CHAPTER FIVE
'Why the fuck did you leave me?'
I move aside to let a very pissed off and dishevelled George into my flat. I’m as equally pissed off, because I'd just managed to get warm and snug in bed when he banged on my door. I'm actually surprised it took him so long, but I bet his father wouldn't let him chase me home and this would have fuelled George's anger more.
Returning home, I couldn't wait to get the dress off and my face clear off all the make-up. It was like I needed to clear all the sleaze and corruption from me to be clean once more. That's what hanging around Gaskill does to me. He makes me feel unclean and unworthy.
'I left because he never turned up and you know damn well how much I hate going to these things. Also I am pig sick of your father having snide digs at me.'
'Well if you'd have stuck around then you would have known that bastard was late as usual,' George snaps. 'Did some fucking speech, sauntered around and then fucked off again.'
Grabbing my robe, I shrug it on as George sits down on my sofa. I am fully aware I'm not going back to bed just yet. George is not going to move any time soon. I get why he's angry, but in reality, even if I'd met Harry it doesn't mean that he'd fall at my feet. Just because George thinks I'm god's gift doesn't mean that everyone else feels the same way. True, I've never had problems when it comes to men. My problem is keeping hold of them. They never seem to hold my interest long enough. I get bored far too easily.
I have some stupid romantic notion that there will be one guy out there that will knock me clean off my feet and he will be the one. I realise that the reality means that I could be waiting a long time, but I'm prepared at the moment to hold out hope.
'You do know it's twice you've called him that. I take it you don't like him?' I say sitting beside him.
'What do you think?' he mutters. 'He treats his wife like shit.'
'I think that you need to think about whether you want your supposed best friend to try and seduce a guy like that if he's that bad. You know you are supposed to like me.'
George turns my way with a glazed look in his eyes. Great! A drunken George is an unpredictable George and sure enough the next thing to come out of his mouth is obvious.
'You know how I feel about you. Let me stay?'
His face moves close to mine and instinctively my body tenses. Not through fear, but more of knowing how much power he really holds over me. He's the only one who does. I'd never allow anyone to get under my skin. I don't like letting anyone in. But George holds an advantage that I desperately try and change every day. I get to my feet and pull the large throw that hangs on my sofa and drag it towards him.
'Sofa it is then?' he smiles.
'Goodnight George,' I kiss him on the cheek and make my way back to bed.
As I tuck myself under the covers, I find I'm staring at the door, waiting for it to open. Just one last plea or beg to share the bed, but after a few moments I hear the sound of his drunken snore.
Memories of a camping trip come to mind. Once again it involved too many beers. Cooped up in some small tent and just the two of us. George's persistence that I am the only woman he wants. Then the wandering hands until I slap him so hard that he falls over and nearly collapses the tent. Of course the cold light of day brought apologies, especially since I had kicked him out of the tent to sleep outside.
But I know better not to push him too far and we were soon friends once more. It took a long time to trust him after that. But no matter how long ago it was, I still get nervous when he drinks and I still wonder how much longer he will put up with our platonic relationship. He's a man after all.
CHAPTER SIX
'Why am I here again?' I mumble as I slouch on the wooden chair.
'Because some of us need to work and I also could do with the company.'
It's been over a week since the event and neither I nor George has talked about Harry Cobain since. I've kind of hoped that's it. Over.
If I’m honest, this whole thing makes me nervous. I mean if Harry Cobain is that alluring, I'm sure that won't be too difficult. I have probably seduced and fucked with worse through my own stupid choices. But I've always been able to walk away. This, I won't be able to until the deed is done. I am more or less committed and that word scares the freaking life out of me.
Also, I may trust George, but to trust this faceless wife is a different kettle of fish. After all Clair does have a point, why doesn't she just walk away? Surely divorce is much easier to do nowadays? But it all seems to be forgotten about for now and I am in no mood to nudge any reminders George's way either. Hence why I am being a little more giving and now stuck in the university library with him while he works.
It's the holidays and almost everyone is away and so there is nothing but an eerie silence. It's a beautiful building by all accounts with old panelled walls and stone floors. The book cases are the only things modern and with small windows there is another worldly feel to the place. I rummage in my bag for my small digi camera and get to my feet.
'Where you going?' he asks.
'I may as well do some work while I'm here too,' I say.
George waves me off and that's it I have freedom. I wander around taking snap shots of some of the shelves while laid on the floor. There is a stream of sunlight coming from one of the high windows and filled with dust particles it gives my pictures a magical feel.
Spying an opportunity, I get to my feet and make my way up onto the second floor. The steel staircase is old and rickety and I'm sure there are many health and safety issues with it, but it looks good. The top floor is totally empty and I have moment of feeling being spooked out. It's just a little isolated, even though George is not far. I can just about see George's bowed head. He doesn't even notice that I've disappeared. Far too engrossed in his books.
I've no idea why I never found him sexually attractive. It's not like he's ugly, in fact the total opposite. He's tall, dark and very handsome. He's not built like his father. He's much leaner, more like an athlete than contact sport man and for that I'm grateful. If he looked like his father I think I'd struggle to even like him. He's always thoughtful and caring, and would give me everything, but for me there's something missing. He's too much like a big brother and that's the problem. He loves me more than I love him.
Moving away, I spy a perfect picture. I try to work out how I am going to get it and realise I'm going to have to play daredevil. I climb and straddle the wrought iron safety barrier and using the wall as an anchor I prepare to take the quickest shot I can without killing myself.
Using the LED screen, I can make out the beam of sunlight hitting a stack of books below. It's almost biblical. This is going to make a great poster for me to sell. Tightening my thighs so I grip the railing, I dare to lean further out just to make sure it's perfect.
My heart is racing with working hard to steady my breathing so the picture doesn't become blurry. This needs to be done in one, because I'm not sure I have enough adrenaline to try it again. One final deep breath and a press down on the shutter and then...
'I think the librarian...whoa.'
Suddenly a pair of arms holds me tight after the moment of falling passes.
'Jesus fucking Christ,' I nearly scream into some stupid idiot's shoulder.
'Not quite,' a voice chuckles.
The pair of arms that hold of me start to let me go, but my legs are still wobbling from the shock and they grab me once more. There is a strong smell of spiced aftershave and its scent causes me to close my eyes for the briefest moments as I lift my head from the safety of the shoulder. Even though my heart is racing, I am starting to calm. Looking up, I'm greeted by water blue eyes filled with concern and for a moment we hold each other's stare, until I recognise their owner. The man from outside the party. What’s he doing here?
'Come, let us sit you down,' he says.
He lets me go as my feet slowly touch the floor and he leads me to where a couple of comfy chairs sit. Taking deep breaths, I all
ow my body to steady itself and relax. My heart is still pounding hard and I am little pissed off that this guy is stupid enough to make me jump. He sits down opposite and while I steady myself I look him over. Compared to the suit he was wearing at the party he's now much more casual, but still smart.
With his white tieless shirt, black jacket and a pair of jeans he reminds me of one of Gaskills friends. His blond hair is curled at the top, but cut sharp and precise around his neck and ears. His face round, but not fat, almost cherubic with a handsome cuteness to it.
With broad shoulders there's a little weight that usually comes with age. Concern and a little annoyance is on his face. But me, for some reason I can feel all my anger diminishing and it catches me off guard.
'What on earth were you doing? He asks.
'I was trying to get a picture.' I say.
'What of? The floor? Because the way you were going you would have ended up getting one hell of a close-up.'
'Why did you sneak up on me?' I ask.
'I didn't, you just weren't paying attention and you shouldn't have been on the railing. We tend to advise students against it,' he says now smiling.
'I'm not a student and anyway what are you the Head Librarian or something?'
He laughs once more and I find myself smiling at him.
'No, I'm the Dean—Harry.'
My heart does a double flip as I quickly glance to where I know George is still studying. That I didn't expect. He doesn't seem half as bad as George makes him out to be. Although, there is the arrogance that comes from someone in a position of power. Neither is he bad looking, not for an older man.
'Are you going to give me a name?' he asks.
I shake my head from the tumble of thoughts running through.
'Leigh,' I answer.
'Leigh? Short for...Leigh-Anne?' I give him a nod although a little surprised that he made such a prefect guess. 'Did I not meet you at the Macmillan Appeal? I seem to remember something about dick extensions,' he smiles.
Heat rises to my face. I can't believe he remembered that of all things. I was wearing the most gorgeous dress and he remembers dick extensions. I clearly didn't make that much of impression physically.
'I'm sorry, I thought you were trying to chat me up,' I say.
'What makes you think that I wasn't?' he asks.
He now leans forward so his elbows are on his knees and his joined hands hang between his legs. My eyes wander from his hands towards his crotch and I feel myself blush again. When did I start blushing? I don't blush.
'You gave up too easily,' I manage.
He laughs at me and I can't help but respond to him. Getting to his feet, he holds out his hand for me to shake.
'Nice to meet you again, but kindly don't try and climb the fixtures again. It would make a god awful mess if you fell.'
I laugh shaking his hand. He starts to walk away and there it is. The confident swagger, but where I expected to be bowled over by clichéd chat-up lines and compliments, there was nothing.
He's a subtle player, because he's left me with some slight interest. The problem with the subtle ones is that you don't know you've been hit until you're knee deep in complicated emotions. I get to my feet and he stops and looks back at me with a wide welcoming, but flirty smile.
'By the way I could tell you weren't a student. You neither look like a rabbit in headlights nor exhausted to the bone.'
Grabbing my camera, I check out the picture I've just taken. It's damn near on perfect and one that holds a memory. Now I've just to get my legs to work just enough so I can walk down the staircase to where George sits.
'Where have you been?' George asks as I sit down.
Now I have two choices and hindsight is always a blessing. Tell him I'd just met Harry Cobain and risk us going down this bet road or just keep quiet. The problem is that in that short time of talking to Harry I like him. I don't feel I could really mess with the guy's head and try and ruin his life.
'Just been wandering around,' I lie, deciding on the latter. 'You done yet I could do with a coffee?'
George closes his books and giving me grin he packs them up into his rucksack.
'Yeah, I'll finish it later.'
CHAPTER SEVEN
We're sat in the car arguing once again. It's the Gaskill annual summer barbecue and of course I have been dragged along. George knows I hate going to these things, most of all because I know I am not really wanted there. This is just George's way of exerting his own authority over his parents.
It's an argument that neither of us ever win, because even though I'm there, George knows I'll sulk through the whole thing and neither of us are ever happy. I just get sick of the same old conversations with elderly relatives about why he and I are or not together. Not to mention the constant digs and death glares I receive from Gaskill himself.
'I just wish you'd hurry up and get a girlfriend so you can take her,' I moan.
'Tell you what, we'll stay for an hour and then hit the pub. Deal?'
'Fine, but don't expect me to be singing your praises all afternoon.'
Laughing, he gets out the car and opens my door for me to get out. Grabbing my hand, he pulls me from the car and locks it behind us. Great, we are going into this hand holding. The Oldies are going to love this.
The smell of cooking meat is pungent in the air as we make our way up the pathway towards the 16th Century cottage that is George's childhood home. It's a long way off my own childhood terraced, but it is very beautiful. But then Stamford Bridge is steeped in so much history that I'm hardly surprised that he lived here.
I feel my anxiety levels rise as we approach the back garden. I have opted for casual, with jeans, a flimsy blouse and knee high boots. This is because I know damn well all the women will be in their feminine best. All Maxi dresses and glittery sandals.
This is my two fingered salute to Gaskill. He will take one look at what I am wearing and seethe and that will make this whole thing bearable. But no matter what it doesn't stop me feeling nervous. These apparent getogethers are also a platform to show off what each person has earned or achieved and I don't fit in with that.
'George,' Mary shouts as we approach and pulls us into a hug. 'Leigh, I am so glad you made it. Help yourselves to some Pimms,' she instructs.
Gaskill catches my eye and gives me an abrupt nod, which I return. It's only an hour, I tell myself. I can do this for an hour. Mary still holding onto my arm starts to drag me away from her son and steer me towards a group of women.
'I hope you don't mind, Leigh, but there's someone I'd like you to meet. Kat, this is the girl I was talking about.'
My breath catches as the most stunning woman turns her head. With a fuchsia coloured Maxi dress and long dark hair she is naturally beautiful, unlike the others in her circle. She's taller than me, maybe model tall. She's also curvaceous, with a damn good figure. A large smile warms her face and I find my bad mood melting away. This woman is nothing like others in Mary's circle who all bitch and snipe behind each other's backs.
'Leigh, this is Katherine Cobain.'
My heart jumps as she turns fully towards me. This is the wife of Harry Cobain? The woman, according to George is desperately unhappy that she wants someone like me to help her leave her marriage? This woman in front of me is practically glowing. Which leaves the question why would any man cheat on a woman like her? But then why does any man cheat full stop.
'Please call me Kat,' she says holding out a hand. 'Everyone does. Katherine is my Sunday name. Mary tells me you're a very talented photographer. I may have need for your services.'
She moves me a little away from the group as I get the feeling she it's something she doesn't want her circle to hear.
'Mary can be very kind,' I say. 'What is it you're after?'
'Well, it's my husband and I’s twentieth wedding anniversary in a few months and I would like to do something to...you know...spice things up. When you get to my age things are not where they should and...well I
am sure you get my drift.'
I can see her cheeks redden as she blushes, embarrassed at her request and I can't help but find that endearing. Plus I have no idea why she has body hang ups. From where I'm standing, she is near on perfect. Don't get me wrong, I am not that way inclined, but if I were then she'd be on my list of Woulds.
'It's not something I usually do,' I say. 'But here's my card, call me and we can have a chat about what exactly you want. Is that okay?'
'That is perfect. God! Harry is not going to know what's hit him,' she giggles.
Taking my card, I watch as she bounces away. Making her look even younger, leaving me even more confused. What is George up to? This woman doesn't want to leave her husband. She still loves him enough to put herself on display for him. I swear if he's playing games with me I'll... but then I'm not doing this stupid bet thing. Mary touches my arm, disturbing my thought train and starts to lead me to the buffet table.
'Thanks for doing that?' I say.
'It is not a problem. I am so glad that you decided to come along today. George always says that Thomas doesn't make things easy for you. I know you and Thomas don't get on, but you must understand that George is his only child and any fool can see how George feels about you.'
'You do know that George and I...'
She stops me with a hand.
'Just don't hurt him. That's all I ask and leave Thomas to me. I have a lot of time and respect for you, and I know one day you're going to make someone a wonderful wife.'
I still at her comment. If only she knew what her son had proposed, she'd know that if I'd played this game and lost then I'd be that wonderful wife for him. But even if I did lose and ended up Mrs Gaskill, I'd never be wonderful. I'd be unhappy and trapped and wives that are unhappy and trapped do foolish things. That's the reality that George has never considered.
'I'll never hurt him,' I say. 'I want him to be happy, but contrary to his own belief that happiness doesn't lie with me. Plus I'm not ready for marriage just yet.'
The Boleyn Effect (The Boleyn Ending) Page 3
