by Lynda Renham
‘I know what you meant,’ he interrupts. ‘Look, I’ll supply the crockery and whatnot and you just have to be nice. That’s not much to ask is it?’
What the hell. Is he insinuating what I think he is insinuating? I jump up almost knocking my wine over.
‘To hell with you,’ I snap. ‘You’re just like the rest.’
He sighs and walks to the fridge.
‘What have I done now?’ he asks, searching the shelves.
‘Have you moved the salami?’
‘Don’t touch my shelf,’ I say.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t go near your shelves with a barge pole,’ he snaps.
‘I’m not sleeping with you. How dare you,’ I say, shaking with rage while wondering what he is like in bed.
‘I don’t remember asking you to. That’s quite an ego you have there. I meant you could be nice by not shouting at me every few minutes and maybe cook dinner sometimes. That kind of nice, not give me your body nice. As lovely as you may think it is, I personally don’t fancy it. As for all the rest, whoever they were, I’d prefer not to be compared to them thank you very much.’
Why does he have this knack of always getting the better of me?
‘Oh,’ I say.
He turns and looks at me.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you’re unattractive, far from it. You’re just not my type.’
I nod. That’s what I mean about him. He can say something hurtful and then immediately apologise. He peers into the living room at the flowers.
‘Is it your birthday or something?’
I take the chicken from the fridge.
‘Tomorrow, it’s my thirtieth.’
He takes the chicken from me and puts it back in the fridge.
‘Are you serious, why didn’t you say something?’
I shrug. I can’t say because my whole life has fallen apart and it doesn’t seem like something to celebrate. Not now, since my chance of marriage went out of the window when Oliver decided to screw Amanda Rowland can I?
‘That’s cause for celebration. I think you need that tonight don’t you? You can have chicken tomorrow, unless you have other plans with Mr Bouquet which I’m sure you have but tonight I’m taking you out. Get dressed up and I’ll meet you there. I’ll book a table at Marcells, do you know it?’
Do I know it? It’s only one of the most exclusive restaurants this side of London. I open my mouth to speak.
‘I’m not taking no for an answer,’ he says firmly. ‘I’ll see you there at eight. I just have some business to attend to and I’ll come along after.’
Ooh Oliver was never this masterful. I wonder if the business he has to attend to is another woman. I nod obediently. I bet William Ellis would have not hesitated in knocking Ben Newman’s lights out.
Chapter Sixteen
Marcells is certainly upmarket. I look at my Zara floral dress and check my tights haven’t snagged, and walk purposefully towards the receptionist at the welcome desk. The soft gentle tones of a piano reach my ears, along with the excited chatter of fellow diners.
‘Good evening madam. Do you have a booking?’ he asks with a warm smile.
‘Yes, for eight o’clock,’ I respond looking past him into the restaurant to see if I can spot William. All I can see are elegant women wearing sparkling jewels. God, I hope I’m not under dressed.
‘Can I take your name madam?’
‘Binki Grayson,’ I say without thinking.
‘Binki?’ he questions.
Oh good, he recognises my name.
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘That’s an odd name.’
Here we go. I must look into that deed poll thing.
‘Yes, isn’t it? Don’t worry I did slaughter my parents.’
He smiles at me.
‘Maybe look for William Ellis.’
He pulls his eyes away from me and checks his booking list.
‘This way madam,’ he says, leading me into the restaurant.
I follow him to where William is sitting. Note to self: all men are little shits, never forget that. This mantra I have been repeating all evening. I’m now embarrassingly saying it aloud while sitting in the ladies loo of one of the most fashionable restaurants in London. The prices on the menu scared the shit out of me. I’ll have to offer him something and with the state of my bank balance it is most likely going to be my body whether he wants it or not. Not that offering my body to William Ellis is such a sacrifice. Oh Binki stop it. All men are little shits remember. God, I wish Muffy were here to reinforce this mantra. Was this how Oliver felt about brown-nippled Amanda, all lustful and out of control? Wait a minute, I’m not lustful and out of control am I? Oh God, what if I am? Oliver had taken me to some nice restaurants, but never as nice as this one. There are candles everywhere, inside and out. Our table overlooks a river, shimmering in the moonlight. It would have been so romantic if it had been Oliver. All men are little shits, I mumble to myself as I leave the loo, except William is behaving not in the least like a little shit. There is something warm and cosy about William Ellis.
William sits at the table looking out at the view, one hand lazily fiddling with the stem of his water glass. I wish I had drunk less. I sway towards him, forcing myself to stay up straight. He looks so appealing. All the women in the restaurant had given him an appraising look and me jealous stares over the course of the evening. He looks at me with a warm smile and I feel my heart melt and my legs give way. I fall quickly into my seat before I collapse in a heap on the floor. Honestly, this is ridiculous. Don’t forget Binki, just because he didn’t change the locks doesn’t mean he didn’t think about doing it. How do you know he hasn’t been plotting a little scheme while you’ve been in the loo? It’s dog eat dog and don’t you forget it.
‘I owe you some money,’ I say gloomily.
That sex-shop job may well become a reality at this rate. My life is becoming one big sordid soap opera. I’ll probably end up as a high-class call girl. I’ll be the one to put Hampstead Heath on the map. Yes, that’s about right. No doubt they’ll make a TV kitchen-sink drama about me. The Intimate Adventures of a Working-Class Slut. Let’s face it, there’s no glamour in my life aside from William Ellis and I’m not his type, right? Well, he isn’t my type either. I’m off men.
‘It’s a birthday treat. Thirty is a landmark. It’s all downhill now,’ he laughs.
God, he’s irresistible when he laughs. I so need to phone Muffy before I do something stupid. Right, like I’ll be in a position to do something stupid. I’m not his type am I? He was quick to tell me that wasn’t he? I imagine his type is far better looking and no doubt as skinny as a rake. I’m probably the first woman he has taken out who has packed away a smoked salmon starter, roast beef with all the trimmings and an enormous chocolate pot that would have defeated your more than average woman. I blush at the memory. Of course I’m not even mentioning the amount of wine I have put away. I bet he can’t wait to get me home, not in a sexual way, I don’t mean. Just to be rid of the embarrassment.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
He waves casually to a woman who is leaving and she gives him a warm smile. He looks closely at me as the waiter pours coffee into my cup.
‘So, who were the flowers from?’ he asks, stirring his coffee.
‘My ex-boyfriend,’ I say, immediately wondering if Oliver has phoned and feeling that familiar knot of loss in my stomach.
‘Ex-boyfriend,’ he repeats, looking at me over the rim of his cup.
I nod.
‘Everything about me is ex,’ I say boldly, the drink loosening my tongue. ‘I’m X-rated, that’s me,’ I laugh.
What am I saying? He continues to stare at me in that primeval way he has that makes you want to throw your clothes off and scream take me take me. Visions of him having me over the table make me shudder and not in a Ben Newman I feel sick kind of shudder, but rather a Ooh rip my knickers off kind of way. I knock back half a cup of coffee in the hope of sobering up. I
’m in serious danger of ripping off my own clothes, let alone his.
‘X-rated as in?’ he questions softly.
‘Ex-boyfriend, ex-job, ex-flat probably. It was one of those Christmases where everyone was at it, well apart from me.’
He raises his eyebrows. Oh dear, did that sound like I was hinting we get at it. All men are little shits, Binki, don’t forget. Little shits. You don’t want to sleep with William Ellis. Cor, like hell I don’t. Little shits, Binki, little shits. The truth is I want so much to get my own back on Oliver and hurt him in the same way he hurt me. Why not with William Ellis? After all, he is a womaniser; I’ll just be one other notch on the bedpost for him. Little shits, all of them.
‘Little shit,’ I say loudly. ‘My ex was a little shit.’
‘Sounds grim,’ he smiles.
‘Oh it was. My boss tried to give me a boner, I mean bonus,’ I say blushing. ‘While my boyfriend, or I should say ex-boyfriend, was balancing a balls on his bimbo.’
That didn’t sound right did it? He widens his eyes. I sniff.
‘And I got a parking ticket on Christmas Eve would you believe? Of course if Ben Newman hadn’t …’
‘Ben Newman?’ he asks topping up my wine glass.
Jesus is he trying to get me drunk. I put a hand over the glass.
‘My boss, Ben Newman is my boss, well was my boss until he tried to have me over his desk on Christmas Eve.’
Oh Jesus, did I just wink. I felt my eye twitch in one of those uncontrolled spasm ways. I ask you, of all the times to twitch.
‘Of course, if he hadn’t had tried to have me over the desk I wouldn’t have thrown my job in and I wouldn’t have arrived home early and …’
I’m on a roll now. No matter how much I tell myself to shut up it just doesn’t happen. I throw back some wine.
‘I wouldn’t have found Oliver balancing balls on the bimbo,’ I finish.
‘Or balancing a bimbo on his balls,’ corrects William.
I nod and sniff loudly.
‘So, you have no home, no boyfriend and no job.’
‘I know,’ I hiccup. ‘You don’t have to rub it in.’
He finishes his coffee.
‘So Aunt Vera’s house came at a good time didn’t it?’
I feel the hairs on the back of my neck bristle.
‘What are you trying to say?’
I knew I shouldn’t have confided in him. Men are little shits aren’t they? What was I thinking of sharing my vulnerable side to him. He shakes his head irritably and his hair flops slightly across his face making him look even younger and even cuter, if that is possible.
‘I was simply stating a fact.’
‘No you weren’t. You were insinuating something.’
‘Here we go.’
‘What does that mean?’
He gestures to the waiter for the bill, seems to smile at someone and then leans across the table and is about to speak.
‘Will, fancy seeing you here,’ says a cool, horsey voice.
For a minute I wonder who she is talking to and then realise it is William.
‘Hello Andrea, you’re looking very lovely,’ he says.
I look up to see she is indeed looking very lovely, so lovely that I want to crawl under the table in shame. Her long brunette hair hangs loosely around her shoulders and sparkling diamond earrings glitter through it. She is wearing, and I use that term loosely, a black lace dress. Let’s just say if I was wearing it, I’d get arrested for indecent exposure. I’d definitely need a tummy tuck before I could wear a dress like that. It clings to all her curves and flares beautifully around her thighs. A grey pashmina is draped around her shoulders. She is stunning. She gives my chocolate pot a scathing look and smiles sweetly at me but her eyes are murderous.
‘Lucky you, that would have gone straight to my hips,’ she smiles.
She leans delicately towards me and points to my chin.
‘You have something on your face. Oh silly me, it’s a pimple now I look closer. Chocolate affects me in the same way.’
I feel myself grow hot. What a bitch.
‘You’re looking pretty good yourself Will,’ she says in a sultry voice.
He nods and then there is a dreadful silence. I feel my stomach cramp and panic engulfs me. Please God don’t let me break the silence with a fart.
‘Are you here on your own?’ William asks and I breathe a sigh of relief. Please keep talking.
Is that hope in his voice? I look at him and realise that he is looking at her admiringly. She is exactly what I imagined his type would be and I feel my heart sink. Of course, I should have realised. Never in my wildest dreams would someone like William Ellis look at me. Of course she has nice breasts. That’s the thing with big breasts isn’t it? Clothes hang much better when you’ve got something to hang them on. When you’ve got two pimples like me it’s plain hopeless. I’m rubbish, that’s what I am. The only time I’ll have big breasts is when I’m pregnant and you need a man for that don’t you and I can’t seem to keep one or attract one. I’m doomed to be a spinster. I’ll end up like Aunty Vera, with a thousand cats, and a house smelling of cat wee and Whiskas. What a depressing thought. I need to join the Prozac club. Maybe I should have a little breakdown and they’ll shut me up in one of those lovely rehab places where I’ll be given as much Prozac and Valium as I want. I shall spend my days in a haze of happiness reading self-help books. I’m bound to meet some celebs too aren’t I? That doesn’t sound too bad does it?
‘Hello, it’s nice to meet you.’
I am shaken from my reverie by a large hand being thrust into my face.
‘Hi, I’m Rich,’ repeats the hand.
‘Are you really?’ I say looking up to see a man wearing a dazzling blue tie over a white shirt. I blink stupidly and take the hand. He smiles widely revealing a row of white teeth that seem much too crowded in his mouth. ‘I’ve always wanted to meet a rich man.’
I hear William chuckle.
‘Ha, yah, I wish I was. Richard Head, nice to meet you, but call me Dick, everyone does.’
Everyone calls him Dick Head? He has a bent nose like a boxer and I find I can’t take my eyes off it.
‘Binki Grayson,’ says William quietly, while looking at Andrea.
‘Binki?’ bellows the man. ‘What a bloody fab name.’
Yes well, no need to make a big thing of it. Not when yours is Dick Head.
‘It’s an odd name,’ says Andrea with a grimace. ‘How did you come by that?’
I grit my teeth.
‘My mother named me after her favourite novel character,’ I say blushing.
‘Oh, is it a famous novel,’ bellows Richard. He obviously doesn’t know how to control the loudness of his voice.
‘Of course not,’ snaps Andrea, ‘or else we’d have heard of it wouldn’t we?’
‘Oh yes, of course,’ mutters Richard. ‘Well, we should get off Andy. We’re off to ‘Raffles’ the new club that opened last night.’
‘Andrea always did like the night life,’ William says quietly.
I personally can’t see what he sees in her. She leans down and kisses him softly on the cheek and Richard looks away. I feel a small stab of something and tell myself it is indigestion. She smiles at me.
‘Let’s hope you last longer than the others,’ she says and then in a flash they are gone.
I look at William.
‘The others?’ I ask.
‘Yup, let me just get this.’
He hands the waiter a debit card and gives me a shy smile.
‘My ex, three months ago we had a big bust up to do with my work, but I won’t bore you with the details. So it looks like we have something in common.’
What the hell does she see in Richard Head?
‘I’m so sorry William,’ I say softly.
‘I was busy,’ he shrugs. ‘I got tied up with an important contract. I was hardly there. Anyway, I’m not good with commitment. The others couldn’t cope with my wo
rk obsession either. I’ve let her stay in the flat we shared in Knightsbridge. So Aunt Vera did us both a favour.’
The waiter returns with his card.
‘One of us a favour,’ I correct.
‘Quite right,’ he grins. ‘And may the best man win.’
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. I wonder which one William is. I see he is thinking the same thing. I realise I can never trust him and vice versa. After all, he did disappear earlier this evening didn’t he? Who knows what he’s up to?
‘Or woman,’ I add.
If that means dirty tricks, so be it.
Chapter Seventeen
God, he even whoosh-whooshes at weekends. What the hell is wrong with the guy? I know he has to keep up his energy if he is to get through all those condoms, but blimey, can’t he just get some Viagra? Surely it would be less work and at least I’d get some sleep. I turn over and groan as a pain shoots through my neck. Oh, that’s all I need, a crick in my neck. These pillows are horrendous. I throw the duvet off my sweaty body and crawl to the radiator and turn it down. That’s another thing, when are these heating people supposed to be coming? I guess that’s something I have to sort out. I crawl back to the bed and check my Blackberry. There is a text from Muffy.
‘Happy birthday sweetie. See you later. I’m leaving soon so should be with you lunchtime. Text me if you need anything.’
A decent pillow and a good night’s sleep sound good. I can’t wait to see her. I really should have asked her to bring my pillow. Maybe Oliver can send it. Oh no, that’s a bad idea, he’ll then know where I live. I could ask him to send it to the post office in the village. God, I’m thirty. I grab my handbag mirror and study my face. Thirty, how did I get to be thirty? What’s more how did I get to be thirty with no sign of a marriage on my calendar, jobless and house sharing? I should be sharing a house with a husband and two snotty-nosed kids. No, that would never happen. I would never have snotty-nosed kids, yuk. This is as dire as it can get isn’t it? I can’t even afford decent face cream. I grab my vibrating phone. It’s my mother.
‘Happy birthday darling, I’ve transferred some money to your account. I was going to get you a calendar of naked men, but then I thought crème de lamer might be better now at your age.’
