‘Why not? We eat out all the time.’
We so do not. Granted, we cook dinner together, hoover up chips in the school canteen and sometimes stuff ourselves with McDonald’s on the way home from the pub, but we have never, ever been out to a smart restaurant, especially not with Nina in tow.
‘Nina’s downstairs. She says you texted her and invited her out for dinner. Apparently you and her are back on big time.’ I fix him with a stern look. ‘Are you?’
Ollie runs his hands through his hair, a sure sign that he’s stressed. ‘Bollocks. I must have sent the text to her by mistake.’
‘But are you two back on?’
‘Well, sort of.’
‘That’s a yes then. Honestly, how thick can you be? You can’t date one girl and take another one out for dinner, even if it’s just as friends. Go out with Nina tonight and have a lovely evening. I know it’s not been easy having to put up with me over the last few weeks.’
‘I don’t know why you’d think that,’ says Ollie.
Because bloody Nina told me, I want to scream.
‘I’d do it all again gladly,’ he adds. ‘You’re my friend.’
‘Of course we’re friends,’ I say quickly, ‘but things will get messy if we start going for meals and doing coupley stuff when you’re with somebody. Yes they will!’ I insist when he opens his mouth to protest. ‘It isn’t fair on Nina.’
How I say this without choking I’ll never know. Just call me Saint Katy of Ealing.
‘Since when have you been bothered about Nina?’ Ollie says. ‘You can’t stand her.’
‘It’s not just about her,’ I say quickly. ‘Imagine if James heard that we’d been out for dinner. He’d be bound to get the wrong end of the stick.’
‘Let’s get this straight. You still care about what that wanker thinks? After everything he’s done? And you seriously want me to go out with Nina?’
‘She’s your type. You’ve got history.’
‘This is the same Nina that you said is so up her own arse that she’s inside out? That Nina?’
Er… I may have said that.
‘She’s not so bad. She’s mad about you.’
‘But Katy, I—’
I hold up my hands. ‘Please, don’t say anything else. Just go out and have a good time. In fact, I’m glad you texted her. I’d rather be alone — I’m really tired.’
‘Fine,’ Ollie says looking wounded. ‘If that’s what you want.’
‘It is! Come on, Ol, don’t be funny about it. Your girlfriend’s downstairs. Go and be with her. We’re mates, we can catch up any time.’
‘I’m not sure we can, Katy. In fact…’ Ol pauses, and there’s a catch in his voice, ‘things are getting a bit awkward here, aren’t they? It might be a good idea if you started thinking about finding somewhere else to stay.’
‘You want me to go so you can be alone with Nina?’
Ollie doesn’t meet my eye and suddenly seems to find the hideous Seventies carpet fascinating. ‘You said it, not me.’
I swallow. ‘I understand. I’ll give Jewell a call. I’m sure she’ll let me stay for a bit and then you guys can have all the space you need.’
He drags his eyes up from the psychedelic swirls beneath our feet. ‘And you’re OK with that?’
Er, no, actually. I can’t bear the thought of Nina getting her French-manicured talons into my lovely pal, but I can hardly say this to Ollie, can I? Nina has a talent for being poisonous when she’s alone with me and all sweetness and light when Ollie appears. Consequently he can’t understand why I have a problem with her and I daren’t try and explain because it’ll just look like I’m jealous. And I’m not jealous. Obviously not.
But because I can’t say any of this I just nod instead. ‘Of course I am. It’s fine. By the time you get back from Antonio’s I’ll have everything sorted. Since James threw me out I’ve been effectively homeless so I don’t suppose it matters where I live, does it? I may as well be at Jewell’s as anywhere else. There’s nothing to keep me here.’
Ollie stares at me for a moment. Then he shrugs and says, ‘Fine, call Jewell. I think you’ve made your feelings more than clear. I’ll get going, I won’t bother you any longer.’ And with this he stomps out of the room, slamming the door so hard the entire house shakes.
I stare at the closed door, confused. What the hell was all that about? Here I am being a considerate friend by giving him space to be with Nina and trying my hardest to save him from feeling guilty about kicking me out, and what thanks do I get? None. Nada. Big fat zilch.
Men. They make everything so complicated.
Feeling very wronged, I fling myself on my bed and close my eyes. All the champagne has made me woozy and the room dips and spins like a roller coaster. When I eventually peel my face from the pillow it’s dark outside and the street lamps throw tangerine pools of light into the room. Apart from the telephone shrilling a couple of times and a murmur of conversation from the other side of the party wall, all is still.
I’ve got a raging thirst from the champagne and my head’s thumping like a techno track, so I pad down to the kitchen to fetch some water. Then I meander into the lounge and press the play button on the answerphone. Call me paranoid, but I have to make certain it isn’t Dr Morris calling back to tell me that they got the results wrong and that actually I have got breast cancer after all.
Nothing would surprise me today.
The first message is for Ollie. It doesn’t make much sense but it’s from a travel agent, who says he won’t get his deposit back for cancelling his skiing holiday.
That’s weird. Ollie never said anything about cancelling his holiday. He adores skiing and saves like crazy all year so that he can go at Christmas.
That message is obviously a mistake, so I skip to the next one.
‘Hello! Hello! Katy?’
The strident tones of Auntie Jewell fill the room, and in spite of myself I smile. Jewell hasn’t a clue about answer-phones and frequently tries to hold long and convoluted conversations with them.
‘Where are you, darling? I’ve been on a spiritual retreat. Terribly serious, lots of chanting. Your parents would simply adore it. Anyway, I’m so thrilled with your good news. I did a healing meditation for you, so it must have worked.’
I shake my head. What is it with my family and all the hippy shit?
‘But darling,’ Jewell continues, and she sounds puzzled, ‘I can’t understand why you’ve left me three messages thanking me for paying for the private health care. I wish I’d thought of it. I’d have paid in a trice. But I didn’t, darling, so you must have a secret admirer. How thrilling! Do let me know. Much love! Lots of kisses! Talk soon!’
The answerphone clicks off, leaving me staring at it in horror. It doesn’t take a brain like Stephen Hawkings’s to work out what’s happened.
Why didn’t Ollie tell me?
And, more importantly, why did he pay?
I’m just about to trek back into the kitchen and liberate a few cans of his Fosters to help me solve this puzzle when there’s a fierce hammering at the door. Feeling like the porter in Macbeth, I push past the mountain bike, piles of takeaway leaflets and various other assorted hallway crap, yelling, ‘All right! All right!’ and ‘Bollocks!’ when I crack my shins on a bike pedal. Why can’t everyone just push off and leave me alone to feel sorry for myself in peace?
I yank open the door and scream in horror because a triffid almost gobbles me up.
‘Calm down, Chubster.’ James elbows past, kicking the door shut and practically burying me in lilies. Sickly yellow pollen rains down and waxy leaves bash me on the nose. ‘These are for you.’
‘Who died?’
James opens his eyes wide until he looks a bit like the Andrex puppy on a particularly sad day. With his floppy hair and pink mouth, all that’s needed to complete the picture is a bog roll.
‘They’re for you, to say I’m sorry and that I’ll die unless you forgive me and take me back. I
love you and I can’t live without you.’
Have I slipped, banged my head and woken up in a parallel universe?
‘James,’ I say slowly. ‘What’s going on?’
Thrusting the lilies at me — what is it with men and flowers today? — he snatches my hands into his and pulls me against him. Even through the squished lilies and his Armani suit I can’t help but notice that compared to Ollie’s chest James’s is really puny. And his hands… have they always been this clammy?
‘Oh Chubs,’ he murmurs into the top of my head, ‘I’ve been such a fool. Can you ever forgive me? I’ve been so blind, so stupidly blind to have let you slip through my fingers.’
‘I didn’t slip through your fingers,’ I point out, nearly giving myself whiplash as I try to remove my face from the lilies. ‘You threw me out. Bin bags flying through the air? Torn-up novels? Is this ringing any bells?’
‘I was an idiot,’ he agrees, tightening his grip and nearly putting my eye out on a leaf. ‘I let my pride get in the way of our love.’
‘Oh crap.’ Twisting under his arm I make a break for freedom and pollen-free air. ‘You were shagging someone else. No, don’t deny it,’ I add seeing that he’s about to do exactly that. ‘Alice Saville, isn’t it? I saw you together at Millwards and she answered the phone at the flat.’
For the briefest second I think I see a flicker of irritation in his eyes before they glisten with tears.
‘That was a moment of madness. It meant nothing to me.’
‘It meant something to me!’ I cry. ‘I saw you with her, James! I saw you kissing her outside Millwards and it didn’t look like nothing from where I was standing. And she answered the phone. At our flat.’
James sighs. ‘I guess I have some explaining to do.’
‘I don’t think you need to explain anything.’
‘But I do.’ The lilies hit the floor. ‘I was angry, hurt, humiliated and Alice threw herself at me. It was a moment of madness, Chubs.’
‘Don’t call me Chubs!’ I hiss. ‘I bloody hate it. Almost as much as I hate the fact that you moved another girl into our home only days after we broke up.’
‘I was angry with you!’ cried James. ‘You ruined my promotion! You knew how much that job meant to me, Chu—er, Katy. You forced me to do it, surely you can see that?’
Is he for real, making out that I’m to blame for his crappy behaviour?
‘So it’s my fault you shagged her?’
‘That isn’t what I said. Just listen, will you?’ demands James, and a familiar note of annoyance creeps into his voice. ‘I’m trying to say Alice was a mistake, that the whole stupid misunderstanding between us—’
‘James, you took my engagement ring back and threw my things out of the window. What exactly did I misunderstand?’
‘I acted out of passion!’ he cries, and his face starts to go pink, always a sure sign that he’s about to lose his temper. ‘I love you, Katy, and I want you back. I want to hold you in my arms and never let go. I want your smile to be the first thing I see before I go to sleep. I… um… I want to kiss your ruby lips.’
I gawk at him. He’s either having a breakdown or a potentially lethal attack of purple prose.
‘Darling, isn’t our love worth a second chance?’ Building up to the grand finale, James steps towards me, presumably to sweep me into his arms in true romantic-hero style. I have to give it to him — he certainly knows me well enough to choose exactly the right buttons to press. He knows how I cry my eyes out over Titanic, has seen first hand my impressive Mills and Boon collection and on many occasions has been unlucky enough to hear me wailing my unique bathtime power ballad medley. In the past, a bunch of flowers and a few flowery phrases have been more than enough to persuade me to overlook any tosser-like behaviour, so with the monster lilies and rehashed song lyrics he can be forgiven for believing that I’ll fall gratefully into his arms. After all, everyone knows that Katy Carter’s a sucker for romance, right?
But something’s changed and I think it might just be me.
For almost four years I’ve put up with James drip-feeding me comments that chipped away at my confidence and made me think I really was as useless and as fat and as foolish as he said I was. When somebody is constantly saying how hopeless you are, even if they say it with a smile and a ruffle of your curls, it isn’t long before you start to believe them.
But what if he was wrong? And always has been? What if I’m not quite as useless as he thinks I am? I hold down a demanding job. I pay my bills — most of the time. I can even cope with thinking I have cancer.
Maybe I’m not a useless little Chubster after all?
‘James, don’t!’ I raise my hands to ward him off. Suddenly, after weeks of longing for him to realise he’s made a huge mistake and that I’m the love of his life after all, I find this isn’t what I want.
Isn’t life a bitch?
‘What’s wrong?’
‘This isn’t going to work.’ I’m looking at him as though for the first time, wondering how I never noticed how thin his lips are or how his eyes are just that little bit too close together, giving him a rather mean look. ‘It’s over, James, really over.’ And as I say it, I’m amazed to find that I actually mean every word. I really and truly don’t want him back.
It’s like the past four years has been a bad dream.
‘You don’t mean that,’ James says firmly, just as he used to when I would tell him that I didn’t like oysters or that I hated opera. ‘Stop being so ridiculous and come back home, Chubs. You’ve made your point.’
I shake my head. ‘The point I’m making is that I don’t want to come home with you. It’s over, James. You were right, even though I couldn’t see it at the time. We’re better off apart. We’d be happier with other people.’
James’s high colour leaches away from his face, apart from two bright spots that glow Ronald McDonald-like on his cheekbones. He starts to breathe heavily through his nose, a sure sign he’s about to flip, and the skin around his mouth goes greeny-white.
‘You’re seeing someone else,’ he breathes. ‘Who is he?’
When I was a kid I used to love oxtail soup, guzzling it down and mopping up the meaty dregs with a hunk of bread. Then, one memorable lunchtime, shortly after learning to read, I was studying the empty tin and with dawning horror realised what I’d been eating. Ox and tail. Ox tail. Ox tails! Gross. In an instant, something I’d loved so much became totally abhorrent to me. Just thinking about it made me want to puke.
I expect you get the analogy.
Standing in Ollie’s hall, squashed against the banisters and with the handlebars of a mountain bike digging into my hip, I thank the Lord that James dumped me before I was stupid enough to marry him.
‘There’s no one,’ I say firmly, while fiddling with the lock on the door. ‘But it’s none of your business even if there was. It’s over, James.’ I push the door open. ‘I’d like you to leave. I would say let’s be friends, but I don’t think we ever really were friends to begin with. At least now I know who my friends are.’
‘Friends?’ hisses James. ‘Oh, I get it. You think you stand a chance with Ollie, don’t you? Don’t insult my intelligence,’ he adds when I protest. ‘You’ve always had a pathetic schoolgirl crush on him. And it’s hilarious, because let’s face it, what man would want you when he could have someone like Nina?’
‘You did,’ I point out.
‘Only because of—’
‘Because of what?’
‘Nothing.’ James purses his mouth up like a cat’s bum. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Tell me,’ I demand. ‘What did I have that Nina doesn’t?’ Apart from ginger hair and a bigger bum, of course. ‘Why did you want me?’
He fixes me with wide blue eyes. ‘Because I love you. Nobody will ever love you the way that I love you.’
They’re the right words but somehow they sound all wonky, a bit like when Les Dawson used to play the piano slightly off key. Love isn
’t the emotion I’m seeing in the tight set of his jaw or the muscle that has started to tic under his left eye. Annoyance, anger at not getting his own way, maybe, but love? Don’t think so.
I sigh. ‘Maybe you did love me once. I know I certainly loved you. But it’s over, James, because your way of loving me isn’t enough.’
‘You don’t mean that. You need me.’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t, I really don’t. It’s over, and I’d like you to leave, please.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m going,’ James says, trampling the lilies underfoot. The smell of funerals hangs heavy in the air. ‘But this is the biggest mistake of your life.’
I press myself against the flock wallpaper, stomach against my spine in my effort not to touch him, and wish that I didn’t feel so stupidly close to tears. I should know from experience how foul James can be when he doesn’t get his own way. He pauses in the doorway, presumably to make some dramatic point, but doesn’t notice that one of Ollie’s skis is listing drunkenly in the way and tumbles head over heels across the doorstep and splat into the assorted weeds and mud that masquerade as Ollie’s garden. Unfortunately I commit the cardinal sin of laughing. Not little giggles either but great big belly laughs, which compete with the jets that circle above.
‘Laugh all you want,’ shouts James, scrambling to his feet and trying to brush dirt from his rear. It looks like he’s shat himself and I laugh even harder. ‘You’ll wish you’d taken me up on my offer. I’m the best thing that ever happened to you. You’ve had your chance to do this nicely.’ He attempts to walk in a dignified manner to the garden gate, not easy when picking bits of garden out of his hair, and fixes me with an ugly look. ‘You’ll regret this.’
‘I doubt it,’ I say, and watch him march to his BMW, his back ramrod straight and fists clenched by his sides. I’m not sure what this bizarre episode is all about, but something tells me James won’t be letting it go in a hurry. With a seesawing stomach I close the door on him and turn my attention to scooping up the lilies and scrubbing pollen stains from my fingers like a modern Lady Macbeth.
As I do so, I hope that their deathly scent isn’t some kind of omen.
Katy Carter Wants a Hero Page 15
