‘Mmm-mmm!’
Instead of rolling back her head, arching her neck to his mouth, coming alive in his arms, Cleo twitched slightly. ‘Not tonight, Gav.’
‘Why not?’ Not a very cool reaction but he was in uncharted territory. When had Cleo ever refused him?
Cleo sighed. ‘Because I’m tired, OK? These few days have been exhausting. I’ve just got into bed and the last thing I need is to get out, mess about with the cap
and the spermicide, then reverse the whole performance in the morning!’ She rolled onto her side, her back to him.
A still moment before he slid away. ‘I told you it was better when you were on the pill.’
‘Pill or cap, you don’t have to take responsibility, do you?’
He opened his mouth to demand whether she really wanted to try condoms, to him the armoury of the uncommitted, had a sudden nasty suspicion that she might suggest a vasectomy, which was unthinkable, and shut it again.
So. She was still angry. He’d thought they’d made up but she was obviously still punishing him in the peculiar woman-way of reacting to injuries at a later, unconnected date. He decided to be dead cool and understanding. He stroked her shoulder. ‘You’ll get used to the cap, and you won’t feel so negative. I just wanted …’
Cleo twitched from under his hand. ‘I understand what you “just wanted”! But I don’t happen to want the same. OK?’
Chapter Six
The lights were the same, and the music. Cleo clutched a single, cold, restrained bottle of Budweiser and watched the crowd. Liza hovered loyally beside her in a tiny gold dress with a broad black belt that sat just below her breasts, a glass of black absinthe over ice in her hand. The atmosphere in Muggie’s was so hot and moist that even though she, too, wore a short strappy dress, Cleo felt cooked.
Last Friday she hadn’t realised the place sprawled so far, rambling off between pillars and around corners. Or just how many people could cram into those spaces.
‘Quarter past nine.’ Cleo sighed. She was tired of gazing over the mass of heads for the giveaway spiky hair. ‘Maybe he’s not coming. Maybe I won’t see him again. That’ll be OK, that’ll be fine. I can pretend the phone’s lost and get another with a new number. I should’ve done that in the first place. Then I wouldn’t have to be here.
‘And I could’ve avoided another squabble with Gav this morning when I told him I was going straight to yours after work and would stay over until tomorrow.’
Liza, considering she’d never before displayed antipathy towards her brother-in-law, was unflatteringly fast with it, now. ‘Gav’s being an arse.’ She thought for a moment and added, honestly, ‘But, this Justin thing – it’s so not like you, Cleo.’
Cleo tried to ignore the unpleasant creeping sensation of being in the wrong. ‘I was so pissed off with Gav it was like I stepped off the real world and into a fantasy one where nothing – Gav, in particular – mattered. My head got really messy.’
Liza’s mouth set in a way that was as close to disapproval of Cleo as she got. ‘I can’t believe it – you and Gav, you’ve been so perfect. But it’s just a blip, hopefully? You’ll be good as gold again in no time – oh, don’t cry!’ She flung anxious arms around her sister. ‘It’ll be OK. Get your phone back, forget it ever happened. It was a one-off. You’ve still got your old life.’
Cleo scrabbled for a tissue. ‘Everything was great. Compared to our friends, our marriage was blissful. Was. But this “blip” has made me feel disorientated. It’s as if I’ve woken up to all kinds of things I used to accept without thinking, like Gav asking where I’m going and who with. Suddenly it grates.’
Incomprehension widened Liza’s eyes. ‘Hello-o? That’s just marriage, isn’t it?’
‘But now I’ve stepped outside the marriage. Even if I regret it,’ – did she? – ‘I feel … empowered. I did as I liked. I can do as I like, again.’
‘Ah.’ Liza sipped her absinthe. ‘But if Gav finds out about Justin, your options will narrow dramatically. Won’t they?’
Cleo wondered how she’d feel if that happened. ‘If he doesn’t show up I can forget him. And he can forget me.’
And then he was there. Strolling across the dance floor in a dull blue silk shirt. Grim and gorgeous.
Cleo felt shock waves ripple her spine. ‘I didn’t see you arrive!’
He flicked a nod towards the darker recesses of the club. ‘I was over there. Let’s go outside.’
Cleo didn’t have much choice but to follow, turning over the thought that he’d apparently been in the club all along, watching her as she waited. Bastard. She’d retrieve her phone and be out of it.
It was a relief to leave the stifling club and step into the open air; she paused to savour a couple of clean lungfuls before realising that Justin was already striding away. Crossly, she hurried after, until he stopped in a deep recess formed by windows angling in towards a shop door, waving her past, into the shadow.
She turned, back against the bevelled glass of the door, her heart and breathing fluttering. She licked her lips and tried to smile, saying, lightly, ‘Have you got my phone?’
He extracted it briefly from his trouser pocket, held it up then put it back, ignoring her outstretched hand. He didn’t smile, although she felt she was grinning rather idiotically at him.
‘I just want to clear a few things up first.’ In the street light half his face was plainly lit, half in shadow.
He leaned one hand on the door above her shoulder. ‘I’m curious about what exactly led up to you spending the night with me.’
She tried a theatrical groan. ‘I’ve just done this routine with Liza!’ He waited. She sighed and resigned herself to another airing of the edited highlights. Gav. Reunion. Craig. Gav storming out. Message on the wall. Trying to find Liza. Meeting Justin.
His gaze flicked between her lips and her eyes. ‘So you did have sex with me to punish your husband?’
‘No! I … well, I just … didn’t feel any particular loyalty to him right then. I was angry. Not thinking straight.’ She wished he’d step back; take the warmth of his disturbing body away.
‘What about me? Was it fair to me?’
His aftershave seemed to envelop her, making breathing difficult, preventing her brain from wholly commanding her mouth.
The heat of his hand settling suddenly on her bare leg below her dress startled her into exaggerated recoil. She ought to push him off, slap him away, but her limbs seemed to have turned to rubber. Unchallenged, the hand slid higher up her thigh, stroking gently. ‘If a bloke used a woman in the way you used me, you’d be calling him seven types of bastard, wouldn’t you?’ He began to lift the cotton fabric.
‘I didn’t use you!’ Honesty made her add, ‘I didn’t mean to, anyway.’ Her voice sounded squeaky and she was unable to concentrate on much but his scalding touch. If she objected, he’d stop. But her mouth wouldn’t issue the objection.
His hand drifted higher, reached the soft line where her knickers began. ‘You used me for sex. And to get back at your husband.’ His fingers probed thoughtfully past the lace. ‘Without worrying how I’d feel about it.’
Cleo gasped and clutched hopelessly at the smooth door behind her, her knees loose with desire. She seemed to have forgotten the mechanics of breathing, her chest moved unevenly, pumping air in haphazard chunks.
Yet he seemed perfectly controlled, his voice low and even. ‘Do you want sex tonight?’
Clinging to the last remnants of sense, she managed a shake of her spinning head.
He whispered, ‘It could be right here. Right now.’
She shook her head again. ‘Don’t, Justin!’ She despised herself. The next word that came out of her mouth was going to be yes.
Slowly, slowly, he released her. And asked, casually, ‘I suppose you took the morning-after pill?’
She stared at him, at his sharp nose and sensual lips. Slowly, she shook her head.
He remained calm. ‘Why not?’
She dropped her eyes. ‘I didn’t think of it.’
He laughed, a sharp crack, without humour. ‘You’re brilliant, you are.’ Taking her phone out of his pocket he lifted her left hand, stared for a moment at her wedding rings, and dropped the phone into her palm. ‘And you’ve got bad fucking manners.’ One step back and he no longer filled Cleo’s vision. She could see Liza waiting, out of earshot. Another step back. ‘I hope, at least, that everything was to your satisfaction.’ He
turned and stalked away.
Freed of his presence, suddenly infuriated at his snooty, wounded pride, she bawled after him, ‘You got every bit as much sex as I did!’
A passing group of lads laughed and whooped and Cleo felt mortification curl her toes; that really improved the situation.
Justin turned back, made a pistol out of two fingers and a thumb and pointed it at her. ‘It was … fine. But let’s just keep it between us two, shall we? As you’re a married woman.’
Silently, Liza joined Cleo, watching Justin pass the other shops until he disappeared into the darkness and was gone. ‘Phwoar!’ She whistled. ‘He’s succulent. Have you got his number?’
Cleo shook with a sudden laugh, rubbing her arms as if to warm away goosebumps. ‘I don’t suppose it’s easy to get Justin’s number.’
Finally, when they were back at Liza’s flat, in the familiar, tiny second bedroom with magnolia walls and no carpet, Cleo removed her make-up and undressed, waiting her turn for the bathroom.
And when Liza appeared, looking clean and miles younger than twenty-eight, Cleo blurted, ‘What do you know about the morning-after pill?’
Liza halted abruptly. ‘Oh shit! What have you done?’
Cleo looked down at her hands. ‘I came off the pill. And forgot the cap. And didn’t think about condoms because I’m just not in the habit any more.’
‘Cleo!’ Liza hissed. ‘You’ve got to take it within three days of having unprotected sex. The sooner, the better.’
Cleo chewed her lip.
‘Or you can have a coil fitted, within five days. When exactly did you …?’
‘Seven days.’
Liza closed despairing eyes. ‘For fuck’s sake, go and get some help. Ask for an emergency appointment in the morning. Honestly.’ She shook her head. ‘Cleo! Wake up! The real world’s not as safe as a cosy marriage, you know! You’ll have to go and get sorted, first thing.’
But, even earlier than first thing, at six in the morning, Gav phoned, fighting panic. ‘My sister’s just rung, Dad’s in hospital. He’s had a heart attack!’
All That Mullarkey Page 4
