by Freya North
‘Who?’
‘Actually, I hadn't a clue who he was either,’ Thea laughed into her tea, ‘but we're reliably informed that he's the definitive hairdresser to the stars.’
‘So you'll be popping down, not to borrow a cup of sugar, but rather his ceramic straightening irons?’
‘My hair's too short for those, silly,’ Thea hooted, ‘but I am hoping that he likes nothing better on his days off than to pop up to the flat above for a quick blow-dry!’ Alice and Thea guffawed excessively. ‘I'm also hoping never to have to pay for hair products again,’ Thea continued, ‘so the whack of our mortgage repayments will be beautifully balanced by freebie haircuts and industrial-sized bottles of shampoo. As long as our offer is accepted. Anyway, so the king of hair is on the first floor and the ground floor is a snazzy interiors company.’
‘So you're thinking free sofas too?’ Alice laughed. ‘You could offer your home as a kind of living showroom – in return for full furnishing.’
‘Genius!’ Thea exclaimed and they chinked teacups and agreed to share another éclair. ‘So tell me about France? Was it OK in the end? Oh! I've got the ER tape for you – here.’
Alice regarded Thea, twitched her lip and let a lascivious smile spread. ‘It was – interesting,’ she said, rolling out the word with cunning. ‘Have you heard of a place called Les Baux?’
‘No?’
‘Cathédrale d'Images?’
‘No.’
‘It's this place, this space – I don't know how to describe it. Dante loved it, Cocteau loved it. You'd love it. It's a defunct quarry – and you walk around while all these massive images are projected all around to amazing music.’
Thea regarded Alice, alarmed. ‘You haven't gone all trippy-hippy, have you?’
Alice threw back her head and laughed. ‘No, of course not! But it was undeniably atmospheric and intense. And had a bizarre impact on us all. Anyway, Clare Cabot – you know, my nemesis – shagged Geoff Sprite. Practically there and then – regardless of their audience.’
‘You are joking?’ Thea gasped. ‘Blimey! Talk about scandal – outrageous!’
‘And I shagged our guide.’
‘What?!’
Alice bit her lip, glanced away and then dragged sheepish but sparkling eyes back to Thea. ‘This absolutely gorgeous bloke called Paul,’ Alice confessed, her brow furrowed above her excited whisper, ‘divine looking – the sort of physique you see on a Calvin Klein underwear ad. Incredibly handsome – half French, half Australian – a real mountain-climbing, nature-loving, sex-god stereotype. Bit of a toyboy actually – not even thirty. Does the ski season half the year. Anyway, so we're in the cathedral – cathédrale – and there's this thrustingly sexy rhythmic music and all these images of Africa. And Paul and I have been flirting since I arrived and it's obvious he fancies me. And I don't mind saying it made me feel really fantastic. What a boost – attention like that can certainly restore a girl's pout and wiggle! So, there I am, walking around this quarry with the sights and sounds of Africa and watching my colleagues dancing. It's like everyone was stoned (stoned? Quarry? Do you see!). Anyway, suddenly Paul's there – there's been all this chemistry, days of lingering looks and lip licking and brushing past each other accidentally-on-purpose. And he's there, Thea, right up against me. And he just starts fondling me and snogging me. Real snogging – like we used to do at teenage discos. Greedy, lust-drenched tonguing and groping. It was incredible.’
‘What?’
Alice regarded Thea. ‘Then I shagged him!’ Immediately, she covered her face with her hands and groaned.
‘Alice! You did what?’
Alice peeped at Thea through the cage of her fingers. ‘When we returned to the hotel. I bunked off to bonk, basically.’ She placed her hands in her lap, chewed at her lip guiltily. ‘We snuck off and had the most rampant, filthy, abandoned wild sex of my life!’
‘What?’
‘Stop saying what!’
‘But Alice!’ Thea protested, her eyes skittering over her best friend's face trying to detect a lie, obvious elaboration. Anything but the dance and sparkle that met her gaze.
‘What!’ Alice exclaimed, her face twitching between shame and triumph.
‘You're married!’ Thea exclaimed. ‘That's what.’
Alice looked at Thea. She had thought Thea would be surprised – stunned, perhaps – but still she had expected her best friend's approval. She was taken aback by Thea's frown. ‘So what?’ Alice said, with a defensive jerk to her shrug.
‘But what about Mark?’ Thea asked quietly.
‘What about him?’ Alice replied evenly. ‘He's hardly going to find out, is he. I'm not likely to leave Mark for some tour guide, am I – albeit one with an incredible dick and the last word in sexual athletics. Come on, Thea – get off your moral high horse! I had a one-night stand! That's all! And do you know something? I don't regret it and I don't feel guilty. It's what I needed and I feel fucking great. It completely boosted my self-esteem. There will be no repercussions.’
Thea sipped her tea. It was lukewarm and she grimaced as she swallowed it down. Despite that, she sipped again to give her time to think because, just then, she really didn't know what to say. Thea was gutted by her friend's behaviour. She wanted to whack Alice, to scold her, to say what the hell were you thinking, why the hell did you do that, don't you dare get a taste for it, don't you ever do it again. But she didn't. She couldn't. Just look at Alice – just look at her – gone is the pale complexion of late, the dullness to her eyes, the slump in her demeanour, the fatigued gazing into the middle distance, the disillusionment with her lot. Look at her now – she looks as though she's spent a fortnight being pampered at a world-class spa, she looks as though she's won the lottery, she looks as though she's mid-leap from Cloud 8 to 9, she looks as though she's having the time of her life. She's beautiful and centred and exuding delirious happiness. She's radiating the glow of a well-laid woman.
‘You're wicked, you are,’ Thea decided to say, acting bright and breezy, though privately it irked her to have to do so, ‘you're a slag!’
‘I know!’ Alice said, surfacing from giggles to sigh at the memory of it all. ‘I tell you, if you had to choose between Paul Brusseque and Brad Pitt? No contest whatsoever.’
‘And if you had to choose between him and Mark Sinclair?’ Thea said with a sternly arched eyebrow.
‘Fuck off!’ Alice barked defensively, trying to cover it with a beguiling pout. ‘It was a one-night stand – that's all. A common, simple, one-night stand. Christ, stop giving it more gravity than it deserves. Anyway, I'm telling you, Miss Sanctimonious – if you were faced with someone even half as horny as Paul Brusseque, far from home and safe in secrecy, I'd defy you not to drop your knickers too.’ Alice sucked in her cheeks slightly, as if challenging Thea to retort, to deny if she dared.
‘But I have Saul,’ Thea said firmly. ‘I wouldn't want to.’
‘When temptation confronts you, believe me you are a helpless, happy slave.’ Alice lowered her voice ominously and wagged her finger with detectable superiority.
It was as if, by being flung far from Alice's conscience, thoughts of Mark were assaulting Thea's. She couldn't rid an image of him from her mind's eye. It was irrelevant that he would not find out about his wife's adultery – still Thea's heart bled for him. She felt like an accessory to Alice's crime. And Thea decreed it a misdemeanour absolute. She deemed sexual fidelity and true love to be inextricably bound. For the latter to exist, the former was unconditional. No one would ever love Alice as much as Mark – and Thea believed he should be loved right back. Just then, Thea didn't know which was worse – the fact that Alice had been unfaithful to Mark or that, as a cuckold, he was to be pitied. On Mark's behalf, Thea felt the humiliation and bewilderment she hoped sincerely that blessed ignorance would keep from him. It was horrible.
‘Are you OK?’ Saul gently tucks Thea's hair behind her ear. He's concerned – she's been withdrawn all evening, chewing at
the skin around her fingernails, fiddling with her ring, frowning suddenly, even wincing once or twice.
‘Fine,’ Thea nods with minimal eye contact though Saul notes a gauze of sadness clouding her eyes, ‘just tired.’
‘You sure?’ Saul presses because he's rarely known Thea in anything other than her sunny, happy state. Especially recently – she's been infectiously euphoric. He doesn't like to see her unhappy but he doesn't know how to help and it is not his style to pry.
‘Honestly,’ she says, but unconvincingly because he knows she's trying to inhibit further probing, ‘I'm done in. Sometimes, giving massage can invigorate me – sometimes it utterly depletes me. I think I'll go to bed.’
‘OK,’ Saul says, placing his hand tenderly across her fore-head, then tapping the tip of her nose with his finger. ‘If you look in my bag, I bought you the new issue of Grand Designs.’
‘Thanks,’ Thea says and she takes the magazine off to bed, grateful for distraction. That's what she'll think of – sinks and fabrics and flooring and ways with light. Not Alice, she won't think of Alice. Or Mark. She'll think about setting up home with Saul. And she smiles at the knowledge that absolutely no one, from Brad Pitt to this Paul Brusseque, could tempt her from Saul.
txt sex
It's peculiar – I almost feel like writing an anonymous piece for Adam on the merits of infidelity. I want to evangelize the effect that a one-night stand has had on my life. I want to stand up and defend what our society denounces as morally reprehensible. It's not. I was miserable before – doubting the point of marriage, questioning my choice of husband, negative about my lot, pessimistic about my future. And it all came down to sex! Just sex. That instinctive, carnal inter-change. Simple sex – that's all. I'm sure of it. One dose of pure sex and I'm cured! Now I'm happy with my husband, my energy and optimism have returned at both work and play and best of all, I feel happier and more centred in myself than I have done for months.
When Alice felt buoyant, everyone in contact with her was dusted with her jauntiness and vigour. Her team produced work worthy of awards and Mark reaped the benefits of his wife's excellent mood. She was spirited yet affectionate, effervescent but considerate. She didn't glower when he said he'd have to go to Singapore and Tokyo the following week, instead she came home with potions and tonics from the naturopath to alleviate all primary and secondary symptoms of jet lag. Their lovemaking was back up to twice a week and Mark noted with some pride how she wanted to prolong each session, how her eyes were closed throughout as if in utter appreciation of their coupling.
It lasted a week. Then the first text message arrived. And by replying to it (initially she justified it would be impolite not to at least answer, but if she was honest, she fired back her reply in anticipation of another response) Alice somersaulted down into the murky depths of secrecy, lies and betrayal.
‘Is that your phone?’ Mark said, while ripping something out of the Financial Times and tucking it in his suit jacket. ‘Bloody hell, it's almost midnight – who's texting you at this time as if I couldn't guess?’
‘It's just Thea – fretting about her house sale and stuff,’ said Alice, not knowing quite how she was controlling herself, having seen that the number was overseas. ‘I'd better reply – I know how stressful the process is.’
‘Why don't you just ring her? Your thumb will get RSI!’
‘Saul's probably asleep – that'll be why she's texting,’ Alice said with a mock yawn. ‘I'll go and have a bath and reply.’
‘Tell her we thoroughly recommend our conveyancing lawyer.’
‘I'll do just that.’
With enormous restraint, Alice resisted running to the bathroom, sauntering away instead with credible nonchalance. As the bath ran, she sat on the edge of the tub and read the message, her stomach flipping with a swarm of manic butterflies, her heart galloping in her throat.
it's late. lying here thinking of u and ur wet pussy. PB x
Alice wanted to squeal and squeak and run around whooping ‘It's from Paul, it's from Paul!’ What should she say? How should she reply? Should she reply? Or ignore? Should she text Thea and send her four or five possible responses to choose from? Shit – the bath is almost over-flowing.
Alice sat in the bath and read Paul's message over and over. Giggling, her thumb set to work.
pussy wet thnkng of u
Did she dare? Did she dare say that? Did she dare send it?
She did.
Come on, come on – reply, damn you!
Come
on!
Replyreplyreply.
Yes!
rock hard – where r u?
She gave a joyous shriek.
‘Alice?’ Mark called through the door. ‘Are you OK?’
‘What? I'm fine – I'm fine. It's just Thea being daft.’
in bath – v soapy
She waited a decorous few minutes before sending it.
‘Alice?’
Oh for fuck's sake, Mark – what?
‘Yes?’
‘I wouldn't mind coming in and doing my teeth and stuff.’
Shit, the next message had just buzzed through and she was desperate to read it.
‘But the door's locked,’ Mark continued.
‘God, can't I have a bath in peace,’ Alice protested. ‘Look, I'll be out in two minutes – all right?’
She heard Mark pad away. She felt relieved rather than guilty. She looked at her phone.
u horny bitch
Paul was right. She was. She was horny. Very excited and extremely horny. Just then she was horny enough not to care that she was a bitch.
Five pence was the cost of it. It occurred to Alice that a 5p text message had bought her an affair. But she didn't stop to think that it might be at the price of her marriage. It was just harmless texting, after all. Virtual sex. Not real. No one need know.
But it wasn't long before Alice was living from text message to text message, becoming decidedly fractious in between. Her moods, a pendulum swinging erratically between high spirits and furtive anticipation; her spiky frustration affecting everyone in spitting distance. She could be impatient and surly at work and short-tempered and snappish with Mark, or inspiring and energetic with her team and affectionate and vivacious at home. It all depended on whether she was owed a text from Paul or not. No one around her could figure out what the problem was and whether or not it lay with them. Because they did not know where they stood, so they tiptoed around her and tried their best to please her.
Thea was dismayed when Alice handed over her mobile and told her to scroll through. ‘You said it was just a one-night stand.’
‘It was,’ Alice frowned, snatching back her phone and gazing at the screen as if a photo was lodged there. ‘God, stop taking everything so seriously, Thea,’ she said, ‘they're just silly, sexy, harmless texts – but Christ they make my day.’
Once more, Thea felt compromised between her own personal morality and Alice's infectious energy.
‘They must be costing you a fortune,’ Thea remarked.
‘I've started buying those text bundles the phone companies market at teenagers!’ Alice exclaimed, her face one lascivious expansive grin.
‘Let me see that last one again,’ Thea requested because she felt it was expected of her. Though she didn't want to encourage Alice, she knew her duty as the adulteress's best friend was not to alienate her either.
And when Mark flew off to Singapore and Tokyo on business, then the phone sex began. In the house alone, with no intention of asking Thea's approval, permission or advice, Alice phoned Paul. And the outright dirtiness of the text messaging was replaced with naughty giggles and coy referencing and then, surprisingly, five minutes of chit-chat. On a nightly basis.
‘He's just a friend,’ Alice justified to Thea, having thrust her mobile phone at her friend's ear so she could hear his voice. ‘We're just mates.’
‘“Mate” being the operative word,’ Thea couldn't resist saying. ‘You fucke
d, remember.’
Alice physically swiped the air dismissively. ‘He lives in Fucksville France!’ Alice breezed, as if Thea's insinuation was ludicrous.
u awake? can u spk? u alone?
Yes, Alice was awake but no she couldn't speak because Mark and she were just about to sit down to supper.
‘I'm just going to the loo,’ Alice told Mark, surreptitiously slipping her phone into her back pocket. ‘Can you stir the sauce and switch the rice off in a couple of minutes?’
‘Wine? White?’ Mark asked, starting the interminable search for the sodding corkscrew.
Alice locks the toilet door.
not alone – hows u, big boy?
coming the reply announces.
Alice laughs as she sends her reply: u dirty boy – u'll go blind!
coming over he sends back.
Before Alice has the chance to absorb the information let alone formulate a response, a barrage of messages arrives on her phone.
to london
next tues
3 nights
get ready, baby – gonna make u sore
Oh
My
God
Sitting on the closed toilet seat, Alice is utterly stuck for text words.
She switches off her phone without replying and leaves it on top of the cistern in irrational fear of Paul suddenly materializing from it like a genie from the lamp.
