The List

by Joanna Bolouri

  Monday June 13th

  Today I was bombarded with messages.

  From: Alex Anderson

  To: Phoebe Henderson

  Subject: My email

  Did you get my last email? Would really like to get together at some point. Just to talk.

  Then …

  From: Frank McCallum

  To: Phoebe Henderson

  Subject: A Question

  I can’t stop thinking about you. Are you thinking about me?

  @granted77 When we gonna hook up then? You know you want to.

  And finally a text from Oliver:

  Did you eat my Twix?

  OH, STOP WITH ALL THE QUESTIONS! Why don’t you all just put me in an orange jumpsuit and shine a light in my eyes!

  Lucy dropped by after EastEnders. She’d been to the library and was pissed off that her librarian man won’t go out with her, or get rid of her £18.75 fine.

  ‘Jesus, how overdue were the books?’ I asked.

  ‘Months, maybe years, but that’s not the issue here. The issue is that he won’t go out with me. Why the hell not?’

  ‘I have no idea. Maybe you’re just not his type?’

  ‘He wears double denim. He has no right to be picky.’

  ‘Maybe he knows you’ll insult his fashion sense. It’s the self-preservation defence.’

  ‘Hmm … you know, I don’t think the fact I’d borrowed both The Bell Jar and On the Beach and kept them for months helped. Bleak fiction isn’t sexy. Perhaps I’ll borrow some erotic novels next time I’m in, something like: The Scoundrel’s Mistress or The Smouldering Butler.’

  ‘Ah yes: the classics. Get one with a busty wench on the front. Let him know you mean business.’

  Anyone else would have admitted defeat and moved on. Lucy just sees it as a battle that she’ll eventually win. This library guy doesn’t stand a chance.

  Wednesday June 15th

  I was just leaving the office this evening when Frank called me back in.

  ‘Something you need?’ I asked.

  ‘Just thought we could have a catch-up. Y’know … see how you’re doing.’

  ‘I’m late for my train now, but apart from that, fine.’

  ‘I’m good. I’m taking Vanessa away on holiday. I’ve just booked it.’

  ‘How spiffing. When do you leave?’

  ‘The twenty-second, back the fifth of July.’

  ‘Two whole weeks. It must be serious.’

  ‘It’s just a leisure break, really. It’ll be relaxing.’

  ‘Are you taking her miniature golfing?’ I teased as he slid his hand up my skirt. ‘Perhaps fox hunting? Will there be a butler?’

  ‘Yes, Phoebe, very funny, we are indeed going somewhere refined where there will be an opportunity to play golf. Somewhere you would hate. Are you jealous? Vanessa appreciates the nice things in life, but then again she’s not the kind of woman who’d let her boss do this …’ and with that he slid two fingers inside me.

  I stopped him. For the first time since starting this whole sexual adventure game I felt cheap. ‘She obviously has sense then, Frank,’ I replied, knocking his hand away. ‘Anyway, if you’re away with her, it means you won’t be here bothering me. That’s good enough.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ he replied, getting out of his chair, ‘I’ll see you when I get back.’

  I pulled down my skirt and left his office, very aware of my flushed face. I seem to be drawn to situations I know won’t end well. But sometimes knowing how something will end, albeit badly, is less scary than, well, just not knowing.

  Thursday June 16th

  ‘How are you, Phoebe?’ asked Pam at our session this evening. I began to blurt out the epic saga of Frank and his recent access to my lady parts. Relieved to finally get it all off my chest, I told her everything.

  ‘I think he did start out wanting help with his love life, but then he used that to sleep with me! It appears he was clever after all. I should have listened to you.’

  ‘And yet you continue to be involved with him?’

  ‘Ugh, it’s crazy. He’s such a sneaky little shit, but we have this dynamic now where we’re both drawn to each other for reasons unknown.’

  ‘What is it that attracts you to Frank, Phoebe? From your comments so far, it sounds as if you don’t particularly like him.’

  ‘I KNOW!’ I exclaimed. ‘This is what’s confusing me! I don’t like him!

  ‘You should think about why you’re attracted to him in the first place. Perhaps then things will become clearer.’

  I did. Nothing happened.

  ‘We’ll pick this up next time. I’d suggest reflecting on what you actually gain from your relationship with Frank.’

  I left her office, still clueless, and made my way home, picking up a curry on the way.

  9.20 p.m. I’ve eaten too much. This is becoming a habit. I can hear my waistband begging for mercy. I can’t be bothered to think about Frank tonight. I’m going to watch The Good Wife in bed.

  10.15 p.m. WHY AM I ATTRACTED TO FRANK? We have nothing in common – he’s just like bloody Alex, all materialistic and superficial and full of shit. There is no logical reason.

  12.13 p.m. Oh God, he’s exactly like Alex! Is this the reason I’m drawn to him? Fuck! Surely even I’m not that stupid.

  4.10 a.m. I am that stupid. I’ve let another Alex into my life and I haven’t even got rid of the first one yet. Dammit. I need to sort this out. Frank has to go.

  Friday June 17th

  I had just finished my first cup of coffee this morning when Lucy called me from her desk.

  ‘So I had my date with the librarian last night.’

  I looked over and saw her shooing away Kelly, who was trying to talk to her about invoices.

  ‘Fucking hell, you work quickly. How did that happen?’

  ‘I took out The Story of 0 and Lady Chatterley’s Lover. He made some joke about my borrowing “softcore porn”, and I told him it was inappropriate for him to comment on my reading choices and that he’d better buy me coffee to say sorry.’

  ‘You’re outrageous. So how did it go?’

  ‘He was a pompous little wanker and it didn’t go further than a cappuccino and biscotti. He told me he’d rejected me previously based on the fact I wore too much make-up. He says “natural women” are usually more intelligent in his experience. He seemed surprised that I had a degree in law and still chose to work in admin.’

  ‘Holy shit. Did you kill him? Do you need an alibi?’

  ‘Not at all. I might have “accidentally” spilled my coffee on his lap and then left him with the bill while he was in the bathroom drying his crotch under the hand dryers. But I’m sure he’s still breathing.’

  ‘You’re going to have to use another library now, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yep. Worth it though; he was wearing white jeans. Shit, gotta go – I see Kelly whining to Frank about me.’

  I turned around to see Frank staring blankly at Kelly, who was reconstructing the whole ‘shooing’ event with elaborate arm flailing. This office is nuts.

  Saturday June 18th

  This morning Oliver mentioned that he’d been offered a free night in a hotel as a thank-you in return for work he’d done for them and would I like to go with him?

  ‘Hell yes! Where is it?’ I asked eagerly. ‘Does it have a pool?’

  ‘Don’t think so. It’s only in Edinburgh, but might be nice to bugger off somewhere. You know, chill out.’

  ‘When can we go?’

  ‘Tonight. Fancy it?’

  As we drove to Edinburgh he was still being secretive about where we were staying, which made me think it was going to be some dodgy hostel-type place where I’d have to sleep with my eyes open in case Gustaf from Sweden in the top bunk decided to walk in his sleep. How wrong I was. It was the Witchery, one of the most exclusive hotels in Edinburgh, where coincidentally I once hung around outside trying to catch a glimpse of Jack Nicholson when he was staying there. That’s
six hours of my life I’ll never get back.

  ‘Are you serious?’ I yelled when we pulled up outside, ‘We’re staying here? I can’t go in here – I’m dressed like a tramp!’

  Oliver just raised an eyebrow. ‘Think you’re going to be dressed for much longer? I have plans for you.’

  We checked in and I spent the first five minutes running around like a five-year-old. The rooms, sorry, suites, were all themed like something from a Gothic castle and I pretty much wet my pants.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘People actually pay to stay here?’ I grinned. ‘Look at that massive bed. And the fireplace. And the plush carpeting. I mean, seriously, Oliver, what a shit hole.’

  ‘Happy?’ he laughed.

  ‘No. It doesn’t have a pool. Still, I guess I can overlook that as THIS IS UNBELIEVABLE!’ I beamed, running my hand over the velvet cushions. ‘I pictured us staying in a Travelodge with a painting of a leaf hanging over our mediocre bed. I feel like I’m in a fucking Bram Stoker novel. I’ve always wanted to stay here! Look! A giant bathtub! Champagne!’

  ‘I’ve booked us in for dinner tonight,’ he said. ‘Did you bring a dress?’

  ‘No, just jogging bottoms and a baseball cap.’ I smiled, pulling a little black dress out of my suitcase. ‘This do?’

  He looked at it for a second.

  ‘Fancy a bath?’

  Later we got ready for dinner and Oliver wore his dark blue suit, something I’m not used to. Handsome doesn’t even come close. I could see women eyeing him up as we walked down the stairs into the dining room. ‘Jesus, you’re making quite the impression, Oliver,’ I whispered. ‘You look great.’

  ‘So do you,’ he replied with a grin. ‘Very pretty.’

  The distinguished-looking waiter sat us in the middle of the room, at a table surrounded by opulent candlesticks, statues and hanging flower displays. I felt quite giddy. We ordered some wine and began reading the menu, trying very hard not to drool. The waiter came back a few minutes later.

  ‘Are you ready to order?’

  ‘Decided what you’re having?’ asked Oliver.

  ‘No. Unless everything is an option?’

  ‘We’ll need a couple more minutes.’

  I finally decided on scallops to start and Oliver chose haggis. I love haggis. I don’t care how it’s made or what’s in it, it tastes amazing.

  ‘Why didn’t I order haggis?’ I asked when our starters arrived.

  ‘Because you’re completely indecisive and you knew I’d let you try some of mine. Sadly this is too delicious to share, so your plan has failed.’

  ‘Give me a bite. I’ll give you a scallop.’

  ‘I don’t like them. You have nothing to bargain with here.’

  ‘Ha ha, stop being a shit and give me some; you’re almost finished.’

  Oliver smiled and handed me his plate. While I finished the tiny amount he had left, he reached over and stabbed his fork into my last two scallops, devouring them.

  ‘I love scallops,’ he said with his mouth full.

  ‘How is that a fair trade? You gave me a thimbleful of haggis! And you lied.’

  ‘I did. I wanted your starter quite badly. I’m not sorry and I’d do it again.’

  ‘Man, you’re a devious one. I should have you taken outside and shot.’

  We ended up sharing our main courses of pork and fish as well, bickering over who got the last hand-cut chip before ordering a second bottle of wine. By the time we’d finished I felt completely full and rather tipsy. Oliver signed the tab and we made our way upstairs to our suite.

  We lit the fire and opened the bottle of Jack Daniels I’d brought. Oliver loosened off his tie and sat beside me, stroking my face. It was nice.

  He leaned over and whispered in my ear, ‘This is pretty romantic, isn’t it? The wine, the room … it’s almost perfect … shame I’m here with you.’

  I started to laugh. ‘What do you know of romance, you Irish womanizer? You screwed me on the bathroom floor before dinner with your socks on. That’s hardly moonlight and roses, now, is it?’

  ‘True. Anyway, fuck romance, I’d much rather spend twenty mins shagging you on the floor than two hours telling you how strikingly blue your eyes are—’

  ‘They’re green.’

  ‘—shut up, or how you are the most amazing woman I’ve ever known. How you make me laugh until my face hurts and I can’t picture my life without you.’

  I just stared at him.

  He smirked. ‘Did you buy that?’

  ‘What? No.’

  ‘YES, YOU DID! You totally bought that. Shall we move in together? Do you want to marry me now and have babies, Phoebe? Let’s get a dog!’

  ‘Oh, you bastard.’ An hour later he had me pinned to the bed, my head hanging over the side and was slowly and unromantically going down on me. A most splendid weekend.

  Sunday June 19th

  We drove back to Glasgow in the afternoon and argued about politics, music and the fact that I snore like a demon. Oliver dropped me off and I’ve reluctantly unpacked, feeling refreshed if sore from all the frantic shagging. I’m very glad Oliver agreed to help me out with the challenges as I’d never have found out how delicious he is in bed. I wonder what we’ll do when I’ve finished my list.

  Tuesday June 21st

  Lucy’s love life seems to be picking up again.

  ‘Remember when we went out to that restaurant karaoke place and there was that fit older guy, David? Well, he asked me out tomorrow night.’

  ‘You don’t date older men.’

  ‘I’ll make an exception for him.’

  ‘But I thought we were having dinner tomorrow night?’

  ‘We are. He’s buying it. I’ll eat with you and then have drinks with him. Possibly sex. It’ll be a beautiful thing. You don’t remember him, do you? Well, you were pissed that night.’

  ‘Of course I remember him!’

  I had to think hard but eventually I did remember. Ages ago we’d had a staff night out at a speakeasy-themed bar/restaurant called Bugsy. The main attraction, apart from the karaoke, were the gangster-themed cocktails with names like ‘The Goodfella’, ‘The Bugsy’ and, most importantly, ‘The Leetle Friend’, which tasted of raspberry and got me drunk enough to serenade my colleagues with ‘The Lady Is a Tramp’ on karaoke. How appropriate. I remember briefly chatting to David, mainly about my awful singing, and then demanding a ‘Henry Hill’ before losing both of my shoes.

  Hopefully he won’t remember me.

  Wednesday June 22nd

  Oh, he remembered me all right. He came over to say hello halfway through dinner this evening and asked twice if I had managed to retain my footwear. I made a sharp exit shortly after eating, leaving Lucy to work her magic.

  However, I did notice he was wearing a rather hideous gold ‘man bracelet’ and matching chain. Yuck. That’s reason enough not to sleep with someone. She’s off work on a training day tomorrow but has promised to come round tomorrow night and tell me everything.

  Thursday June 23rd

  So Frank has officially buggered off on holiday for two weeks, leaving the lunatics to run the asylum. He left Maureen from accounts in charge, much to Kelly’s annoyance.

  ‘She doesn’t even work on our floor, for God’s sake. What if there’s an advertising emergency? Someone from this office should have been given the chance to run things.’

  ‘Like you?’ Brian laughed.

  ‘And why not? I’d be perfectly capable,’ she said, checking her nails in front of her monitor.

  ‘You’d be perfectly annoying. Maureen worked in advertising for years before she moved into accounts. Stop being so pissy about it.’

  ‘Oh fuck off, Brian.’

  They continued to argue while everyone else got on with making a shitload of personal phone calls, including me.

  ‘Morning, Oliver. Whatcha doin’?’

  ‘I have the day off. I’m playing football, then going for a massage. What are
you doing?’

  ‘Boss is off all week. I’m calling everyone I’ve ever met to pass the time. I’m bored.’

  ‘When’s the next challenge? And not another wanking one. The ones where I’m involved are much more fun. For me.’

  ‘I’ll need to check the list, dude, but I’m sure there are plenty more hands-on tasks for you.’

  ‘Don’t call me dude. You’re not a surfer. Anyway, I’m off to football. Don’t be thinking about me all sweaty now.’

  I thought about it. ‘I hate you,’ I muttered.

  Lucy came round this evening, armed with a bottle of red wine to give me the lowdown on her date with David.

  ‘So, how did it go?’ I asked, finally managing to uncork the bottle after quite a struggle.

  ‘Not great. He was more nervous than I was, but we hit it off pretty well.’

  ‘Sounds promising, but not nearly enough detail.’

  ‘Well, a couple of times I had to veer the conversation away from his ex-wife, but he was a gentleman and genuinely looked surprised when I replied, “Hell yes!” when he finally asked me back to his place for coffee. Anyway, he owns a flat overlooking the river. Actually, he owns a fucking block of flats overlooking the river, as well as the restaurant where we first met him, a PR firm and a bar in London that his ex-wife still runs. KER-CHING! He mentioned this quite casually – I kept hoping he would offer to buy me some boobs.’

  ‘So he has money. How was the sex?’

  ‘I made the first move and kissed him. It was all very polite: no tongue and lips firmly planted on mine. I half expected him to light up a cigarette and call me “dahling” halfway through.’

  ‘Jesus. You still slept with him?’

  ‘I almost didn’t. Get this – first thing he said was, “Don’t expect me to go more than once.”’

  ‘What? Was he kidding?’

  ‘Well, I laughed, but his face was so sincere, and he said, “I mean it. It won’t happen.”’

  ‘Oh, in the name of the wee man. Was it awful?’

  ‘Pretty much. Lots of moaning in the wrong places, calling me “Baby”, telling me I was a “bad girl” – I fucking wish I’d been a drunk girl. We went at it for a while, but he was pretty exhausted afterwards.’