‘Andy was very sweet,’ Sophie said, ‘driving down to pick me up when I was sprung from rehab, when a certain other person seems to have forgotten my existence.’ Her eyes returned pointedly to Mark. ‘At least some people still love me.’
‘You know we all love you,’ Mark said blandly.
Ouch, Claire thought. That had to sting. It was such a brutally noncommittal reply to Sophie’s obvious fishing.
There was an awkward silence, broken by Olivia returning with the starters.
‘What’s it meant to be, Ol?’ Sophie asked, prodding the food suspiciously with her fork.
‘It’s tilapia in a chilli sauce.’
‘Tilapia is a white fish, isn’t it?’ Sophie frowned. ‘Why is this black?’
‘It has a dusting of cocoa powder,’ Olivia told her cheerfully, as she finished handing plates around.
Everyone looked at her in alarm and began poking tentatively at their food.
‘Well, bon appétit, everyone!’ Olivia said, sitting down and attacking her starter enthusiastically.
Claire cut off a tiny piece of fish and put it gingerly into her mouth. It was absolutely disgusting, but she forced herself to swallow it.
Sophie had no such compunction. ‘Ugh! It’s chocolate fish.’ She grimaced, pushing her plate away after one bite. ‘That’s vile, Ol!’
‘Claire seems to like it, don’t you, Claire?’ Olivia said.
‘It’s, um … interesting.’ Claire had managed to dig out some fish from beneath the cocoa topping and was valiantly chewing it. The rest she was trying to hack up and move around so that it would look like she’d eaten more.
‘No, she doesn’t,’ Sophie said flatly. ‘She’s just being polite.’
‘You don’t have to eat any more of it,’ Mark said to Claire. ‘It’s terrible.’
Thankfully, the next course of pork in vanilla sauce was marginally more successful.
‘Pork and custard!’ Sophie pronounced, and that was exactly what it tasted like. But at least the sauce could be avoided, and Olivia hadn’t added any ‘gourmet’ touches to the vegetables.
‘So, what’s the news?’ Sophie asked, as they ate. ‘What did I miss while I was in rehab?’
‘Mark’s publishing that blog, ‘Scenes of a Sexual Nature’,’ Emma told her.
‘Oh, my God, really?’ Sophie chuckled. ‘Have you met her, then? Your precious NiceGirl?’
‘Yes, I have.’
‘What’s she like?’
‘He’s not telling us anything about her,’ Olivia said.
‘She wants to remain anonymous.’
‘I love that blog,’ Sophie said. ‘Do you know it, Claire?’
‘Yes, I read it all the time.’
‘Mark’s a bit obsessed with her, aren’t you, Mark? He flirts his arse off with her online. You want to watch him with that one, Claire.’
‘Claire has nothing to fear from her,’ Mark said, smiling secretively at Claire.
‘And you really won’t tell us anything about her?’
‘Nope.’
‘You’re no fun. I bet she’s a hag. That’s why you won’t tell us.’
‘I’ll tell you this much – she is definitely not a hag.’
Claire felt unnerved. She wasn’t sure what was going on. Sophie certainly wasn’t behaving like a woman who’d just caught her boyfriend cheating on her. And Mark wasn’t acting guilty. Maybe what Sophie had said was just banter – a bit of harmless teasing between friends. But if that was so, why all the strange looks when she’d turned up?
‘Is anyone up for a picnic on the Heath tomorrow?’ Olivia asked later. She had produced cheese and crackers to end the meal, and everyone had fallen on them hungrily, making up for dinner. ‘It’s meant to be another lovely day.’
‘What do you think?’ Mark asked Claire.
‘It’s up to you …’
‘We’ll give you a ring in the morning and let you know,’ Mark said to Olivia.
‘And Andy’s having a barbecue tomorrow night,’ Sophie said.
‘Yes, you’re all invited,’ Andy said.
‘Claire’s going home tomorrow, so we won’t be around for that,’ Mark said.
‘Oh, that’s a shame. What time is your flight?’ Olivia asked Claire, as she started clearing the table.
‘Eight twenty.’
‘Well, you can still come, Mark,’ Sophie said.
‘I’m taking her to the airport.’
‘Oh, bum!’ Sophie pouted prettily.
‘If you want to go, I can easily make my own way to the airport,’ Claire said quietly to Mark.
‘No, I want to take you.’
‘Course he does,’ Sophie said gaily, leaping up to help Olivia. ‘Mark is the model boyfriend at all times. I can vouch for that. If you ever need a reference, Mark, I’ll be happy to provide a glowing one.’
‘Thanks a lot, Sophie,’ Mark said drily, as Sophie followed Olivia from the room.
Soon after that, the party started breaking up.
‘Well, I guess we should be off,’ Mark said to Claire. ‘I’ll just find Olivia to tell her and then I’ll call a taxi.’
‘Okay. I’m going to the loo.’
When Claire got to the top of the stairs, she heard muffled voices coming from a door opposite. She recognised Sophie’s and it sounded like she was crying.
‘I mean, I’ve gone to all this bloody trouble to clean up my act and sort myself out, and he doesn’t even care. He’s fucking moved on!’
‘But you didn’t just do it for him, did you?’ Olivia said softly.
‘Of course I did it for him!’ Sophie said, on a sob. ‘He’s all there is. Oh, God, Ol, what am I going to do? If I can’t get him back …’ She sniffed.
Claire froze. She knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but she needed to know what was going on between Sophie and Mark.
‘You needed to sort yourself out anyway,’ Olivia said sensibly. ‘For your own sake.’
‘I know. But what’s the point? If I can’t have him, I’d rather be back on drugs.’
‘You’re such a drama queen,’ Olivia mocked, earning a half-laugh from Sophie. ‘I wish you’d at least given me some warning you were going to turn up tonight.’
‘I was afraid you’d tell me not to come.’
‘I might have done,’ Olivia said.
‘Honestly, Ol, I didn’t care about doing it for myself. The whole time I was in rehab, I just thought about him – how pleased he’d be. I wanted him to be proud of me.’
‘He is proud of you, babe. We all are. But you may not get him back. You have to accept that.’
‘I can’t!’ Sophie wailed.
‘Sorry, Soph, but Claire seems really nice. She could be good for him.’
‘Not like me, you mean. God, I’ve never wanted to get wasted so much!’
‘I didn’t mean that, but you hurt Mark a lot.’
‘I know, I know,’ Sophie sobbed. ‘I’ve been a total flake and a fuck-up and I messed him around too many times. I’ve let everyone down so often. But if he’d just give me one more chance …’
Claire turned and raced downstairs, as if she was being chased. Mark was waiting for her in the hall.
‘Okay?’ he asked, looking at her with concern.
‘Fine,’ she said faintly.
‘The taxi’s outside.’
She felt too shaken to say anything in the cab on the way home. When Mark glanced over at her and asked if she was all right a couple of times, she just smiled and said she was fine, but the conversation she had overheard had really rattled her. Mark obviously knew that something was up – and he probably had a good idea about what it was. But it would have to wait until they got home. She needed time to gather her thoughts and calm down.
‘Well, that was an interesting evening,’ Mark said wryly, when they got back to his flat. ‘Sorry about the food.’
‘It’s not your fault. It was … different.’
‘So, would you like a drink? Or
do you just want to go to bed?’
At the mention of bed, Claire knew she had to say something. She suddenly felt like an impostor. Everything had changed, and she couldn’t go to bed with Mark now, knowing she might be sleeping with someone else’s boyfriend.
‘I’d like a drink,’ she said, even though she’d already had more than enough. ‘Some wine would be nice.’
‘Coming right up,’ Mark said, glancing at her warily. It was like there was a bomb in the room, and they had to be careful not to trigger it.
When they were settled on the sofa with their drinks, she took a deep breath and began, ‘So – you and Sophie …’
Mark let out a long sigh of resignation or relief – perhaps both. ‘What she said about me moving on while she was in rehab – it’s not true,’ he said. ‘We’d broken up long before then.’
‘So why did she say that?’
He shrugged. ‘Sophie likes to make mischief. And she has a rather creative relationship with the truth. Honestly, Claire, you could ask anyone around that table tonight. They all know it wasn’t true.’ His eyes radiated sincerity.
Claire just nodded.
‘She doesn’t really mean any harm,’ he said.
Claire wasn’t so sure about that. She felt Sophie had been deliberately trying to unnerve her. And it had worked.
‘Do you believe me?’ Mark asked.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was a bit of a shock, though, hearing that out of the blue.’
‘It’s all in the past.’
‘But she’s still in your life.’
‘She’s a friend. You’re still friends with the Artist.’
‘I suppose so,’ she conceded.
‘More than friends,’ he mumbled.
She wished she could tell him that he had no reason to be jealous, that she wasn’t friends with any exes because she didn’t have any exes, because she’d never had a proper relationship with anyone ever, least of all Luca, and that she was the only person in this room who had any possible cause to be jealous. But she couldn’t say any of it.
‘I’ve known Sophie for a really long time. I can’t just cut her out of my life.’
‘She doesn’t seem your type,’ Claire mused.
‘She’s not. That’s why I’m not with her any more,’ Mark said. ‘We’re not good for each other. It just took a while to figure that out.’
‘I don’t think Sophie’s there yet.’ Claire thought of what she had overheard. Sophie had sounded devastated.
‘Maybe not,’ Mark conceded. ‘But there’s nothing I can do about that. Other than not encourage her, which I don’t.’
That was true. She had almost felt bad for Sophie, he had been so cold and aloof.
‘I really like you, Claire,’ he said pleadingly, taking her hand, his thumb stroking over her fingers.
‘I really like you too.’ And when he leaned in for a kiss, she met him halfway. But she still couldn’t shake the feeling that she was trespassing.
‘Have I blown this?’ he asked, pulling back, perhaps sensing her hesitance.
‘It’s not your fault.’
He sighed wearily. ‘Bloody Sophie! I should be used to her sabotaging my life by now.’
‘Sorry. I do really like you, Mark. I just can’t … not tonight.’
‘I know,’ he said, standing and pulling her to her feet.
‘I’m really sorry.’
‘Don’t be. There’s no rush. We’ve got plenty of time.’
But they didn’t have plenty of time, Claire thought, as she got into bed alone.
She was going home tomorrow, then Mark would be in New York and it would be weeks before she could see him again. Bloody Sophie indeed! Mark wasn’t the only one whose life she was sabotaging. Claire tried to ignore the niggling voice in her head that said Sophie was just a convenient excuse because she didn’t want to admit that her heart simply wasn’t in this.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Luca was glad of the distraction when Ali showed up at his flat on Sunday afternoon. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He’d thought he’d be glad to have all his time to himself again – he’d been neglecting his painting lately – but he missed Claire. He wasn’t used to having sex with someone he had any kind of relationship with. It was a novel experience for him and, to his surprise, he liked it. He had thought it would be boring having sex with the same person over and over again, but it added a whole other dimension that made the sex more interesting and nuanced and … better. And it was relaxing not having to worry about Claire getting clingy and making demands on him.
‘Where’s Claire?’ Ali asked, wandering from room to room.
‘She doesn’t live here, you know.’
‘Doesn’t she?’
‘No. So, what’s up?’ he asked, as he cleaned his hands on a rag.
‘Nothing much,’ she said, prowling around restlessly, like a caged tiger. ‘I just haven’t seen you in a while. I thought I’d take you out to dinner.’
‘Dinner?’
‘Yes.’ She turned to him. ‘You remember dinner? It’s the meal that comes after breakfast and lunch.’
‘Oh, that dinner.’ He could tell she was in one of those moods where she wanted to make things up to him. He sighed. She would never be done trying to make things up to him.
‘Yes, that dinner. My treat.’
‘You shouldn’t spend your money on me. We can have dinner here.’
‘Really?’ she asked, tilting her head to the side and looking at him sceptically. She skipped over to the kitchen area, opened the fridge and peered in. ‘What would we have?’
‘I’m pretty sure there’s some cheese that’s still broadly feasible.’
‘You mean this?’ she asked, her lip curled as she held up something green and hairy that might once have been cheese. He couldn’t really tell from where he was standing. He felt bad because Claire had left it there and he’d let it rot. He didn’t like her wasting her money on him.
‘Okay, not cheese, then,’ he conceded.
‘What do you normally have for dinner? What would you have if I wasn’t here?’
He really had no idea. When he was working flat out, like he was now, he often forgot to eat until he realised he was almost faint with hunger. Then he’d just grab whatever was closest to hand.
‘You don’t have anything, do you?’ she asked crossly.
‘I do sometimes,’ he said defensively. ‘If I think of it.’
Ali rolled her eyes. ‘And what do you have then?’
‘Toast.’ He grinned.
Ali tutted. ‘You don’t eat enough. Look at you – you’re skin and bone. Come on, I’m taking you out for dinner, and that’s that.’
‘I don’t know …’ He hesitated. ‘I have a lot of work to do.’
‘Luca,’ she said sympathetically, ‘you need a break.’
She was probably right. He was getting paint-blindness, and he felt dizzy and disoriented from too little sleep. Apart from the few hours he’d spent at Claire’s house on Friday night, he hadn’t been outside the flat in days – that couldn’t be healthy. And, now that he thought about it, he was really hungry.
‘Okay, you’re on. I’ll just go and clean up a bit,’ he said, waving his paint-stained hands.
‘Let’s see what you’re working on,’ she said, darting over to the canvas propped up on an easel by the window. ‘Luca, you shameless hussy! You’re doing a rude painting of your girlfriend!’
‘She’s not my girlfriend. And it’s not rude.’ He frowned. Claire was obviously naked in the painting, but her shoulders were hunched, her arms held straight in front of her covering her breasts, and her head hung shyly, her dark curtain of hair completely shielding her body from the viewer’s gaze. He had wanted to capture the private nature of her sexuality – the ‘for your eyes only’ aspect of it that he found so tantalising. Except it wasn’t for his eyes only any more …
‘Does Claire know you’re putting nudie pictures of her on di
splay?’
‘I’m not. This isn’t going in my show.’ It begged the question why he was working on it now when he should be concentrating on pieces for his exhibition.
‘So, how is Claire?’ Ali asked, as he began putting away brushes and paint. He could hear the forced casualness in her tone.
‘She’s fine – I think.’
‘Is she around? We could ask her to join us for dinner!’ Ali said, as if the idea had just occurred to her. But he knew her too well. He could tell this was what she had been thinking of all along. ‘Why don’t you give her a call, see if she’s free?’
‘Can’t – she’s in London for the weekend.’
‘Oh, pity. Well, never mind,’ she said brightly. ‘And put on something respectable,’ she called after him, as he went to get cleaned up.
Luca started scrubbing his face and hands to remove the worst of the paint, then changed his mind. ‘I’m just going to have a quick shower,’ he called to Ali, as he stripped off. It would wake him up and make him feel more human.
‘Okay. I’ll be out here nosing through your stuff.’
When he had dried himself, he pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of black jeans that were a bit scruffy, but clean. ‘I hope we’re not going anywhere too poncy,’ he said, as he rejoined Ali in the main room.
‘No, definitely not. You need feeding up, and you don’t get big enough portions in poncy restaurants. You need steak and lots of vegetables. I’m taking you to Roly’s.’
‘Do I look respectable enough for that?’ he asked, spreading his arms.
Ali surveyed him. ‘You look very rock and roll. I don’t know how you manage it, but somehow you manage to make your scruff look like a deliberate fashion choice.’
‘How do you know it’s not deliberate?’
‘I’ve seen behind the curtain. Come on. Let’s get some potatoes into you quick.’
In the restaurant, Ali told Luca what to order, and he let her boss him around, knowing it would make her happy. When the waiter came, he followed instructions and asked for vegetable soup, followed by steak with mashed potatoes. Ali then proceeded to order every vegetable side dish on the menu.
‘We don’t want you getting scurvy,’ she said, smiling at him over her menu as he looked at her in alarm. ‘And anything we don’t finish you can bring home in a doggy bag.’
Some Girls Do Page 34
