The One That I Want

by Lynne Shelby

  Jess sighed. ‘Again, not exactly rock’n’roll, but what can you do?’ She kissed Owen goodbye, and then she and her boyfriend hurried off. I decided that I really should be getting home as well, but the others wouldn’t hear of it. Owen went and fetched another round of drinks from the bar, and pretty soon I found myself agreeing that yes, it would be lovely to go back to his and Michael’s flat for coffee.

  Although it was gone midnight, Camden was as always, full of revellers, but once we were on the tube and travelling south of the river, the crowds began to peter out. Soon we were the only people in the carriage, and when we got off the train and came up out of the underground, the streets were deserted. A few days ago, when I’d dropped Owen home after the Star Gazer Gala, I’d been too intent on our conversation to take much notice of the area in South London where he lived. Tonight, as we left the main road and walked through the back streets, I saw that the terraced houses were small and run down, some of them had boarded up windows, and the tiny front gardens that separated them from the pavement were overgrown with weeds. We walked past a small parade of shops, their frontages hidden behind metal shutters covered with graffiti, a patch of wasteland, ominously dark where the street lights couldn’t reach, and the rusting hulk of an abandoned car. I heard the wail of a police siren. My London, affluent Fulham where I lived with Cassie, Shaftesbury Avenue with its bright lights and theatres, the tourists and mime artists of Covent Garden, the museums and parks, seemed very far away. When we passed a group of boys loitering at the entrance to an unlit alley, I instinctively moved closer to Owen.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

  Feeling slightly foolish, I said, ‘I wouldn’t like to walk these streets alone.’

  ‘You’re not alone tonight.’ Owen draped his arm across my shoulders and pulled me against him. And with a man’s arm around me, I immediately felt safe. Dimly, I was aware that this feeling was entirely wrong on several levels (and that my mother would have raised a number of objections), but I didn’t ask him to let go.

  Owen and Michael’s flat was on the second floor of what had once been a two-storey house. It had two bedrooms, a tiny bathroom, a galley kitchen and another room that they used as a communal living area, where we sat drinking coffee, and chatting in a mixture of English and French, mainly about Michael’s journalism course. My love life was mentioned in passing, with Owen and Michael both teasing me mercilessly about my reasons for dating film star Daniel Miller. Annette and I swopped mobile numbers, and then she and Michael took themselves off to bed. Not long afterwards, Owen and I heard the unmistakable sound of a rhythmically creaking mattress.

  Owen rolled his eyes. ‘This flat has paper-thin walls. Shall we drink our coffee in my room? Give them a little privacy?’

  In the next-door room, Annette cried out, ‘Je t’aime, Michael, je t’aime.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I said to Owen, ‘let’s give them some space.’

  We went across the hall to Owen’s room where the sounds of unadulterated passion no longer reached us. His room was sparsely furnished with just a bed, a clothes rail, and a couple of storage boxes, one with a laptop balanced precariously on top. In a corner, there was a tottering pile of books, plays mostly, and a pile of sheet music. I sat crossed legged on Owen’s bed, and he sat on the threadbare carpet, leaning back against the wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

  He said, ‘Jess sang so well tonight. If Viper ever do get a record deal, it’ll be because of her voice.’

  ‘Who writes their songs?’

  ‘She does,’ he said. ‘She’s an incredibly gifted musician. She looks good on stage. And she certainly knows how to work a crowd.’

  ‘Did you and she ever date?’ I said.

  Owen shook his head. ‘No. She was seeing the guy she’s with now when I met her. Last year, she actually set me up with her cousin.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Worst date ever,’ Owen said. ‘I took her to see a play. A mate of mine had already seen it, and he’d raved about it as a cutting edge contemporary drama, but it was awful. Two men and two women swearing at each other and rolling around on the floor in a tiny studio theatre. The audience sitting thigh to thigh on wooden benches. No air conditioning.’

  I smothered a laugh. ‘Sorry. It’s not funny.’

  ‘It gets worse,’ Owen said. ‘After the interval the actors took off their clothes and swore at the audience.’

  ‘Not exactly a romantic evening.’

  ‘No. Sitting on a hard wooden bench for two and a half hours, crushed up against a guy you’ve never met before, while a naked actor shouts obscenities at you, cannot in any way be described as romantic. Once the play ended, Jess’s cousin couldn’t get out of the theatre quick enough. I suggested we go on to a bar, but she said she thought not, and dived into a taxi.’

  ‘I have to admit that I’d probably have done the same.’

  ‘I can’t say I’d blame you.’ Owen smiled ruefully and drank some coffee.

  It had been months since I’d thought of Lawrence, but suddenly I found myself remembering our last hideous evening.

  ‘My worst date ever was last summer,’ I said. ‘The man I was in love with took me out to dinner. We ordered our meal and he put his hand over mine. And then he told me he was married – but we could still be good together and his wife need never know. When I told him we were over, and walked out of the restaurant, he seemed genuinely surprised.’ I remembered that I’d managed not to cry until I’d got home. I was rather proud of myself for that.

  ‘What a jerk,’ Owen said.

  ‘A total jerk. He was also my tutor at university.’

  Owen raised one eyebrow. ‘So he was a lot older than you?’

  ‘He was young for a university professor,’ I said, ‘only thirty-six. He taught Nineteenth Century Romantic Poetry – ironically enough.’ I remembered the first time I’d walked into Lawrence’s book-lined study to find him sitting at his desk, writing in a leather-bound notebook, looking for all the world like a wild, romantic poet himself, with his long dark hair and piercing eyes. By the end of that first tutorial discussing Byron, Keats and Shelley, Lawrence gazing straight at me as he recited, ‘She walks in beauty like the night,’ I was already falling for him… I’d never once questioned his insistence that I tell no-one about ‘us’ (the university authorities didn’t approve of relationships between lecturers and students) or wondered why he only ever took me to his studio flat, when I knew he owned other properties, including a large house on the far side of town. I’d imagined that once I’d finished my post-grad studies, I’d be able to tell all my friends that we were a couple… What a little idiot I’d been.

  ‘I thought I’d found the man I was going to be with for the rest of my life,’ I said, ‘but for him, I was just a bit on the side.’

  ‘Realising that must have hit you hard,’ Owen said.

  I nodded. ‘I had an awful few months before I got over him – but I’m fine now. I have a great job, I’m in a new relationship, and I’ve some amazing friends. Old and new.’ I smiled at Owen and he smiled back. ‘I’m more than fine.’

  ‘You go, girl,’ Owen said. He pointed to my empty coffee cup. ‘Can I make your life absolutely perfect by getting you a refill?’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘but it’s really late. Or do I mean early? Anyway, I should be making tracks.’ I fished my mobile out of the back pocket of my jeans. ‘I’ll call a cab.’

  Owen hesitated, and then he said, ‘You can stay, if you like.’

  CHAPTER 16

  I woke up with a start. I was lying in a bed that was not my own, with absolutely no idea how I’d got there. Slowly, I sat up, trying to make sense of what I saw, the unfamiliar wallpaper, the tattered curtains, the rail of men’s clothes.

  This is Owen’s room, I thought. Oh, no. What have I done? My heart thumping, I turned my head, fully expecting to see Owen lying in bed next to me. To my relief, I was alone. I reminded myself that I wasn’t some s
lutty girl who drinks too much lager and cheats on her boyfriend. Of course I hadn’t slept with Owen.

  The events of the previous evening came flooding back to me. Camden. Michael and Annette. The band. Owen and I talking into the early hours. When he’d suggested I stay the night, I’d thought for a moment that he was asking me to have sex with him. The next moment, fortunately before I’d made a complete idiot of myself by reminding him that I’d no intention of cheating on Daniel, he’d said that I could have his room, and he’d sleep in the living room on the sofa.

  Groggily, I clambered out of Owen’s bed, peeled off the greying T-shirt that he’d lent me to sleep in (no-one would want to have sex with a girl wearing that T-shirt), and got dressed. In the clothes I’d been wearing the night before. Which is always a joy. Particularly when you’ve spent the previous evening in a crowded pub. I needed a drink of water. I needed to wash and clean my teeth. I also needed to go home and change my clothes. Not necessarily in that order. And I wouldn’t mind another few hours’ sleep. Not wanting to walk through Owen’s neighbourhood to the station on my own even in daylight, I phoned for a minicab. Then, feeling like a total skank, I opened Owen’s bedroom door and stepped out into the hall. And came face to face with Annette coming out of the kitchen, wrapped in a boy’s – presumably Michael’s – dressing gown, and carrying two mugs of tea and a plate of croissants. She didn’t seem at all surprised to see me.

  ‘Bonjour, Lucy,’ she said. ‘I hope you slept well.’ Her eyes strayed to Owen’s bedroom door.

  ‘I did,’ I said, ‘but not with Owen.’ My face grew hot. I tried to remember the French words for what I wanted to say, but my mind went blank. Fumbling with the handle, I pushed Owen’s door wide open to show the empty bed within. ‘I wouldn’t want you to think there was anything going on between me and him. He slept on the sofa.’

  ‘Je ne comprends pas.’ Annette was looking at me quizzically.

  I tried again. ‘Owen et moi – non. I have a boyfriend.’

  ‘I know. As you said, last night. Daniel Miller, the film star.’

  ‘Owen and I are friends, but that’s all.’

  ‘Bien sûr.’ Annette said. ‘Now, I must take my boyfriend his breakfast. Help yourself to croissants.’

  ‘Merci,’ I said, ‘but it’s time I went home. I’ll just say goodbye to Owen…’

  ‘D’accord. Au revoir.’ Annette half-turned away, but then she said, ‘It was good to meet you, Lucy. Maybe we could go for coffee the next time I’m in London?’

  ‘Yes, I’d like that.’

  With a smile, Annette vanished into Michael’s bedroom. After a brief detour to the bathroom to rid myself of yesterday’s mascara, and raid Owen and Michaels’s meagre supply of mouthwash, I went into the tiny kitchen, drank some water, and made a cup of tea. Then I knocked on the living room door, and when I didn’t get a reply, opened the door just wide enough to look inside. Owen was lying with his back to me in a sleeping bag on the sofa.

  ‘Owen?’ I said.

  When he didn’t stir, I went and touched him lightly on the shoulder. He muttered something inaudible, and rolled over. Then his eyes fluttered open and he smiled.

  ‘Hey, Lucy.’

  ‘I made you tea,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t sure if you took sugar…’

  ‘I don’t.’ Owen took the mug and drank. ‘Thanks, Lucy. Aren’t you having any?’

  ‘No, my cab will be here any minute. I just wanted to say goodbye. And to thank you for inviting me to the gig. It was a good night.’

  ‘Yeah, it was.’

  A thought occurred to me. ‘Reardon Haye has tickets for the premiere of Hearts and Flowers next week. Would you like to come?’

  ‘Let me think about that. Would I like to go to a film premiere in Leicester Square? Most definitely.’

  The front door bell rang.

  ‘That’ll be my cab.’

  ‘I’ll let you out.’ Owen unzipped the sleeping bag, and stood up. Which is how I discovered that he slept naked.

  My gaze travelled down from his tousled dark blonde hair to his face with its cute morning stubble, to the smooth planes of his sculpted chest, to the hard ridges of muscle and the line of darker hair on his wash-board stomach to… his erection. He has such a great body, I thought. And it certainly seems to be in working order. Realising that such thoughts were entirely inappropriate because (1) Owen was my friend, and (2) I was in a relationship with another guy, I tore my gaze away.

  ‘Sorry, Lucy.’ Owen grabbed a cushion off the sofa and covered his man bits. ‘I forgot… I’m not properly awake yet.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said. ‘Nothing I haven’t seen before.’

  ‘My clothes are here somewhere. If you’d turn around…’

  I spun round on my heel.

  After a moment, Owen said, ‘OK. I’m decent.’

  I turned back to face him, and saw that he’d put on a pair of tight, black boxers. They weren’t indecent, but I wasn’t sure that I’d describe them as decent either.

  The doorbell rang again. Owen picked his keys up off the dining table, and strode out of the living room. I followed him along the hall, trying (unsuccessfully) not to look at his rear. He unlocked the front door.

  ‘Bye, Owen,’ I said. ‘I’ll call you about the premiere.’

  ‘Thanks, Lucy, I’ll look forward to it.’ His very blue eyes met mine, and then he bent his head and kissed my cheek. I was quite unprepared for the shockingly pleasurable sensation that surged through me when his lips touched my face, and the stab of desire low in my stomach. Resisting a sudden urge to run my hands over Owen’s abs, I planted a chaste kiss somewhere near his ear, before running downstairs and jumping into my cab.

  I spent the first half of my journey home feeling incredibly guilty and disloyal to Daniel, but by the time I was north of the river, I’d decided that my reaction to Owen’s naked body was merely the natural response of a healthy young woman at the sight of a superbly toned male physique. I wasn’t about to tell my boyfriend that I’d allowed my gaze to linger on another guy’s muscles, but I wasn’t going to waste my time beating myself up about it. And I certainly wasn’t going to let myself do it again.

  Arriving back at Cassie’s house, I was still gasping for water, so I headed straight for the kitchen. Where I found Ryan consulting a recipe book, Cassie chopping up vegetables, and Nadia sitting at the kitchen table reading a magazine.

  Cassie and Ryan chorused ‘Hi, Lucy.’

  ‘Hi.’ I took a glass out of a cupboard, went to the sink, and poured myself a drink.

  Nadia looked me up and down, smiled sweetly, and said, ‘Staying out all night, Lucy? People might get the wrong idea about you.’ She laughed as though she had said something extremely funny.

  I said, ‘Stones and glass houses, Nadia.’

  Nadia’s smile didn’t falter, but she returned her attention to her magazine. To my surprise, because he was always perfectly charming to Nadia, Ryan flashed a conspiratorial grin in my direction, and then turned away to put a tray of potatoes into the oven.

  ‘Something smells good,’ I said. ‘What are you cooking?’

  ‘A leg of lamb,’ Cassie said. ‘Fabio Rossi is coming to Sunday lunch. We decided to cook him a full roast.’

  ‘Don’t worry Lucy,’ Ryan said, ‘Fabio won’t be renewing his attempts to seduce you. He’s bringing a girl with him.’

  ‘That’s good to hear.’

  ‘Would you like to join us for lunch?’ Cassie said.

  ‘Thanks, but after my wild night out, all I want to do is go to bed and fall asleep.’

  ‘Was your night very wild?’

  ‘Not particularly,’ I admitted. ‘I went to a gig in Camden, and crashed at a friend’s flat. It was fun, though.’

  ‘Cassie, I…’ Nadia started to speak, but her voice trailed off.

  Cassie paused in the act of slicing a carrot. ‘What is it?’

  Nadia sighed. ‘I don’t want to worry you, but after
all the trouble you and Ryan have taken to keep your relationship private, do you think inviting Fabio Rossi and his girlfriend to your home was entirely wise?’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Cassie said.

  ‘Well, I’ve never met either of them, of course,’ Nadia said, ‘but I can’t help wondering if they know how to be discreet.’

  Cassie looked anxious. ‘Ryan, we talked about this. Are you sure Fabio never speaks to the press?’

  ‘I am,’ Ryan said. ‘He had so much rubbish written about him when he first came over from Italy that he refuses to do interviews with English journalists. He’s also a good mate of mine, so he’s hardly likely to go running to the tabloids with stories about my love life.’

  ‘You’re very trusting, Ryan,’ Nadia said. ‘Everyone has their price.’

  ‘As Fabio Rossi earns tens of thousands of pounds a week,’ Ryan said, ‘his price for betraying a friend is going to be pretty high.’

  Nadia looked thoughtful. ‘What about his girlfriend? Is she trustworthy?’

  I said, ‘I’m sure she’s lovely. I’ve heard that Fabio Rossi has very good taste in women.’

  Ryan and Cassie laughed. Nadia looked confused, but after a moment she decided to join in.

  Cassie said, ‘Ryan, would you mind finishing off the carrots? They’ll be here soon, and I’d like to go and get changed and put on some slap before they arrive.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I won’t be long.’ Cassie passed her knife to Ryan, and went off to do her make-up. Not that she needed it, I thought. Even without make-up, and with her hair scragged back in a pony-tail, she was heart-stoppingly beautiful.

  Ryan started slicing the carrots, and then cursed as he cut himself. I moved aside from the sink so that he could run his hand under the cold tap.

  ‘You OK?’ I said.

  ‘Yeah. It’s nothing.’

  Nadia looked up from her magazine. ‘You seem a little agitated, Ryan. Do you find entertaining stressful?’

  ‘No,’ Ryan said. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Is the table laid?’ Nadia said. ‘Would you like me to do it?’