“Do you think the anal thing is because he plays rugby?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” I had no idea what the correlation could be.
“You know! All of that testosterone, and the scrum, and they’re always doing that thing where they’re bent over waiting for the ball to be passed between the legs? Their eyes are literally always on bottoms,” Darcy said, putting the milk in the fridge.
“I think that’s American football, isn’t it? With the bending and the ball between the legs?” I corrected her despite knowing nothing about any sport. “Anyway, that’s not the point, the point is that I had actual anal sex. For the first time ever,” I said smugly, hiding a wince as I leaned on my bruised thighs.
“Did you never do it with Tom?”
“What, with Mr. Logic, the man who used to only want to have sex in two positions? No. Do you ever do it with Simon?”
“Only on Valentine’s Day. It’s my annual gift to him,” Darcy said as we walked to the meeting room and sat at the table. “Did you like it?”
“I think so. Anyway, he left at about midday, and then came back an hour later, when I was trying to sleep off my hangover, to ask for my number. And despite not wanting to betray Tom by having any sort of long-term thing, I gave it to him. Tom still isn’t replying, you know,” I said, my tone switching from matter-of-fact to plain sad.
“Do you think you’ll see Guy again?” Darcy asked, losing her face in her mug as she took a gigantic gulp of her tea.
“Yes, tell us, do you think you’ll see him again?” Gina asked, taking a seat at the table. “Or do you think you’ll actually do some work, the work that we’re paying you to do? Again you haven’t filed your listings.”
“Sorry, Gina,” I said, mortified. “I’ll go and do it now, I was just waiting for someone to check—”
“No, no, you stay,” Gina said, putting a hand on my arm as I got up to leave. Darcy took the opportunity to slip away, sneaking me an apologetic smile.
“What’s going on?” Gina asked irritably, running a hand through her short blond hair.
“What do you mean?” I asked, knowing exactly what was coming. I was surprised this telling-off had taken so long.
“I mean, what’s wrong with you? You’re being odd. Your behavior,” Gina said.
“Nothing, Gina, I’m fine,” I lied, getting up from the table.
“No, no, sit down,” Gina said. I did as I was told. “Don’t lie to me, not when I’ve taken the time to talk to you about this properly rather than giving you a written warning.” My heart lurched. “You aren’t fine. You’ve been late, you keep getting things wrong, and I know that Leigh keeps covering for you. Last Wednesday you just didn’t come in?”
I felt the pride in myself and my job that I’d worked so hard to cultivate slip away. There was no point in lying. “I’m sorry, Gina,” I said to my boss, and looked at the floor. “It’s relationship stuff, but that’s no excuse.” Embarrassment coated my words. “It’s not like anyone has died,” I said. “I’m sorry again. It won’t keep happening.” I tried to look up and into Gina’s catlike eyes, but instantly looked down at the table. How could I have let this happen, despite promising myself that it wouldn’t? Even if, worst-case scenario, I got fired and had to rebuild the tiny career I’d created, I didn’t have Tom’s financial help anymore, how would I pay my rent? My stomach dropped further than I thought it could.
“It isn’t fine. I’ve been there, I know what it’s like, and I know that you have a habit of minimizing things.” Gina was being nice today, it seemed. “You mustn’t. Look, Queenie, some advice for you. Whenever I’ve had a huge upheaval, my mother has always said, ‘Keep one foot on the ground when two are in the air.’ At least you’ve got your job, and you’ve got a place to live, so try to keep your focus on those things.”
“So, like, I have three feet in this? Like a tripod?” I asked her.
“You know what I mean.” Gina waved my question away with a flick of the wrist. “Why don’t you take a couple of days off? Go away for the weekend, give yourself some proper thinking space.”
“I’m okay, really I am. It’s better for me to come to work,” I said, knowing that I could never afford to just go anywhere for the weekend. “I’m not good at sitting home with nothing to focus on. It’s when the demons come knocking.”
“The offer always stands. Whenever you need it. I’m sorry to say it, but you will need to face up to those demons at some point.” She stood up and patted me on the shoulder. “Now, if you are going to be here, can you get back to work? Thank you in advance.”
* * *
I went back to my desk and sat down ever so gently, vowing that today would genuinely be the day I stopped fucking about and got on with my job. I breathed out slowly as my bum touched the seat. Everything from the waist down was so tender. I worked solidly through to lunch, padding over to Darcy’s desk as soon as the clock struck one.
“Can you do me a favor? It involves coming with me somewhere,” I said, trying to sound persuasive.
“Depends,” she said, not looking away from her screen.
“The sexual health clinic,” I said, knowing that I was really testing her dedication.
“We’ll be waiting for hours,” she said, turning to face me. “And I do care about your sexual health, but we cannot just disappear for hours.”
“Darcy, do you care about my sexual health?” I asked her. “I’ve been having more . . . indoor activity than usual recently, and it occurred to me that I should check that things aren’t going to start falling off.”
Darcy rolled her eyes. “You sent me an e-mail about ninety minutes ago telling me that this was the day that you got your act together. Just go at the weekend?”
“Honestly, it won’t take long,” I pleaded. “And Gina’s calendar says she’s out of the office this afternoon. I just want company, please, please.”
* * *
Two hours later we were sitting in the waiting room of the sexual health clinic around the corner. When we walked in and were on speaking terms, we’d agreed that it was the most depressing room either of us had ever been in before we’d even sat down. The only color came from the dozens of pamphlets that covered every wall. Darcy was refreshing her work e-mails next to me, and had stopped talking to me out of anger an hour ago.
“I said it would take hours.” She put her phone in her pocket and turned to me.
“Only two and a half. It’s a busy time of year, Darcy, I couldn’t predict this.”
“What, November?”
“It’s close to Christmas, everyone is getting jolly!”
“I predicted this, didn’t I? I’m going to go back to work.”
Just as she jumped up to leave, a male nurse came through the doors and, as expected, screamed my name through the waiting room. “Coming, coming.” I got up and the nurse smiled at me and walked through the double doors to the assessment rooms.
I followed him in, my legs beginning to feel wobbly when I was taken into a room a little too similar to the hospital scanning room. I sat in a squeaky plastic chair next to an old brown desk. The nurse tapped some things into his computer.
“Now, it says on the form that it’s your first time here?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“At this clinic, or any sexual health clinic?”
“Any,” I told him before my stomach sank slightly. “But I’ve been to the Lewisham Hospital gynecology unit for something else. Not that that matters.”
“Have you ever been tested before?”
“Never.”
The nurse smiled at me flatly, his gray eyes peering out from behind his narrow glasses. He took another look at the form I’d filled in. “So, no symptoms, just a checkup?”
“Exactly.” Why wasn’t I able to say more than one word? Fear, probably.
“Okay, so I have a few questions,” he said. “It shouldn’t take too long.” I wanted to turn and run back out to the waiting room. It was exac
tly times like this that I realized I was desperately lacking some sort of maternal figure in my life. Though there was no way that Aunt Maggie would have accompanied me here. Ever since I’d said cervix after the gynecology unit, she’d kept a distance.
“So, Queenie. Your last sexual partner. When was that?” the nurse probed without looking at me.
“Um. Yesterday.”
“And was it a casual partner, or a long-term partner?”
“Casual,” I said.
“Right, okay. And was the sex protected or unprotected?”
“Unprotected.” I crossed and uncrossed my legs.
“And this partner, where were they from? Were they from Africa?” the nurse asked.
“Were they from . . . Africa?”
“Higher risk of HIV,” the nurse told me.
“Maybe you should explain that. But, no. He was Welsh,” I told him, Guy’s accent popping into my head. He didn’t say he’d slept with anyone when he’d worked in Cameroon, so I put it out of my head.
“And was this oral, vaginal, or anal sex?”
“Um. The latter two. And all three for him. But you probably don’t need to know that. You know what I mean. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry, it’s good to know as much as possible.” The nurse smiled and typed some things into the computer.
“And the partner before that. When was that?” he asked, turning back to me.
“Um. Three days before that,” I said quickly.
“And is that a casual partner or a long-term partner?”
“That partner was also casual.”
“Okay, great,” the nurse said. I suspected that he did not think it was great. “Protected or unprotected?”
“Unprotected.”
“Okay. And was he from Africa?” More tapping into the computer. I could swear it was getting faster.
“From the nebulous Africa? No. He was just . . . white? Sorry, is white offensive to you? Should I say . . . Caucasian?”
“White is fine,” he said. “And before that?”
I counted on my fingers. “A week and a half before that?”
“Was the partner—”
“Casual,” I responded.
“Okay, thank you. And was the sex—”
“Unprotected. Not African.” I nodded.
“And before—”
“One week before that, casual, unprotected, not African.”
“Okay, I think I get the picture.” The nurse scratched his head and began to type. “. . . So, I’m going to test you for HIV, gonorrhea, chlamydia.”
“Please could I have a pregnancy test?” I asked the nurse, looking at the floor as I did.
“It says here that you have an IUD fitted?”
“I do, but, I’ve been, uh—” I couldn’t get the words out. “I’ve, uh—” I could feel something in my throat.
“You’ve been pregnant?” The nurse said what I couldn’t. I nodded.
“I think I’m just from a very fertile family! Ha.” A nervous shot of laughter escaped from my mouth.
“Okay, well, we can do the pregnancy test afterward. Would you pop your jogging bottoms off and jump on the exam table?” I’d come prepared this time.
The nurse steered me toward the table, told me that he was going to get a female nurse to “chaperone,” and drew a curtain around me. I wasn’t sure why he was trying to spare me any dignity when he was about to be poking around inside me.
The chaperone came in: a young mixed-raced girl with loose curls that reminded me of my mum’s and the sort of cheekbones that could cut you. Again, chair, stirrups, edging my bottom to the end of the table until my vagina was almost touching the nurse’s nose.
I gritted my teeth as he touched me. He inhaled sharply.
“So, Queenie. As well as the marks on your thighs, I’m also seeing some internal bruising. . . .” He went farther in, and I bit down on my phone to stop myself from crying out.
“There’s also some tearing. Do you know how you might have sustained these injuries?” The nurse leaned back and lifted his glasses so that they rested in his hair. I looked at the chaperone, whose face was one of abject horror, as though she’d just witnessed a car crash or a drive-by.
“Um, just some rough sex, I guess?” I offered.
“This is very severe bruising.” The nurse leaned back and removed his latex gloves. “You can pop your legs down now. It’ll be far too painful for me to insert a speculum. My colleague and I are going to step out. You pop your bits back on, and I’ll come back in for a chat. Don’t go anywhere.”
* * *
The nurse came back in as I was staring at the clear plastic drawer full of pregnancy tests and weighing the pros and cons of being caught stealing a handful.
“Do you have anyone here with you?” he asked, pulling some pamphlets out of his desk.
“Er, my work best friend came with me, but she’s gone back to work.”
“And what about your mother, is she around?”
“No, she’s no—” I began. “Do you talk to your mum about your sex life?”
“I see your point, but I need to check. This work best friend, is she somebody that you can confide in?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Why? That’s quite dramatic.” I laughed nervously again.
“Well, I have concerns about those injuries, Queenie. They are largely consistent with sexual violence.”
The nurse put the pamphlets on his desk, and although they were upside down, I read the words victim support.
“Oh God, no, I’m not trying to cover up for some abusive boyfriend, honestly,” I said.
“You know, this is a confidential space, and we can absolutely steer you toward the right support—”
“I’m fine, really. Trust me, I would say.” I looked the nurse in the eye very sincerely. “I don’t have an abusive boyfriend. I can’t even get anyone to take me on a date,” I joked uncomfortably.
“I’ll take your word for it, but I’m going to need you to come back in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, I think you ought to refrain from any sort of sexual activity. Now, let’s get you a pregnancy test before you leave.”
* * *
The pregnancy test was negative, so we can thank goodness for small mercies. Not entirely sure whose it would even be at this point, but it certainly wouldn’t be Tom’s. As I walked back to the office, I opened our message thread again. He hadn’t said anything to me in forever. How had so many weeks passed without a word? I rushed back to the office to try to do an hour’s work, thinking about how (im?)possible it would be to refrain from sex for a fortnight. What was happening to me? I was meant to be taking this time to get better and to work on being a nice girlfriend so that when Tom and I reunited, I’d be normal; but instead, I was just having sex with everyone. This break isn’t going the way I thought it would. I wonder if Tom is suffering as much as I am? I hope so.
I made my way to the smoking area before going back into work and facing the wrath of Darcy, but saw Ted lurking in the corner, so went to sneak into the office. He must have sensed my presence; he looked up and came over. I put a cigarette to my lips.
“You’ve been avoiding me, Queenie.”
I lit it and looked at him. “I haven’t been avoiding you, Ted.” I exhaled.
“Oh, but you have. . . . You can’t lie to me.”
I turned away from him and took another drag on my cigarette. I was having too many feelings that I couldn’t keep ahold of, and another man and what he wanted from me was the last thing I needed.
“Hey, talk to me?” Ted said, standing directly in front of me and putting both hands on my arms the way he had when we first spoke. It was the very worst timing, bumping into him after a trip to the sexual health clinic that had left me feeling so vulnerable. My bottom lip trembled. “Let’s go for a walk, get some proper air,” Ted said, taking my hand.
We walked in silence until we got to the park, stopping by the precarious bench. I hoped that he didn’t want us to s
it on it. If it collapsed, that would really be the end of my entire bottom half.
“Tell me what’s wrong?” Ted asked, lighting a cigarette. Smoking was going to kill either one or both of us.
“It’s just all a big mess,” I said, feeling him reach for my hand. I pulled it away.
“Ah. Those boy problems you mentioned. Ongoing?” he asked gently.
“You’re not the person I should be talking to about all of this,” I said, playing with my hair.
“You can trust me,” he said. “I promise to stay objective.”
“Ha, sure,” I snorted in Ted’s face, and watched it crumple the way that Tom’s would when I inevitably and deliberately said something to push him away.
“We’re meant to be on a break,” I said to Ted, and took a deep breath. “When I stepped on your foot, the day I first saw you in the lift, I was about to move out of the flat I shared with my boyfriend. And I haven’t spoken to him since, because he wants us not to speak for a while, but obviously I still feel so guilty every time I e-mail you or see you because even though I don’t know you, you make me feel excited, which is probably really intense, but also I know it’s because there’s some rebound energy in me even though it’s not a proper breakup, and I don’t know when he’s going to call me and tell me that he’s ready to go back to how things were, but I know deep down that he is. So.” I took a breath. “I’m trying not to get involved in anything that could be serious, because that would feel like I was cheating on someone that I worked so hard to let in after a childhood of negative reinforcement from the men around me.” I looked at Ted, expecting him to turn on the heels of his polished brogues and run away. “I told you. It’s all a mess.”
“I don’t mind a bit of mess,” Ted said, weaving his fingers through mine. I tried to pull my hand away, but he held on. “That’s not so bad, is it?” I looked at him and shook my head. It had been so long since somebody had touched me gently. He flicked his cigarette away and put his other hand on the back of my head.
Queenie Page 11
