‘Oooh, a local boy!’ Piper says, doing a little clap. She’s so into this.
‘I suppose so, yeah. So, we had a few drinks, quite a lot of drinks, actually, talked for a while and then the bar was closing. I didn’t have my bearings and you’d abandoned me and so, well, we went to his,’ I say, nodding and picking up my cutlery to eat. Even though I’m full of glee at having something exciting to talk about for once, I’m holding it in in an ‘oh, I’m so casual, I always have hot sex with hot guys in New York City, don’t mind me, la la la’ kind of way. God, I love this place. I’m exciting in this place. I have actual exciting things to be coy about!
‘So it’s my fault then, is it?’ Piper smiles as she eats a tiny spoonful of crunchy little brown flakes and yoghurt.
‘Ha! Yes! Completely! His flat is tiny and there was nowhere really to sit and the drinks were really quite strong and Piper, I just thought, “Fuck it, I’ve been so good for so long, always trying to do the right thing, I’m just going to let it happen”, and it did. He poured wine, we kissed, we did it.’
‘“Did it”,’ Piper repeats. ‘We’re not in sixth form any more, Robin, you can say “sex”, you know.’
‘OK, we had sex,’ I say, letting myself just say it with ease. ‘Sex!’ I add, once more with confident liberation.
‘Was it good sex?’ she asks, smiling, amused at my new-found brazenness.
‘I think so.’ I do think so. I don’t have a lot to compare it to – there’s only been Simon and Theo – but whenever I think about it, I feel good; sexy.
‘You think so?’ she says, looking at me over her cup.
‘It was good, really good, actually. It was different, though. It’s only ever been Simon or Theo, and then all of a sudden, with no warning at all, it’s a new man and there are new things to deal with,’ I say, hoping she’ll pick up on my tone.
‘By “new things”, do you mean his dick?’
‘Shhh, yes, Piper, yes, his … dick.’ I’m blushing so hard at this point, I think people are looking. She’s so far ahead of me in the confidence stakes, casually dropping the D-word over brunch.
‘He was lovely; everything was lovely. He spent a lot of time on me, and I felt really good.’ I hope this satisfies her. Thinking about it, Edward’s the first man who really has spent that time on me. I smile at how much of a nice guy he is. There should be more Edwards in the world.
‘But his dick, though.’ Piper interrupts my thoughts matter-of-factly as she spoons more gluten-free nothingness into her mouth.
‘You’re not going to let it lie, are you?’ I say, half-exasperated but half-amused at her boldness. I give in. ‘He had a great dick! Very straight, very … thick.’ I end up giggling. This time last week I was doing the school run, frazzled and tired, and now I’m in New York talking dicks over toast.
‘You need to get a grip!’ says Piper, alarmed at how inexperienced I am at this kind of chat.
‘I already did!’ I quip back, and we burst into full-on laughter.
We eat our way through our orders and chat a bit more about Callum. Piper clearly has no issues telling me every detail, every moan, every movement. I hear so much I almost feel as if I’ve had sex with the oh-so-marvellous Callum myself.
‘So, how do you feel now you’ve had your first official one-night stand?’
I sit back, partly to take stock and partly because I’ve eaten so much it’s hard to breathe, and think for a moment. I’d always thought that if I had a one-night stand I’d feel dirty and used. Mum used to refer to her friend’s daughter Amy as a ‘cheap tart’ because she used to ‘sleep around’, and I think that sort of stuck with me. ‘Nobody wants to marry a tart who gives it away on the first night,’ Mum would say.
The thing is, last night I didn’t care about that. I didn’t want to marry Edward. I wasn’t anticipating a relationship, or anything further than what was being offered in the moment. I felt free and liberated to just make choices on the spot without thinking about the future. Without thinking about the consequences. Without thinking about Lyla.
I instantly feel a pang of guilt for actually relishing the thought of not having to think of her. Does that make me a bad mother? No, surely not. This won’t touch her. She’ll never know her mother went to a bar that served drinks full of sweets, drank too many and then went home with a man she didn’t know. Talk about not remembering Stranger Danger! Jeez.
Despite all of that echoing of mum’s dated sentiments, and my own motherly guilt whirring around in my head, I don’t feel it. I don’t feel cheap or bad or dirty. I went out and did something I wanted. I felt sexy. The way Edward touched me made me feel so wanted. It was urgent and fierce and passionate, compared to Theo’s sometimes lacklustre approach. Did the world shake for me when we finished? Maybe, yes, a little bit. Am I expecting him to contact me again? No, not really. Am I overly concerned about either of these things? No! Not really! The last thought makes me smile. How refreshing to feel so free. Not torturing myself with ‘what ifs’ and ‘was I good enoughs’, and just being happy about what happened. I went out, had fun in a bar, had decent (three positions and a bit of oral isn’t to be sniffed at, is it?) sex with a decent man, and that’s that. Move on. There’s more of New York to see. And do, apparently.
‘Piper, I feel great. I can do whatever the fuck I want,’ I announce triumphantly.
‘And what about Theo?’
‘What about him? I’m not his girlfriend!’
With that, Piper enthusiastically throws both hands in the air and proclaims, ‘Champagne! More champagne!’
‘What? It’s ten thirty in the morning!’ But that doesn’t stop us. We spend the rest of the day hopping from one ‘this is my favourite little spot’ to another – drinking and eating whatever we fancy off the menu on account of my new-found sexual liberation, and because Piper tells everyone who’ll listen, ‘It’s about bloody time!’
ON MONDAY THERE’S A weird calm on set. The actors seem more relaxed, and Marnie in particular has such a light way about her, she almost seems like a different woman.
Natalie has recovered, and we set out our things in silence, quietly noting the difference in atmosphere but not yet asking why. Sarah bursts through the doorway, ecstatic.
‘Have you heard?’ she says, bounding over to us and clipping on her brush belt all in one movement.
‘Heard what?’ Natalie replies calmly, but I can tell she’s intrigued too.
‘He’s gone! Got fired last night! Langston’s off the movie and a new female director is being brought in today!’
‘Good grief! What on earth happened?’ Natalie says, slightly shocked.
‘I dunno, but whatever it was, I’m glad. There were so many rumours flying around about the way he treats women. I’m glad he’s finally had to face the music. He was a grade-A jerk.’
I’m about to change the subject and try to carry on with the day as normal when one of the film executives we met on set the first day comes in. He gives me a knowing glance, and I instinctively look at my shoes as if I’m a five-year-old about to be told off.
Instead of scolding me, he asks for a word with Natalie, who puts down her palette and walks away with him, not even looking at me as she leaves. In the pit of my stomach I can feel a giant knot forming. What have I done?
‘CHEERS!’ NATALIE AND I both say, a bit too heartily since we’re on our fourth drink of the night now.
‘Robin, I’ve got to say it, you’ve astounded me. I always knew there was a spark in you, but this – well, this is something more. Recording that prick on your phone and sending it to the execs took such courage. I don’t know what inspired it, but I’m proud of you,’ she says with real sincerity.
‘I didn’t really think about it that much. I just knew there needed to be a result. I thought about Lyla, and how I’d protect her from anything, and it all just kicked into gear. After I sent the email I realised I needed Marnie’s support – she’s agreed now to back it up with a written
statement but to be honest, I just went for it. I didn’t have a chance to think about how it would affect my job or the agency or—’
‘You’re being utterly ridiculous! You’ve done wonders for the agency! We’ve been booked for the entire five-film movie franchise, thanks to our “ outstanding code of ethics and moral integrity”, Robin! You did that! I was trapped in a hotel room with my head over the loo feeling absolutely rotten, and there you were, sealing the biggest deal we’ve ever had! I’m amazed! Thrilled! More drinks, I think!’ she says, downing the one we’ve only just toasted ourselves with. She’s really going for it. I’ve been out for drinks with Natalie before, and she can definitely handle herself, but this added enthusiasm for drinking seems a little bit out of character, actually.
‘Wow. I didn’t think it would go that far. I just wanted to stop him hurting Marnie and the others,’ I say, taking another sip of my still quite fresh cocktail.
‘You did a good thing. I’m proud of you.’
With that praise from the woman I’ve admired for years, I say cheers again, down my drink and spend the night on a happy cloud of boosted ego and liquor.
THIRTY
A WEEK LATER, AND we’re done. My feet are sore, my back aches, my suitcase is packed and bursting at the seams, thanks to a midnight spree in Sephora (a few extras for me, a couple of lipsticks for Kath and I’ll pick Lyla up something at the airport), but I’m happy. I’ve taken myself off to Union Square, a big leafy block of space slap bang between massive shops like Forever 21 and Barnes and Noble, with a huge tree canopy for shade, walkways lined with benches, street vendors selling everything from acrylic prints to onions, and every sort of person you could ever imagine walking past and living their New York life, to sit with a Starbucks and watch the world go by.
New York has every kind of person, and they all seem to live and intermingle with each other in harmony. Surprisingly, there’s a lot of wildlife in this concrete mecca, too. I take my phone out to snap a picture of a group of cute-looking squirrels and notice a message from Theo flashing up at me.
It’s the first message I’ve had since that missed call I was too busy to reply too. Instantly my chest feels tight and I have that feeling when you’re at the top of a roller coaster and you think, ‘Why the fuck did I willingly get on this ride?’
I swipe it open.
Hi gorgeous, how’s New York treating you? Shall we do drinks next week? I’m missing you xxx
I scroll up the chat feed and am reminded that the last message was me telling him I was homesick and him not really giving a shit.
The squirrels are starting to play quite animatedly and it’s really distracting me from being angry about Theo. One of them is darting about with a bit of bread and the other two are dashing around after him. It’s fun to watch, actually, like real live nature TV.
In the two weeks I’ve spent out here, I’ve thought about Theo so much less than I normally would. Little things have made my mind involuntarily go to him, and a couple of times I’ve wanted to text him but haven’t. I’ve not been allowing him to take up that brain space, and it’s felt great. I hadn’t even noticed it’s felt great because I’ve been so busy enjoying myself. I’ve proved to myself and everyone else that I’m good at my job, I’ve partied with Piper, made new friends, had hot sex and a non-chest-pain, anxiety-inducing text chat with hot sex partner and I feel good. The sun is shining down on my skin, the birds are cheeping, the squirrels are –
‘ARGHHH, FUCKING HELL!’ I scream at the top of my lungs in a crowded city park as I launch my Starbucks frap all over the floor.
The oh-so-cute squirrels have got a little more than animated and the head honcho has run up my bare leg and onto the back of my bench, enticing his sharp-clawed little friends to do the same, using me like a tiny critter transport ramp.
My leg is bleeding and I’m stood looking aghast at a) the squirrel attack, and b) my perhaps over-the-top yelling. This is New York, though, and clearly this happens every day because not a single person around me gives a shit. Not even the woman with a toddler attached to her breast seems to give a monkey’s. I look over at her apologetically, and she just shrugs and smiles.
Man, I love this city. You can be whoever you want to be. You can save the day at work, ride hot men all night, ignore the man you foolishly thought you loved, be attacked by rabid rodents in the afternoon and everyone is just chill about it. Valerie Pickering would have an absolute meltdown. Ha!
THIRTY-ONE
AUGUST
I CUT THE ENGINE of my car and look across at Lacey in the passenger seat as the late summer sun shines on us. ‘Come on, lovely,’ I say as cheerily as I can. Her eyes are still red from her tears, and I wish I could just make her feel better straightaway. We’re on the way to a special place I know, because right now my bestie needs some love.
I’ve been back four weeks, and life has been crazy busy. After the success of New York, Natalie’s booked me on more jobs than I’d normally take, and Lyla’s summer holidays have whirled past so quickly I’ve barely had a moment to sit down. There have been some lovely days out as a twosome, and there was one day when Auntie Kath came with us on a day trip to the petting zoo; there were ice creams, a thrilling (feel the sarcasm) minibreak to see Mum and Dad for three (long) days in Cornwall. Lyla’s seventh birthday party was a resounding success (Lacey, Kath and I perfected the wild animals theme – Wilde by name, wild by nature, ha) and Lyla really came out of her shell. She’s now best friends for life with Finola’s sturdy little son Roo, and for nearly all of this time Theo and I haven’t been in contact. A few months ago that thought would be panic-attack-inducing but now … not so much.
It was initially hard not to message back to the couple he did send, a bit like that first week you go on a diet and have to resist eating the entire tube of Jaffa Cakes, but I did it. This is a big step for me. I’m always the girl on the diet that does eat the whole tube of Jaffas. Always. Theo texting made my heart race in a way I didn’t like. Gone were the excited butterflies, and in their place was a tight, twisting sensation. But I remembered how different Edward in New York felt. No stress or fuss; I didn’t panic or worry about anything. Edward’s not on the scene, but that’s how I need to feel about things. Theo induces a horrible, neurotic anxiety within me, and so instead of agonising over replies, I just ignored them, put my phone down and carried on with my day. Thanks to my willpower, my mind doesn’t feel as foggy any more. I never thought I’d feel that way about Theo, or any man, actually, but I do. I feel clear-headed and able to see things for what they are; see myself for what I am.
At last, The Emptiness isn’t here anymore. Although, with a new term looming and Lyla going back, if I’m honest I have to admit I’m worried it’s hovering in the distance, just biding its time …
I’ve learnt that the key is keeping busy and booking positive stuff, for me as well as for Lyla, into my day.
This day, however, is about Lacey. As we walk in to the giant conservatory of Lawrence’s, the smell of freshly baked cakes wafts around us and I can feel myself unconsciously grinning. I must look like an absolute lunatic as I walk over to our table smiling like the Cheshire cat, but how can anyone not feel joyous when they are minutes away from scones and pastries? I’ve worn my boyfriend-fit slightly oversized jeans and a loose tee on purpose, because I know I’m not going to hold back.
I’ve brought Lacey to Lawrence’s because it’s the happiest place I know (huge oval windows with striped canopies and swirling wrought iron frames adorning them outside; display cases full of baked delights to lure you in; tiny, pastel-clothed tables groaning under the weight of gilded china and the most incredible afternoon tea goodies), and right now she needs a boost. I popped into Dovington’s earlier after dropping Lyla off at Simon and Storie’s – apparently they’re teaching her how to grow cress in eggshells this weekend; lucky little thing will be absolutely riveted, I’m sure – and found Lacey in the back room in bits.
Sat on
the bottom rung of her storage unit ladder, Lacey’s face was soaked with tears and her eyes puffy and swollen. Her lavender smock dress had dark purple splotches down the front where the tears had dripped off her face and all in all, she was in a bad way. Apparently one of her suppliers had come in with the latest order and, with the sensitivity of perfume spilt accidentally on a cut finger, asked her if she was ‘up the spout yet’. He, of course, had no idea how long she’d been trying or how increasingly hard she was finding the monthly disappointment. He probably just assumed someone married and her age was bound to want babies and had probably never given a moment’s thought to the fact it’s not easy for everyone, but really, he should have kept it to himself. If I’d have been there, I’d have told him, in no uncertain terms, that a) not all married women need to have babies unless they want to, and b) it’s no one’s bloody business but hers! Poor Lacey.
‘I didn’t know what to say to him,’ Lacey stuttered between sobs, still perched on the ladder. ‘I just stood there blinking and trying not to cry. My period came again this morning – just before he came in – and this month, after all the months of it not happening, I really thought it was it. I was four days late, Robin. Four.’
‘Had you done a pregnancy test?’ I asked as I squatted down beside her and stroked her knee.
‘No,’ she sobbed. ‘The GP told us not to do a test until you’re two weeks late, but honestly, all the signs were there. Tender breasts, cramps, fatigue – I really thought this was it, but it wasn’t. It fucking wasn’t. The cruel irony of fertility is that all the signs for pregnancy are almost identical to the signs of your period coming.’
‘I’m so sorry, Lacey. I’m sorry it’s not the month, and I’m sorry that guy was so insensitive. You’ll get there. I know you will.’ Poor Lacey. They’ve been trying for the best part of a year – she was full of glee when she told me they started on Christmas Eve. I don’t think she ever imagined it might not happen. She and Karl have been trying all year to conceive, and it’s clearly just not happening for them. I could see wasn’t going to be on a good footing soon, so I suggested we throw in the towel for today, shut up shop (people can live without their bouquets for one day) and go to Lawrence’s to fill our faces with deliciousness and put the world to rights. Without much hesitation Lacey nodded, flipped the little floral OPEN sign on the door to CLOSED and we headed off.
Wilde Like Me Page 22
