His sweater is black, with a white neck, and on the front it says God Is Groovy. He hasn’t taken it off since he opened the gaily wrapped packet, even though it is, strictly speaking, a bit too warm for a sweater. Especially standing so close to the barbecue.
It’s been completely sweet watching them together tonight. I just hope Philip takes the hint from all the doe eyes, and touching, and flirting from Jess, and asks her out. They’re two such caring people—they’d be perfect for each other.
Talking about caring makes me glance at Charlie and Lewis, and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing.
To think on Wednesday I jumped to all the most horrible conclusions about why, exactly, they were visiting the hospital. I mean, it’s easy to do, isn’t it, jumping to all the most horrible conclusions? Especially in this day and age. I think, sometimes, that I worry too much. Oh, I am such an idiot!
You see, I needn’t have worried at all…
Lewis, apparently, has a large mole in an extremely, um, private place. At least, he used to have a large mole in an extremely private place. Before his trip to the hospital last week. Charlie, because he’s so caring (and because he can be a bit of a worrier, a bit of a mother hen at times), swore that the mole was getting larger, and so Lewis, who’s had the mole for oh, his entire life, said it really hadn’t changed, but because he loves Charlie, and because Charlie was uberly fretful about it, Lewis agreed to have said mole removed.
Result: a benign nonmole in an extremely private place. Which is a lot embarrassing, and which is exactly why Lewis didn’t want anyone to find out about it.
I’m sworn to secrecy.
Charlie catches me watching him and gives me a quizzical smile. I beam back at him and cough to hide my laughter.
“Here we go,” Lewis tells me, handing me and Carmen plates of food, and I immediately take a bite of sausage. If I concentrate on the food, maybe I won’t dissolve in a fit of giggles…
“Everything alright, Rosie?” Lewis asks me. “Sausage not too—big?” he teases.
“Mmmm,” I mumble, and as Lewis winks at me, I stuff even more sausage into my mouth.
“And two more,” Philip says, handing one to Flora, and another to Jess. “Gosh, I just love this sweater, Jess,” he tells her for the millionth time tonight.
“Well, I made it especially for you,” she tells him, also for the millionth time tonight, as she bats her eyelashes at him.
Go Jess, I think.
“So, dear friends, now that you’re all completely familiar with every single detail of our sex lives,” Paul says as he raises his glass of Pimm’s, and we all laugh with him, “I feel that I should be the one to tell you that Carmen, my lovely girlfriend, has finally consented to commit.”
“Hey, buddy, you’re raining on my parade,” Carmen objects, but we can see she doesn’t mean it, because she’s laughing, too.
“After my valiant struggle with the nettles, I feel I deserve to have a somewhat more memorable moment of glory,” Paul says. “So, raise your glasses and mark your calendars for one month from today at Marylebone Registry Office.”
“Congratulations to Paul for finally getting his Carmen,” Charlie says midst the cheers, and good wishes, and congratulations and clinking of Pimm’s glasses. “But darling, why the hurry? Is there something you’re not sharing with us?” is Charlie’s immediate reaction as he glances at her midriff.
“Hey, don’t give Paul ideas,” Carmen tells him. “I’m marrying him, not signing a breeding contract.”
“Quick, because I wanted a ring on her finger before she could change her mind,” Paul jumps in. “An event that we hope you, our dear friends, will share with us, and then partake of a delicious curry at the Bengal Tiger afterwards.”
Only Carmen and Paul would have a quickie wedding followed by a curry.
“I love it, love it,” Jess says, clapping her hands.
“It’s so you,” I tell Carmen.
“Excuse me, but while we’re sharing good news,” Charlie pings the side of his glass with his fork, “Lewis and I would like to invite you all over for a delicious dinner sometime in the very near future to celebrate the purchase of our house.”
“Et tu, Charlie?” Carmen throws back her head. “Finally, another lost soul joining the ranks of the sensible home-owning brigade.”
“Well, he had to grow up sooner or later,” Lewis shakes his head. “Before you know it we’ll be like an old, no-hope married couple,” he says, but we can see that he doesn’t mean it because he’s never looked happier.
He looks across at me and smiles even more widely, and he winks again.
“So, while we’re at it with the good news, any more takers?” Ned asks. “Any more weddings, living together or nettle stories?”
“Not me,” Philip shakes his head. “I can’t even get a date for the garden party next month.”
“Well, what about me?” Jess asks. “You haven’t asked me, and I’d love to be your date.”
“Would you?”
“Absolutely.”
Actually, with all this coupledom and happiness around me, I’m feeling like a bit of a spare part. As if I’m that kid standing with her face against the window of the sweet shop but don’t have the money to go in.
“How about you, Rosie?” Charlie says, more than a little flushed with the heat and the Pimm’s. “Any new doctors on the horizon in Piccadilly Circus, these days?”
I’m just never going to live that down.
“No, not a doctor in sight,” I tell them. “But I am having dinner with Jonathan tomorrow night.”
18
Ménage à Trois
Rosie’s Confession:
Each of an ostrich’s eyes is bigger than its brain.
I mention this odd, yet interesting, fact, because I strongly suspect that I have ostrich tendencies. Especially when it comes to sticking my head in the sand…
I am nearly late. I am so nearly late, which I hate, I think, as I squeeze my feet into the only shoes I could find to go with my dusky pink dress. They are, naturally, not wide enough, and I foresee yet another day of tortured feet ahead of me.
My alarm failed on today, of all days.
Or rather, I failed to set it correctly, so instead of getting up at eight-thirty and having a good hour and a half to get myself ready and out of the house, I woke up at nine-thirty because I had a late night.
It is now three minutes after ten, and where’s the bloody cab? Why is everything conspiring against me? I grab my purse and dash down the stairs.
“You’re going to be late.” Colin states the obvious in his deadpan voice as he eats toast and reads the Sunday papers at my kitchen table.
“Thank you for that,” I tell him a bit sarcastically and dial the cab company’s number. I booked a cab for ten sharp, but it’s still not here. Okay, so I was not quite ready at ten sharp, but that’s hardly the point.
“If you’d had an earlier night, you wouldn’t be in such a rush,” Colin tells me as the man on the phone assures me that my cab is on its way. God, living with Colin is almost like living with my mother.
“Not that it’s any of my business, but maybe you should have stayed over at Jonathan’s last night,” Colin adds unhelpfully.
I wish I had stayed over at Jonathan’s place last night, but I just thought it would be easier for me, getting ready in my own home.
I went out on another date with Jonathan last night.
Yes, another date with Jonathan, because we’re back together again. Over the past eleven weeks we’ve slipped right back into our old relationship, minus the Sidney portion, obviously.
I think our time apart really helped me realize how dear he is to me and how well suited we are, because if anything, I’m fonder of him than ever.
“Or you could have asked Jonathan to stay over here,” says Colin, whose presence is the exact reason I didn’t ask Jonathan to stay over, and I take a deep breath to stop myself from screaming.
Call me old fashioned if you like, but having Jonathan to stay while Colin is in the house would be rather like having my boyfriend stay over at my parents’ house. Even if sex were a remote possibility, which it’s not, on account of my walls being too thin.
“Any luck with the apartment hunting?” I ask, just a bit pointedly. “Anything leap out of the classified section?”
Colin shows no sign of moving out, because all the apartments he’s checked out are just not quite right apparently.
“They’re just not quite right,” Colin sighs. “Just say if I’m in the way,” he adds, and I feel guilty. “I know it’s a bit difficult, what with you and Jonathan being together, but I’m not a prude.”
No, that would be me, I think as a cab horn honks.
Finally.
“Of course you’re not in the way,” I lie, heading for the door. “Will you be in later?”
“Yes.”
I don’t know why I asked, because Colin doesn’t go out anywhere. He’s a homebody, but it’s just awkward, because there’s never any peace and quiet. Oh, he’s not noisy, it’s just that he talks all the time. Even if we’re watching a movie, he feels the need to either (a) give me a running commentary on what happens, because he’s seen it before, or (b) give me a running commentary on what he thinks might happen, because he hasn’t seen it before.
Sometimes, sometimes, I just wish I could have a quiet evening home on my own. Or in my home with Jonathan.
Thank God I don’t have to collect Mum and Granny Elsie, I think as I jump in the cab and give the driver the address of the church.
“Don’t be silly, darling,” she said on the phone yesterday when I called her to check. “I’m a grown woman, a working woman, you know, and I’m perfectly capable of organizing a cab,” she told me. She emphasizes the working woman part practically every time I speak to her.
Actually, that was rather a coup on my part.
Or rather Mrs. Granville-Seymour’s part. Mrs. G-S, you see, has an elderly aunt living in a mansion on Hampstead Heath, and she just happened to mention, when calling me to sing Jess’s praises regarding care of dear Maxie, that the poor old dear had problems with her eyesight, and wouldn’t it be nice if I could find someone to sit with her several afternoons a week, just for a couple of hours?
Oddly, although Maxie obviously requires someone of degree standard to converse with him, her aunt does not. So I suggested Mum. Mum loves it because (a) it’s close to home, and (b) she has a captive audience to talk to.
Actually, Mum’s become quite fond of Colin since he moved in with me. She often calls for a chat with him instead of me.
At last. Thank fuck, I think as the cab driver pulls up at the church. I’m only a few minutes late. I am in such a fluster that I just thrust a pile of notes at the cab driver, jump out of the cab, and make a dash for the church steps.
And because I am so worried about being late, I am not being particularly observant, so when I arrive at the church door and find Luke arriving at exactly the same time, it’s quite a shock.
Luke, whom I have not seen since the night of Ned and Flora’s wedding, when I practically closed the door on him before he was out of Mum’s house.
God, he looks gorgeous, is my first thought, as I’m suddenly hotter. But it’s August, so hot is okay, I can get away with hot. Oh, but why does he have to look so fabulous in formal clothes?
“Oh, it’s you,” is again the first thing to come out of my mouth. I should just glue my lips together and save myself the embarrassment.
“Yes,” he says, giving me a very faint smile as his sardonic eyebrow does its thing. “I think we can safely say that it is, in fact, me,” he adds, and my heart leaps as I’m reminded of the first two times we met, when Luke was an unknown, exciting risk, instead of a lying adulterer.
“Well,” I say, speechless. Because (a) I’m puzzled as to why he would even be at Baby Becky’s christening, and (b) I’m grateful for the way he helped Mum at Flora and Ned’s wedding.
“You’re looking as gorgeous as ever,” he tells me, and before I can be either (a) thrilled, because this lying charmer still has the power to weaken my knees, or (b) furious, because he has the nerve to say so, he does that thing of his and changes the subject on me. “How’s your mother?” he asks.
“Better,” I say, a seething mass of nerves as I look down at my pinchy shoes. “Inside the church right now, I hope. Um, Dr. Miller’s been great,” I babble. “Really great. Thanks for referring Mum.”
“My pleasure. Nice shoes,” he says, his eyes crinkling a little, and I nearly forget to breathe.
“Thank you.”
“Tight shoes?” he asks, smiling faintly.
And I’m about to tell him that yet again I have been lured into wearing shoes that are too tight, because these pink suede pumps are the only ones I could find that match my pale pink linen dress, and then I remember that we’re not exactly friends, so I shut my mouth.
“Well, I expect we’d better go inside,” he says, and for a moment I’m completely disappointed that he doesn’t want to waste any more time speaking to me. Then I remember that we’re late.
“God, I hate being late,” I say without thinking.
“One of those mornings, was it?”
“The radio alarm.”
“A-ha. Now I understand. How’s your plumbing?” he asks, reaching for the heavy, old-fashioned handle.
And God, I just can’t help it. The mere mention of my plumbing takes me right back to that night, and if it’s possible, I get even hotter.
Before he can open the door, and before I can say anything, it’s pushed outward, and Jonathan is in front of me.
“There you are, chérie,” he says, bending to kiss my cheek. “I was getting worried about you.”
“I had trouble with the cab,” I say, aware of Luke’s eyes on us.
“You should have stayed at my place last night,” Jonathan smiles. “Never mind, you’re here now,” he adds, looking at me as if the sun shines out of me. Which is lovely, and warming, and makes me feel wanted. “You look lovely,” he tells me.
“Um, thank you.” And then Jonathan notices Luke.
“Luke, hello,” he says, offering a hand. “Great to see you again. Your lovely lady wife not with you today?”
Yet again I’m reminded of why Luke is a dangerous quantity. Yet again, the familiar old guilt at having betrayed Rowan fills me with shame. Yet again, I feel awful for not calling her about the fund-raiser after Ned and Flora’s wedding. I just couldn’t do it.
“She couldn’t make it,” Luke says.
Ah. That old story.
I tuck my arm into Jonathan’s arm, and we walk into the church.
“Well, I think that all went off rather well, considering the last-minute arrangements, don’t you?” Philip asks me.
Now that Baby Becky has been blessed in church with holy water, we are all blessing her in Auntie Pat and Uncle Bill’s drawing room, with Auntie Pat and Uncle Bill’s gourmet buffet. And their fine wines.
“You were wonderful.” I pat Philip’s arm. “Absolutely word perfect.”
“Still a bit shocked that she asked me to do the honors,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve never been one of her favorite people.”
“Me neither.” I take two glasses of Chardonnay from the passing waiter and hand one to Philip. “But then, today has been another day of surprises.”
Apart from the Luke surprise, that is. I’m steering clear of him as much as possible. And since Elaine seems to be monopolizing him, that’s been quite easy. Actually, Elaine seems very fond of him…
Since the birth of Becky ten weeks ago, she seems to have undergone a personality meltdown for real, this time. Maybe it was having Becky three and a half weeks premature, and Becky’s having to stay in the neonatal baby unit until she gained a bit more weight. Elaine probably bumped into Luke quite a lot, come to think of it.
“I, personally, wouldn’t be at all surprised
if Elaine had been abducted by aliens and they carried out an experimental personality change on her,” Jess says, and I reconcentrate on the conversation. No more thoughts about Luke.
“Interesting theory,” Philip says, shaking his head.
“Do you know, that’s exactly what I was thinking.” I swallow the last of my first glass of Chardonnay. The first of several, today, I feel. “It would certainly explain that emotional scene in church where she asked me to be second godmother.”
Apparently her friend Pookie was supposed to do the honors, but due to an unforeseen accident involving a pair of skis and a patch of black ice, she couldn’t make it. So I could hardly say no, seeing as Elaine sprang it on me in front of the entire family.
“Don’t get too emotional about it,” Carmen says bluntly as she joins us. “For godmother, read free babysitter. And the fact that Elaine invited us all to the christening is pretty surreal.”
“Well, it did cross my mind that she might have some startling announcement to make that would somehow belittle me, or Philip, or Flora in the eyes of our peers, but that would be completely fucking psychotic of me,” I say bluntly, and Jonathan gasps and nearly spills his drink.
But on the other hand, I truly wonder if it’s because she really doesn’t seem to have any friends of her own.
My friends all decided to attend, anyway. I suspect that Auntie Pat and Uncle Bill’s munificent hospitality has something to do with their presence. As Carmen quite bluntly pointed out, Sunday afternoons tend to be a bit boring, so they might as well avail themselves of the lovely food and drink.
“I thought you got on well with her,” Jonathan says.
“You are kidding, right?” Carmen jumps straight in. “Did Rosie not tell you what happened on her twenty-first birthday?”
“Oh, let’s not rehash old history.” I drink more of the Chardonnay. “At least Harry isn’t here today, which is a relief.”
“That’s the chap from Ned and Flora’s wedding, right?” Jonathan frowns.
“Ex-boyfriend of Rosie’s,” Carmen explains.
Confessions of a Serial Dater Page 23
