Breaking Leila

by Lucy V. Morgan

  “No…I suppose I didn’t.”

  We were quiet for a while, both stuffed with bacon and enjoying the mellow heat of the morning.

  I loved the almost-silence here. A tractor buzzed somewhere in the distance and birds bickered in the willow that swept over the pond. It was a welcome contrast to the cacophony of London.

  “Do you honestly want to traipse around muddy veg fields?” Matt asked.

  “I…well. No. Not particularly. But out here is lovely.”

  “We could do a bit of scrumping in the orchard, if you like.”

  I laughed. “Is it really scrumping if it’s your farm?”

  “Yep. Dad gave us murder if he caught us in there.” He folded his arms. “Well, except when we had stuffed our faces with plums. A few hours later, it was its own punishment.”

  “Eugh.”

  “Plumishment, we called it.” He chuckled.

  I grabbed his arm. “Come on then. Show me.”

  The orchard smelled like foliage and fresh earth. Majestic apple and plum trees stretched out across the skyline, their shadows pouring over us in murky light and cool air. I sank down beneath one and patted the tufty grass beside me. Matt leaned back against the trunk, stretching.

  “What time do we have to be at the wedding?” He yawned.

  “Not until half two.”

  “We’ve got ages yet. Long enough to go back to bed?” he asked hopefully.

  I swatted him and he grinned.

  “Long enough to tell me about all the things you promised yesterday,” I said.

  “Leila. It’s half nine in the morning. Hardly a good time to rehash a few years of shit, don’t you think?”

  “Nice day for it, though.”

  “Gah.” He blew the hair from his face and laughed awkwardly. “You’re very persistent.”

  “So are you.”

  He shoved my shoulder and I swayed, settling against him. Then he looked down at me with sleep-glazed eyes. “Where shall I start?”

  “Tell me about Niamh.”

  He swallowed. “Well. Um. We went to school together–you know, same group of mates and all that. We didn’t get together until uni, though.”

  “Where did you go to uni?”

  “LSE.”

  “I was at UCL. We might have been neighbours before and not even known it.”

  “Maybe. Anyway…yeah. We got talking one night and realized we’d both liked each other for ages. It got serious from the beginning. We were obsessed.”

  “That’s very romantic.” I sighed. “I wish I’d had something like that.”

  He pressed his cheek against my hair, his fingertips circling the back of my hand. “Maybe you will.”

  “Tease. On with the story, damnit.”

  “Bossy cow.” He watched the shadow of his fingers as it danced over my palm. “I don’t really know what happened. It wasn’t sudden. But she wasn’t happy with me staying in London when we graduated. I needed to stay to keep an eye on Ike and Simmy–Mom had moved them up there with cuntface–”

  Charlie.

  “–and me and Tobe had to make sure they were okay. Couldn’t do that down here, really. She didn’t understand that it was more important than seeing her every night.”

  “It’s not like you’d have been far apart,” I said.

  “No, but we were going to move in together. We’d been looking at training seats in Winchester, even had a deposit for a flat. I fucked up all our plans and she was really upset about it. She took a place back at home instead and I stayed with Tobe.

  “Things just got worse and worse. She hated her new job, moaned about it whenever she visited. I started making excuses not to go home at weekends. She would ring me, text me, email me constantly…I felt trapped. She didn’t get why I couldn’t bunk off all the time to reply to her, and I hated the way she made me feel guilty for just wanting to do the right thing by Dad.”

  “Did you dump her?”

  “Not exactly, no. You have to see, Leila…the whole thing was so fucked up at that point. I was miserable.” He moved away a little. “Cuntface hooked me up with the place at Bach and Dagier, like some sort of shitty olive branch. I hated London, I wanted to leave. This job screws with you, you know? Then...this girl, on my first seat. Sabine. Have you met her? Lots of bouncy blond hair, in the BFG’s office. She started flirting with me and we ended up sleeping together.” A pause. “Quite a lot, actually.”

  “I see.”

  “I felt like such an arse, but I kept doing it. I had too much in my head, but Sabine didn’t expect anything of me...it was just so much easier, and I hated knowing that about myself.”

  “What happened, in the end?”

  He ripped a fistful of grass from the earth. “I was so snowed under with work and Mom and Dad, and everything else…I forgot that Niamh was coming up one weekend. She caught me with Sabine. It was awful.”

  I cringed. “Oh God.”

  “She kept crying and crying. Sabine ended up comforting her, for fuck’s sake. I just sat there like a prize twat, wondering if I was still awake. You know how I mean.”

  “Yes, I do.” I chewed my bottom lip for a moment. “I never had you pinned as the straying type.”

  He shrugged. “Me either. The worst bit was that I kept thinking I needed to ring Niamh and tell her about all this crazy stuff that I’d done–but I couldn’t, because I’d done it to her. I was just as bad as Mom, and I’d seen how it wrecked Dad’s life.”

  “If it helps, I’m not much good at being faithful, either.”

  “I’d kind of guessed that.” He laughed, incredulous. “Hopeless pair we make, huh?”

  Ugh…if only he knew. “So that’s it between you two?”

  “No. Unfortunately. I spent the next year or so feeling horribly guilty. Finally started talking to her again a few months ago, after a night out. Jude set us up, actually.” He scrunched grass into ribbons in his fist, and sprinkled. “We kind of decided that when I moved back home, we’d try to sort things out.”

  “As in, when you move back home for this new job?”

  “Yeah.” He wouldn’t look at me.

  “You told her about me before last night, yes?”

  “Erm. No, I didn’t.”

  The silence swelled around us until it threatened to burst.

  “Jesus, Matt. I’m surprised you didn’t end up with a black eye or something. I’d have given you one!”

  “I deserve it, don’t I?” he said pitifully.

  I rolled my eyes. “Jude and Summer seemed to know about me.”

  “Yeah. I told Jude. Was kind of hoping he’d tell her and then I wouldn’t have to. I think Summer’s just relieved that we’re not getting back together ‘cos she had to pick up the pieces last time.” He looked me in the eye for the first time since he’d started the story. “You’re not looking too impressed.”

  “I don’t know what to say, really.”

  “I know I’m a dickhead.”

  “I’ve cheated on every boyfriend I’ve ever had,” I said quietly. “If you’re a dickhead, so am I.”

  He seemed perturbed by that little admission, but made a swift recovery. “I bet you never messed them around like me, though.”

  “No. But I was never serious with any of them.”

  “Why not? Haven’t you ever been in love?”

  I squared my shoulders. “Ye–maybe. Just not with any of them.”

  “Not Joseph, is it?”

  I choked a bit. “No.”

  He smiled faintly. “Is it me?”

  I found my gaze snapping away. “Not then, no.” Entropy munched at my nerves. How much to tell him? How much seemed safe? “It was an old friend. Somebody I always went back to.”

  “Why didn’t you just get it together with him?”

  “It was complicated.”

  “Was he married?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. It just wouldn’t have worked. And I was okay with that, really. Besides, he never knew ho
w I felt. I doubt he felt the same.”

  “You know, Leila…I think you might actually be more emotionally retarded than me.”

  I gave him a sharp little kick. “I resent that!”

  “Just don’t see why you’d deny yourself the person you loved.”

  “It was more of a thrill that way,” I admitted.

  “You know what? You are a masochist.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I muttered. “I feel sorry for Niamh now.”

  “Me too.” He sighed. “Not a fat lot that can be done about it though, is there?”

  “You could at least apologize. You owe her an explanation. If you don’t, she might stick more pins in her Leila doll.”

  “And you get your fair share of pricks already.”

  “Be quiet, Matthew.”

  It would have been nice to cement our little bonding session with a knot of arms and legs, of sweat and flesh. Under the tree like that, it would have been as much poetry as sex.

  But that didn’t happen.

  * * * *

  The cab honked and we fell inside in all our pretentious urban finery. Matt wore a Paul Smith suit and disappointingly hetero tie, while I felt especially glamorous in the gown I’d splurged on back in my first year, with its flowing black skirt and cut-out sides.

  Dovecoate Hall: more Alice in Wonderland than Sleepy Hollow in the drizzled daylight, yet memories of the previous night’s debauchery gave the odd lick of sunshine charcoal edges. Guests swarmed between the topiary creatures, butlers circled, cameras flashed. Matt glanced around nervously.

  “It’s not what you expected, is it?” I said.

  The car pulled away and we stood alone at the gates.

  “No. Everyone’s clothed, for starters.”

  I poked him in the ribs and tugged him up the drive, trying not to catch my skirt on my heels in the process.

  We wandered up the path and into the lobby, where Matt disappeared to find the bathroom. I scanned the undulating mass of people for a friendly face.

  “Lei-Lei!” Aidan smothered me in a hug before I’d even recognized him.

  I groaned as he squeezed me. “Hello, Aidan.”

  “You look gorgeous. Furstenberg?”

  “Indeed.” I turned to the lad at his side and grinned. “Hello Nikolai.”

  He nodded at me, eyes bashful.

  “Where’s tall, dark and fucksome disappeared to? I want an introduction,” Aidan said.

  “He’ll be back in a second. I was planning on plying him with booze before he met you, though.”

  “I’m not going to come on to him, Lei-Lei.” He paused to squeeze Nikolai’s hand. “Or at least, not on my own…”

  “Um…hi.” Matt appeared beside me, his fingers apparently stuck in his pockets.

  I took his arm and urged him forward a little. “Matt, this is Aidan–my work partner.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he said slowly.

  They shook hands, eyeing each other up with comic indiscretion.

  “A pleasure.” Aidan smiled to flash a devious dimple. “I’m glad Leila’s found a nice boy.”

  “A nice boy?” I said incredulously.

  Matt cocked his head. “I’ve been called a lot worse,” he said.

  Aidan winked. “I hope so.”

  “Nikolai, I don’t know how you put up with him,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s–”

  “I’m a nice boy too,” he tittered. “Come on, Nik. Let’s find a seat. I’ll see you later, Lei-Lei,” he called over his shoulder.

  I turned back to Matt. “Well. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “He’s…a character.”

  “He’s trying to embarrass me,” I grumbled. “But he has some redeeming features, I promise.”

  “Oh?”

  “He was meant to be my date, but he pretended to drop out so I’d have to ask you.”

  “I’m not sure whether I should be buying him a drink or tripping him up when he’s not looking.”

  “To quote your good self, you can sod right off!”

  A harpist drew fingers along strings as we filtered into the ballroom, and a prickly heat crept up on me as I scanned the room for last night’s little audience, already recognizing the female couple with their sequined dresses and shiny hair. This meeting of two worlds on the edge of a knife seemed wicked, unusual. It was acceptable to be the whore here–or at least, it would perhaps have been if Matt didn’t sit beside me, his palm sweaty against mine.

  This thing that excited me so much made him uncomfortable and anxious. Would it always be that way? Did that matter?

  Did Matt’s mother know about me? Had Charlie told her? God, I hoped not.

  Maybe then…

  He squeezed my hand and I looked up.

  “You’re quiet,” he said.

  “I’m listening to the harp,” I lied.

  “Do you think she takes requests? Bit of Faith No More, maybe?”

  “You could ask, but I’m not sure that’s Will’s style.”

  “What do escort agency bosses listen to, anyway?” Notice how he took particular care not to say pimp.

  “In his case? Erm. Erasure, probably.”

  The phone hummed in the depths of my bag and I peered at the glowing screen. Message from Joseph blinked in Arial. Matt glanced over and I snapped the bag shut, seared with panic and arousal all at once. I wasn’t falling for that one again, oh no!

  Matt waved the Order of Service under my nose. “Have you read this? What the fuck is that?”

  I took it from him and scanned. Oh my. “Um…Elizabethan pseudo-rape poetry?”

  “And they say romance is dead.” He paused. “That’s made me feel quite ill, actually.”

  “Did you even read it? It’s filth–”

  “There’s all this talk about bleeding.” He shuddered.

  “Prude.” I leaned in to whisper. “And this from the man who bruised my knees when he shoved me down to suck him.”

  His cheeks streaked with raspberry as he regarded me, remembering, assimilating. “Did I really bruise you?”

  “Yes, a bit.”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “I didn’t mind. I liked it,” I added, grinning.

  “Don’t say things like that. There’s not a lot of room at the front of these trousers.”

  I used my bag to hide his growing bulge, tutting in disapproval.

  The music faded out and we got to our feet. Matt pushed my bag into my lap, knotted his fingers in front of his groin, and I stared at them, chewing my lip and trying not to think about running my fingertips over the silky underside of his erection. I swear he closed his eyes for a moment as if he could feel me doing it.

  Will and Angus appeared in the doorway, clad in their kilts and electric smiles. The harpist began to play the Star Wars theme and, arm in arm, they strode down the aisle. I elbowed Matt sharply as he tittered under his breath at the music. I didn’t care if it sounded a bit ridiculous on a harp. The grooms glowed with happiness and envy turned to acid in my throat.

  The service was quirky and amusing: Will and Angus read a poem they’d written about older men settling down, with lots of bad puns about sowing seeds and sagging baggage. We were all flushed with laughter by the time they exited, Crazy by Aerosmith booming from the loudspeakers. I’d been to a lot of weddings in the past few years–snotty lawyer ones, mostly–and this was definitely my favourite.

  We gathered in the bar for Champagne and cocktails while they re-worked the ballroom for the reception. I dragged Matt into the queue to meet the newlyweds.

  “This is Matt.” I smiled as they all shook hands. “Matt, my old boss William and his new husband, Angus.”

  “I liked your song choices,” Matt said coyly.

  I rolled my eyes, hoping they wouldn’t see.

  “Angus said that Star Wars was too geeky, but then we realized that we were going officially off the market and nobody would care.” Will laughed. “It’s good to meet you
, Matt. We’ve been…” He exchanged glances with Angus. “…curious about you.”

  “Sounds ominous.” Matt looked comically uncomfortable.

  Will leaned forward and clapped him on the back. “You must be something quite special to have tamed this young lady. If I were straight, I’d be jealous.”

  “He is jealous,” Angus added. “Of Leila, that is.”

  “Congratulations, perverts!” I pulled Matt away before he died of blushing.

  “Have we had a conversation yet today that wasn’t about sex? With anyone?” Matt said.

  “No. Isn’t it brilliant?”

  “I think my balls might fall off.”

  “You rang?” said someone in a whiny voice.

  Oh, fuck off, Metro Paul.

  “Paul,” I said weakly. “This is Matt, my friend from work. Matt, Paul is Will’s assistant.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Matt said, noticing my displeasure and raising an eyebrow.

  “Matt,” Paul sang, making the word sound as if it had about eight syllables. “Welcome to the club. I’ll introduce you later.”

  “Club?” he asked, dubious.

  Oh, please not this.

  “The HABs. Husbands and Boyfriends. A bit like a support group for people whose partners fuck other people for money.” He trailed off into plasticky laughter as if he’d just told some hilarious in-joke, and it died a savage death in the silence that ensued.

  Paul pointed at Matt. “He does know, right?”

  “Yes, I know,” said Matt. “But thanks for the reminder. Cheers.”

  “We’ve got to be somewhere.” I glared at Paul. “See you later, maybe.”

  Paul stepped from one foot to the other awkwardly. “Yeah, see you, then.”

  Matt swallowed as Paul edged away. “Well, he was–”

  “A vision in purple?”

  “I was going to say a cunt, but I suppose they’re often one and the same.”

  “We call him Metro Paul,” I added.

  “I think I’ll call him Tactless Twat. Or maybe just Arsehole. That’s nice and easy to remember.”

  “Maybe we should get a bit drunk,” I said, panicking about the possibility of my colleagues coming out with similar gems. “To the bar?”

  “Yes. I need beer. And something with guitars. Will they play something with guitars later instead of all the…” I think he was going to say gay but swiftly reconsidered, “twiddly shite?”