‘I’ll buy a lottery ticket this weekend, then,’ she winks. ‘So isn’t Ben beginning to suspect anything?’
I’m about to say no, but pause and think back to the date. He did seem a little on edge afterwards, though not for any reason I can put my finger on. ‘Hmm. I don’t know.’
‘And what about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘Are you not getting attached to Ben?’
‘God, no,’ I splutter. ‘He’s a lovely guy and one hell of a kisser. But, no. I know who the love of my life is and that isn’t going to change, even if it remains unrequited for the rest of my days.’
Ellie screws up her face. ‘There’s nothing big and clever about unrequited love, Sam. It only makes a woman feel shit about herself. There comes a time when you’ve just got to get over it.’
I tut. ‘Well, we’re far from there yet in Jamie’s case.’
She touches my arm. ‘I know, sweetheart. And from what you say, he’s coming closer to realizing what a terrible mistake he’s made. But . . .’
‘What?’
‘When I suggested this thing in the first place, I rather thought he’d have his grand realization a bit sooner. The fact that he hasn’t . . . I’ve got to be honest, Sam. I’m starting to think that maybe you ought to cut your losses.’
‘Ellie,’ I hiss, disbelievingly. ‘This is not some bloke I’ve been dating for a few weeks. This is Jamie. The man I want to spend the rest of my life with. He’s not that disposable, I’m afraid. Besides, lots of couples have periods apart and get back together. It makes them stronger. Look at Prince William and Kate. He dumped her for a few months and now look at them. It made him realize what he’d lost. I’m only looking to bag Jamie, not the future heir to the throne.’
‘You’re right,’ she nods. ‘It does happen. I’m sorry, gorgeous, but I’ve only got your best interests at heart.’
I know this is true, of course. Ellie is the best friend anyone could ask for, which is probably why I say nothing when she proceeds to get comprehensively sloshed and falls down the stairs in full view of DLB Harrow’s managing partner.
Nevertheless, the following day, when I’m at the dentist waiting to have a filling, I can’t help pondering my friend’s words about Jamie – and wishing she hadn’t uttered them. My grim mood isn’t helped by my location, of course. I’m not good with dentists. I can tell myself till I’m purple in the face that it isn’t going to hurt (and it never actually has, unless you count the near-shattering of my knuckles from gripping the chair). But the musty whiff of freshly drilled enamel is enough to set my heart flapping so hard I’m convinced I’ll hover ten inches off the chair one day.
I pick up a three-year-old glossy magazine and marvel at its longevity, despite being thumbed by hundreds of anxious patients trying to take their mind off the tasty injection of local anaesthetic they’re about to be served.
The magazine features a health special, with a ‘well-being’ quiz designed to ascertain what shape you’re in. Judging by my results, it’s amazing that I’m still alive.
My trans-fat levels from all the ready meals I’ve consumed – even in these post-Jamie days – should by rights have left me as one giant walking blob of cellulite, unable to make my way through revolving doors or into the seats of budget aircraft.
My brain-boosting Omega 3 is so low it’s a wonder I scraped a single GCSE, and – tsk! – I’ve never even had a colonic irrigation. How my bum’s still functioning I’ll never know.
Fortunately, I’m not classed as an alcoholic; although what Ellie’s results would be don’t bear thinking about. The woman is unstoppable. She always has been unstoppable, but these days she can’t go near a glass of wine without instigating a full-scale party.
‘Miss Brooks.’ The dental nurse is in her mid-forties with an air of Norman Bates, which has done nothing to put me at ease. I’m about to stand to meet my fate, when my mobile rings.
‘Hey, Sam. It’s Ben.’
‘Hi, there! I can’t really talk at the moment.’
‘I’ll be quick. I know this is short notice, but I wondered if I could return the favour and invite you for lunch today. I’ve taken a day off and you said you were planning to go home after the dentist because you’re owed so much lieu time.’
Mrs Bates taps her foot impatiently. ‘If you come over when you’re done,’ he continues, ‘we could go out to get some supplies, then I’ll impress you with my culinary skills.’
‘Oh Ben, it’s lovely of you to offer—’
I’m about to refuse because I’ve got a lot on today; even though I had planned to go home, it was to catch up on a mountain of paperwork.
Then something strikes me. Jamie does his shopping at the supermarket on Allerton Road every Tuesday. It’s his day off for working at the weekend and this is literally the one and only element of routine in his otherwise unpredictable leisure time. I haven’t had a text from him since the other day, and I realize this could be my big opportunity because, ultimately, having Ben around is pointless unless Jamie sees a little more of me with him.
The only time he laid eyes on him was in the pub – and he could have come to the conclusion that it was a meaningless fling. The fact that it is a meaningless fling is irrelevant. Jamie needs to be reminded that he has competition.
‘Ben, that’d be great,’ I say firmly. ‘I’ll be over in an hour.’
When I arrive at Ben’s apartment, I’m slightly late, having made a brief detour home to grab some make-up and sort out my hair, which was in danger of having a flock of baby eagles setting up home in it.
I’m looking as I always try to appear these days: hot and happy. I read that that’s the look Victoria Beckham advises any woman to master when times get tough. I’m fully aware that, technically, Posh Spice isn’t really up there with the world’s great philosophical gurus, but on this particular issue I think she’s one hundred per cent right.
The only problem, however, is that, following my anaesthetic, my face is temporarily as wonky as a three-wheeled shopping trolley. When I attempt to smile, or talk or do anything involving my mouth, one side stays put.
Which means that, despite the carefully applied foundation, skinny jeans and on-trend boots, I’m not looking nearly as hot or as happy as I’d like.
‘I’ll come down to you and we’ll go straight off,’ says Ben into his intercom, while I stand in the foyer of the apartment block he calls home. He arrives thirty seconds later looking gorgeous – in jeans, a long-sleeved black T-shirt and a Berghaus gilet that makes him look fantastically outdoorsy.
‘Hello, there,’ he says when he appears, kissing me on the lips. This would undoubtedly be pleasurable if I could feel them. He pulls back and looks at me, registering. ‘Oh. You okay?’
I hold up my hand to my mouth self-consciously. ‘Had a filling. I’ll be back to normal in the next hour or two.’
‘Okay,’ he smiles, taking me by the hand as we head to the car. ‘Let’s go and get this food.’
When we pull into the supermarket car park, I scan my surroundings. While Jamie always comes to this place on a Tuesday morning, narrowing it down any further isn’t easy. There is a window of several hours and, despite my world-class talent for shopping, even I’d struggle to stretch out a trip to Tesco that long. So I’m hoping and praying that, for once, luck might be on my side.
As we push the trolley round the store, Ben picks up a variety of foodstuffs: bits and bobs from the deli, a walnut loaf, olive oil. But I can’t concentrate on the food. All I can concentrate on is scanning the aisles for Jamie. Except, by the time Ben’s finished his shopping, he still isn’t here.
‘Do you mind if we look at the books? I’ve finished the one I’m reading and need a new one.’
In fact, the collection of unread books on my bedside table is vast. I have good intentions with my reading material. I see a book, read the blurb and know I’ll love it . . . then never quite get round to opening more than about forty
per cent of the ones I buy.
I promised myself recently that I’d stop purchasing so many new ones until I’d read those I already own – but that resolution is irrelevant in this context. The only issue is that the books section is at the front of the store, with a grandstand view of the entrance.
I flick through the new Jackie Collins, or pretend to, while Ben looks at the new Lee Child. Then I move on to a Paige Toon novel, glancing anxiously at the door. After ten minutes, Ben appears at my side.
‘Anything take your fancy?’
‘Oooh. Spoiled for choice. Can I have a couple more minutes?’
‘Sure – take your time.’
But, as I return the paperback to the shelf and pick up another, something catches my eye and I glance up, drawing a breath.
It’s Jamie, pushing a trolley. And heading directly towards us.
Chapter 54
I’m frozen to the spot as Jamie sails past us, heading towards the toiletries. I can’t make it obvious that I’m following him; this must be done with the subtlety and stealth of a preying jaguar.
‘I need a pumice stone!’ I announce, flinging the paperback onto the shelf.
Ben looks at me as if I have Tourette’s.
‘This way!’ I hoot, grabbing the end of his trolley and thundering up the aisle, past the DVDs, vases and mops.
My heart is break-dancing around my ribcage as I approach the toiletries aisle. I take a deep breath and head round the corner. Except – Jamie isn’t there!
Slowing my steps, I continue to guide the trolley and Ben along the aisle.
‘Is this what you were after?’ Ben asks, holding up a Scholl packet.
‘Er . . . possibly. Let me just have a look over here,’ I say, spinning us round as if in a dodgem car and heading back to see if Jamie’s in the next aisle.
As I hurtle past bread makers and slow cookers, breaking into a sweat, I panic that he’s given us the slip. That he’s never going to see me with Ben. Another wasted opportunity!
A dozen imaginary scenarios burst into my mind . . . visions of what I could be doing if only Jamie could see us. Ben could be pecking me gently on the cheek beside the broccoli. Smooching at the eggs. Kissing my hand as I choose a baguette.
Hang on a minute . . .
The second those thoughts hit my frontal cortex, another engulfs me. What if kissing isn’t enough? I mean, what’s a kiss? A kiss is nothing. A kiss is meaningless! Ben and I have been kissing non-stop for the past few weeks and what I feel for him cannot be compared with what I feel for Jamie.
What the hell can I do if he spots us together? What can I do that’s going to make a real impression? With fire in my chest, I grab Ben by the hand and thrust the trolley forward, whizzing past other shoppers and darting up aisles like I’m on Top Gear.
‘Sam . . . what’s the rush? You’ve just spent fifteen minutes totally immobile in the books section,’ Ben points out, bewildered.
‘I’m really hungry all of a sudden,’ I reply cheerily, heading back to the toiletries to make a last check. But, as I whisk my trolley round the corner, my plan goes awry. Significantly.
I can’t work out whether it’s the sound or the impact that registers first. As my trolley rams violently into Jamie’s gut, we come to a catastrophic halt, our food is involved in a multi-item pile-up, and my ex-boyfriend emits the sort of noise that a vomiting shire horse would make.
‘Jamie!’ I gasp. ‘Are you all right?’ I fling the trolley away – sending it flying across the aisle – and dive towards him. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, putting my arm around his back.
He straightens up. ‘It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m . . . I’m . . . Who’s this?’
He looks Ben up and down. Ben smiles, unfazed.
‘I’m Ben. Pleased to meet you,’ he replies, holding out his hand for Jamie to shake.
Jamie stares at it for an uncomfortable second, clearly considering not taking up his offer. Eventually, he relents and grabs Ben’s fingers, shaking them with a conspicuous lack of enthusiasm before he turns to me.
‘How’re things?’ he asks flatly.
‘Fine. I . . .’ Then I look back at Ben and remember my concern only a few seconds ago. Not only am I not even kissing – the act I was worried wouldn’t make enough impression – I’m huddled next to my ex-boyfriend instead of my current one. I untangle myself from Jamie and edge back to Ben.
‘I’m . . . fine,’ I smile and, locking my eyes with Jamie, I defiantly lift up my arm and place it around Ben’s shoulder.
But I’d forgotten how tall he is and I am immediately aware of how stiff and odd it looks – like a young child attempting to befriend a big kid in the playground. Not that that matters. All that matters is Jamie’s reaction. And Jamie’s reaction is . . . utterly underwhelming.
I grit my teeth, unable to believe how unmoved he is. I remove my arm and return it to my side, feeling ridiculous.
‘Right, well, I’m in a rush. Catch you soon, Sam,’ Jamie says.
‘Yep,’ I croak as he heads up the aisle to examine the back of some Lemsips.
I’m ready to explode with frustration. My mind is filled with the thought that I’ve blown it. I’ve singularly failed to provoke any emotional reaction whatsoever by anything I did with Ben. Not that I did much.
Cursing under my breath, I’m about to scuttle away and take Ben with me, when Jamie glances over again. Then I spot something on the shelf in front of me – and I’m hit by a moment of pure inspiration.
‘Hmm,’ I murmur, picking up a bumper pack of Durex and giving it the once-over, then demonstratively flinging it in the trolley. I glance up . . . and realize Jamie wasn’t looking. Bugger.
With my eyes firmly on my ex-boyfriend, I grab the next thing I see on the shelf: a bottle of lubricant called Play. Jamie looks over. I slowly hold it over the trolley, making absolutely sure it’s in full view, and chuck it in. Then I realize they have them in three other flavours. So I pick up a strawberry one and throw that in.
I don’t even need to look up at Jamie now to realize I have his attention. His jaw is trailing so far on the floor it’s virtually gathering dust, and my sense of empowerment is intoxicating. Addictive.
So addictive that I pick up a banana-flavoured lube, a kiwi-flavoured one, a few more condoms and then – the pièce de résistance – something called a Durex Play Vibrations, which is without question the raunchiest item I have ever seen stocked in Tesco.
‘That’s all, darling,’ I say sweetly, standing on my tiptoes to kiss Ben briefly on the mouth. ‘For now,’ I wink.
Then I push the trolley past Jamie, slowly enough for him to get a full view of my mammoth stash of exotic contraceptive devices and rainbow-coloured bottles of lubrication. As I sail past, his cheeks are green.
But I pretend not to notice; instead, I march straight to the checkout – where Ben’s hand appears on my arm.
‘What is it?’ I ask, glancing up.
He looks almost stunned. I say almost because . . . there’s something else there too.
‘What was all that about?’
It is anger.
I open my mouth, but don’t know what to say.
‘Sam?’ he says, furious.
‘I . . . I just . . . thought I’d stock up,’ I reply weakly.
He crosses his arms. ‘So . . . a woman who doesn’t believe in sex unless it’s in a “loving and committed relationship” suddenly thinks it’s a good idea to fill her shopping trolley full of –’ he picks up the vibrating ring between two fingers – ‘these?’
‘They’re for my . . . cousin,’ I say, flustered. ‘She does a lot of . . . um . . . shagging. In her spare time.’
He looks at me blankly. ‘Your cousin,’ he repeats.
I swallow.
‘Sam,’ he says calmly. ‘What complete rubbish.’
‘I can explain,’ I say, blood rushing to my cheeks. ‘I can definitely explain. I’m sure I can.’
He pauses and waits for me to c
ome up with something brilliant. Except I can’t come up with something brilliant. I can’t come up with anything.
So he turns and marches away. I’ve never seen someone more determined to get away from me in my life.
Chapter 55
The next few days are a strange time, and not in a good way. Having spent for ever brooding over Jamie, I now find myself with an additional worry – one that actually makes me feel worse.
At least with Jamie I could take the moral high ground. I could tell myself that I’d been rejected through no fault of my own. The hollow feeling in my stomach now isn’t caused by rejection, but by all-encompassing guilt.
I might never have envisaged Ben as a real boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t end up liking him. A lot. It’s taken until now to make me realize something I’d become blind to because of my obsession with getting Jamie back: I’ve used Ben – with a total disregard for his feelings.
Hurting him was the last thing I’d wanted. Yet I can’t deny how deliberate and calculated I’ve been. And in being so, I didn’t stop for a second to think about the implications.
‘I take it you’ve tried to contact him?’ Jen asks as she sits on my sofa sipping tea, her long legs propped up on the arm. She’s stopped by after work on Sunday to drop off the Inbetweeners DVD she borrowed months ago.
‘Several times,’ I reply. ‘I’ve had only one text back, saying “Don’t worry about it”.’
‘That’s worrying,’ she frowns. ‘What about Jamie?’
‘Jamie’s done nothing but text and email. He wrote me a massive one yesterday telling me how tortured he is, how it crippled him to see me with “that man”, how he doesn’t know what to do, how he still loves me. Basically, he’s driving me insane. He might say all this . . . but has he come back? No.’
‘So are you going back on the dating website?’
‘I signed up for three months,’ I reply grimly. ‘But I’ve had it with the making-him-jealous strategy. I won’t be logging on again in the near future.’
All the Single Ladies Page 21
