I leaned over and pulled the plug out.
‘No!’ screamed Molly, trying to wrest it out of my hands again. ‘No, Mummy!’
‘Yes, Molly,’ I said wearily, hauling her out of the water. God, that wine was going to taste good. I could practically smell it already. Fruity . . . velvety . . . rich . . .
‘NO! Bad Mummy!’ she wailed, lunging at me with two wet fists. Water ran down my neck and splashed all over Nathan, who promptly started crying again.
‘Hey!’ I said sharply. ‘That’s enough!’
Where was Alex? Where was my damn wine?
‘Alex! Can you give me a hand?’ I yelled through the door, as I threw a towel around Molly. She was clinging to the side of the bath, trying to swing her leg up and over the top of it like a monkey. ‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ I said, drying her as fast as possible, prising her fingers off the bath as best I could.
Now they were both crying. Oh God! This had all gone totally pear-shaped now. I leaned against the radiator, feeling like crying myself. ‘Let’s just get you dressed . . .’ I muttered through gritted teeth, jamming her vest over her head, even though she was shaking her head so wildly her wet hair was slapping my hands. ‘Oh, come on, Molls . . . Don’t be difficult . . .’ I said pathetically. ‘All right, Nath, hang on just a second . . .’
Jesus! Who was it who’d decided that bathtime was a relaxing end to the day? Somebody with a full-time nanny and a vivid imagination, that was who. I’m sure bathtime was very relaxing, if you didn’t have to be present every bloody evening.
At last we were tumbling out of the bathroom door together, two of us still blubbing. At last we were down the stairs and in front of CBeebies in time for Fimbles. And there was Alex, sitting on the sofa, reading the newspaper – with a single glass of wine by his side!
‘All right?’ I asked crossly. My raised eyebrows clearly added the subtext, ‘Are you deaf? Did you not hear all that?’, but he chose to ignore the latter questions.
‘Knackered,’ he replied, not making eye contact.
I couldn’t help feeling a little pleased when Molly scrambled onto his lap accidentally kneeing him in the groin. ‘Me too,’ I said pointedly, then dumped Nathan on him, crumpling the very bit of newspaper he’d been reading. ‘Right – if you don’t mind, I think I’ll head out for another run before it gets too cold,’ I said. The words were out of my mouth before I’d even thought the idea through.
‘What, now – before they’re in bed?’ he asked, sounding appalled.
‘Yeah, now,’ I replied shortly, ‘before they’re in bed.’ I turned to leave the room, just about managing to hang on to my self-respect enough to stop myself flicking him the Vs. Ha! You do it for a change, Alex, and see how much you like it on your own, I thought. I am outta here.
I heard him make a noise of protest but I was already racing up the stairs to get changed. Tough shit, partner. I needed head space.
I threw on some tracksuit bottoms and my trainers before he could come and wheedle me out of it, then headed outside. As I shut the door behind me, I could hear Nathan yelling, and I sprinted off like a maniac, trying to throw the sound from my ears.
I was out. I had escaped. Sadie Morrison had left the building.
It had stopped raining, thank God. It had poured down all day. I’d spent the afternoon at my friend Rose’s, with Anna and all of our kids, and the three of us had polished off a whole Entemann’s carrot cake while the older children had played upstairs.
Rose had told us about her new job. ‘Three days a week, project management,’ she said happily. ‘Three days a week, boys in nursery. Fan-bloody-tastic.’
‘Project-managing what?’ I asked. No fretting for Rose over the whole childcare issue. She’d done two and a half years as a full-time mum and that, she reckoned, was her lot. Fair play to her. I wasn’t sure if I could have managed her demon twin boys single-handedly for that long.
‘All sorts of things. It’s a TV production company. I’m going to be overseeing their children’s strand.’ She was looking more contented than I’d seen her for years. ‘I know it sounds awful, but I can’t wait. I think it’s going to be like three days off, every week.’
‘It doesn’t sound awful at all,’ Anna said. ‘It sounds great. Which nursery have you put the boys into?’
‘Which TV company is it?’ I asked. Surely it would be too much of a coincidence. ‘Not . . .’ I coughed. ‘It’s not Firestarter, is it?’
‘Firestarter? No. They’re called Jewel Productions. They do that DIY programme with Alan Brisket. And Snowy the Snowman for kids.’ She stuck her tongue out. ‘Which is crap, I know, but don’t worry, I’ve got loads of better ideas.’ Then she looked at me. ‘Why, do you know someone at Firestarter?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Who was it I used to work with who went there? Bridget someone, I think . . .’
I could feel myself blushing. ‘No, I don’t know anyone there. I . . .’ I hesitated, swirled the last of my tea around in its cup. ‘Actually, I applied for a job at Firestarter the other week.’
They probably didn’t mean to, but both Rose and Anna swivelled their eyes down to Nathan, then looked up at me. Meaning, But your baby is so young! And you’re thinking of leaving him? Already?
‘It was kind of a . . . joke,’ I said, but it sounded so lame, I felt I had to explain myself. ‘Well, all right then, it was more to see if I still had it. Had what it takes to get a job, I mean. An interesting one, not just bag-packing in Tesco.’
They were still looking doubtful. ‘I didn’t know you’d worked in telly,’ Rose said.
‘Did you actually apply?’ Anna asked.
I licked my lips. I felt such a prat. ‘Yes, I did apply. And no, I haven’t worked in telly.’
Rose seemed reassured at that. ‘Oh, well, you won’t get the job anyway,’ she said heartlessly. ‘Unless you’ve got contacts, forget it.’
Anna was still wearing a confused expression. I could tell she didn’t get why I had wasted my time writing an application for a job I wasn’t going to take, even if it was offered to me, which it wouldn’t be.
Mind you, when it was put like that, I didn’t really get why I had done it either.
‘Oh, didn’t I say?’ I exclaimed. ‘I didn’t tell the truth on the application – I made everything up!’
I grinned to myself as I thudded through the street-lamp-lit gloom, trainers squeaking on the wet pavement. I was just so utterly tragic. Rose and Anna obviously thought so too, from their humouring expressions. And now, even more tragically, here I was, pounding the streets and wondering if I might see Mark again. What a saddo! Like that was going to happen! Just because he’d given me the eye once, I thought that . . .
I frowned. Oh, what did I think?
I slowed to a fast walk. I’d overdone it, started too quickly. My heart thudded painfully inside me, my cheeks were flame hot.
It was just . . . nice to be flirted with. If I’d read the signs right, anyway. It was refreshing – and bloody unusual, more to the point. And he was a good-looking man, too. Not necessarily any better looking than Alex, but . . . He was someone different. Someone who seemed interested in me, the real me, not the Channel 4 scriptwriting Sadie I’d invented and not the old thigh-booted party animal I once had been. He hadn’t seen the day-to-day me, the bum-wiping, sick-splattered, baggy-eyed, temper-snapping me like most people had. He hadn’t seen the bellowing, grunting me of childbirth like Alex had, which, although he denied it, I was sure had knocked hundreds of points off my sex-kitten rating. He was just a new friend. A man who hadn’t pissed me off with his crapness and selfishness and uselessness. A man who happened to have given me the eye. And it wasn’t like I was actually going to do anything!
Right. That was that, then. Harmless friendship. Sorted.
My breath was smoother now, less raggedy and urgent. Time to pick up the pace again. But then, just as I was easing back into my stride, I heard my name, carried on the wind, from across the road.
‘Sadie!’
Mark. Unbelievable.
My face split into a village-idiot-type beam. I couldn’t help it. I was delighted to see him again. My body tingled as I waved at him. The lights changed to green, engines revved, and then he was gone, hidden behind a blue van, an MPV, a grumbling bus . . .
I stood there motionless, waiting for the traffic to clear. When the line of cars had at last all gone on their way towards the A3 and the motorway and their own light-filled homes, there he was again, grinning back at me.
The green man was winking. Go, girl.
I was over the crossing in giant strides, full of energy once more.
‘Fancy seeing you here!’ I said, trying to sound casual. Really, though, my skin was prickling all over just at being near him again.
‘Come here often?’ he asked at the same time.
‘No, hardly ever,’ I laughed. ‘Such a beautiful part of the world, I can’t think why not.’
His eyes were fixed upon me as we stood there under a street lamp, traffic roaring and belching all around us. ‘Very beautiful,’ he said, still gazing at me, and I shivered. There was just something about him, I couldn’t put my finger on it. He was . . . bewitching. Magnetic. I felt as if all my senses were charged up, whenever I was near him.
We were standing inches apart, just smiling at each other. The done thing, obviously, would be for me to say how nice it was to see him again, and carry on with my run now. ‘Well . . .’ I began reluctantly. ‘Nice to . . .’
‘Coffee?’ he suggested, before I could get any further. ‘Same place as before?’ Then he leaned in conspiratorially. ‘Or maybe a beer?’
Beer. That raised the stakes somewhat, didn’t it?
An image flashed into my head of Alex, boozing it up after work. Whereas I hadn’t been to a pub for ages. At least a week. ‘OK,’ I said slowly. I couldn’t help myself. ‘Don’t mind if I do.’
We walked towards the Prince Albert together. My heart was thudding for different reasons now. Beer meant more than coffee, didn’t it? Going for a beer was way different to casually bumping into someone and happening to have an innocent coffee together. Dangerously different.
‘Glad you came along just then,’ he said. ‘I’d been stood there waiting for you for ages.’
‘Had you really?’ I glanced sideways at him in shock.
He turned to meet me in the eye, and laughed at the look on my face. ‘No, I was joking,’ he said. ‘Well, joking about waiting there for you anyway. I meant the bit about being glad you came along.’
‘Oh,’ I said, fiddling with the zip on my top. ‘Thank you. I’m . . . Well, I’m glad I saw you, too.’
We’d reached the Albert. It was a pub I’d met Alex in, many times before, back in the days before we were living together. It was a proper pub, still untouched by developers. Real fire, good choice of beers, sticky carpet, pork scratchings behind the bar.
‘What are you having?’
I checked my watch. Only six-thirty, but . . . ‘I’ll have a vodka and tonic, please,’ I said. Then at least my breath wouldn’t smell, I was thinking.
The thought gave me a jolt. God! I was acting as if I was doing something deceitful, when all that was happening was a quick drink with a new friend.
Was that all that was happening?
I could feel Mark’s presence beside me, heard him joking with the barmaid as he ordered the drinks.
I wouldn’t tell Alex, though. He’d just get the wrong idea. It would just make life easier all round if I didn’t tell Alex.
‘There’s a table over in the corner, look,’ Mark said a moment later, sliding my vodka along the bar to me. Tall glass, clinking ice, yellow-labelled bottle at the side.
I stared at the wet trail my glass had left along the bar. Deceit. It didn’t have to mean betrayal though, did it? It didn’t have to mean actually hurting anybody. One little drink. One little lie. That was it. It wasn’t as if Alex told me every single time he went to the pub anyway. It wasn’t as if . . .
I followed Mark through the clusters of tables. Friends were laughing together. Music blared from the jukebox. Pool balls cracked and rolled on the pool table. Someone was applauding the shot.
I sat down and peeled off my jacket, realizing too late what a clingy T-shirt I had on underneath it. As I turned sideways to hang it on the back of my chair, I was aware of my breasts moving beneath the material. I wondered if Mark was aware of them too.
My nipples were hardening, puckering. The T-shirt was thin. I knew he could see them.
‘Cheers,’ I said, lifting my glass. My bare arm brushed against my chest. Goose pimples prickled over my skin at the sensation.
‘Cheers,’ he replied.
Nine
‘So,’ he said, drumming his fingers on the table.
‘So,’ I said, at the same moment. Then we both laughed.
‘How have you been?’ I asked, after a moment’s pause. ‘Good week?’
‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘You?’
‘Yeah, fine,’ I said. I ducked my head suddenly, uncomfortable under his blue gaze. I fiddled with the beer mat. What was I doing here anyway? With this man?
‘Are you going to this thing at the Laurel Tree, then?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ I said. I took a sip of vodka, waited for the kick. ‘God, I hate going to Alex’s office dos. He seems to work with so many wankers.’
I broke off hurriedly. Shit. Good one, Sade – don’t forget Alex works with Julia. Slag off the man’s wife, why don’t you?
Luckily, Mark seemed to agree. ‘I know. Media darlings, Jesus.’ He swigged his pint, banged the glass back on the table. ‘Other people’s office parties are hideous, aren’t they? You don’t know anyone except the person you came with, you have to behave yourself all night for fear of embarrassing your partner . . .’
‘You don’t know the in-jokes, the leches, the bores,’ I added, with feeling. ‘You don’t know who you have to be polite to and who you can afford to piss off.’
‘And then you have to pretend you don’t know any of the gossip you’ve heard about them,’ Mark said. ‘That Matthew guy who was round for dinner at ours the other week – apparently, he’s this incredible philanderer who—’
‘Oh, I know,’ I laughed. ‘The secretary from Features, wasn’t it?’
It was his turn to laugh. ‘I don’t know about her. I was told about some new assistant in the post room.’
I rolled my eyes and took another mouthful of vodka. I could feel it hitting the spot already, burning its way stealthily through my body. I was starting to relax now. Enjoy myself. I would tell Alex I’d bumped into one of the mums, I decided quickly. No rush to get back.
‘He’s such a creep, that Matthew,’ I said. ‘Do you know, at your dinner party, he was trying to play footsie with me all night. With poor Chloe sat just the other side of him!’
Mark feigned outrage. ‘He wasn’t!’
I nodded my head, indignant. ‘He was!’
Mark held my eye for a second. Then he asked, ‘What, playing footsie like this?’
Under the table, his foot started sliding gently up my leg.
I jolted as I felt it, stared at him in shock. I tried not to let out the gasp that rushed up through me.
He was smiling at me, his mouth crooked, blue eyes steady.
Alex, I thought guiltily. Then I remembered him slumped on our sofa reading the paper and not helping me bath the children. And I thought about hearing that woman – Nat – laughing down the phone with him the other night.
Two can play that game, I thought to myself. And I took a deep breath, held Mark’s gaze. ‘It was a bit . . . higher actually,’ I said.
‘What, more like . . . up here?’
He moved closer towards me. Under the table, his knee pressed hard against my thigh, and I gulped. His eyes never left mine. Teasing, challenging. He was so close, I could see the lines on his skin. What looked like a scar on his cheek. I could smell him. That spicy sce
nt again.
A surge of lust powered right through me, obliterating Alex and everything else from my mind. I gripped the table. Took another breath. ‘Yeah,’ I said, trying to keep my voice casual. ‘Yeah, just there.’
‘Dirty old bastard,’ Mark said, looking amused. Then he slid his hand under the table to rest lightly on my knee.
‘Did he do this, as well?’ he asked. His mouth twitched. I wanted to touch it, suddenly. Press my finger between his lips. Just to see what it felt like. Just to see what he did.
I watched my knuckles turn white as they gripped the table tighter. My knee trembled where Mark’s hand lay on it. What was he going to do? Oh God, why did I have to be wearing these wretched tracksuit bottoms? Why couldn’t I be wearing something sexier, like . . . like a skirt and no knickers?
‘No,’ I said, after what seemed like hours. My mouth was dry. I raised my glass to it and gulped a mouthful, to hide my face as much as anything.
My fingers were shaking. The pit of my stomach felt hollow.
‘Better hope he’s sitting at another table at the Laurel Tree on Saturday, eh? ’Mark went on. His thumb was tracing slow, deliberate circles on my knee now, yet his face was impassive.
‘Let’s hope so,’ I said. My heart was banging around under my ribs. What was he doing? What was I doing, sitting here, letting him do it? Tell him to stop, tell him to stop, part of my brain was ordering my mouth. Tell him you’ve got to leave right now. Right now!
I didn’t say a thing. Couldn’t. I wanted him to go on touching me.
His fingers slid further up my leg. They were on my thigh. My skin felt clammy under the Adidas stripes. My knickers felt damp. My nipples were starting to ache from wanting him to touch them, run his fingers around them, take them into his mouth . . .
His watch bleeped under the table, a quiet, nothingy sound, but I almost jumped out of my skin. I was on the edge of my nerves, I realized, strung out as taut as piano wire.
‘I’m going to have to go,’ I said. My eyes locked with his. Talk me out of it, I was thinking. Don’t let me go.
Any Way You Want Me Page 11
