‘You practically jumped on him.’
‘Jumped on who?’
‘You were flirting with Alex all night! It’s not funny, Polly!’
I compose myself. ‘I’m sorry, really sorry.’
‘It’s not me you should be saying sorry to.’ When he hangs up, finally I light up, trying to pick my scrambled brain, but still I can’t recall much of last night. I won’t go out this evening. I hold my stomach in; to my delight I can feel my ribs. I’ll cook a special meal for Hugo. Have an early night. I’m going to start a detox programme. No booze for a month and protein shakes in the morning. Playtime is almost over so I call Hugo back, picturing him stewing at his desk. Hugo is now a radio broadcast assistant for the BBC.
‘Hello?’ he says. When friends call, Hugo can’t see the name that comes onto the screen to indicate who’s contacting him.
‘It’s me.’
‘Oh you,’ he sighs. ‘What?’
‘Are you in tonight?’
‘Yep.’
I always know he’s cross when he speaks in clipped tones. ‘I’ll cook for us.’
‘You don’t eat.’
‘Please, Hugo, I’m trying to say sorry here. I’ll call Alex’s girlfriend too.’ To my surprise a tear runs down my cheek. I’m tired and hate arguing with him. ‘I’ll cook us something really nice.’
There’s a long pause. ‘Mum’s spaghetti carbonara?’
‘Deal.’ I smile with relief before asking, ‘Did I really make a massive fool of myself last night?’
‘You need to say sorry.’
I cringe, knowing that means yes. What’s the matter with me? ‘Your friends must think I’m crazy.’
‘A little. Polly, I’m …’
‘I’m not drinking for a month,’ I pledge before he can say he’s worried about me again.
*
After work I return home with all the ingredients for Mum’s carbonara. I also bought Hugo a special gooey chocolate pudding, one of his favourites. I pop it in the fridge, glancing at the bottle of wine in the door. I close the fridge, then open it again, and almost jump out of my skin when my mobile rings.
‘What’s happened?’ I ask Janey, immediately sensing something is wrong.
‘Will and I, we’re over,’ she says tearfully. ‘He’s seeing someone else.’
‘Oh Janey, I’m so sorry.’
Janey met Will during her first year at university. They were inseparable throughout college; they then moved into a flat together in Balham, but in the last six months she’d begun to suspect he was having an affair after one too many late nights ‘working’. The final straw was their recent weekend away, in some country hotel, when all he’d wanted to do was sleep and make secretive calls on his mobile. ‘I really need to see you, Polly.’
I hesitate. ‘The thing is, I promised Hugo I’d stay in. Why don’t you come round here? We can talk about it? I’m cooking. There’s plenty of food.’
‘I couldn’t eat a thing. Oh please, Polly,’ she begs now. ‘I need to see you. Hugo won’t mind, will he?’
*
When I return to the table with our bottle of wine, Janey tells me about confronting Will after yet another late night in the office. ‘I told him I deserved better,’ she says, the tears resurfacing.
‘You do. You deserve so much more,’ I say, reaching for her hand.
‘And the least he could do is tell me the truth.’
‘What did he say?’
‘That he was seeing someone, she’s called Clare, she’s been working with him on his latest film, that he didn’t set out to hurt me, all that crap. Oh, Polly.’
I rub her shoulder and stroke her hair. ‘It’s better to know,’ I assure her. ‘I understand it’s painful, and you’re feeling hurt and betrayed, but …’
‘Polly,’ she cuts in, looking up at me with red eyes. ‘If I’m honest, it’s been over for months. I lost Will a long time ago, I just didn’t want to admit it. In a funny way I’m relieved. Now I can get on with my life, stop worrying about why he hasn’t come home at two in the morning. He was with her, Polly. Go fuck yourself, Will.’ She raises her glass to mine. ‘I can sleep,’ she goes on. ‘I don’t have to share my bed with a lying dirty rotten cheating snoring scumbag. Oh, that feels better,’ she says with a brave smile.
‘I bet. Carry on.’
She shakes her head. ‘Can we make a pact?’
‘Depends.’
‘It’s Christmas and practically our last night before we head home, right?’
I nod. Janey and I will be going back to Norfolk together. Her parents still live locally to mine.
‘So let’s get plastered and no more mention of Will.’
‘Will? Who’s Will?’
*
As the night goes on, Janey and I order another bottle. I realise there’s no point trying to cut down before Christmas. I’ll adopt a strict regime in the New Year. The main thing is that Janey has cheered up.
‘I can have sex with someone else,’ she announces, polishing off her glass and refilling mine. ‘I can have a first kiss again. Polly?’
‘Go on,’ I say, distracted by a guy leaning against the bar, pulling funny faces at me. He has scruffy dark-blond hair, pale skin that accentuates piercing blue eyes and he’s wearing a casual white shirt with jeans. Love that look. Always preferred blonds. Polly turns round to the bar. ‘The one in the white shirt’s cute,’ she says.
My mobile rings. It’s Hugo. I turn it off, numbing my guilt with more drink. I need to be here, to support Janey.
*
When Janey staggers to the loo, I catch the guy in the white shirt staring at me again. He makes his move, as I knew he would. ‘I bet she goes, mate,’ I overhear his friend in the leather jacket jeering.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he says. ‘I’m not with him.’
I shrug, trying to keep cool.
‘I couldn’t help noticing you’re on your own,’ he says.
‘Not for long.’ I circle the rim of my glass. ‘There’s no need to worry about me.’ I lean towards him. He leans towards me.
‘I’m Matthew. Matthew Cook.’
‘Polly Stephens.’
Janey returns to the table.
‘My friend Graham and I wondered if we could buy you both a drink?’ Matthew says to us.
‘Champagne would be lovely, thanks,’ I suggest.
He raises an eyebrow. ‘You have expensive taste. The girl wants champagne,’ Matthew calls over to his friend, before heading back to the bar saying my wish is his command.
Janey giggles. ‘Get in there, Polly. He is so into you.’
‘Do you want to stay?’ I ask her. ‘If you’re not up to it, we can go.’
‘Shut up, will you, and remember our pact. This is just what I need.’
Minutes later they join us at our table with a bottle and four glasses. Matthew places himself by my side. Graham, plump and modelling the half-shaved head look, sits next to Janey. She’s fared rather worse than me, I think to myself.
‘So, what do you do?’ Graham asks Janey and me, pouring the champagne.
‘I’m a location manager. I organise studios and sites for adverts and television dramas, things like that,’ Janey replies.
‘Teacher.’
‘Miss, I’ve been naughty,’ Matthew says. ‘I think I need a spanking.’
We all laugh, Matthew’s thigh pressing against mine.
‘You?’ I ask Matthew.
‘Bit of this, bit of that.’
‘Which basically means he does nothing,’ claims Graham.
‘My mum tells me never to trust a bit-of-this-bit-of-that man,’ says Janey, clearly attracted to him too.
‘Does she now? Well, if you really want to know, I’m a property developer. I’m my own boss.’
‘Which basically means he does nothing,’ Graham says, making us laugh again.
‘Don’t listen to him. Graham’s jealous of my success.’ Matthew refills my glass. ‘I’ve just sold
my pad in Islington for a small fortune. Lived in it for six months, did a loft conversion, tarted it up, made a killing.’
‘In that case, mate, I’ll put your rent up,’ says Graham, explaining to Janey and me that Matthew’s squatting with him while he hunts for the next project.
‘At the rate I’m going I’ll be retired and living in St Tropez by the time I’m forty.’
‘Dream on,’ I say.
‘You deserve a spanking for that, Miss Stephens,’ he replies, his eyes playing with mine.
Soon we’ve drunk two bottles and are on our way to some nightclub in Soho, where Matthew knows the bouncer. He assures us we won’t have to queue.
We lurch down some steep steps and into a dark space, music making the walls vibrate. Next, we’re knocking back tequila shots at the bar, the room beginning to spin. ‘Seriously arrogant,’ Janey slurs, ‘but he’s hot and he can’t take his eyes off you.’
‘What about Graham?’ We both turn to look at him.
‘He’s nice, but I like a guy with a bit more hair.’
We laugh hysterically. ‘I love you, Janey, and you’re going to be fine. You’re better off without Will. You deserve so much more.’
‘I love you too, Polly.’ We hug. ‘Be careful, honey,’ she adds. ‘I like this guy, but …’
‘Careful of what?’ I exclaim, as Matthew pulls me on to the dance floor.
I love this feeling. I’m dancing. I’m free. I wave at Janey, beckoning her to dance with us. She and Graham remain at the bar. Soon Matthew’s hands are travelling down my back and around my hips. My top is coming loose; I feel his hands against my bare skin. As he twists me round in his arms I feel sweet anticipation for the night ahead. I nearly fall. Matthew steadies me in his arms, before saying quietly, ‘Let’s get out of here.’
I can see a wild streak in his blue eyes that makes me feel alive.
‘And do what?’
‘Play scrabble.’
I push him away, he reels me back in, hands clasped around my back, our bodies pressed together.
‘I have plans with a beautiful woman.’ His eyes don’t leave mine.
‘Where is she?’
‘You’re funny.’
‘You’re sure of yourself. So what are these plans?’
He whispers them into my ear, his face brushing against mine, his breath warm.
*
I’m giggling as I try to unlock the front door. ‘Hurry up,’ Matthew is saying, kissing my neck, ‘or I’ll fuck you right here.’
Hugo’s bedroom door is shut. We head into the kitchen. I open the fridge. ‘Later,’ he says, putting the bottle down and taking my hand. ‘Come on.’
I lead him into my bedroom, shut the door and he pushes me against it. We kiss, urgently, passionately. He unbuckles his belt and the zip of his jeans. He presses his mouth against mine again. Then he reaches his hand up my skirt and pulls one of my legs so I’m half straddling him. He grabs my arse, hoists me up, everything happening so quickly. His hand is back up my skirt, peeling my knickers off. I want him now. Now. In seconds he’s inside me. ‘You like that,’ he murmurs when I groan with pleasure.
*
The following morning I find Hugo in the kitchen, already showered and dressed for the gym. I glance at my watch. It’s only nine o’clock.
I flick on the kettle. How had last night happened? I can’t remember getting home, or saying goodbye to Janey. Did we even say goodbye? I must call her to see if she’s OK.
Back to last night … I think Matt and I hailed a cab. I remember his hand creeping up my skirt.
I grin. The sex was amazing. Rough but incredible, and I want more. After our door sex we’d finished off the rest of the wine before moving to the bed. Matthew had pinned my wrists down against the mattress and told me not to move. I loved him being in control. So often I’ve slept with guys who don’t know what they’re doing, their touch hesitant, but with Matthew …
‘Good night?’ Hugo asks.
‘What?’ I say, jolted from my thoughts. There is something so innocent and wholesome about Hugo as he sits at the table eating his buttered toast and runny honey, chubby cheeks cleanly shaven.
‘I said, good night?’
‘I’m so sorry, Hugo. It was Janey.’
‘Janey. Right.’
‘She was really upset.’ He doesn’t believe me. ‘Will’s been cheating on her. You got my message, didn’t you?’
He nods. ‘How is she?’
‘Not great.’
We hear a door slam. ‘Is someone here, Polly?’
‘Uh-huh,’ I say.
‘Have you called Alex’s girlfriend?’ Clipped tones again.
He knows I haven’t.
‘I will, today.’ I open the fridge, grab the milk. ‘Are you in tonight? I could cook us something … I promise this time I won’t go out.’
‘Morning.’ Matthew enters the kitchen naked. ‘Oh shit,’ he says when he sees my brother, but he makes no attempt to cover himself up.
‘Matt, this is Hugo. Hugo’s my brother.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t know we had company.’ Matthew shakes Hugo’s hand. ‘Otherwise I’d have put some clothes on.’
‘Oh don’t worry, Hugo can’t see your you-know-what.’
‘Come here, Miss Stephens.’ He grabs me, smacks me hard on the arse, both of us laughing.
‘And even if I could, I’m sure there’s not much to see,’ Hugo says, shutting us both up, before leaving the kitchen.
*
Later that morning, after Matt has left, I think about Janey. I must call her. I know she was trying to put on a brave face last night, but she’ll be hurting right now. She’ll also want to know what happened with Matthew, but I’ll play it down. The last thing she needs is me going on about a bloke. When he kissed me goodbye at the front door, he promised he’d call. All my instincts are telling me to stay away. Besides, it was a one-night stand, wasn’t it? It was sex, that’s all. There’s no way he’s the kind of guy who wants a serious relationship. Imagine taking him home to meet my mother! Just as I’m about to call Janey, my mobile vibrates. When I see the text I am unable to wipe the childish grin off my face.
See you tonight? Wear that short skirt again. Mx
15
2013
@GateauAuChocolat Happy Valentine’s Day! Have a romantic lunch with us. It’s Parmesan chicken breasts & my famous passion fruit roulade.
‘Ta-dah! Happy Valentine’s Day,’ says Janey, arriving at my flat later that evening with flowers and a bottle of elder-flower fizz.
‘Sh.’ I press a finger to my lips, gesturing to Louis’s bedroom door. We tiptoe into the kitchen. ‘Thanks so much for the flowers and this.’ I open the bottle. ‘You know, I’d never mind if you wanted a proper drink.’
‘I know, but I don’t want to.’
In the early days of my recovery I did find it hard when I was out with friends. I’d try to avoid bars and pubs at all costs, as I’d only have to look at their glass and wonder, ‘Can’t I have just one?’ There’s a saying in AA, if you hang around long enough in a barber’s, you’ll eventually get a haircut.
Now it’s almost irrelevant what anyone else drinks, but I’m touched that Janey brings elderflower. Hugo’s the same. He always brings round a bottle of Diet Coke and celebrates the fact that I’m doing him a favour since he’ll have no hangover.
‘So, how many Valentine’s cards did you receive?’ I ask Janey. ‘Did you need your secretary to open them?’
Janey now runs her own film location business with a contact she made in the industry. Shortly after I gave birth to Louis, she was made redundant, so after months of looking for a job, she decided to set up her own business. ‘How many cards did I receive?’ she says out loud. ‘Let me see. None. Diddly-squat. Gave the postman a day off. I remember the days at school when I used to get double figures. What’s gone wrong?’
‘Oh Janey, that’s too bad. Better luck next year.’
‘Watch it
! Did you get any?’
‘I did. I got two.’
Her mouth opens wide. ‘How exciting! Who are they from?’ Janey sits down on one of the stools in the corner of my kitchen while I check on the salmon. I’m baking it with crème fraiche and I’ve made a watercress salad. ‘I don’t know. One of them wasn’t signed.’
‘Even better! Any ideas? Where are they?’ She hops off the stool in search of them.
I tell her one is on the mantelpiece, ‘Along with all my party invites.’
Janey dashes into the sitting room, but returns slowly with the card. It’s a giant heart with a couple of red crayon scribbles in the middle of it. Inside it reads, ‘Mummy, my heart bursts with love for you’. Aunt Viv and I had shed a tear when I’d opened it at work.
‘Ah, Louis is so sweet, but for a second … ? Where’s the other one?’
I take the card out of my handbag. It’s a picture of a champagne bottle and two glasses.
Janey opens it. It’s blank inside, apart from the printed message in capital letters, ‘EVERY MOMENT WITH YOU IS A CHAMPAGNE MOMENT.’
I tell myself to stop being so paranoid. It’s not Matt’s style; it’s far too corny.
‘Crikey.’ Janey examines the card again. ‘I wish people would just have the courage to sign it. Any ideas who it could be from?’
I shake my head. How would Matt even know where I live? ‘It’s probably a joke,’ I suggest.
‘I don’t think so. If someone’s bothered to get a card and stick it in the post, someone’s hot for you.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I’m not being ridiculous! Come on, Polly. We’re attractive women in our prime. We’re babes!’
Janey is conventionally pretty, with honey-blond hair, petite features, pale-blue eyes and creamy marshmallow skin. She likes to wear tops that show off her generous cleavage. I’m the opposite in looks with my long dark hair and dark-brown eyes to match, large wide mouth and an enormous dimple in my right cheek that has always attracted attention.
‘We don’t have any warts, or chicken legs,’ she continues, ‘or unfortunate facial hair, or bad breath …’
‘You do have a bit of a …’ I press my top lip.
‘Sod off. I do not have a moustache. Your beard needs trimming,’ she adds.
One Step Closer to You Page 9
