Breaking Leila

by Lucy V. Morgan

  I stopped off at the supermarket for flapjack ingredients on the way home. Butter, syrup, peanut butter, oats. The hoard made me feel fat and indulgent, which, dare I say it, was nice. At home, I melted it all to a mess on the hob and then shoved it into the fridge to set.

  The story turned a thousand times in my head. Charlotte’s knife sailed through, chop chop. She presented the options on neat little plates and I shrugged them away. I hated lying to Clemmie, but how could I justify selling my body? I could say that I was okay with it until I turned blue in the face, but confessing to prostitution would be like admitting schizophrenia: suddenly, a side of me emerged that people didn’t know existed, something dirty and uncomfortable they didn’t understand. Nobody would care that it was just the other side of the looking glass. Nobody else would look hard enough at themselves. Clemmie had only ever been vaguely supportive of my relationship with Charlie, and though I could understand why–I cheated on every nice boyfriend I had and Charlie was old enough to be my father–it didn’t make me feel any better about it. I suppose that was kind of the point, but still.

  I would have confided in Aidan, but I had a sneaking suspicion that he now played for Matt’s team, so to speak.

  “Where shall I put the wine?” Clemmie called through a heap of carrier bags.

  “In the fridge. Somewhere. Make room.”

  The fridge was stuffed with oaty goodness.

  “Okay, but I’m opening one now. I’m parched and I’ve been racially abused again by Diederick.”

  I pulled a rather phallic chunk of fresh ginger from her shopping and gazed at it mournfully. “What’s he done now?”

  “He keeps asking me ‘What’s Chinese for this? What do they do about that in China?’ I need to get a big tattoo on my forehead that says I’m Thai! Thailand, you incompetent cock!”

  I sloshed wine into two thin-stemmed glasses.

  “He’s a bastard. Ooh, it’s bubbly.” The crisp chill seared my throat as I swallowed. “What have I done to deserve bubbly, Dim Slut?”

  “That was the poorest pun I’ve ever heard.” She giggled. “But you have screwed up in epic proportions your only relationship in the past two years–”

  “Hey, I’ve had–”

  “One nighters do not count!” She waved a hand dismissively. “You’re about to screw it even more, I imagine, so you may as well get drunk.”

  Thanks for the vote of confidence. I pouted at her and she rolled her eyes.

  “Make yourself useful and chop something, would you?”

  Shiny red bell peppers were smooth in my hands. Phallic too–what was she trying to do to me?

  I adored watching Clemmie cook. Her mum had taught her all these traditional recipes and she could just throw things together and make them taste like something from a swish restaurant. Everything she made was vibrant, colourful, pretty…a lot like her, actually. My mother, as indicated by the lunch she’d prepared, had passed on no such skill. Ikea may have been vibrant and colourful, but culture it was not. How I learned to cook at all, I’ll never know.

  We arranged ourselves in front of the television with steaming plates of noodles and king prawns, the wine bubbling quietly at our feet.

  “Start from the beginning,” Clemmie demanded. “It was only last week you were having your–” She put down her fork to do quotation marks, “Date-type-thing.”

  Was it really only last week? Jesus.

  “We had it. And we had a bit of an argument–we have a lot of those, actually–but we ended up deciding we should try and make a go of it.”

  “Of a relationship, you mean?”

  “Yeah. He’s a bit of an all-or-nothing sort.” I speared a huge prawn and chewed slowly. “He hasn’t even come back here yet, but he’s already changed his relationship status on Facebook.”

  “Oh gosh.” Noodles twisted around her fork. “Why do you keep arguing?”

  “Things we’ve gone over a hundred times, things he knew before we started dating. Not that we’ve actually done much dating.”

  “Are these things deal-breakers?”

  “I don’t know. I’m guessing not if he’s still around, and he’s very full-on. But this Charlie thing…ugh. He hates the guy. He has huge issues about his parents splitting up.”

  “You haven’t seen Charlie for years, though,” she said pointedly. “Who’s to say Matt ever needs to find out? What’s the point in telling him if that’s the case?”

  “I don’t know…he’s very funny about me having secrets. It’s hanging around and just waiting to fuck things up, you know?”

  “Then you need to ask Charlie what his wife knows.”

  “You think?”

  “This might all come to nothing. If Charlie’s never said anything, he wouldn’t want to give Matt further reason to dislike him, right?”

  “That’s a good point.” I reached down for my wine glass. “I hate the idea of keeping something from him, though.”

  She stared at me hard. “Do you really want him, Leila? Really?”

  “Of course I do.” I shifted about awkwardly.

  “You’re making excuses for something incredibly simple to sort,” she said suspiciously. “I know you, and I know you don’t like being smothered. You’ve already said that’s what he’s like.”

  “Yeah, but–”

  “But you’re willing to settle?” She arched an eyebrow at me.

  “It’s not like that. I want what he wants…”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You know…being a proper couple. Like you and James,” I added wryly.

  “Ugh, don’t say that. He’s being a prick right now.”

  I touched her arm. “You can come and crash here again if you need to.”

  “No, it’s not that bad. Just family stuff. Commitment comes with its own complications, unfortunately. Anyway.” Cushions splayed as she jumped up. “Bathroom. Back in five.”

  I flicked through music channels while she was gone, and when I’d finishing eating, deposited both of our plates in the kitchen and broke lumps of flapjack off into a bowl. Clemmie sat cross-legged on the sofa when I returned, eyeing me with something between incredulity and amusement.

  “What?” I said, sitting down again. “What have I done?”

  “You said Matt hadn’t seen your flat,” she said.

  I nodded slowly. “That’s right.”

  “So…those boxer shorts in the bathroom. Who do they belong to?”

  Blood rushed to my cheeks. I remembered folding them after Joseph had left, draping them over the radiator. Just hadn’t seemed right to move them…it wasn’t like he’d asked for them back.

  “Um.”

  “Don’t um me!”

  I lowered my eyes. “My boss.”

  She paused; I didn’t dare look at her.

  “Okay,” she said eventually. “You were going to tell me about him…when?”

  “It happened last weekend,” I mumbled. “Before me and Matt got together.”

  “I knew it.” She snapped her fingers. “I knew there was something else. Or somebody. Whatever. How did your boss end up back here?”

  “He came to visit.”

  “What, just turned up on your doorstep and demanded that you shag him?”

  Well–

  “He’s…been propositioning me for a while.” It was sort of true.

  “Like, coming on to you? What does he want?” she said.

  “I don’t know, exactly.” I broke flapjack into crumbs in my fist. “He says he likes me. I think he’s a bit jealous of Matt.”

  “You know what? I’m going to just sit here and drink, and you can explain this in some sort of logical fashion.” She cleared her throat. “If there is one.”

  I took a rather large gulp of wine. “I’m not sure there’s more to say, Clem.”

  “Waah, don’t make me pull it out of you! Why are you sleeping with this guy when you’re telling me you like Matt?”

  “Because…” Because he
’s paying me. Because he has me by the balls if I had them, anyway. Because, “I like him, too.”

  I watched Clemmie’s eyes slide skyward with a sinking feeling.

  “You can’t just like two men and indulge as you please. It doesn’t work in the end. You know that already,” she scolded.

  “I know,” I said meekly. “It’s complicated.”

  “Then make it less complicated. Who do you like more?”

  “It’s not as easy as that. I don’t even know if my boss wants more than the obvious.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He had a girlfriend. Until today, anyway,” I added.

  “Is monogamy utterly dead?” she ranted. “Ugh. Did she find out about you?”

  I was beginning to feel horribly responsible for Isobel and Niamh. It had been a lot easier when I never knew who these men were betraying, when I closed the door on them at the end of the night. “I don’t know why they broke up,” I said. “He’s not the most approachable sort and it doesn’t feel like any of my business.”

  “But you’re holding out for him.”

  “No. I do want things to work with Matt, I just…I hate how things keep going wrong with him. I feel like I have to fight for it all the time.”

  “That’s what relationships are like, Leila,” she said.

  “But this one is only a few days long. We should be in this happy little honeymoon flush, no? Not already wondering if it’s worth it.”

  “I think you have a problem, then,” she said quietly.

  My empty glass joined hers on the floor. “What do I do, Clem?”

  “Give Matt to me.” Her face stayed perfectly straight. “I’ll run away with him and you can carry on enjoying the drama with your boss.”

  I grinned at her, relieved to hear something other than disapproval. “I don’t enjoy the drama. I just like being chased, that’s all.”

  She eyed me over a slice of flapjack. “And that’s all Charlie ever did–chase you.”

  “I let him catch me sometimes,” I said coyly.

  “They all give up eventually. Or die. Or decide they’re gay.”

  “I know, I know.” I found myself smiling. “Pretty sure these two aren’t gay, though.” Though if they were…oh my. There was an image to take to bed.

  “You need to talk to Charlie,” she went on, “and I mean talk to him–not shag him–okay? Find out what his wife knows and then if everything’s hunky dory, I suppose you’ll know if you want to stay with Matt.”

  “What if it isn’t hunky?”

  She swallowed. “Then it’s too big a knot for the likes of me.”

  * * * *

  My period greeted me on Tuesday morning and another run helped to ease the cramps–while simultaneously creating new ones. I fell into work early again and sat at my computer, an open email to Charlie blinking at me on the screen.

  What should I say? Charlie, darling. Left something out last week, didn’t you? Was it better to ask him to meet? Contrary to Clemmie’s little pre-requisite, I didn’t think I’d fall into bed with him.

  “Who’s Charles Flemming?”

  A pair of clear green eyes blinked down at me.

  “Jesus! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  “Don’t send personal emails on office time, then,” Joseph said.

  “It’s eight AM. I’m not technically at work,” I retorted.

  “Who is he?”

  “A friend from uni,” I lied.

  “Then why does he have a law firm address?” He perched himself on my desk and I eased back to make room for him.

  “Because he studied law, like me. I’m not being poached, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “Leila. You’re not going anywhere else.” A smile played on his lips as he toyed with my loose hair.

  “Then sort out my contract.”

  “You know I can’t do that until the deadline has passed. I’m not supposed to have told you as it is,” he reminded me. “You’re a little on edge today, aren’t you?” He squeezed my shoulder and I shivered. “Tense.”

  “I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I muttered.

  “Is that why you don’t reply to my messages?”

  “You know why.” I tried to shrug his hand away, but it stayed firmly put.

  “Too busy playing house with Gordon, huh?” Now it was back to stroking my hair. “I bet I’ve got better toys,” he added, grinning.

  I grew wet beneath his touch and today, I hated myself for it. “Don’t be so patronizing.”

  He pouted; his mouth looked so full and ripe like that. He knew he teased me.

  “Less of the attitude then, madam. Thought you might want a look at my be-gimped Sylvanians.” He pulled my hair gently. “I broke up with Isobel.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  Ah, crap. I really hadn’t meant to tell him. “I bumped into her yesterday. In the toilets. Crying.”

  He didn’t even blink. “Long story. I’ll tell you about it on our little trip, maybe.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’ll explain in the meeting.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence while I pretended to stare at the computer, avoiding his eyes.

  “Aren’t you looking forward to it?” he said finally.

  “Working twenty-four hours a day instead of the usual? Oh, absolutely.”

  He traced a finger along my cheek. “A whole week of...us.” He paused, watched my face for any flicker of emotion. “Bed, shower, floor. Doesn’t make a difference really, does it?”

  Paranoia shook a fist at me and I glanced about…no. The office was still empty.

  “What do you mean, a whole week?” I hissed.

  “A job lasts as long as the client says it does.”

  “Somebody will notice if we’re together for all that time,” I said weakly.

  “So what?”

  The door handle squealed in the far corner, and he sprang up. “I’ll see you in the meeting,” he said, nodding at Poppy as she strode in.

  “What was that about?” she asked, peeling off her coat.

  “You were right. We’re going on a trip.”

  She clapped her hands in delight. “I told you. Oh my God! Did he say where?”

  “He’s going to tell us in a bit.” I shut down the email to Charlie and attempted a smile. “Let’s hope it’s somewhere with good shopping.”

  A whole week. A fucking week. One more bombshell for Matt to swallow that’d explode later and hurt us both.

  Charlotte drummed inside my skull. Tick tock.

  * * * *

  The email refused to write itself by lunch time, so I stole out to the foyer and dialled Charlie’s office on my mobile.

  “Flemming and Associates,” said the receptionist.

  “Oh, hi. Is it possible to speak to Mr Flemming, please?”

  “I’m afraid he’s busy. Can I take a message?”

  I winced. “Can you tell him it’s Leila Vaughn? I really do need to speak to him.”

  There was a pause. “Hold please.” She sighed.

  Tinkly music played in the background. “Leila?” Pleasure peaked in Charlie’s voice–thank God. “Is everything all right?”

  “I’m really sorry to call your office, but it’s…it’s just–”

  “It’s about Matt, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” I took a deep breath. “You should have told me, Charlie.”

  “You said you weren’t involved with him,” he complained.

  “You still should have told me!”

  “I’m sorry, angel.”

  “Would you–I mean–could we meet up and talk about it? I have to get back to work and there’s so much I need to ask you.”

  “I could probably fit you in, heh. How’s Thursday?”

  “Great. Thursday’s great.”

  “I can’t stay for long, though. I’m a busy man these days.”

  “So I’ve just been told.” I caught
sight of Matt approaching with lunch. “I’ve got to go.”

  “I’ll text you the details. We’ll sort it out, okay?”

  “Okay. Thank you.” I hung up as Matt reached me.

  “Anyone interesting?” he asked.

  “Just my mum,” I lied. I did a lot of that recently. “What have we got?”

  “Fat bagels, as requested.” The change clinked from his hand to mine. “Let’s get back up–I’m starving.”

  * * * *

  One of the better things about leaving the agency was the evening time I’d gained. No more rushing home to groom like a spoiled kitten, no constant panic that a wax was overdue or a nail had chipped at work. I’d paid a lot of money to look good for the night job and while I didn’t plan to let it all slip, none of it seemed so…imminent anymore. Once, I’d worried that I’d feel lost and empty when it all ended. Yet, life blossomed all over the place in the wake of careless knives.

  That said, a few things needed sorting soon since Matt would be around later, like the industrial quantity of condoms in my bedroom and various other tools of the trade. I sent Aidan a text asking if he wanted the condoms, to which he accepted and dared me to walk across London with them in a clear bag. I politely declined.

  My paddles, whips and other toys were staying put, though. I imagined how Matt’s eyes would light up on sight of them, and cursed the period that had picked the wrong week to descend.

  I wasn’t going to tell him about Joseph tonight. I just wanted peace, calm. Kisses and cuddles. I tucked Joseph’s boxer shorts away in the back of my underwear drawer.

  Matt arrived on my doorstep not long after nine, a KFC bucket under his arm.

  “Do you ever stop eating?”

  “I just worked off about half a cow. I can at least eat a chicken.” He stepped in, sliding off his jacket.

  “You showered,” I grumbled, feigning a pout.

  “I didn’t want to taste like a gorilla’s ballsack.”

  “Don’t get hung up on that.” I stroked the hair from his eyes. “Besides. Appears to be the wrong time of the month.”

  “Oh. Right.” He kissed me slowly, his tongue lingering in my mouth. “I can wait. We’ll have a plush New York hotel room for it next week, hmm?”

  Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up! “Mmm.”

  “Sofa?”

  “Oh yes.”

  I got what I wanted. I lay against him, my head on his chest and his arm tucked around my shoulders. This man was, by his own admission, all mine–we didn’t need toys to play house like this. Luscious.