Amber decided it was best to get her apology over and done with. ‘Sorry I chucked up on you last night.’
Matthew shrugged. ‘I’d like to say that’s okay, but it’s not. It was pretty revolting.’
‘Obviously. Sorry again,’ said Amber. ‘Where have you been?’ She had meant for her question to have a conversational tone. Instead, because she was still feeling fragile, the words unfortunately came out like a pistol-shot accusation.
‘While you’ve been sitting there drinking tea and nursing a hangover,’ said Matthew indignantly, ‘I’ve been to work.’
Amber recalled chatting with Dee and Chrissie about making today one for no-nonsense talks with their partners. The three friends had all agreed they wanted to salvage their relationships.
‘I have been working,’ said Amber.
‘Really?’ asked Matthew. ‘I’m astonished you’ve been to Hood, Mann & Derek on a Sunday when you not only look like crap, but must feel like it too.
Amber nearly choked on her tea. Matthew was being deliberately obtuse. ‘I have two jobs, actually.’
Mathew looked puzzled. ‘Since when?’
‘Since you moved into my house,’ said Amber. Ah, that had rattled him. Matthew didn’t like Amber reminding him the house was hers. It was her name on the deeds, and she was the one who paid the mortgage. She’d bought the property before she’d met Matthew. The deposit had been paid with money bequeathed by her deceased granny. Matthew didn’t contribute anything other than “keep”, which was only right and fair. He had a voracious appetite and practically ate her out of house and home. ‘My first job,’ said Amber matter-of-factly, ‘is working as a legal PA. My second job is looking after you.’
‘Me?’ Matthew laughed humourlessly.
‘Yes. You. While you’ve been out at,’ she posted quotation marks in the air, ‘“the office”, I’ve been busy. I made the bed you slept in–’
‘–because you threw up in the bed I usually sleep in,’ Matthew pointed out.
Amber ignored him and ploughed on. She began ticking off on her fingers everything she did for Matthew. ‘I pick up after you, do your washing, ironing, do the housework, clean the windows, shop for you, and cook. You rarely mow the lawn–’
‘–well it’s your bloody lawn, as you’ve now reminded me. Why the hell should I mow the sodding thing?’
‘It’s called “pulling your weight”,’ Amber retorted. ‘I do loads for you, so it wouldn’t hurt you to help occasionally.’
‘I am helping,’ said Matthew, his eyes narrowing.
‘How?’ Amber demanded.
‘I’ve been working my socks off, Amber, as you well know. How many men go into the office at weekends, eh?’
‘And what exactly are you achieving there, Matthew?’ asked Amber boldly.
‘Stacks of money, if all my number crunching and go-getting pays off.’
‘I see.’ Amber took another sip of her tea. ‘And who is benefitting from this financial increase if it comes off?’
‘Us, of course,’ Matthew harrumphed.
‘You think?’
‘What’s that remark supposed to mean?’
‘You earn good money anyway. Three times as much as me. What exactly do you do with it?’
‘I resent the line of questioning you’re taking,’ said Matthew in annoyance.
‘Really? I don’t,’ said Amber flippantly.
‘I give you plenty of housekeeping every month.’
Amber shook her head. ‘That’s not housekeeping, Matthew. It’s meant to be grocery money, but it barely covers the cost of what you eat, never mind the expensive wines you drink. You’re doing very well out of me. You must have a bank balance to rival Donald Trump.’
‘Oh don’t be ridiculous,’ Matthew scoffed. ‘You always did have the ability to talk out of your backside.’
‘Not this time, Matthew. In fact, do please explain why you spent the paltry sum of ten pounds on me last Christmas?’
‘Ten pounds?’ Matthew blustered. ‘Try putting a zero on that!’
‘I checked the Argos website. I know exactly how much you spent.’
‘I’ve had enough of this,’ said Matthew, standing up.
‘Where have you really been today, Matthew?’ A part of Amber was appalled that her mouth had spat the question out. It had certainly failed to consult her brain before going down an accusatory route.’
‘Fuck you, Amber.’
‘And fuck you too,’ Amber spat. Oh no. She hadn’t meant for the two of them to argue like this. She’d wanted things to be put right – for Matthew to see the funny side of his drunken girlfriend endearingly attempting lap-dancing in order to please him, even if she had puked up. She’d hoped he’d laugh it off and say, ‘It’s a good thing you have charms in other areas so I can overlook what happened. Come here, you ravishing creature. Let me kiss all your tiredness away, and then we’re going to sit down and talk about all the money I’ve saved up. I want us to start sharing the cost of things properly – not forgetting planning a wedding that will put more roses in your cheeks than a bride’s bouquet.’
Instead they spent the rest of the day not talking to each other. Amber felt too tired and upset to eat anything. She punished Matthew by not cooking any dinner, but he didn’t seem particularly bothered. She wondered if he’d eaten earlier. Perhaps he’d had a pizza on the go.
At bedtime Matthew took himself off to the spare bedroom for the second night. Five minutes later, Amber crawled into the double bed she usually shared with her boyfriend. The sheets were beautifully fragrant but so cold without Matthew next to her. What a horrible weekend it had been. Reaching out to the bedside table, she plugged her mobile phone into its charger, and set the alarm for seven the following morning. Thirty seconds later the mobile buzzed. Her heart leapt. Perhaps it was Matthew texting from the other side of the bedroom wall. She grabbed it, desperately hoping to read: Amber, I’m feeling so lonely without you. Fancy showing me those dance moves again? She’d fall into his arms in a flash. Instead it was a WhatsApp message from Dee. She’d set up a group chat for the three of them under the name “Secs in the City”. Amber gave the smallest of smiles. She clicked on Dee’s message.
Sorry to text late, girls, but I’m beyond miserable. I hope the two of you had a better evening than mine. Will catch up with you both tomorrow. But be warned, I might slump over my keyboard in a flood of tears! xx
Amber immediately texted back.
Your evening cannot have been any worse than mine. Matthew is sleeping in the spare room. Even Mr Tomkin has abandoned me xx
Seconds later, the mobile pinged with a message from Chrissie.
I’m in bed and crying my eyes out. Have had the worst weekend ever xx
Dee was the next to reply.
Okay, girls. Sounds like Plan A – straight talking with our men – has been a bigger flop than my tits without a bra. Hugs to you both. We’ll fully update each other tomorrow at the office and discuss Plan B. Sleep tight xx
Thanks, Dee. This from Chrissie. Don’t know what I’d do without my besties xx
Amber’s fingers flew across the screen’s keypad.
I’ll second that. See you both tomorrow xx
Feeling a smidgen happier she wasn’t alone in her misery, Amber curled into the foetal position. Closing her eyes, she wondered what Dee would come up with for Plan B.
Chapter Fourteen
Dee’s Sunday…
At the time of Amber still slumbering in her puke-whiffy bed, Dee had set about making Josh a top-notch Sunday morning breakfast.
There was an old saying Dee’s mum had sworn by. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” Dee had decided to put it to the test. She’d made Josh the full works. Egg, bacon, sausage, beans, fried tomatoes, mushrooms and giant slabs of toast smothered in real butter, not margarine.
‘Brekkie, darling,’ she trilled as she set his plate down on the breakfast bar.
Josh came into the
kitchen, pulled out a tall stool, and stared at the heaped plate in disdain. ‘I can’t eat all this.’
‘Oh.’ Dee was visibly crestfallen.
‘I’m still full from last night’s meal with Roger Brown.’
Dee resisted the temptation to ask why Josh’s female dinner companion had a man’s name and innocently said, ‘Poor Josh. It must have been a huge steak.’
‘Yes, it was.’
Dee busied herself loading up her own plate, all the while appearing cheerful and upbeat, even though her brain was whirling. She’d given Josh the perfect opportunity to correct himself and say, ‘Steak? What am I talking about! I took Roger Brown to Serafino’s Cucina in Sevenoaks. I had a bowl of spaghetti. It was the size of a coffee table. I don’t think I’ll want anything to eat until next week. And by the way, Roger is a transvestite. He always wears a dress and full make-up on a Saturday night. He completely fooled the head waiter.’ But Josh said nothing. Instead he picked up his knife and fork and began toying with a sausage.
‘Nice?’ Dee asked. She sat down opposite, her own plate before her.
‘S’okay,’ Josh shrugged.
‘Excellent!’ Her tone was jolly, belying any anxiety. ‘I do love a bit of sausage,’ she chirruped. Dee hadn’t meant for her banter to sound smutty, but it had.
Josh put down his knife and fork, and regarded her coolly. ‘Are you being sarcastic because we haven’t had sex recently?’
Dee’s eyes widened. ‘No. I’m simply saying I like a nice big sausage.’ Oh heck. Josh would think she was winding him up. ‘And…and egg,’ she added. She speared a virgin yolk which oozed over a sausage. ‘Mmmm,’ she said, sounding like she was orgasming.
‘Okay, I get it,’ said Josh, looking peeved. ‘You’re definitely being facetious about the lack of sex.’
Dee continued to smile, but her mouth was suddenly very dry. She ran her tongue across her lips. ‘No, Josh, I’m not. Really.’
‘Then what’s with all the oohing and aahing and lip licking? I presume you’re dropping hints.’
Dee put down her own knife and fork. ‘Would it be so bad if I was dropping hints?’
‘I knew it,’ Josh crowed. ‘You want sex.’
‘Is that an invitation?’
‘No.’
‘Can I ask why?’
‘I’m not up for it.’
‘And what about Willy? Do you think Willy might be up for it if I smear egg yolk all over him and lick it off?’
Josh regarded Dee as if she’d spoken in tongues. ‘Are you feeling all right?’
‘Never better. You?’ Now the subject of sex had come up she was determined to pursue the subject to the bitter end.
‘I’m tired,’ Josh snapped.
‘At eleven o’clock in the morning?’
‘I have a very physical job,’ Josh countered.
‘Then perhaps you need to go back to bed. With me,’ Dee added seductively. ‘I’ll massage all the kinks out of you and,’ she waggled her eyebrows, ‘kiss your tired bits better.’
‘I’d like to relax, thanks. Not embark on a sexual marathon.’
‘I’m not asking for one. I’m suggesting we have sex. You can lay back and think of England while I climb on board. In fact, forget the bedroom. Let’s do it in the kitchen!’ She whipped off her sweatshirt revealing a jacked-up bosom. Dee was a busty girl and proud of her assets. When she’d first got together with Josh, he’d joyfully caressed her breasts and called them “Dee’s Delights”. Well now they could work their magic on her boyfriend all over again. She leant back on the tall stool, thrusting out her “delights” for Josh to admire. ‘You’d better tell the soldier in your trousers to start standing to attention,’ she purred.
‘Dee, I said I don’t want a sexual mara–’
‘I’ll do all the work,’ she said dismissively, and began shaking her shoulders so her breasts jiggled in their lacy hammock. ‘All you have to do,’ she said, her voice breathy as she tangled her fingers in her hair and parted her lips wantonly, ‘is sit there, you…you hunky..,’ she tried to quickly think of something sexy to call Josh, but the lie he’d told invaded her brain, ‘…steak.’ Bugger. She ploughed on. ‘I want to jump off this stool, leap on your lap and grind like…,’ oh God, like what? She was so badly out of practice. ‘…like a salt mill all over your pepper pot and–’
‘Dee, I really think you should put your top back on and–’
‘Ooooooooh,’ Dee gasped, sounding like the soundtrack to a porn movie. She unhooked her bra and released her boobs. They bounced forth in fulsome glory, until gravity took over. Josh watched, unmoved, as her breasts landed with a faint squelch on her plate.
Dee decided to style it out, and gave a naughty giggle. ‘Bet you weren’t expecting bosoms with your bacon, eh?’ She shoved her hands into her breakfast and began smearing brown sauce and egg yolk across her nipples. ‘Ahhhhh,’ she gasped, shuddering with apparent pleasure. ‘Get your tongue out, babe,’ she panted, ‘and start licking this lot off.’
Josh jumped off his stool. But instead of roaring towards her in a blaze of hot breath and bulging trousers, he headed toward the kitchen door. Dee’s gung-ho shrivelled and died.
‘W-where are you going?’ she asked in a panicky voice.
‘Out,’ snapped Josh.’
‘B-but why? Please, stay. Let’s have some fun.’
‘Fun?’ Josh barked. ‘Look at you, Dee. Are you deranged? And since when did “hunky steak” become a term of endearment? What the hell’s got into you?’
‘Not you, that’s for sure,’ Dee shouted. She felt completely humiliated, but also angry. Josh had made her feel smaller than the condiments on the breakfast bar. Only the other day he had told her she was boring and unimaginative in bed. Here she was, pulling out all the stops and making Nigella Lawson look like Theresa May in a soup kitchen, but Josh wasn’t having any of it. ‘What’s wrong with initiating sex with my boyfriend?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘I can’t remember the last time you made love to me.’ Tears threatened. She tried to blink them back into their tear ducts. She knew Josh wasn’t swayed by blubbing. But the more she tried to stop it from happening, the harder it became. A small river seemed to be rushing down her face, dripping off her chin, and splashing across her food-covered breasts. Her nose was filling up with snot and threatening to dribble. When she spoke, her voice was choked with emotion. ‘Don’t you f-fancy me anymore?’
There. She’d asked the question. It was out. She’d meant to spend today taking a softly-softly approach with Josh, gently cajoling him to get to the bottom of what was wrong between them. But now, after weeks of wondering, she’d ended up throwing a very dangerous question at him. It hung in the air like an unexploded hand grenade, and from the expression on Josh’s face he was contemplating whether to pull out the pin. Dee didn’t have long to wait.
‘No, Dee,’ Josh murmured. ‘I don’t fancy you anymore.’
And Dee felt the explosion of his answer boom through her heart, ripping it into a million tiny pieces.
Chapter Fifteen
Chrissie’s Sunday…
At the time of Dee sitting at her breakfast bar with her bare breasts covered in fry-up, Chrissie had been scrubbing the maisonette.
She’d slept fitfully. It had been after two in the morning before everybody had left. She’d got as far as washing up the glasses and plates before tiredness had overwhelmed her. By the time she’d crawled under the duvet it was nearly three in the morning. Andrew had been fast asleep, on his back, mouth open. Full of booze, he’d been snoring like ten farrowing pigs. It seemed as though Chrissie had barely fallen asleep when she’d been awoken by Andrew. He’d rolled onto his side, lifted one buttock and loudly farted. It had sounded like a firework going off, and she’d nearly choked on the smell.
The neon figures of the alarm clock read just before seven in the morning. So much for a Sunday lie-in. Slipping out of bed, Chrissie pulled her night t-shirt across her nose in an attempt at m
aking a gasmask. She pulled on some old jogging bottoms and left Andrew slumbering.
Outside, not even the January sun was awake. Chrissie made herself a strong coffee hoping a caffeine hit would pin back her eyelids. Downing the scalding liquid, she began deep-cleaning the maisonette. She suspected there was a psychological reason for her voracious scrubbing. It was as if the harder she scoured, the more she removed the essence of those men who’d been in her home. There was something about them that made her skin crawl.
Chrissie squirted the furniture with anti-bacterial liquid, rubbing away grubby fingerprints, and marks that had also been left on the walls. Her polishing cloth whirled over the coffee table until it shone. She even cleaned the door handle and light switch. A forensics team would have been hard pushed to prove a crowd of men had been in her lounge a few hours ago. She decided to leave the bedroom until Andrew was awake. At least none of the men had been in there. Chrissie then turned her attention to the small kitchen, before tackling the tiniest room – the disgusting bathroom.
She had no idea whether it was just Mick who’d used the loo, or all eleven men, but aim had been awful. The stink of urine was like that of a public urinal. Holding her breath, she went in armed with soapy water, disinfectant, an old-fashioned scrubbing brush, and a roll of kitchen towel to dry off the lino. She hoped pee hadn’t seeped into the many cracks within the old flooring, otherwise the smell would be difficult to shift.
Finishing off, she patted the floor dry. She emptied a bottle of bleach down the loo. Chrissie was just shuddering at the memory of Mick’s bowel motion winking up at her, when Andrew appeared in the bathroom doorway. He was dressed, albeit scruffily.
‘Hurry up, Chrissie. I need a pee.’
‘One second.’ She straightened up, easing kinks out of her body, then picked up her bucket of cleaning paraphernalia. ‘Could you watch your aim, please.’
‘I’m not a two-year-old,’ said Andrew crossly. ‘I do know how to pee in a straight line.’
‘Good. In that case perhaps you could show your mates.’
The Woman Who Knew Everything Page 8
