by Adele Parks
PENGUIN BOOKS
Still Thinking of You
Praise for Adele Parks’s previous novels:
‘It’s witty, it’s warm and fun. With a capital F.’ Daily Record
‘Parks depicts the nitty-gritty of relationships with authentic detail and there’s a hugely optimistic feel to the story that makes it a satisfying read.’ Sunday Mirror
‘Parks has scored another sure-fire hit with Larger than Life.’ Heat
‘An entertaining and sophisticated version of the girl-meets-boy story.’
Marie Claire
‘An engaging read.’ Independent
‘Entertaining and moving.’ OK!
‘Compulsively addictive and involved with sexual passion and bad decisions.’ Elle
‘A touching look at infidelity, love, and all the crap that goes with it.’
New Woman
‘A modern fairy tale in the classic sense of the word: a story of wanting what you can’t have, filled with perils and beasts, with a moralizing punch to the inevitably doe-eyed ending.’ Daily Mail
‘Down-to-earth and very, very funny.’ OK!
‘Perfectly encapsulating the zeitgeist… a very entertaining read.’ Heat
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Adele Parks was born in the North-East of England. She read English language and literature at Leicester University. Since graduating, she has lived in Italy and Africa. She now lives in London with her son and her soul mate. Her earlier novels, Playing Away, Game Over, Larger than Life and The Other Woman’s Shoes, were all bestsellers and are published in fourteen different countries.
www.adeleparks.com
Still Thinking of You
ADELE PARKS
PENGUIN BOOKS
PENGUIN BOOKS
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Published in Penguin Books 2004
1
Copyright © Adele Parks, 2004
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject
to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent,
re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s
prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in
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EISBN: 978–0–141–91108–3
For my Mum and Dad
1. Rich and Tash
It was so easy. Falling in love had, after all, been so easy.
Rich had never been convinced that he had the knack for loving. Shagging, yeah, positively expert, but loving? He’d had a sneaky suspicion that ‘falling in love’ was something that happened only to people in movies or to the weak-minded. Or maybe he’d been born without the necessary gene that enabled a healthy, happy, two-way loving thing because he used to find it impossible to imagine wanting to share everything from your sock drawer to your life. His parents were still together, yeah, but they seemed to exist side by side, in a state of bored tolerance, rather than in perpetual bliss. His mother filled her time with concerns about neighbours’ hysterectomies, and his father’s chief concern was his golf handicap. Rich doubted that they had ever been young and in love. It wasn’t exactly inspiring.
When his mates said that they’d found a girl they wanted to marry, he’d assumed that the desire was one largely driven by practicalities. Clearly some people liked the company, or the laundry service, or the security of being a double-income family. It wasn’t that he wanted to be callous. In fact, the reverse was true. He’d always wanted to believe that there was something chemical… no, something magical that dictated with whom you spent your life. He always wanted to believe that there was a soul mate out there somewhere. But he’d given the mysterious ‘falling in love’ dozens of opportunities and thirty-three years to take hold; it never had.
Until Tash.
They’d been right. All those people that used to say stuff like, ‘You know when you know.’ Those starry-eyed blokes, who stuttered their way through speeches at wedding receptions, earnestly trying to communicate their passion and their willingness to subdue themselves to a bigger force than their reason. They’d been right. Falling in love did make everything lucid, bright and simple. And yet at the same time it was the most mysterious, exotic and different experience of Rich’s life. An irresistible contradiction.
He loved her, and she loved him. They were lovers. Rich wondered how many people across, say, London… no, make it bigger than that… say, Britain. How many people were at this precise second telling one another they loved each other? And how many of them meant it as much as he did.
Because he did mean it. He meant it all the time. Not just when they were having sex. He loved her smile; it was broad and frequent. She had fat lips; clearly they were blow-job lips, which was an advantage, but he also admired them because they were happy lips. He loved her laugh; it was low and throaty, like a smoker’s laugh, even though she didn’t smoke. He loved her thoughts and how frequently and openly she expressed them, and how she insisted on bringing everything back to a personal level. He used to hate the type of person who, during a really sensible discussion of whether US and British troops ought to be deployed to some far-flung place, would pipe up to say, ‘Well, all I know is it’s wrong because my next-door neighbour is in the army and he may see action.’ That sort of argument used to irritate his intellectual mind. But now he realized that everything was personal at some level; everything was simply about who you cared for. Tash was right. She was also right to want to drink Fair Trade coffee and use Body Shop products. All that girlie stuff was good.
He loved her body. He loved the smell of her hair. He was fascinated by the things that made her angry, and thrilled by the things in which she delighted. He loved the vulnerable curve in the nape of her neck and the way she shivered when he kissed her there. He loved her cum.
Tash finished cleaning her teeth. She put her toothbrush back in the cup and smiled at her reflection. That was her toothbrush, in a cup, in Rich’s flat. Although they’d only been seeing each other for just shy of two months, she had a toothbrush in his flat, and that felt good. Unlike Rich, Tash had never wondered if she’d find true love. She’d expected to. Her parents had been happily married for forty years. Even now she might walk into their kitchen and find them kissing. Not full-on snogs obviously – that would be damaging – but affectionate, closed-mouth kisses. Her brother and his partner had two robust, amusing, boisterous boys. They laughed and rowed in what Tash considered to be the correct proportions. Love had never been a secret to her. It was easy; it was natural. It was everywhere. She’d been in a number of long and short, and virtually split-second relationships, but the chucking or being chucked had always been relatively painless. She’d never cried about anyone for longer than a week.
Tash h
ad a few, very close friends with whom she happily shared the contents of her head and heart on a regular basis and a larger number of more casual mates with whom she was happy to have a drink. She was sporty and therefore fit in the health sense and in the leave-men-panting sense. She liked painting (people with hobbies are happier). She had a dog (people with pets are said to live longer). Tash believed in natural justice; she thought there was definitely something in horoscopes; she wished people of all religions could live together peacefully; and she was sure the God whom she believed in would allow unbaptized babies, as well as decent non-believers, into heaven. She thought there might be something in reincarnation; she’d never had her tarot cards read, but didn’t scoff at those who had; she had a monthly direct debit to the NSPCC; she didn’t care whether people held their knives and folks correctly or incorrectly; she recycled her bottles at Sainsbury’s; she was a vegetarian, but she wore leather shoes. She had always expected to find true love.
She just hadn’t expected it to be this good.
Tash hadn’t been able to imagine feeling this excited, yet this content. This happy and yet this terrified. This amazed and this amazing.
It was another almost uncomfortably hot night, so Tash pulled the covers off the bed and climbed in next to Rich.
She started to move her hands across Rich’s chest and unapologetically down, towards his crotch. It didn’t surprise her that he was semi-erect; they both existed in a state of almost permanent arousal. Rich ran his hands over her lithe body, enjoying again the sensation of her tight arse and tiny, firm tits. He already knew that he wanted to marry this girl. He wanted this beautiful, sexy woman to be his for ever, and he wanted it so much it sometimes hurt him. Get that. Richard Tyler, philanderer extraordinaire, was so much in love it actually hurt him.
Of course, in the past he had told other women he loved them – it was expedient.
They kissed with their eyes open. It used to freak him when he opened his eyes mid snog to find her sapphire blues staring right back at him, but now he always kept his eyes open, too. Tash had explained that she thought it was more honest. She’d kissed plenty of men whom she wanted to shut out, but she wanted to drink up Rich, every ounce of him. It was as though she sucked in his soul through her stare, and she poured back her heart.
‘How are we going to keep it this good?’ asked Rich in a whisper.
Tash broke away from the kiss and stared at Rich. ‘God, you are a funny one. It’s not difficult,’ she laughed.
‘It is. Staying in love is difficult. There’s no point pretending anything else. Tash, how are we going to keep it this amazing, this real and exhilarating?’ Rich felt panicked. He could not imagine recovering if he lost her now.
Tash instinctively knew this was not a moment to laugh off Rich’s fears. ‘I think it’s down to honesty, baby. No secrets, no lies, just 100 per cent respect and honesty. It’s such a simple rule. If we follow it, we can’t go wrong.’
Rich thought about it for a moment. Could it really be that easy? He ran through a number of scenarios of possible fatal blows to a relationship and tested them against Tash’s rule. No secrets, no lies, just 100 per cent respect and honesty. It would be impossible for either of them to have an affair if they stuck to the rule (something he had to admit that he had been prone to in the past). It would be impossible for the relationship to be eaten up by paranoia or jealousy (God, if he could have a penny for every time some girl lost the plot by torturing herself with unnecessary suspicions). If they respected one another, they were unlikely to fall out about the split of domestic duties, hogging the TV remote or either one spending too much time with their mates (he meant him spending too much time with his mates – girls were rarely accused of this crime).
Maybe it could be easy.
In their cocoon that smelt of sex and oozed with warmth and affection, Rich could not imagine how anything could ever go wrong. Tash was a genius. Tash held the secret formula to a happy ever after. Tash was his happy ever after.
‘Tash?’
‘Yes?’
‘Will you marry me?’
‘Yes, Rich, I’d love to.’
2. Meeting and Greeting
For the first two months of their relationship, Rich and Tash did the thing that lovers usually do, i.e. stay in bed, only resurfacing for food, condoms and work when it was absolutely unavoidable. After Rich proposed they were no more inclined to get up, but they found themselves talking more, and screwing ever so slightly less. Remarkably, they both enjoyed this stage just as much as the first stage. The more they talked, the more they found that they had in common and the more deeply in love they fell.
‘I’ve always wanted to play a musical instrument. Preferably the guitar,’ said Rich.
‘Me, too!’ Tash giggled at the thought that they shared the same secret ambition. ‘After the wedding we should take lessons.’
‘We can put guitars on our wedding list,’ laughed Rich. ‘You’re happy, right? Moving into Islington, into my flat?’ Rich loved his flat. It had an enormous fridge, TV, shower and bed. He didn’t waste any time considering the rest of the fixtures, fittings or furniture, and he almost revelled in being a cliché.
‘I’ve always liked Islington, although I do think we should put detergent on the wedding list, too,’ replied Tash, who already had plans for a new sofa (squishy with lots of cushions) and new bed linen, and to repaint the entire place – to eradicate all traces of beige.
They both wanted children. A boy and a girl would be ideal, but of course they agreed that the health, not the sex, of the baby was the most important thing. Two years’ time was a good point to start trying for a family; neither of them was in a particular rush. They both loved snow-boarding, breakfast in New York diners, George Orwell, football, Frank Sinatra and Marmite. Neither had joined the mile-high club, but both wanted to. They talked about everything. Their families, their work, their homes, their dreams, their fears and their friends. Rich had met Tash’s three best mates, within weeks of their first date. Although they’d all been slightly worse for wear after a night on the tiles, Tash reasoned that at least he’d got the measure of them. Rich talked about his great bunch of mates from university.
‘I’ve known Jason, Mia, Kate, Ted and Lloyd as man and boy,’ he boasted. Technically he had known them as man and young man, but he wasn’t inclined to describe it that way. It didn’t sound as catchy, and Rich liked to sound catchy. They’d met aged eighteen and, here they were, still firm friends aged thirty-three. ‘We’ve seen one another through exams, first jobs, first loves, marriage and births.’
‘Tell me about them.’
‘Well, Jase, he’s my best buddy, I guess. He is one of the most charismatic men in London. A huge and very successful flirt,’ smiled Rich. He enjoyed his mate’s success with women almost as much as he enjoyed his own. ‘He’s massive in the advertising world. His reputation stretches across the Atlantic. You’ll love him,’ stated Rich confidently. ‘Ted comes from a very wealthy family. Lewis-Ponsonby.’
Rich’s voice went up at the end of the sentence, indicating that Tash ought to recognize it. She shrugged, indicating that she didn’t. In fact, seconds after the name was mentioned, she couldn’t even remember it; that sort of stuff never stuck in her mind. ‘They are in Debrett’s. He can trace his family as far back as the court of King George II,’ added Rich. ‘Ted probably doesn’t have to work. He could live off his family’s wealth, but he decided to make his own fortune as a trader. Don’t you think that’s impressive?’
‘I think it’s sensible. An idle life would be mind-blowingly dull.’
‘Suppose… and Ted is phenomenally intelligent. Kate’s father is the Chairman of Bristol University, and she’s frighteningly bright, too. She could easily have followed her father into a career in academia, but chose to make a career in the City like Ted, until she got pregnant and now she’s a full-time mum.’
‘How did she take to the change?’
‘Oh, s
he’s cool with that decision as she always wanted to re-create the traditional family upbringing that she enjoyed, and besides which she’s just the perfect mum. I couldn’t imagine a better one.’
‘Why’s that, then?’ Tash asked, grinning, already curious at what Rich thought made a good mum.
‘God, the stuff she knows, she’s just fabulous, like she really loves them.’
‘Naturally,’ laughed Tash. ‘Mums tend to.’
‘Ted and Kate married aged twenty-three and are still totally into one another. Can you believe that in this day and age?’
‘Yes, I can actually,’ said Tash, laughing more. It was obvious that Rich was still battling with his innate cynicism. ‘What about Mia?’
‘Mia was the most wanted woman in college, a total beauty and also extremely intelligent. Both Kate and Mia are fascinating women. You’ll love them. They’ll love you.’
Tash beamed, sure that they would all love each other. How could she not love them? From these descriptions it was obvious that she was about to meet some of the most amazing people in the United Kingdom. Which was fantastic. If not a little intimidating.
‘They are a great bunch of pals,’ added Rich, almost to himself.
‘And Lloyd?’
‘Oh, he’s divorced.’ Rich shrugged, and took a slurp of his coffee.
‘What else? There’s got to be more to the man than that.’
Rich thought for a moment.
‘At college he was the most focused out of us all. Always seemed to know where he was going and how he’d get there. He wrote these sort of life plans, you know, things he had to achieve before he was twenty-one, then twenty-five, then thirty.’
‘What sort of things?’
‘All sorts. Places he wanted to visit, where he wanted to live, rungs on the ladder which he wanted to climb.’
