Any Way You Want Me

by Diamond, Lucy

  I looked over at Lizzie to see how she was enjoying Steve’s witterings. For once, she wasn’t nodding enthusiastically at key moments, laughing along obediently as he mistimed the punchline to another of his ‘gags’. She stared dully at her mushroom as she cut it up – sawed it, actually; had I overcooked hers? – and on a closer look that was just short of leaning across the table to peer at her, I noticed how red her eyes were. Had she been crying?

  I kicked her gently under the table and she jerked in her seat. I lowered my eyebrows in a ‘You all right?’ kind of frown. Wordlessly, she shook her head. A tiny movement, side to side, then down again to her mushroom with the same miserable expression. God, surely the mushroom wasn’t that bad? My cooking wasn’t exactly Michelin starred, but it had never caused anyone to look quite so pained before.

  ‘Right!’ I said, interrupting Steve mid-flow. Sod it. My sister was upset and the twat hadn’t even noticed. It was time to shut him right up, I decided. ‘Who’s ready for their beef ? Oh – Steve, you haven’t started on your mushroom yet!’

  ‘It’s delicious,’ said Lizzie, bravely swallowing a huge lump of it.

  Steve opened his mouth to carry on his droning, but Alex moved in quickly before he could speak.

  ‘Lizzie, Sadie was telling me all about your book group,’ he said randomly. ‘Sounds like it’s an interesting mix of people.’

  Steve closed his mouth with a snap and then looked down at his mushroom with barely concealed dismay. I turned my head away swiftly for fear of the fork-windpipe urge coming upon me too strongly.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Lizzie said. ‘Actually, Sadie, I forgot to tell you. I’ve got details of the book for next month. Boardroom Bitch, it’s called, by—’

  ‘Gwen?’ I sniggered.

  ‘Sounds more like Jackie Collins,’ Alex put in.

  Lizzie gave me a strange look and I wished I’d kept my mouth shut. ‘No, it’s this American feminist, I can’t think of her name offhand. Margaret knows her.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ I said. That figured.

  ‘I know who you mean. Sandra somebody. A copy came into the office the other week,’ Alex said. Mr Literary Know-All. At least I wouldn’t have to buy a copy of the book though, I thought. ‘It looked incredibly earnest and tedious,’ he went on. ‘Do let me borrow it when you’ve finished it, Sadie. It looked so my sort of read. I hope it’s got lots of bits slagging off men and saying how much better women are.’

  I pointed my knife at him, in as threatening a way as I could muster. ‘Shut it, Blake. You just stick to reading Calvin and Hobbes. Leave the serious stuff to us birds.’

  I turned to Lizzie, hoping for some support, at least a ‘Yeah, shut your face, Alex, you tosser’ or something similar, but she had that pained, strained look on her face again. Oh God, what was wrong with her?

  She stayed glued to her seat for the entire meal, not even helping me take the dishes out as usual. I knew it was because she didn’t want me bombarding her with what’s-up questions. And then afterwards, when we moved to the sofas, she sat and talked to Alex about books, while I got lumbered with Boring Steve, who was, by now, Boring and Very Drunk Steve.

  ‘So, Sadie, how’s your pension?’ he said, his eyes bulgy and moist-looking in their sockets.

  I had to try very hard not to laugh. Or cry. It seemed there was one predictable question for every era of your life, from ‘How’s school?’ to ‘How’s your love-life?’ to ‘How’s work?’ to the one I considered myself to still be on, ‘How are the kids?’ Trust Steve to make me feel about ninety.

  ‘Oh, brilliant,’ I said breezily. ‘Hey, did you see Corrie last night?’

  That shut him up pretty fast. I decided to wreak my revenge and bore him senseless with my very own monologue about the latest happenings in Weatherfield, while trying to make subtle eye contact with Lizzie for the ninety-fifth time. I didn’t get a thing back from her. She didn’t want to tell me, whatever it was.

  It was only as they were leaving and I was hugging her goodbye that I managed to whisper, ‘What’s happening?’

  She squeezed me hard, rested her cheek against mine, and let a sigh escape into my hair. ‘I’ll phone you,’ was all she said in reply.

  I watched her packing Steve into the taxi and then wave a pale hand as they drove off. I hoped it was something minor, like Felix failing his Bonjour Maman! entrance exam, or her gym being closed for a week, but deep down I knew it was something far more serious. What if . . .

  A crash in the kitchen stopped my line of thought as I spun round to see what Alex was breaking. ‘Uh-oh,’ I heard him mutter.

  ‘Don’t say that,’ I told him. ‘You sound like a Teletubby. Just leave all that anyway. Come on.’

  He smiled and looked almost pathetically grateful. ‘Cheers,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, you can do it all in the morning instead,’ I told him. ‘Let’s go to bed.’

  *

  The following Monday night, I saw Mark again. In a post-coital embrace, squashed along his sofa together, we started chatting, and I happened to mention the forthcoming Brighton trip for my birthday weekend.

  He stroked my hair and looked wistful.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘I would love to spend a night with you,’ he said. ‘Can you imagine? I’d love to wake up with you.’

  ‘Nice bit of morning glory,’ I joked, raising my eyebrows comically. ‘Followed by some room servicing.’

  He didn’t smile back. ‘I’m serious,’ he said. ‘How can we arrange it?’

  ‘Arrange what? A night away together?’ I asked. I frowned. ‘With great difficulty, that’s how – i.e., not at all.’

  ‘Well, an evening, then. A proper evening. That would be a start.’ His mouth was turned down petulantly. He looked like Molly did when I refused to produce the chocolate button packet.

  I sighed. ‘Mark . . .’ I started. I pulled away from him and sat up. ‘Mark, let’s just enjoy what we’re doing now, yeah?’

  ‘What, forty minutes of sex twice a week?’ A muscle in his cheek twitched. He leaned forward and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. ‘It’s not enough for me, Sadie. I want more. I have to have more.’

  I shook my head. ‘I . . . I can’t give you any more,’ I told him. ‘I know what you’re saying – and you’re right, it would be brilliant to have a night away somewhere together, but I can’t do that. You know I can’t. I can’t give you that.’

  There was a silence. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said in the end, feeling obliged to speak.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Sadie, you can’t keep people in pigeon-holes. You can’t slot them into convenient sections of your life,’ he said tightly. ‘I want to be with you. I think about you all the time. I—’

  I shook my head again, not wanting to hear it. ‘Stop,’ I said. ‘Don’t. Don’t say it. No strings, remember.’

  ‘No strings, no feelings, just sex, yeah, I remember,’ he said. His voice was bitter. ‘But I want more, Sadie.’

  ‘Well, I can’t give you more,’ I told him again. ‘Mark, I mean it. I can’t give you more.’

  His hand closed on my breast. For a second I was scared that he was going to hurt me, but then his features softened. ‘Yeah, OK,’ he said. ‘I know. You’ve just put a spell on me, that’s all.’

  ‘I put a spell on you . . .’ I sang, without thinking.

  He finished off the line for me. ‘Because I’m yours.’ His gaze was intense, and I had to look away.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘You’re not. You’re Julia’s.’

  ‘I’m not Julia’s,’ he said flatly. ‘Haven’t been for a long time. Being with you has made me see that. She’s a habit. You’re the real thing.’

  It was all getting too full-on again. I desperately wanted to lighten the tone. ‘You’re just too, too kind,’ I said breezily, tweaking his nose. ‘Now, it’s time for me to go. I’ll see you on Wednesday.’

  The next morning, I phoned Lizzie. ‘Are you doing anything? Can I come over?’
I asked.

  She started protesting immediately. ‘Oh God, the house is a complete state, I’m not sure I’m up to a visit . . .’

  ‘Liz, it’s me. I don’t care what your house looks like,’ I said. ‘I want to see you.’ There was a pause, so I added, ‘I know something’s wrong.’

  She sniffed down the phone. ‘Something is wrong,’ she admitted. ‘I won’t be able to talk about it in front of Felix, though.’

  I glanced outside. It wasn’t exactly a joys-of-spring sunshiny day but it wasn’t raining at least. ‘We’ll pack the kids off into the garden. Keep an eye on them and talk discreetly, out of earshot.’ There was another pause. ‘I’ll take that as a yes, then. And I’ll bring some biscuits with me.’

  ‘Great,’ she said, and I blinked in surprise. Bloody hell, it had to be something major if she was willing to accept a packet of previously embargoed HobNobs across the threshold.

  ‘I mean, we can be subtle about eating them, I won’t let Molly or Felix see we’ve got them . . .’ I burbled anxiously, then stopped myself. This was ridiculous! I thought. It was only a few biscuits, not Class A drugs that had been prohibited until this particular morning.

  ‘Honestly, Sade, it doesn’t matter. I’ve probably been a bit uptight about the biscuits thing anyway,’ Lizzie said.

  I stared at the wall in shock, vacantly taking in the fact that it needed painting again. I’ve probably been a bit uptight about the biscuits thing. God. Admission of the year. ‘Right. OK. Shall I just come over?’ I asked.

  ‘Come over whenever,’ she said. ‘And don’t forget the contraband, whatever you do.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I reassured her. ‘They’re top of my list.’

  Once we’d got to Lizzie’s house, and the kids had been packed outside regardless of their complaints (‘Don’t want to play in garden, Mummy.’ ‘Oh dear, that’s a shame. Bye!’), we relocated to the kitchen for caffeine and HobNob partaking. Lizzie took a deep breath.

  ‘Tell me,’ I urged.

  ‘Sadie,’ she began, then it all came out in a rush. ‘Did Steve seem normal to you last night?’

  ‘Er . . .’ I was flummoxed. Normal? He’d never seemed normal to me, no. Not ever. But normal in a Steve kind of way . . . yes. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Did you think he seemed at all . . . different?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ I replied truthfully. ‘He seemed just the same as he always is.’

  She sighed. ‘I think he’s having an affair,’ she said flatly.

  I spluttered, and a crumb lodged itself in my throat. ‘What?’ I yelped. Steve having an affair I had not anticipated. Money problems, house problems, wallpaper problems, yes, but Steve? An affair? Was there another person in the world who could find Steve attractive?

  ‘God,’ I said, once I’d finished coughing. ‘What on earth makes you think that?’

  ‘He’s been going out loads after work,’ she said. She wasn’t quite wringing her hands, but she might as well have been. ‘There’s this woman who started at the firm a couple of months ago, Jessica. She’s really attractive and bubbly and—’

  ‘But what makes you think she’s after Steve?’ I asked, trying to keep the note of incredulity out of my voice. Was it her guide dog, or the white stick? Or did she get turned on by Bill Gates jokes too?

  Lizzie shrugged miserably and ate another biscuit. Her fourth. ‘Just a sixth sense. He mentions her all the time. Jessica says this, Jessica did that today, it’s Jessie’s birthday do tonight . . .’

  ‘And have you said anything about all this Jessica stuff ?’ I asked.

  She sighed. ‘Well, I wouldn’t have taken that much notice if it hadn’t been for the phone calls.’

  ‘Phone calls? From Jessica?’

  Lizzie looked out of the window, her eyes resting on the kids. Molly was chasing Felix around the garden, and they were both laughing their heads off. ‘I don’t know who they’re from,’ she said sadly. ‘Every time I answer, the connection is cut. I dial 1471 and it says the caller has withheld the number. I mentioned it to Steve and he went all awkward about it. He blushed. He actually blushed!’

  ‘Hmmm,’ I said. Blushing was not good. I couldn’t even imagine a blush on Steve’s pasty, jowly face; he looked like he didn’t even have the circulation to be able to turn any colour other than white.

  Lizzie put her head in her hands. ‘I don’t know, Sade,’ she said. ‘Maybe I’m just inventing it all. Making something out of nothing. Maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to fall out with Steve.’

  I tried to stop my eyes from boggling at her words. I moved chairs so that I was next to her at the table, and patted her back. ‘Liz . . . you seem so unhappy. Is it just this Steve thing, or is something else bothering you?’

  She shook her head dumbly and, to my horror, two tears fell from her eyes and plopped onto the table.

  ‘Oh God, what is it?’ I asked in alarm. Lizzie didn’t go in for crying. She was way too private a person. Her emotions were kept as tightly under control as her paint schemes. Cat and I were the ones who were always bawling about something one minute, then laughing uproariously the next. Lizzie was the ship who sailed on an even keel, stately and upright, always in a straight line.

  ‘It’s . . .’ She couldn’t speak for sobs. ‘It’s everything. We’ve been trying for another baby. I feel obliged to. Everyone knows that lots of only children end up in therapy. Everyone I know keeps asking me when we’re having another one. And so we’ve . . .’She hiccuped and shook. ‘We’ve been trying, but I’ve started to think . . . My heart’s not in it. I don’t want another baby. I can’t bear the thought of going through it all again – being so big and unwieldy and hot, and then all that breastfeeding and puke and shit and mess everywhere. I just hated all that. I hated it.’

  The savageness of her tone was enough to make me flinch. I’d still been in my clubbing-partying-working whirl when she’d had Felix, and I hadn’t really taken on board the momentous shift in her life. I hadn’t looked past the ‘Ooh, cute baby clothes’ thing to see what was in Lizzie’s eyes. Now that I was also on Planet Motherhood, I could kind of see how it must have been for her. The ultimate control freak having to relinquish said control to an eight-pound screamer. Gutted.

  ‘Don’t do it, then,’ I said bluntly. ‘Jesus, Liz, don’t do it. You don’t have to. Felix won’t end up in therapy, that’s rubbish. Felix is absolutely fine.’ I hugged her and put the biscuit packet squarely in front of her. ‘And if you and Steve have hit a rocky patch, that’s even more of a reason for sticking at one child for now.’

  She sighed and plunged her hand in for another HobNob. ‘You know, I thought I’d be good at being a mum,’ she said. Both our heads flicked to the kitchen window to check on the kids again. Amazingly, neither of them had hurt the other one yet. ‘I’m organized and tidy and practical . . .’

  ‘You are,’ I agreed. ‘Far more organized and tidy and practical than I’ll ever be. And you are good at being a mum anyway. You’re really patient with Felix and do loads of interesting things with him.’

  She sniffed. She’d stopped crying now at least. ‘D’you know,’ she said quietly, ‘I wish I could be more like you. So competent and fun and—’

  Hold on a minute. ‘Competent? Me? Ha!’ I laughed loud enough to wake Nathan, who had been dozing in his car seat under the table. ‘Liz, I wish I could be more like you, with your house always so clean, and—’

  She shook her head. ‘A clean house isn’t everything,’ she said. The tears shone in her eyes under the bright kitchen spotlights. ‘I’d swap it like a shot for a happy marriage.’

  The smile fell abruptly off my face. Ahh yes. I’d forgotten how all of this had started. ‘So what are you going to do about Steve?’ I asked.

  She fiddled with her wedding ring. ‘I suppose I’ll have to ask him about it.’

  I stood up, having just seen my daughter push poor old Felix off the plastic truck he’d been riding on. ‘Molly! I’m wat
ching you!’ I bellowed through the window, making Nathan jump and then wail, holding his arms up to be released from his car seat imprisonment. I turned back to my sister, the sister I’d always envied for her perfect life.

  ‘I suppose you will,’ I said gently.

  On Wednesday, I buzzed Mark’s office door as usual and waited for the lock to click open. My hand was on the door, ready to push it and walk through as soon as the click came. But there was no click. There was no reply.

  I took a step back and looked up at the windows. Total darkness. I pushed against the door impatiently, buzzed again.

  The wind blew a couple of fag ends around my ankles and I wedged my hands into my pockets, leaned in to the building again for shelter. Come on, Mark. What was he doing? I buzzed a third time, but a sick feeling was spreading through me. He wasn’t there. He had gone.

  ‘MARK!’ I yelled through cupped hands, leaning my head back. A pigeon flapped over my head and made me jump.

  I shivered. It was freezing. The weatherman had predicted a ground frost that would no doubt stunt or kill off everything in the garden. And Mark wasn’t there. He wasn’t there. I felt like crying.

  After a few minutes’ not wanting to believe it was true, I finally admitted defeat. I bowed my head and sunk my chin into my zipped-up jacket. Then I started trudging back the way I’d come. What was I going to do now? I couldn’t face actually going running, I was too stunned with the shock of Mark’s absence. Oh God, I must have upset him. He must have felt pushed away by me. What if I never saw him again?

  Suddenly, all my plans for nipping our fling in the bud seemed ridiculous. I couldn’t bear not seeing him again. How could I even have thought of telling him I wasn’t going to see him again? It was unthinkable. It was unbearable.

  I walked along the road, mind spinning as I tried to take in the enormity of the situation. Did this mean it was over? Didn’t he want to see me any more?

  The thoughts swam around my brain. No more wild passion with Mark. No more sex kitten Sadie antics. No more . . .