Rubber Gloves or Jimmy Choos?

by Faith Bleasdale

‘Why, Ru?’

  ‘Please, just do this for me, please.’ I was also good at begging.

  ‘OK,’ she said, and off she went.

  I snuck into Thomas’s room and easily located the letters. There were about four. Of course I didn’t think about invasion of privacy, I just started reading them. I knew I was wrong, but somehow it didn’t matter. The thing I had to remember about friends was that they don’t keep things from you without a reason. The reason Thomas didn’t want me to read Ben’s letters was because all Ben talked about was all the ‘birds’ he had pulled, how gorgeous they were and, God, there were loads. Travelling for Ben was not about seeing the world, it was about seeing how many clitorises he could discover. He wasn’t doing badly.

  I was mortified. My Ben. I couldn’t stand the thought of him with one other woman, let alone half of the world. At the point where I started wailing, Thomas and Sophie had obviously run out of the Chelsea conversation and came in to find me on Thomas’s bed. I was bawling my eyes out. Thomas didn’t shout at me, he just tutted and hugged me and said that Ben had probably made up half the things to impress him. Sophie hugged me and started crying too, because she’s like that, and Thomas hugged us both, called us silly and generally tried to calm us down.

  I stopped crying. ‘He’s moved on, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ Thomas said.

  ‘He moved on even before we split up, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Our relationship meant nothing to him, nothing,’ I spat.

  ‘It did, Ruthie, it did.’ Sophie had glistening tears in her big eyes.

  ‘Ru, he loved you in his own way, he really did, but he was young and he couldn’t handle it. He didn’t know how. None of us do, really.’

  ‘I do, I bloody do. I loved him so much. I could handle it.’

  ‘I know, babe, I know, but Ben, well, he couldn’t and now he’s gone and, yes, he’s moved on, and I didn’t want you to read those letters. I couldn’t bear the thought of you being hurt any more, but now you have and maybe you can move on too.’

  I felt like I was five years old again, being comforted by these kind people. And they were right, I could move on – I had to. I had to try, at least.

  ‘You’re right. I’ll try. I need to go now.’

  Sophie took me home and we didn’t speak. I knew what Ben was doing now and I knew he was happy, and I knew he didn’t think about me and I vowed that I would make sure now that I got over him. This was the beginning of the end of Ben.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Trojan Prince, Paris, was chosen to judge a beauty contest between three goddesses. It was to be held to solve an argument that had broken out between Hera, queen of the gods, Aphrodite, goddess of love, and Athene, goddess of justice, about which of them was the loveliest.

  Paris had a reputation as a womaniser, so it was thought he would make a good judge. The goddesses paraded in front of him in their swimwear and evening wear, but he was reluctant to choose: they all had their merits. To get the matter settled, each offered him a bribe. Hera offered him rulership of the world, Athene offered to make him the mightiest and most just of warriors, Aphrodite promised him the most beautiful woman in the world as his bride.

  Tough choice? Not for Paris the womaniser. He chose Aphrodite without a moment’s hesitation. His reward was Helen, Queen of Sparta, an already married woman. The result was the Trojan war, which was started by Helen’s spurned husband and ended in the destruction of Troy. The moral of the story is, men shouldn’t be ruled by what they keep in their trousers.

  ***

  Monday again. I couldn’t believe the cruelty of Sundays: they last such a short time and propel us to Monday without a second thought. I was a classic sufferer of Monday-morning blues. Katie had a great way of beating Monday blues; she had them on Tuesday instead. Monday was always a good-mood day for her. But although I hated Mondays I didn’t hate them as much in this job as I had in the others. I can remember towards the end of my time at the magazine pulling the duvet over my head and sobbing. This was fine compared with that.

  When I got in Katie was already there. A first. She announced that Charles and Tom had decided to go to Portugal for a week so effectively we had a week off. Although I wasn’t sure it would make much of a difference, it was a nice thought. Jenny, who by now I couldn’t stand, kept coming up to our desks asking if we had enough work to do. ‘Of course. Are you trying to suggest that the Fulhursts would swan off without priming us first?’ Katie asked.

  Jenny went red and went off as usual to shout at the other secretaries.

  ‘Do you think she’s a huge pain because she likes to boss people around, or is she threatened by us, or is she a job’s worth?’ I asked.

  ‘All three. She likes to make her authority known with all the secretaries and she hates us because we don’t take any notice of her and she thinks she’s important, which of course she isn’t, she’s just a pain in the arse,’ Katie replied.

  ‘Let’s play the worst-boss game,’ I suggested.

  ‘What’s the worst-boss game?’

  ‘Oh, we just tell each other worst-boss experiences. It’s simple, really.’

  ‘OK. I used to have a boss called Trevor, Trev for short. Anyway he was young, fat and thought he was God’s gift. He used to pick his nose and call me darling. I was working as a receptionist at the time and he was so ugly. Actually, he might just have been the ugliest boss – no, he was the worst boss too. He asked me to dress more sexily and wear more make-up as we had clients coming in a lot. I told him I wasn’t a slut, but he said that as long as I worked for him I was for sale. That did it. I might not have many morals, but being treated like a whore? No way. When I left I told him he was the crappiest pimp in the world – he’d never made me sleep with any men and he’d never hit me. Although he almost did when I said that to him.’

  We laughed.

  ‘My worst boss was a woman called Annalise. She had slept her way into her job and she couldn’t do it, I was her assistant but she made me do all her work and then took all the credit. She spent all day on the phone to her friends.’

  ‘What a bitch.’

  ‘Well, yes, but the worst thing was she complained about the standard of my work, said I was making mistakes so she was getting flak. I reported her to the director, who had obviously slept with her because I got sacked instead of her. I didn’t mind that too much.’

  ‘Tom and Charles are great bosses.’ They really were, although a little unusual.

  Katie, although friendly and great, had been proving a little tougher than I first thought. I still knew hardly anything about her and, apart from one night out, she hadn’t been forthcoming with social invitations. I knew she went out all the time and I wanted to go too. This was becoming serious.

  ‘Katie, what are you doing this weekend?’

  ‘I think I’m going to some party.’

  ‘Oh. Listen, you can say no if you want but, well, can I come?’ God, Ruth, subtle as ever. I could write a book on how to lose a friend before you’ve even made one.

  Katie looked at me. It was surprise, not anger I saw in her face. ‘If you want. Listen, Ruth, I go out all the time. If you ever want to come, just say. To be honest, I thought you’d do your own things.’ She shrugged.

  ‘I wish. I told you I didn’t have a social life.’

  ‘Wow, when you said that, I thought it was just that you were having a quiet time – you know, that guy and everything. I didn’t know that people didn’t have social lives. Ruth, you’re the first person I’ve ever met without a social life. Weird.’

  Katie giggled, and I felt a bit stupid. Actually, I felt really stupid.

  But feeling stupid passed as it always does and the thought that now I could ask Katie to take me out (she said that, didn’t she?) filled my head. It would be only a matter of time before she and I were friends, good friends, and then I could start to become like her. What were the qualities I wanted from her? Her ability to a
ttract men would be nice, and her ability not to get hurt, her happy-go-lucky nature, her dress sense, her I-don’t-give-a-flying-fuck attitude. That would do for starters. Then I’d really be moving on, wouldn’t I? That would show Ben.

  But I was still looking for love (just in case you thought I’d changed my mind). I always have been, since I first learned about its existence. I thought it would be easy, but it wasn’t. Love is the most elusive thing in the world: it has no definition, no colour, no texture. How do you find it? Perhaps love is one of the great mysteries of the world. It’s harsher than the rain, warmer than the sun, colder than the wind, more beautiful than the snow. It can make you feel the best you’ll ever feel, or it can make you feel the worst. It plays games with people, cruel games. Love is the one thing everyone wants; it’s the one thing not everyone has. Why are we so obsessed with falling in love? I knew I was top of that tree. I knew I regularly made a fool of myself in pursuit of it. And I knew I bored my friends with my obsession.

  I couldn’t help it; that’s what happens when you’re obsessed. Being single, panic-stricken and miserable is not the privilege of the thirty-something. Oh, no, contrary to popular belief the feeling of needing a relationship, wanting a relationship, being a failure for not having a relationship can strike at any age. It wasn’t as if my biological clock was ticking or anything. I didn’t want children yet, just a man. It was my heart that was ticking, tick-tock, tick-tock— and would go on ticking until it shrivelled up and died without love to wind it up. I don’t think we’re meant to be alone, I think we need to love, to give, to receive. Hands up everyone who doesn’t want love, hands up all you women who don’t start wearing extra make-up when you meet someone you fancy. Hands up all you women who feel that if you’re single it’s socially unacceptable, hands up all you women who have a boyfriend and don’t feel smug. Hands up all you women who went to the supermarket looking your best when you heard it was a good pick-up place. Hands up all you women who found a man at the supermarket. Society does not help. Society still puts people into couples. But who is Society to dictate what is right and wrong? Who is this cruel person who encourages our feelings of insecurity and loneliness? It is one of the most influential people you know. Although everything else about life has changed, as far as love is concerned the only thing that seems to have changed is that men are harder to come by, these days. Well, they were in London, anyway.

  I wanted to fall in love. Really in love. The whole thunder and lightning, Romeo and Juliet kind of love. I wanted a man to start the Trojan war over me, I wanted the intensity that only lovers know. I wanted magic. I wanted to devote my life to the man who came for me on a white horse, not the man who had sex with me and had to ask my name in the morning. I always hoped my knight in shining armour would turn up. Realistically I hardly expected him to have a white horse, maybe a Ferrari, or just any car. I was paying attention to finding my Mr Right. Every day when I walked to the tube I had a fantasy that a gorgeous man would give me his seat, we would smile, introduce ourselves, then chat, and when I had to get off, he would run after me and ask for my phone number. It hadn’t happened. I hadn’t met any man on the tube willing to give up his seat for anyone.

  But at the weekend, I’d be with Katie and there would be men.

  ***

  It was Sophie’s birthday. We were going out for dinner and I’d baked her a cake. We all rushed home from work to get ready and sing and give her the cake. We had clubbed together and bought her a handbag she’d fallen in love with, and as hers was the first birthday we’d had in London, we were all excited. Sophie was pink and flushed as she opened the champagne.

  ‘There’s something I should tell you,’ she said.

  ‘What?’ we asked.

  ‘Well, you remember that rose I got on Valentine’s Day?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I found out who sent it to me. It was a guy called Nick from my acting class. He came up to me today and told me. Said he couldn’t bear to keep it from me any more. He also said that he’d die if I didn’t let him take me out for a drink.’

  ‘Wow, how romantic,’ I said, wondering why that never happened to me.

  ‘Yes. Anyway, I told him it was my birthday and I invited him to come along tonight He’s really nice, not at all like James, much nicer.’

  ‘Great, can’t wait to see this one,’ Jess said, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. We drank the champagne, got ready and waited for Thomas and the new boy, Nick.

  ‘Will you promise not to be horrible to him?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘As if.’ Jess laughed. ‘Unless he’s as horrible as the Porsche.’

  ‘God, you girls are like teenagers whenever a man’s involved,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s called regression.’

  ‘Yes, and it can be bloody good for you. You should try it sometime,’ I suggested.

  ‘Only when I’m guaranteed not to become like you three.’

  Jess threw a cushion at her we couldn’t help but get excited when a man became involved. That’s what girls do, even twenty-first-century girls.

  ***

  Nick and Thomas arrived. Poor Thomas was confused and mortified to see that Sophie had another man. We left for the restaurant. Nick looked quite nice: tall, brown hair, brown eyes, stocky, quite sexy, really. I decided I’d try to be nice to him. ‘Nick, you’re an actor,’ I stated the obvious.

  ‘Yes, well, trying to be, ha-ha. Actually, it’s still very new to me. I recently finished my Ph.D. in physics, but then something amazing happened. I realised I hadn’t been born for physics but for the stage. In a flash, like a vision, I realised I was born to act.’ Well, he was certainly dramatic. Jess choked on her wine.

  ‘So, well, that’s great, really. What did you do? I mean, didn’t you have a physics job lined up?’ I encouraged him.

  ‘Yes, I was going to work for a huge lab, doing something incredibly dull. Now, from a young age I knew that I was good at physics, but I didn’t realise that I didn’t like it until recently. Luckily I had my vision just in time. I told them I wouldn’t be taking the job, joined an acting class and changed my name.’ He changed his name. Nick wasn’t his real name? God, what a prat.

  Sarah choked. ‘You changed your name to Nick?’

  ‘No, I changed my name to Nick with a K.’

  ‘You mean K-N-I-C-K?’ We were all confused.

  ‘No, not Knick, N-I-K. It was N-I-C-K before.’ He looked really proud. Jess’s mouth was so wide open she was catching flies, Sarah was trying not to laugh, Thomas was looking pleased, Sophie was oblivious to NIK’s stupidity, and I wondered which village was desperately missing its idiot.

  ‘And I’ve got an agent,’ Nik said.

  ‘That’s good.’ Sarah had composed herself.

  ‘Yeah, first I get an agent, then I get to come out with Sophie. Life is good. I’d like to propose a toast. To Sophie, happy birthday.’ We all toasted her. Nik continued, ‘The most beautiful girl in the whole wide world, I adore you.’ God, did he realise this was their first date?

  He was romantic, that’s for sure. He asked the restaurant to put a candle in her dessert, he bought roses from the flower lady and he kept telling her how much he adored her. He was a little over the top. I mean, he was better than the sort of men who think romance is ten pints of lager and a kebab, but he was a bit of a joke.

  When we went home, minus Nik, Sophie didn’t ask us what we thought of him.

  ‘Sophie, don’t you want to know what we thought of N-I-K, Nik?’ I asked.

  She looked at me. ‘OK, but I don’t care this time. He’s nice to me.’

  ‘He is nice to you,’ I said.

  ‘He’s very nice to you,’ Jess said.

  ‘He’s incredibly nice to you,’ Sarah finished.

  ‘Sophie, do you think he’s … Well, do you think he knows what he’s doing with this acting business?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, he’s quite good. I know he’s a bit dramatic, but that’s what actors do.’

>   ‘Of course they do,’ Jess said.

  ‘Well, I’ve got a new name for him.’

  Sophie looked at me. ‘Ru, don’t be horrid this time.’

  I had been going to call him the Village Idiot, but that was mean. ‘I’m going to call him the Thespian.’

  ‘Oh, that’s not nasty,’ Sophie said, relieved. So the Thespian he was.

  ***

  On Saturday I got ready for the party. This time I wore a safe black dress and a cardigan. Again, I didn’t exactly look trendy but I looked OK. Once again I had invited myself over to Katie’s. She didn’t exactly fall over herself with joy at the idea, but she didn’t say no either. She looked amazing. This time she was wearing a sari, I think. It was Paisley print, wrapped around her like a halter neck and reaching her knees. With it she was wearing her blue platforms.

  Predictably we drank, we smoked, I talked. I made a mental note to try to control my verbal diarrhoea, then perhaps I might learn something about Katie. I promised myself I’d do that next time.

  We went to a party full of trendy people. The clothes were outrageous – fluffy trousers, skirts with bottoms cut out, heels taller than me, feather boas galore. Had I not recently become a little more cosmopolitan I would have been really scared. Katie knew everyone, so I snuck off to find men.

  One I met was called Nathan. But Katie didn’t really know him. He was lovely, tall with cropped dark hair and wearing trousers so tight it was almost obscene. I looked into his deep blue eyes and I fell for him. Nathan was a chef. I told him about my love of cooking and he told me he worked in one of the trendiest restaurants in London. I was impressed. He had a few drinks and he told me funny stories about the famous customers he’d cooked for. Of course, he never mentioned names. One very famous man lost his hairpiece in his dinner when he was drunk. One famous woman tipped the soup over her boyfriend for shagging her sister.

  I was smitten. He was gorgeous, funny, intelligent and he cooked. I thought I was in love. He was polite, always ensuring I had a drink. He was also interesting, talking about things that showed a wide-ranging knowledge. He really enjoyed making me laugh. He was definitely husband material, especially in those trousers. After a while he said, ‘Ruth, I’m a bit bored. Fancy having our own party?’