by Hodge, Sibel
‘I thought we went over this yesterday. I realized I’ve made a mistake.’ He sat down, stretching his arm along the back of the sofa, making himself at home. ‘I really miss you, Helen,’ he said through his plump lips, which looked a bit peculiar, as if he’d been at them with collagen injections.
I sank down next to him.
He leaned over and took my hand in his. ‘I know I’ve made a big mistake. Why don’t you just forgive me, and we can move on?’
I gazed into his little wishy-washy pale blue eyes and wondered, for the first time, what the hell had I actually ever seen in him? And how had I never noticed how permanently fake-tanned he looked? I pulled my hand away and walked over to the window.
‘What, you suddenly turn up again in my life and just expect me to pretend nothing happened?’ I regarded him with wild-eyed suspicion. For the last six months, I’d dreamed of this happening. But now I realized, for the first time in a long time, that I was much more confident and assertive. I was actually feeling happy again. The challenge I’d thought was such a stupid idea at first was having a really positive effect on me.
‘Can I have a glass of wine, for old times’ sake?’ He tried his best heart-stopping smile that I used to love.
I stomped into the kitchen and sloshed wine into a glass. With all the stealth of a cat stalking its prey, he snuck up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.
‘Mmm, you smell gorgeous.’ He sniffed my hair. ‘I’d forgotten how beautiful you are.’
I pulled away and handed him the glass ‘And what about Miss Photocopier?’
He hesitated and averted his eyes. ‘Sandra? That was over weeks ago. It won’t happen again.’
And that’s when I knew he was lying.
I swilled the wine in my glass. ‘And that’s supposed to make it all right again, is it?’
‘Well…yes. Come on…you know you want me back. We can just pick up where we left off. No harm done.’
He must have developed selective amnesia.
I listened to him, hearing but not really believing my ears, his words slicing through me.
And then everything clicked in to place. He hadn’t changed.
I had.
‘It was just a little indiscretion. Helen…I was good for you, wasn’t I?
My glass froze en route to my mouth. ‘“Indiscretion?!”’ I shook with pent-up resentment. ‘You call shagging someone else behind my back for a whole year “Indiscretion?” The trouble with you is that you just can’t seem to keep it in your own pants.’ My eyes flew to his crutch, just so that he was completely clear what I was talking about.
He flinched. ‘You know I don’t like the word “shagging”.’
‘Ah, what word would you prefer, then? Rogering, bonking, nookying-to-death, humping, or any of the above?’ I stormed back into the lounge.
Justin followed closed behind me. ‘Well, it was never serious with her, it was just a physical thing. Not like with you and me. Come on, you must know that. I’ve only ever cared about you.’ He held his arms out to me, full of self-indulgence, completely ignoring what I’d just said.
‘You can’t just come in here and expect everything to be back to business as usual.’ I took a bigger gulp of wine and contemplated throwing the rest of it over him, but I really didn’t want to make a mess on my lovely oak floor.
‘Why not?’
I followed that with an eye roll. ‘Because it doesn’t work like that in the real world, where you’re hurting real people’s feelings, but then you wouldn’t realize that because you only live in the Justin world.’ I gave him an icy stare.
‘But I’ve just had a massive pay rise and bought a new BMW!’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ I shot him an incredulous look. ‘Money’s not the most important thing in life.’
‘What else is there?’ Surprise registered on his face.
I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘Hmm…let’s see. How about happiness, love, and trust? Caring about your partner and not just yourself? Or being a genuine, kind person on the inside? How about being faithful?’
He stood up, chucking the rest of his wine down his throat. ‘Well, I think you’ll change your mind when you realize what you’re missing.’ He sniffed, clearly annoyed at my unexpected display of animosity.
I grabbed the door knob and flung it open, giving a big enough hint that I wanted him to go. Dr Savage suddenly appeared as Justin and I were having a glaring competition. He was just about to knock when he saw that the door was already open.
‘Hello.’ Dr Savage smiled. His smooth, bald head looked like he’d had a session with the polish and a feather duster. ‘Not interrupting anything, am I?’
‘No, Justin was just leaving,’ I hissed through clenched teeth.
‘You’ll regret it.’ Justin stormed past me, puffing out his chest. ‘I’d watch out if I were you. She’s trouble,’ he snarled at Dr Savage, a rivulet of threat running through his voice.
‘Look, I don’t want to get in the middle of anything.’ Dr Savage’s eyes darted between Justin and me.
Justin stepped closer to Dr Savage, his fists coiled, stopping inches away from his face.
Dr Savage took a step back. And then another.
‘You’re not. Good. Bye. Justin,’ I forced the words out. The atmosphere was oppressive. I held my breath.
Justin glowered at Dr Savage. A minute passed. Then slowly, he unclenched his fists and stormed down the hall.
My eyes followed his back as he disappeared, and I allowed myself to exhale.
‘What was all that about?’ Dr Savage reached into his pocket, pulled out a crisp, white handkerchief and mopped his brow.
‘He’s my ex-boyfriend. It’s nothing, I’m sure he won’t be causing any more trouble.’ I felt the anxiety slip away. I’d made the right decision.
‘You’re sure? You’re sure you’re OK?’
‘I’m certain.’ I flung on my black leather jacket and scooped up my bag, shutting the door behind us.
‘Well, in that case. Shall we go? You look lovely, by the way.’
‘Thanks, but I have to ask you, what’s your first name?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t say, did I? It’s Heathcliff.’
‘Heathcliff?’
‘Yes, my mother was really into Wuthering Heights.’
We wandered down the stairs and bumped into Kalem, Yasmin and Deniz coming up.
‘Merhaba canim.’ Hello darling, Yasmin said, in Turkish, kissing me on both cheeks and drawing me into her cuddly warm body, just as she’d always done ever since I was a kid.
‘Hello,’ boomed Deniz in his usual loud voice. He looked half-cut again. ‘Wow!’ He peered at Heathcliff’s bald head. ‘Have you tried rubbing goat shit on it?’ Deniz pointed to his own bushy head of curly, black hair and thick moustache. ‘It’s what we used to do in our village in Cyprus. It’s a wonder-cure for baldness, you know.’
‘Strangely, no,’ Heathcliff muttered, looking bewildered.
Kalem creased up with laughter and looked at me. ‘You’ve been to the hairdresser too, haven’t you? It looks good.’
‘What are you two doing tonight? Yasmin asked.
‘We’re going for a meal, and I thought we might go to a nightclub after,’ Heathcliff said.
‘Agh!’ Yasmin and Deniz said in unison. Yasmin’s hands flew to her face as her eyes widened with shock. Deniz glared at Heathcliff.
Heathcliff looked uneasy. ‘What’s wrong with a nightclub?
‘In Cyprus, a nightclub is actually a brothel.’ Kalem grinned and sauntered off.
****
I was dead impressed when we arrived at the newly opened trendy bistro, Le Jardin. Apparently, there was a waiting list a mile long to get a table here. How had Heathcliff managed it in just one day?
The maitre d’ led us past the glossy chrome bar, with cream Italian leather bar stools, and into a corner table, which nestled between several equally glossy potted palms and a
very impressive water feature of a mermaid and a dolphin. I didn’t know what sort of a look they were trying to achieve, but it looked rather like the mermaid was humping the dolphin.
A very young-looking waiter handed us a menu as we sat down on the uncomfortable chairs. I balked as I slowly read it, realizing that, really, you could have fed a family of four for a week for the price of one meal alone! An army of waiters hovered around like lawyers round an accident victim, waiting to land the second someone finished their meals, so they could jump-start the plate-whipping-away frenzy.
I looked over at Heathcliff, who was trying to get comfortable, and then observed him with interest as he rearranged the already perfectly-presented table. There were two wine glasses, one large and one small. He swapped them round, then fiddled with the cutlery, straightening his knife and fork again and again. Next, he tackled the napkin, which had been very cleverly moulded into the shape of a swan. He carefully unfolded it, refolded it, and unfolded it again.
‘Can I get you something to drink?’ the waiter asked.
Heathcliff studied the wine list. ‘How about a bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape?’ He looked up at me.
‘That sounds fine.’ What did I know about wine? Justin always used to buy the most expensive bottle with the longest name, but I usually just went for the cheapest, as long as it tasted nice and didn’t give me a humongous hangover. ‘And some soda and ice please.’ I leaned back in the chair and tucked my hair behind my ear. ‘How did you get a table here?’
‘Ah, I have a little confession to make. I was supposed to be having a business meeting here tonight, but they cancelled yesterday morning, that’s why I was able to take you out. I’m usually so busy it would have taken weeks to fit you in otherwise.’ He picked his knife up, gave it a quick blow and buffed it up to a shine which rivaled his gleaming bald head. He then carefully placed it back into a perfectly straight position.
‘So what are you having?’ I tried to find the cheapest dish on the menu.
‘I think I’m going to go for the foie gras, followed by fillet steak with a stilton sauce.’ He closed the menu, picked up his napkin and folded it into a neat little square.
‘I’ll have the prawns in garlic butter to start and then steak,’ I decided.
The waiter returned with our drinks on a silver tray and attempted to pour the wine. I handed him the bigger of the two glasses and told him that I was going to mix mine with soda and ice.
‘You can’t do that! You can’t mix the glasses up. You have to use the smaller one,’ Heathcliff said.
The waiter looked to me for further instructions on his wine pouring etiquette.
‘No, that’s fine. Please pour it in here.’ I wiggled the big glass in the air.
Heathcliff raised his eyebrows at me. ‘How odd.’
‘So, what’s it like being a doctor?’ I swirled my wine in my big fat glass.
‘Well, I am a workaholic, I’m afraid. I usually work around eighty hours a week.’ He unfolded and refolded his napkin.
‘How do you find any time for a social life?’
‘That’s the sacrifice you make, I’m afraid. My wife and three children were never too impressed with it.’ He shook his head. ‘Ex-wife, that is.’
‘Gosh.’ I downed half of my glass fast and then saw the waiter almost running across the quarry tiled floor to try and refill it before I could lift it to my lips again.
‘Did you know sixty per cent of all backaches could be avoided by adopting the correct seating position when sitting and driving?’ He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
‘I totally didn’t know that.’ I sat back, fiddled with my fork and realized, with some surprise, that he had me doing it now.
‘Oh, yes, absolutely.’ He seized his wine glass, wiping it with his napkin and then looked in horror at a drop of red wine that had splashed onto it. ‘I don’t think these chairs are in the best position for spines, really.’ He folded the napkin and hid the stain.
‘Interesting,’ I mumbled as the waiter laid the starters in front of us.
I sniffed the wonderful aroma of melted garlic butter and poked my fork in a sumptuous king prawn.
He gaped at me. ‘Do you know what prawns do?’ He took a bite of his paté.
I had a vague recollection of someone telling me they ate the poop of other fishes, but I didn’t particularly care because they tasted so scrumptious. ‘What do they do?’
‘They are the Hoovers of the ocean and frequently eat the faeces of other marine animals.’ He pulled a disgusted face.
I gathered up another little poop-guzzler and popped it into my mouth. ‘And do you know how they make foie gras?’ I remembered that Kalem had told me about it once.
‘No.’ He dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin, then refolded it so that no one could see the dark smear of paté caked on it.
‘They force-feed the geese to horrendous proportions and then whip out their gigantic over-sized livers to make it. Yuck, isn’t it?’
He put his paté down and stared at it. ‘Wow! I don’t think I fancy that now.’ He pushed his plate to the centre of the table and back again. Then he spent five minutes intricately examining his cutlery for spillages.
I tried to spear my last prawn with my fork, but it slipped in the melted butter sauce and somersaulted under the table. ‘Oops.’
‘Where’s it gone?’ Heathcliff lifted up the tablecloth and scanned beneath it with a worried look on his face.
‘So, how old are your children?’
‘Seven, five, and three.’ He patted down the tablecloth. ‘I only get to see them once a month as I’m so busy working.’
He finished his drink and I poured him another before the waiter could even glance in our direction.
‘Oh, that’s a shame.’
‘Did you know four thousand people a year die from accidents in the home?’
‘No,’ I said, as the waiter removed our plates and brought us our main courses. God, the service was a bit quick! Actually, it was a bit too quick for my liking. It was as though they were trying to hurry us along so they could throw us out of the door and cram in yet another sitting – hardly a relaxing culinary adventure.
When the super-fast waiter leaned over Heathcliff, he managed to spill a minute drop of stilton sauce on his trousers.
Heathcliff shot out of his chair, staring at the stain. ‘Oh, my God. Oh, my God!’ He went completely over the top.
‘It’s OK, I’m sure it will wash out.’ I stared at him in amazement as the waiter apologized and scurried back into the kitchen before he could get a bollocking.
‘No, it won’t do. It just won’t do. Please excuse me. I’m going to have to wash this off.’ He rushed to the loos.
I waited several minutes for him to return. When he didn’t, I thought the only decent thing to do was to start polishing off my dinner before it got cold. After I’d scraped my plate clean of every last delicious morsel, he reappeared sporting a big greasy stain down his leg and groin area.
‘How terrible.’ He sat down, his face red and clammy.
‘It’s all right. Looks like you got it out.’ Why was he getting so stressed about a bit of dirt on his trousers?
‘I feel soiled and violated.’
I stifled a laugh. ‘Don’t worry. Let’s forget all about it and talk about something else.’ I waved my hand as if it was no problem while secretly worrying I think this guy has a cleanliness obsession!
The evening went pretty much downhill from there. Over coffee and brandy, he recounted the national statistics on deaths from MRSA, the benefits of water births versus caesareans, the average life of a red blood cell, and numerous other medical facts known to man and Heathcliff. As we drove back to my place I politely invited him in for coffee, but was slightly concerned about the reaction I would get from him when he saw my less-than-squeaky-clean abode.
As I flicked the light on in the kitchen, he gazed around the room, then gaped open-mouthed at my mug tre
e from which hung red, blue, and yellow mugs arranged in a rather haphazard fashion.
‘What’s all this?’ He pointed at it.
‘A mug tree.’
I sprang towards the kettle, slightly perturbed. As I made the coffee, he started re-arranging them in patterns, so that the two red ones were opposite each other, ditto for the two blues and the same again for the two yellows mugs; all facing in a clockwise direction.
‘You can’t have the same colours next to each other. It has to be colour-coordinated. They must be opposite each other.’ He downed his coffee with a few swift gulps, staring at the mug tree, as if it was going to rear up and batter him to death. ‘I’ve got an early start at the surgery tomorrow. I must dash.’ He gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief.
After his hasty exit, I flung the mugs willy-nilly into the sink. The Matching Pairs Police would have to arrest me for this little misdemeanour.
The answer phone was twinkling at me, so I listened to the message as I cleaned my teeth. It was the same creepy guy again from the other day. I dithered mid-brush.
‘Me again. I think you’ve forgotten something, haven’t you? I still haven’t got the readies off ya. Don’t forget my money this time, otherwise you’ll be sorry.’ It was all very ominous and scary. I seriously hoped he had got the wrong number because I didn’t have a clue what he was on about.
Chapter 10
Saturday, day 6 – Mussels Are Wicked
I lay in bed next morning, staring at the ceiling, deliberating whether it was actually possible to meet a normal guy once you reached the age of thirty. Was it so hard to find a man without baggage or strange obsessive compulsive disorders about cleanliness?
Yes, I did have a few quirks, but I certainly wasn’t a raving nutter like Heathcliff. The fact that he had three kids he hardly ever saw didn’t really bode well for my perfect picture of settling down to a happy family life with someone either. Let’s face it: most single men the same age as me either seemed to be mentally challenged, divorced, or had a commitment phobia the size of outer space.
In spite of my present predicament, I now knew for certain that I didn’t want someone unfaithful like Justin, even if it meant being on my own for the rest of my lonely life.
