by Adele Parks
‘You didn’t have a falling-out, did you?’ asked Kate. This was the question she asked Fleur and Elliot if either of them was behaving peculiarly.
‘No!’ Lloyd was offended that, whenever anything went wrong, people assumed that he was the root of the problem.
‘Well, whatever,’ sighed Kate. The mystery was clearly beyond her. ‘Ted doesn’t want to come down to eat, and he said he’s resting up tonight. I ordered him some room service, but he hasn’t touched it.’
‘I tell you what, I’ll go and see if he wants some company,’ offered Lloyd.
‘Would you?’ Kate looked relieved. She didn’t want to admit as much, but she had the distinct feeling that her fussing was doing more to irritate rather than comfort Ted. He’d been really cross with her for ordering room service, insisting that he wasn’t hungry and that it was a waste. And it was a good idea for the doctor to come back tomorrow, just to be on the safe side. Why had Ted protested quite so vehemently? He was clearly very embarrassed about having to be rescued from the mountainside. It was his pride that was hurt, nothing more.
‘What should the rest of us do tonight?’ asked Jase. It wasn’t that he was being insensitive towards Ted – he did feel bad for Big Ted – it was just that this was a holiday, and more than that it was a celebration of his best mate’s impending wedding. And still more than that, he had to make the most of the presence of the very lovely Jayne. He could not believe his eyes. He’d just watched Tash cup Jayne’s tits. Through clothes, admittedly, but still… If that wasn’t a come-on, he didn’t know what was. Jayne had deliberately offered Rich the opportunity to cop a feel precisely because he was part of a couple and therefore unavailable. Women always paid attention to your best mate and/or the unavailable guy when they were flirting with you. He knew that he was really the one she was interested in because she made such a thing about blanking him. The blow job had been sensational last night, but he couldn’t wait to get her clothes off.
‘I’m keen for more of the same. A bar and then a club,’ he added. It couldn’t do any harm to get her drunk and keep her dancing. He loved to see her gyrate. All those curvy, fleshy bits, wobbling just the correct amount. It was a treat.
‘I liked the idea you had yesterday, the idea of going to the cinema, Scaley,’ said Mia.
In fact, it had been Mia’s idea to go to the cinema, and she was the only one seconding it now. She wanted to keep Jason off the alcohol as much as she could. She’d peed on the stick before supper and this was it. Her window of opportunity was just opening. She had approximately four days. She needed to get on with the job and, while it was unlikely that Scaley Jase was about to jump her bones (Mia wasn’t blind – he clearly was in the midst of his infatuation with Jayne), she still wanted to keep the alcohol level down as much as she could in the next day or so. Jase’s infatuations rarely lasted longer than that.
Mia was kicking herself for not joining in on the conversation about cleavages. She had a great cleavage, easily as good as Jayne’s surgically enhanced one and way better than Barbie Babe’s barely there one. But she had remained silent. It shouldn’t have been difficult to flirt with Scaley, to draw attention to her assets, and yet she’d remained mute. Bugger. Mia knew that it was time to start making her intentions to seduce Scaley a little more obvious, his infatuation with Jayne notwithstanding. He was not the type of man who appreciated subtlety. If they went to the cinema, she could whisper flirty innuendos to him in French, if the film afforded the opportunity. She was surprised to find that, now that it had come to the crunch, she was finding it difficult making the transition back from thinking of Jase as a friend to potential bed partner or, more accurately, getting him to think of her in that way. She’d watched him over the past forty-eight hours – he flirted with everyone.
Everyone, that was, except her.
He flirted with Jayne – yes, that was understandable. And he flirted with the air stewardess, the receptionist, the waitresses and bar staff. He even flirted a tiny bit with Tash and Kate, for God’s sake. But he did not flirt with Mia. He talked to Mia. They had a laugh together, but his hugs were matey, not sexy, and his compliments were reluctant compliments such as a brother delivered to a sister. Mia knew her own worth. She was aware that a lot of men found her attractive, and she knew that she used to drive Jase wild – first with desire, then later with frustration. Maybe that was the problem. But somehow she was finding it difficult actually wording her proposal. Not that she’d been planning on telling him that she needed his sperm. She’d thought that through and feared he’d see the responsibility as crippling, even if she assured him she didn’t want or need anything other than the biological bit. Her plan was to proposition him indecently, so to speak. All she needed was uncomplicated sex. Surely that was Jase’s life goal and as such shouldn’t be a difficult thing to discuss with him.
But it was.
Mia was finding it impossible to be suggestive or lewd, or even intriguing with Jason. She desperately hoped that the cover of darkness would help her become more eloquent and witty. Or, at the very least, it would afford her opportunity to bang her knee against his.
Jase was flattered that Mia had said she liked an idea of his. She wasn’t big on compliments of any sort. And while he couldn’t actually remember suggesting going to see a film, it wasn’t a bad idea. He could ensure that he was snuggled in the seat next to Jayne’s. He’d enjoy stealing glances at her in the dark, and there would still be time for a boogie at a club afterwards.
Kate said that the cinema was a lovely idea. She’d have preferred to spend the evening curled up with Ted, but then Lloyd had just said he’d sit with him, and the cinema was better than going to a noisy bar. The bars were packed with people who all seemed decades younger than Kate. People who seemed to like music ricocheting through their lithe bodies. People who wore cropped tops and skirts that were just tiny slashes of material held together with a string of sequins. Their slim, pinched waists, flat stomachs and happy, optimistic laughs were similar to those badges the children got on their birthday cards, stating ‘I am three.’ Their line-free faces and copious, unrepentant necking of shots said, ‘I am twenty-three.’ When Kate reached for her drink, she felt her upper arm wobble heavily – she only ever wore long-sleeved tops, even in the summer. She wasn’t sure she’d ever been twenty-three.
‘Do you understand French?’ Tash asked Jayne. She feared she knew the answer. Jayne smiled and nodded.
‘I get by, darling. I’ve got an A at A level, but I’m not fluent like Mia.’
‘Right,’ murmured Tash, the hope of her having a non-bilingual ally dashed. Tash’s grade D GCSE loomed larger than ever. She could see it hovering above her head, and only just resisted the temptation to punch it.
Rich put his arm around Tash, ‘A movie sounds good, hey?’
‘Not really,’ admitted Tash, ‘I don’t understand French films when there are English subtitles. I won’t have a chance without them. I think I’ll give it a miss and get an early night. I might run though some of the wedding plans with the maître d’.’
‘Do you want me to stay with you?’ offered Rich.
He hoped Tash would say yes. He didn’t want to spend time with Jayne without Tash, even if there were other people around. It made him nervous. On the other hand, he didn’t want to refuse to go to the movies because he didn’t want to appear unsociable. After all, these were his mates, and they were all here at his invitation, for his wedding, and he couldn’t exactly slope off without a good excuse. If Tash said she wanted him to meet with the maître d’, though, that would count as a good excuse.
Tash didn’t much feel like having an evening in on her own in the bedroom, however lovely their suite was. She already knew that it would not be a good idea meeting the maître d’ as she was half-cut – she wouldn’t remember anything they agreed about the wedding arrangements. She desperately wanted Rich to ditch the idea of the movies and take her upstairs to, well, take her again. But on the other
hand, these were his pals, and she didn’t want to be a millstone around his neck. She’d look so pathetically needy if she stopped him from going out and having a laugh.
Tash grinned widely and falsely, ‘God, no. I wouldn’t dream of it. You go out with the gang,’ she said. It didn’t count as a lie. She was being selfless.
‘Really, you don’t mind?’ Rich smiled back with lots of faked enthusiasm.
‘And if you want to go on to a club or something you should,’ added Tash, just to prove how un-needy she was. Rich hoped that no one had heard her offer, especially not Jayne
‘Great,’ lied Rich.
‘Great,’ repeated Tash.
‘Great,’ smiled Jayne, who had heard every word. Her smile was genuine. Rich stood up and walked towards the door. He wasn’t one for being overly dramatic, but he did feel like a condemned man walking towards the gallows. He stopped, turned and blew Tash a kiss. She smiled and pretended to catch the invisible token.
37. Ted’s Story
Lloyd knocked on Ted’s door, there was no response. Lloyd didn’t believe Ted was sleeping – he could hear the faint drone of the TV. It sounded like a cheesy game show, so he knocked again and called, ‘It’s me, Lloyd.’ More silence, and then a sigh, and some bustling as Ted made his way to the door. He opened it, but didn’t greet his friend. He simply turned and went back to bed, throwing the duvet over his head. Lloyd entered the suite and closed the door behind him.
‘Nice room, mate. This is really something.’
Lloyd let out a low whistle and although he knew he was there to have a ‘big talk’ with Ted, and he knew that it was seriously uncool to be so clearly impressed with anything, he couldn’t help himself. Besides he never had to be cool around Ted. Ted didn’t mind if Lloyd was just himself. Lloyd opened the cupboards and passed comment on the amount of space and the rare-but-sensible large number of coat hangers. He nosed around the bathroom, then opened the mini bar.
‘Do you want one, buddy?’ Lloyd could just make out that the movement under the duvet was Ted shaking his head. Lloyd helped himself to a beer anyway. He didn’t need to ask – Ted was always very generous and probably wouldn’t even notice another beer on his mini-bar bill. Lloyd sat on one of the comfortable armchairs and addressed the mound of duvet, ‘God, this is like old times, isn’t it?’ Although, in fact, it wasn’t much.
Lloyd and Ted had shared rooms as undergraduates, and neither of them could count the number of times they’d spent an evening together, sharing some beers, watching the TV, kicking back, chewing the fat.
They’d been great days.
The double-occupancy rooms at university were coveted. Providing you got on with your room mate (which most undergraduates did, as they didn’t often have the confidence to form dislikes), you had so much more space and hence the double rooms were usually the party rooms. Lloyd and Ted had more than rubbed along; they genuinely liked one another’s company. Lloyd had been immediately attracted to Ted’s double-barrel name and entry in Debrett’s and after that he had formed a genuine respect and affection for Ted because Ted was generous, gentle, brilliant and, most amazingly of all, humble. Ted had thought Lloyd was a ‘great chap’, full of principles and political theories which, although often naive, were honestly and sincerely felt. Ted liked Lloyd’s energy. His passion. He often referred to him as the ‘Red Radical’.
‘Yes, 1989 to 1992, they were good years,’ said Ted, who had finally emerged from under the duvet.
‘The best,’ added Lloyd.
‘Some of the best,’ qualified Ted. ‘I mean, you’ve had better since, haven’t you? Meeting Sophie and having Joanna. I know the marriage hasn’t worked out, but –’
‘Oh, yes. Yes, of course,’ said Lloyd quickly. He knew how sad those people were who thought their university years were the best years of their lives. He didn’t want to sound like one of those boring losers.
But it was hard not to think back fondly.
Lloyd, Rich, Jase and Ted’s time at university had been a hedonistic whirl of parties, popularity, sex and success. The good times sure did roll, and roll, and roll. Since then, well, yes, there had been good times. Better times, more real times, but not good years. That was the coolest thing about university days, there were so many of them. There were numerous lazy mornings in bed (or, occasionally, in a lecture hall). Followed by endless sleepy afternoons in front of the fire (sometimes books open, other times just with the fridge open). And then there were the countless nights at raves, in pubs or simply in young, uncomplicated women’s beds. There had been so much time to look forward to. Now Lloyd often felt that time was running out, or at least the good times were running out.
Lloyd remembered feeling fire in his belly. He’d known that everything out there was his for the taking. They’d all believed that. And they’d been right. They all left with good degrees, high hopes and numerous notches on the bedpost. The world was their oyster. Throughout their twenties, the guys had hurtled their way up their respective career ladders. And while Rich and Jase had bought fast cars and apartments that were too big for single guys – and so they filled them with one-night stands and expensive audio equipment – Ted and Lloyd had happily become smug marrieds with kids. Those were the designated roles. Rich and Jase were playboys, and Lloyd and Ted were happily married.
But Lloyd wasn’t married any more and looking at Ted, who was at this second a mound of flesh shielded by duvet, there was little to suggest that he was in the least bit happy.
‘We used to set the world alight with our ideas, right?’ said Lloyd, partly as a reminder to Ted, partly because he was looking for confirmation that the boys he remembered had existed. ‘We were always laughing and joking.’
‘Arguing,’ added Ted, but as he said it he grinned at Lloyd.
‘Well, yes, there was healthy debate,’ admitted Lloyd. ‘But imagine how I felt knowing I was sharing my wash basket with a bloke that killed foxes for a giggle.’
Ted laughed. He couldn’t imagine getting on a horse to chase across the countryside now, far too energetic. ‘Do you still campaign against fox hunting?’
‘Of course I do,’ said Lloyd. ‘It’s still an issue. Don’t you watch the news?’
‘It must be a good feeling knowing you are really making a difference,’ said Ted.
‘I guess,’ grinned Lloyd. He’d been out of the way of feeling good about himself. The divorce had left him feeling like a failure. Lloyd didn’t like failure, and he tolerated failure in himself least of all. At the first sign of trouble between himself and Sophie, Lloyd had panicked. He had frozen. He’d found it impossible to discuss their issues, hoping that if he ignored them they would go away. Of course, they didn’t. The cracks in their relationship widened to huge, sore gashes – a chasm that he’d filled with another woman. Ashamed of his reaction, Lloyd had lashed out and then withdrawn. Shame and loathing didn’t allow for introspection. Lloyd had rolled himself into a solid, impenetrable ball.
Big Ted’s compliment acted like a blanket settling around the solid, impenetrable ball. Their old friendship was somehow proof that Lloyd wasn’t a failure. For a moment Lloyd felt how he hoped he’d feel on this holiday with his friends – wanted, not wanting. Lloyd watched the snow falling outside the window and allowed a little bit of self-satisfaction to seep into his consciousness. It was a good thing that he still campaigned against fox hunting. How many student saboteurs still gave a damn?
‘What happened out there, buddy?’ asked Lloyd, aware that he could no longer avoid the issue about which he’d come to see Ted. Surprised to find he didn’t even want to.
‘I took a fall.’
‘I know that.’
‘No big deal. I just wasn’t concentrating properly.’
Lloyd wondered if he could push on. Since Ted’s fall, he’d been going over and over the circumstances of the tumble, and he’d been left with this awful thought. A thought so unpleasant he didn’t know how to articulate it. He didn’t know i
f he even should.
‘Today, it was, you know, it was an accident, wasn’t it?’ Lloyd sat nervously peeling the label off his beer bottle. Clearly he was anxious and uncomfortable. Ted laughed dryly.
‘You think I was planning on hurling myself off the crevasse, don’t you?’
Lloyd blushed. Said aloud, the thought that had half formed in his mind and had haunted him all afternoon seemed ridiculous.
‘Buddy, you’ve been acting so weird. And when you did fall, that wailing –’ Lloyd left the sentence hanging.
‘I’m not that barmy,’ Ted reassured. Poor Lloyd felt silly, but he also felt relieved. ‘In my family, the women are the ones with the history of being total and utter loons,’ added Ted.
‘Jayne appears eminently sensible,’ insisted Lloyd, offended on her behalf by her brother’s comment.
Ted raised an eyebrow. ‘You only think that because you fancy her.’
‘I do not,’ insisted Lloyd.
‘Why? What’s wrong with you?’ asked Ted. Lloyd grinned and said nothing, admitting his mild infatuation through his silence. ‘Everyone fancies her,’ mused Ted, ‘and it’s not doing her any favours.’
Lloyd saw that he could now spend the evening chatting about Jayne, and Greta, and Sophie, too, if he wanted. What was it that Lloyd had longed for in the past year? What was he too proud to ask for and the others too shy to offer? He’d wanted someone to talk to, someone to give him some perspective and, if it wasn’t too much trouble, some advice, too. Maybe that was why Lloyd looked back so fondly on his university years. The place was awash with advice givers. Role models, mentors, counsellors and good, old-fashioned, chatty mates were around every corner. Here, at last, was his chance to get some advice, comfort and guidance. He could avoid the issue that had brought him to Ted’s room and indulge in a chat about the things and people that were important in his life.
