by Emlyn Rees
It must be all round the office. I bet Lianne couldn’t wait to tell everyone.
Bitch.
‘That what, Brat?’ I ask, reaching for the coffee and sliding it across towards me. ‘That you chose to read out a fax from my ex-boyfriend, in front of half the office, detailing not only his wedding plans, but his on-going infidelity whilst he was with me?’
He flaps his arm about ineffectually. ‘I didn’t know, did I?’ His bottom lip is drooping.
‘No, you didn’t,’ I say, more kindly.
Brat sniffs and seals his lips together in a semi-smile. ‘Lousy thing to do, I reckon . . . faxing you.’ He nods, agreeing with himself.
‘Yes, all right,’ I say, taking a sip of coffee. ‘I know.’
‘What are you going to do?’ he asks.
I look at him for a long moment and bite my lip as I make up my mind.
‘Sit,’ I say, nodding to the seat on the other side of my desk. I rip off my list and throw him my pad of paper and a pencil. ‘I want you to take this down.’
Brat sits with the pad perched on his knee, looking like a very awkward secretary.
‘Fax,’ I say. ‘To Mr Gavin Wheeler from Helen Marchmont.’ I put my feet up on the desk, lean back in my chair and light a cigarette.
‘You can fill in all the date and that stuff,’ I add, glancing at Brat, who is busy writing, his tongue gripped between his teeth.
‘Congratulations on your engagement,’ I begin. ‘What a delightful way of hearing about it.’ I take a drag of my cigarette. ‘Good luck to the frumpy Lindsay and my condolences on her cheap and nasty engagement ring.’
Brat looks at me, but I motion him to write it down.
‘I’ll give you a year, tops, before she’s divorced you.’ I pause, giving time for Brat to catch up.
‘Is divorced with a “c” or an “s”?’ he asks, tentatively.
‘C.’
‘Are you sure about this?’
‘I haven’t finished yet.’
I take a long drag. ‘But please don’t think I’m bitter,’ I continue, blowing out expansively. ‘I’m overjoyed to be free of . . .’
‘Slow down!’ says Brat, scribbling, but I’m on a roll.
‘Your lies and your pathetic . . .’ I pause, looking at my cigarette for inspiration, ‘. . . ineffectual penis,’ I say. ‘I’m sure that Lindsay doesn’t feel a thing either.’
‘H!’ interrupts Brat, wincing.
‘What?’
‘Isn’t this a bit, you know . . . strong?’
‘I think it’s very reasonable. And honest,’ I add, taking my feet off the desk and stubbing out my cigarette. I flip through the Rolodex on my desk. ‘Send it to the general office number, will you?’ I ask, scribbling Gav’s numbers on a Post-it. ‘Oh and a couple of copies to his department, too. If he replies, or phones, I don’t want to know about it.’
Brat is sitting motionless in the chair, gawping at me.
‘Well, go on,’ I say, flapping the note which is stuck to the end of my forefinger.
Brat tuts as he peels it off my finger. ‘Ballbreaker,’ he mutters, as he starts shuffling out of my office.
‘You better believe it, honey,’ I grin.
On Friday night, I agree (with good grace for once) to meet Amy and Jack in the Blue Rose after work. I feel a bit bad about being in such a foul mood on Wednesday when I saw them at their test meal, so I should make the effort. I’m feeling demob happy since I’m off to Paris on Sunday to meet up with Laurent, so I might as well start as I mean to go on.
I like the Blue Rose. It’s down near the river and Amy and I have spent many a night sitting outside at the trestle tables or inside on our favorite sofa by the fire, which is exactly where I see her as I walk in. Her eyes are closed and she has a big cat’s grin on her face as Jack nibbles her ear and whispers something in it. Amy sighs and turns to kiss him.
I watch for a while, putting my head on one side as I stand by the door. Snogging is such a strange thing to do. I gave up smoking for six months once and I remember looking at people lighting up and thinking how bizarre it looked. Even though I’d been (and continue to be) addicted to the devil’s weed, I still couldn’t wrap my head around why people would suck on something that’s on fire. And now, not having snogged anyone that I care about for ages, I have the same sensation when I look at Jack and Amy. Why are they doing it? Do they find that pleasurable? Does Amy actually enjoy it? Especially since Jack looks a bit sloppy. Nothing worse than a bad kisser. At least Gav was OK in that department.
But I’m not going to think about Gav.
Git.
‘OK, OK, time’s up,’ I say, pulling up a bar stool to the table and sitting down.
Amy breaks away and giggles.
‘Going green and furry, are you?’ asks Jack.
‘No, I’m not a gooseberry, Jack, I’m just nauseated.’
‘You’re jealous,’ chirps Amy, leaning over and giving me a kiss on the cheek in greeting.
I screw up my face and scrunch my eyebrows at Jack, ‘Per-lease.’
Jack makes a lustful noise and lunges towards me, giving me a sloppy kiss. I pull a face at him and wipe my cheek.
‘You know H doesn’t approve of public displays of affection,’ Amy scolds Jack.
‘Well, honestly. If you want to shag, why don’t you just go home and do it, or have a bunk-up in the alley round the back? You don’t have to mind me.’
‘We can’t,’ says Jack. He and Amy smile at each other in frustrated sympathy. ‘Red day.’
Not the Persona again. Amy has had so many red, green and yellow days, that I’m convinced she’s a traffic light half the time. I’ve seen the offending all-seeing, all-knowing pregnancy prediction device quite a few times in her loo and I’ve a good mind to tamper with it, just for a laugh. I’d love to know what would happen if I dipped one of her test sticks in dog wee.
‘I’m doing an egg thing,’ explains Amy.
What is she, woman or hen?
‘Chucky egg, chucky egg,’ teases Jack, getting up. I’m glad he’s not taking the fact that Amy’s ovulating seriously, either. ‘Drink?’ he asks me.
‘Vodka and tonic, please.’
‘Can I borrow your mobile?’ he asks, glancing at Amy. I don’t know what the look means, but Jack’s up to something.
‘Sure.’ I pull it out of the back pocket of my jeans and hand it over to Jack. He disappears to the bar.
‘Are you feeling any better?’ asks Amy, leaning forward and touching my knee. ‘You weren’t in a good way on Wednesday.’
‘Sorry,’ I mumble. ‘Bad day.’
She looks at me. ‘So? Was it just the car?’
I take a deep breath. ‘Gav’s getting married.’
She looks really shocked and her newly plucked eyebrows spring towards each other in concern.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she asks.
‘You were busy . . . the wedding meal, and I . . .’
‘H! You’re my best friend. I tell you everything. I’m always there for you, you dope.’
I nod and look at my hands. ‘He faxed me.’
‘He what?’
‘He faxed to tell me.’
Amy grabs me and pulls me on to the sofa, next to her. ‘You poor darling,’ she says, folding me in a hug. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say, pulling away. ‘I was upset, but I’m OK now.’ I tell her about my fax back to Gav and she laughs.
‘Don’t ever not tell me what’s going on,’ she says, eventually. ‘In here.’ She rests her forehead against mine.
‘Grrrr,’ I say, smiling at her.
‘That’s my girl.’ Amy kisses me.
‘Ex-eel-lent. Girl-on-girl action,’ interrupts Jack, nodding and putting on a ridiculous accent, as he sets down a large vodka and a small bottle of tonic water on the table.
‘Idiot,’ says Amy. She sits back in the sofa, holding my hand. Jack pulls a face and puts my mobile on the
table.
‘Cheers!’ I say, leaning forward and pouring the tonic into my glass. ‘Let’s get shit-faced.’
I’m just finishing my second vodka when Matt comes in. Jack greets him warmly, but he’s obviously surprised to see me.
I pull a face at Amy, but she shrugs in surprise.
‘I’ll get a drink,’ Matt mumbles, avoiding eye contact with me.
‘I’ll help,’ I offer, eyeballing Jack and getting up to follow Matt to the bar. He’s still wearing a suit from work and he looks tired, a shadow of stubble around his chin. He orders our drinks and leans on the bar.
‘Matt,’ I begin. ‘About the other day . . .’
He glances coldly at me. ‘Forget it. If you don’t want to be friends, it’s fine. Really.’
He pays for the drink and I fiddle with a bar mat as he drops the change in his pocket.
‘I do want to be friends,’ I say, feeling suddenly nervous. ‘I got the wrong end of the stick. I was in a dreadful mood and I’m really sorry.’ I look up at him, steeling myself. I’m not used to being this humble. ‘I shouldn’t have accused you of . . . well, you know. It was out of order and I don’t want there to be any awkwardness between us, especially with the wedding coming up.’
I wait for him to say something, feeling small, but he doesn’t. I fold my arms across my chest. Matt narrows his eyes at me, but he seems to have something caught in his throat and for a moment I think he’s going to sneeze.
He says something incomprehensible and looks away.
‘Sorry?’ I ask, leaning forward.
‘I’m glad we’re sorted,’ he says eventually.
‘Me too,’ I say, but I’m taken aback by his tone.
‘To tell the truth, it was awkward for me too,’ he says. ‘Because, as you’ll no doubt be relieved to hear, I don’t fancy you. I don’t mean that nastily, H. It’s just that you’re not my type.’
Matt snatches at his pint and spills some of it over his hand as he puts it to his lips. ‘Sorry,’ he shrugs.
I gawp at his wet hand and then watch him make his way back to Jack and Amy.
What?
What does he mean, he doesn’t fancy me?
Why not?
What’s wrong with me?
I follow after him, feeling embarrassed, humiliated and indignant all at once. I genuinely thought he was coming on to me in the car and so I thought apologizing just now for my behaviour would sort of let him off the hook and smooth everything out. I thought I was being brave and fearless, but now that I’ve found out he really doesn’t fancy me . . .
Oh my God. This is serious. Not only am I terminally single, but I’ve lost the ability to read the signs with men. First I thought Gav was contacting me because he wanted to get back together and now this.
What if I’ve lost it? I thought I was a good judge of character. But obviously not.
Amy and Jack are back on the sofa together, so I sit down next to Matt. The leg of my stool is caught in the carpet, so I have to sit quite close. Still, who cares? Not Matt. That’s for sure.
‘You look cosy,’ says Jack clinking glasses with Matt. Amy smiles at us and looks as if she’s going to break into a royal wave. My husband and I are so pleased that we’re all such jolly good chums and I’d like to bless all couples who are as fortunate as we . . .
To my surprise, Matt clocks it. ‘Cut it out, you two,’ he warns.
They do and without them clucking over us, Matt starts to behave as if we’ve known each other for years, competing to put the worst song on the juke-box and downing drinks in between. And maybe the alcohol makes me more perceptive, but all the time, I start to notice more and more things about Matt: his pink and white fingernails, the way his stubble patterns his chin, the mole on his ear lobe, the tuft of dark hair I can see when he undoes the top button of his shirt and loosens his tie, the way his face lights up when he laughs. But I guess those are just the details you notice when someone is unavailable.
Eventually, the bell for last orders rings.
‘Come on, beddy-byes.’ Amy tugs Jack’s sleeve.
‘Yeah, all right already,’ says Jack, nursing an inch of beer.
‘It’s bridesmaids’ fittings in the morning. I’ve got to be up early. And so have you,’ she warns me. She’s horribly sober. ‘Have you got those details for the weekend?’ she asks.
‘Oh yeah,’ I slur, digging two A4 envelopes out of my bag. ‘One for you and one for Susie.’
‘Give it to her tomorrow,’ says Amy, taking one of them and putting the other one back in my bag. She pulls Jack to his feet.
‘See you in the morning, then,’ says Amy, kissing Matt and I good night. Jack waves us goodbye and gives Matt a big slap on the back.
When they’ve gone, Matt turns to me. ‘Will the little missy be having one for the road?’ he asks in a Scottish accent.
‘Aye,’ I laugh, getting up and flopping down on to the sofa. ‘That’ll be grand.’ The cushion is still warm from where Amy has been sitting. Actually, another drink is the last thing I need, I’m already completely plastered, but I can’t cope with the thought of going outside yet. Matt joins me a few minutes later and we sit side by side, slumped down on the cushions.
‘They’re like an old married couple already,’ he says, nodding to the door through which Amy has just pushed Jack.
‘Not really. You should’ve seen them when I arrived. Teenagers! They were practically eating each other.’
‘Ugh. How unpleasant!’ Matt pulls a face as he clinks glasses with me.
I laugh. ‘It looks really weird, watching other people snag. All tongues and stuff.’ I waggle my tongue out of my mouth drunkenly.
Matt laughs. ‘They don’t do it like they used to in my day.’
‘When was that, then?’
‘Can’t remember. I watch old black and white movies and do it vicariously.’
‘Ah, but they don’t snag properly in old films. They just touched lips, like this.’ And before I know what I’m doing, I lean over and press my lips up against Matt’s. I sit back and we both giggle, but I’m blushing.
‘See, it’s not a kiss at all,’ I bluff, glancing at Matt, but my heart has started to race.
Either I’m monumentally pissed, or . . . or . . .
‘Na na-na-na-na,’ he says. ‘They did kiss, they just didn’t open their mouths.’ He leans towards me and gently presses his lips against mine, before gently prizing them apart with his tongue.
It’s the gentlest kiss and I feel myself falling in to it, as if I’m landing on the softest pillow.
‘There,’ he says, pulling away, as if nothing has happened.
‘That was rubbish,’ I squeak. ‘It’s much more like this.’ I grab Matt’s head and pull him towards me and kiss him back harder. This time it goes on longer and I press against him, burning up as my head processes the following thoughts:
I’m kissing. I can still do it.
I’m kissing Matt. He can do it, too.
But hang on, he can do it well . . . really well . . .
Matt pulls away slightly and smiles and I smile back, thinking what a laugh this is. And I don’t care. I don’t care about any consequences. Because I feel deliciously drunk and all that matters is right here, right now. I don’t care about anything else.
I’ve pulled. I can still do it.
‘It wouldn’t work, us being in the movies,’ Matt says eventually, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet.
‘I know,’ I say, reaching for my jacket.
‘There’s got to be chemistry for it to work properly,’ he says, his eyes locked with mine. And I know what they’re saying. I know what they’re offering.
We kiss again, more urgently as we bundle through the door. I don’t know who’s leading who, but it doesn’t matter, because I’ve decided that this might be just what I need.
‘It’s good that we don’t fancy each other,’ I gulp, between kisses.
‘You don’t fancy me, either?’
says Matt, his hands urgently grasping the back of my head.
‘No. You disgust me,’ I say, grabbing his bum.
‘The feeling’s mutual,’ he says, slipping his hand under my shirt.
‘Good,’ I gasp, as he almost lifts me off my feet. ‘Let’s go to your place.’
Susie
Saturday, 08.30
Since last week I’ve made a few life decisions. And number one on my list was:
1. Change Everything.
So. This is the new me. I’m going for it. I’m going to be different. And I’m taking a little break from my random routine to make it work.
I’ve decided not to do the market today since I’m meeting Amy for the final dress fitting and I yawn decadently in the full knowledge that I have two blissful me-hours all to myself instead of yomping about with loads of silly hats and flirting with Dexter.
Because that was the old me.
This is the new me.
I reach for my glasses and my notebook by my bed and open it up at a clean page. I’ve managed to keep a dream diary for a whole week now and I’m quite chuffed with myself. I’m not sure whether I can make head or tail of it, mind, but maybe it’ll all become clear in time. It’s a bit confusing, see. It’d be fine if I dreamed about one thing, or my dreams had a general theme, but they’re always fragmented. Sometimes, I feel as if I’ve spent all night channel-hopping, without ever having had the satisfaction of watching a whole programme all the way through. Maybe being an impatient dreamer is a psychological condition.
I grab my pink felt-tip pen, but my grip hasn’t woken up yet, so today’s wonky entry reads:
Use Pick ‘n’ Mix for cover in Woolworths shoot-out. (Save three children and a Jack Russell.) Pacify shocked mother as grandma (87) installs mirrored Jacuzzi in her Mumbles bungalow. Mum invites me to stay with mystery man –? Green gooey aliens instigate food fight in junior school dining-room (repeat). Mrs Jones, the dinner lady, killed this time. Maude (half woman, half Richard Branson) and me in round-the-world yachting race (very wet). Melts into . . . Counting buttons in factory. Siren for break shrieking, but I’m not allowed to go. (Depressing.)
