‘What did we do before carry-along cases?’ I shouted to Julia. Not a particularly tactful question as she was struggling along with my big old-fashioned heavy case.
‘Ooops, sorry,’ I said to the swearing lady whose foot I’d just run over.
‘Did they make you sniff it?’ Julia said when we’d squeezed into the café with all my luggage.
‘Hmmm,’ I laughed sadly. ‘From LA movie land straight to sniffing dog food. Can you believe it? I called my agent from the airport to tell him the news and have a good moan. He tried to cheer me up with the immortal phrase, “Well, get your skates on, there’s a Pedigree Chum commercial at 12.30!”’
‘Oh, bubba,’ she said lovingly. ‘What a wank.’
‘Big wank,’ I agreed.
‘What now?’
‘Waitressing, I suppose.’
‘Least you can spend some time with Si.’
‘Yeah.’
But the last time I saw Si I had been literally huffing about the Ruth photo. And the last time I had spoken to him I slammed the phone down because I thought he had an erection and was thinking about her. So although I wanted to see him, I didn’t know what I would say to him. And I hadn’t even told him I was coming back to England.
‘What are you guys up to later?’
‘Dunno.’
‘We’ll pop over.’
‘Cool.’
‘Well, actually, I can’t speak for Carlos, but I’ll come by definitely.’
‘Wicked.’
‘Right, I better get back to bloody work.’
‘Thanks, Jules.’
I got up and resumed my Apprentice walk back to the tube. But I didn’t feel particularly Apprentice any more. I wondered why. Then slowly something dawned on me. I had a free hand. I couldn’t hear that cladder-cladder-bump sound behind me. I’d left my carry-along case in the café. Arse.
I raced back there. There was no sign of my bag. I asked the man at the counter. He shook his head and absent-mindedly pointed to the poster behind him, which said THIEVES OPERATE IN THIS AREA. WATCH YOUR BELONGINGS.
Bloody marvellous.
twenty-eight
I didn’t tell Simon that I was coming back. I wanted it to be a surprise. There are two reasons for surprising people in such a way:
1 To see their X Factor winner look of unrestrained joy at seeing your face unexpectedly
2 To catch them doing something they shouldn’t be
Never do as I did and do number 2 under the guise of number 1. Not telling Simon I was coming back was one of the worst things I did. It pretty much shattered our relationship. And although I tried to gather up all the pieces with a dustpan and brush, some were just too hard to reach. And it was never the same again.
Admittedly, I didn’t do the best warm-up for Simon’s surprise. I stomped along Camden High Street, holding a clenched fist where my carry-along case should have been, muttering the words ‘bugger’, ‘bugger’ and ‘wank’.
I love Camden. But it’s not for everyone. Many people rampantly loathe Camden. They are people who like peace and quiet, clean streets and shops like John Lewis. Not everyone finds it easy to embrace an area where you have pound shops and posh shops, ethnic tat shops and shops that sell every Rizla ever conceived. But it’s the mix that I love. I particularly love the mix of mad people. The man who wears the fluorescent green Babygro and has two green wires coming out of his head for hair, or the lady with the dog called Adolf. (No one I know has ever actually seen the dog, but she shouts for it incessantly.) A lot of people buy pizza off the street in Camden. They deserve to be classed as mad, too. It was a blessing that I lived in Camden that day. No one found my ‘bugger,’ ‘bugger’ and ‘wank’ chant strange. It was Camden.
Having things that don’t even belong to you stolen isn’t the perfect preparation for a surprise either. This is because having things nicked is crap. It’s a horrible feeling. I knew it was my fault for not keeping an eye on it. But I wished the world was nicer. And I wished I still had the film script that would have been a souvenir to show my children. My children that I wasn’t planning on having for a few years! I was really hoping that Simon wouldn’t start those negotiations again now I was back.
‘Bugger, bugger, wank,’ I repeated as I turned down my road.
My road was normally a peaceful enclave amidst the circus that is Camden. It wasn’t that day. There was a massive lorry parked in the middle of our small street and lots of people were running around it shouting, one of whom I recognized as being the man from Flat 3. I stopped and took in the scene.
‘Bugger, bugg . . .’ I continued until I saw Simon, my Simon, crawling on his hands and knees on the pavement, shouting, underneath the lorry.
‘How did he get it? Do you think he took any?’ flapped the man from Flat 3.
‘Hamish!’ shouted Si.
Hamish was the man from Flat 3’s dog. It looked like he’d taken something that belonged to Simon and run under the lorry with it. As I walked closer I heard the sound of cardboard being wrenched from a dog’s mouth and suddenly Simon sprang from under the lorry proffering something in his hand. He looked flushed and sexy from his canine capering. I put my case down and stood and admired him.
‘Got it! Sorry about . . .’ Simon stopped when he saw me.
I smiled.
‘Sare!’ he said. But he didn’t smile back. ‘Sare, what are you doing back?’
‘The film got pulled,’ I said, as I walked towards him for a hug.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
Still no smile.
‘Because I wanted it to be a surprise.’
‘Oh.’
‘What was all that about? What’s this?’ I said, pulling a nearly shredded small box out of his hand. I stared at it. Most of the text on the dog-eared packet was illegible except for one pristine word: Viagra.
‘It’s a packet of Viagra,’ I whispered. I stared at the packet. I was confused at first, my face elegantly positioned in the ‘manoeuvring a difficult stool’ expression. We’d never used Viagra. It wasn’t in the bathroom cupboard. Maybe it was in his wash bag. Maybe he used it with Ruth.
I looked up at his face and he looked . . . guilty. The penny plummeted. Neighbouring dogs don’t rifle through your wash bag. You don’t take Viagra on your own for a laugh. He had to be with someone. Ruth. The semi-naked photo. His lack of joy at my re-arrival. It could only mean one thing. I became Usain Bolt. I ran up the stairs two at a time.
‘Babe, don’t go in. Wait!’ Simon cried behind me. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks.’
‘It’s not as bad as it looks’! That was at the top of the list of things boyfriends should never say, along with ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ or ‘I need some space.’
I stormed through our front door.
‘You bitch!’ I screamed.
‘Babe! Whoah! Jesus! Sare!’ screamed Si.
Like Usain through the finish line I stormed into the living room, panting. Si was with me in seconds. Instantly I felt like a right plonker.
Our living room looked like an erotic branch of Big Yellow Storage. Neatly stacked, from floor to ceiling, on every available inch save for a small area around the sofa and fridge, were boxes. And printed on each box was a picture of a little pink dancing willy with a smiley face and the words: ‘Cockaconga, the herbal Viagra, guaranteed to give you a party in your pants all night.’
‘I just had some trouble with storage.’
I placed my arms around him and said, ‘I love you.’ But I felt him flinch and he didn’t say he loved me too.
And it all went downhill, like a tin tray on ice, from there.
twenty-nine
Simon didn’t speak to me for ninety minutes after that. Not a ‘Tea?’ or a ‘Show us your white bits, Sare,’ or a ‘Darling, you are so special. Few women would tolerate erectile aids about the place like you do.’ He spent that time stacking boxes and grunting. I had a bath.
It was after this bath that we st
arted our amazing row. I was clean, at least. The row was amazing, not because it was fun or featured pyrotechnics but because it was three fully formed rows in one. A Tiff Triple Bill. A Tiffle Bill. Otherwise known as a hideous afternoon of shouting the same things to each other over and over again until there was a knock on the door.
I tripped over as I left the bathroom. Not because I was drunk or attempting a dance move, but because there was a box of organic Viagra in my way. I responded in accordance with the proper trip etiquette guidelines. I shouted, ‘Bugger!’ and kicked the thing that tripped me up. At which point Simon forgot to say, ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to leave that there, are you all right, babe?’ and instead came out with a very hostile interpretation of the word ‘careful’. One where he elongated the word and his register went up and up as he said it.
‘Care-ful!’
It sounded like I was being told off, so I said, ‘Sor-ry!’ in a stroppy adolescent voice. To which Simon tutted. Now, I hate tutting. It’s joint first with shushing on my list of most hated sounds made by humans.
‘What’s up with you, grumpy?’ I asked, fully armed with the knowledge that the thing grumpy people hate most is being called grumpy.
‘I’m not grumpy,’ he muttered, then added, ‘I’m just pissed off,’ grumpily.
I didn’t mean to laugh but a small, breathy Beavis and Butt-head ‘huh, huh’ sound escaped me.
‘Yeah, it’s hysterical, Sare,’ he said flatly, without looking at me.
‘This is nice, quality time together,’ I sang as he used Olympic weightlifting force to pick up and put down a light box.
‘Yeah, great.’
‘And the decor’s perfect in here now we’ve got all these Viagra boxes everywhere. Very feng shui.’
‘It won’t be for long,’ he humphed.
‘So, what made you want to branch into Viagra?’
‘Jay said the stuff was amazing.’
I screwed up my face and took a pause to see whether Simon was having me on. He wasn’t.
‘You took business advice from Paranoid Jay?’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
I considered answering the question but changed my mind when I realized the answer would take too long. Paranoid Jay is an old childhood friend of Simon’s. His heart’s in the right place but his brain isn’t anywhere near it. I’m not being hard on him when I say that Paranoid Jay couldn’t organize an orgy in a brothel. Last time I saw him he told me he couldn’t find his mum’s car. So I answered with the question my mother always asks me when I’ve lost something: ‘When was the last time you had it?’ He said, ‘About two weeks ago.’
‘How much did you spend on it?’
‘Fifty grand.’
‘Say that again.’
‘You heard.’
‘This might be early onset senility, babe. You invested fifty grand on Paranoid Jay’s advice!’
‘Yes. What’s up with your ears? Did they not pop yet?’
He was being a cock. So I told him.
‘You’re being a cock.’
‘I’m being a cock, am I? I get accused of having an affair. Now I’m a cock.’
I half smiled. But only because he’d been huffing about the issue for nearly two hours and finally mentioned it.
‘I’m insulted you’d think I was having an affair.’
There were many facets of wrongness to this Channel 5 low-budget-gratuitous-breast-showing-film-dialogue answer, the main one being that it wasn’t a denial of the charge. The other was that he was claiming the wounded party role that was surely mine. I had found the photo. I was accommodating his bloody Viagra. I should be upset and wounded. And he was supposed to be nice to me, rather than jump on the insulted train.
‘Well, I found a photo of your cellulite-free ex-bloody-girlfriend in your Filofax, so what was I supposed to think?’
He rolled his eyes!
‘Maybe I should find an ex-boyfriend, oil him up and take some photos of him in his pants, see how you like that.’
‘That would be tricky for you, Sare. You haven’t had many boyfriends.’ AND THEN HE SAID . . . ‘I’m starting to see why.’
I glared at him. I didn’t blink. I could feel the stinging nettle tingle of tears. I walked out of the lounge. I let three tears fall in the hallway and felt sorry for myself for about twenty seconds. But then a giant hogweed of emotion began to burn through me. It was anger. Wowzers. I wasn’t usually an angry person.
‘AT LEAST I DIDN’T SHAG EVERYTHING THAT MOVED!’ I shouted, as I re-entered the lounge.
‘I hardly shagged everything that moved, Sarah. Just Ruth, who was my girlfriend at the time. THAT’S WHAT PEOPLE DO.’
‘YOU DON’T NEED TO WANKING WELL REMIND ME SIMON! I HEARD IT BLOODY EVERY NIGHT.’
Simon rolled his eyes again, which was infuriating.
‘Have you got something wrong with your eyes?’
‘No, it’s just an involuntary response that happens when you start talking like a psycho nutter girlfriend.’
The way he said it was almost funny. Then the content registered.
‘YOU COCK!’ I screamed, which was frustratingly un-original. ‘IT’S NOT FUNNY!’ I added, which was also lame.
‘Well, Sarah, your girlfriend thinking you’re boffing some bird isn’t funny either.’
‘Si, you were holding a packet of Viagra! Think about it! If you’d found a photo of oily big dick bloke in my Filofax and then you came home and I was holding a packet of condoms what would you think?’
I didn’t let him answer. But I really should have shut up then.
‘You still fancy Ruth. You still like her.’
‘Is there anything else that I’m thinking that you want to tell me about? . . . No? That’s nice. Well, I’ll tell you what I actually do think, Sarah.’
‘What?’
‘You’re jealous.’
‘I’m not jealous,’ I humphed. ‘I’m insecure.’
‘Oh, blinding.’
Our intercom buzzed.
‘Is that the door?’ said Simon.
‘Oh yeah, it’ll be Julia and Carlos,’ I replied.
Simon looked at me and blinked.
‘Why?’
‘They wanted to come over,’ I said casually.
‘Did you tell them to come over?’
His hands were on his hips and he was biting his lip.
‘Yeah.’
‘Why?’
He was still biting his lip.
‘What do you mean, “Why?” She’s my best mate.’
‘Yeah. But you could have asked me.’
‘What?’ I laughed. ‘You wanted me to call you up and say, “Please may Julia and Carlos come over tonight?”’
‘Something like that would have been nice. Yeah.’
‘I probably would have mentioned something but I’ve been slightly distracted by the erection section in the flat here and the codswalloping great row we seem to be having!’
‘Sare!’
‘What?’
‘Well, maybe I didn’t want them to come over.’
‘But . . . but . . . it’s only Jules.’
‘That’s not the point. I was going to have a shower.’
‘So go and have a sodding shower.’
‘I’ll look antisocial. It’ll look like I don’t want to see them.’
‘You’ve just said you don’t want to see them.’
‘Sare, if I’d invited Jay over tonight and I hadn’t told you and you were all scruffy, how would you feel?’
‘Oh, yeah, I see your point.’
‘THANK YOU.’
‘Well. They’ve probably gone by now anyway because no one’s let them in.’
‘I’ll go,’ he said, walking into a pile of boxes, knocking them over and screaming, ‘BOLLOCKS!’
Tonight was going to be a right laugh.
thirty
Carlos and Julia arrived. You could have cut the atmosphere with a plastic spoon. The only option was to
get drunk. The only booze we had in the flat was Cockolada, a beverage with which Carlos was unfamiliar.
‘Apri-cock,’ he said, reading the flavour of the one he was holding.
‘That’s a nice one,’ Julia chattered. ‘Not as good as the Penis-Colada. But much better than the Tropic-Erotic. That’s cack.’
‘The Margar-willy-ita one’s the best. Si, can I have a . . .’ I stopped there because Si was ignoring me and throwing me a Tropic-Erotic. It was widely known that the Tropic-Erotic was the rankest flavour of them all. I knew, for sure, he’d gone off me then.
‘Right,’ said Si. ‘Now you’re here, you can work.’
‘You what?’ Julia asked.
‘Brainstorming!’
‘I love a good brainstorm,’ said Julia sarcastically. ‘Oh, I hope Big Nose didn’t leave on our account?’
‘What?’ I said, alarmed. Big Nose was the name Julia and I gave Ruth, Simon’s ex-girlfriend. It is quite large, her nose.
‘Ruth. She was leaving as we arrived.’
‘Ruth, as in Si’s . . .’ I stared at her in disbelief.
‘Yeah. Maybe I got it wrong. It looked like her. I thought I saw her walking away from here as we were parking,’ Julia chattered. I looked at Simon. He shrugged and hurriedly started speaking again.
‘If I say Viagra, what do you think of?’
‘Flaccid willies,’ I offered limply.
‘A particularly disappointing night with a doctor,’ ventured Julia. ‘Long time before you, big boy,’ she added, turning and smiling at Carlos.
‘Right! That’s what we want to change. We need to make Viagra fun!’
‘Make Viagra fun,’ repeated a baffled Carlos slowly.
‘Carlos, mate, you’re a DJ. Isn’t there a song about the conga?’
‘Yeah, that Black Lace song!’ shrieked Julia. ‘Carlos is always playing that one!’
Carlos looked momentarily pained. Julia started humming the song.
‘Ah, that’s it, Jules,’ Si shouted excitedly.
The (Im)Perfect Girlfriend Page 11
