by Ana Simons
“Okay, mate. Let’s analyse this. You love her?”
“Who?”
“Your wife, you idiot.”
“Of course I do.”
“That’s why you’ve been banging her best friend, right? It makes perfect sense.” I give him a cynical grin.
Jake sags deeper into the chair.
“In that case, you know what you need to do, don’t you?”
His brow furrows, there’s utter despair in his eyes. “But I can’t leave Patricia.”
“Think straight, mate. One thing is bonking, shaking the sheets. But then there’s that another thing, love or whatever. You’d-give-up-your-left-kidney-if-she-needed kind of thing, you know? Come on, you can’t possibly feel the same thing for both of them.”
“I can’t, because she’ll blow the whistle. If I leave her, she’ll tell Claire. And I’ll lose everything...”
The beach house, the convertible—and her father, whose prominent position in the world of high finance sure has brought him a lot of perks along the way.
“Yeah, it’s a total bummer.” I nod, with feigned sympathetic understanding. “But I suppose you have to man up and assume what happened. What else can you possibly do?”
“Either way I’m fucked, aren’t I?” Jake lets out a heavy sigh, the realisation there’s no way he’ll get out of this in one piece dawning hard on him.
“You are. You’re knee deep in shit and I can’t be of any help to you on this. Sorry.” I stand and tap him on the shoulder, in a hopeless gesture. Then I head to the counter and sit on a stool while waiting for another two pints.
Avicii’s Waiting for Love invades the club and the screaming crowd begins to undulate enthusiastically. I turn to locate the dark-eyed, beautiful brunette, intending to give her an I’m-coming-for-you-soon sign.
Eventually, I do find her in the middle of the dance floor, which is now packed with writhing, gyrating bodies, moving in sync to the throbbing beat of the loud music. She’s jumping and spinning with her eyes closed, both hands waving in the air, her hips swaying wildly, her braless tits bouncing freely.
I observe her for a while, dancing and laughing, following the contagious vibe. But then, suddenly, in the middle of the flashing lights and all that psychedelic frenzy, she turns around and a rush of energy takes over my body.
I have the feeling I’m seeing someone else. The woman with long golden-brown hair who’s been filling up a lot of my thoughts lately.
Damn it, it’s happening again! I just can’t get her off my mind. It feels like a bloody drug, I think about her every ten seconds. No, every 5.5 seconds. The other 4.5 are spent on ways to forget about her. And on sex. Always with her.
Making an effort to shake off these thoughts, I turn back to the counter to check if our beers are here already. I’m still changing position when in the tiniest fragment of time and through the narrow gaps between all those bodies in motion, I find Mary’s eyes boring into me.
Curious, I reciprocate the gaze.
She flashes a smile and begins to run a hand through her hair, then playing with her earlobe—in a far too sensuous way to make it a casual gesture. After sipping her drink, she licks her lips and, consciously or not, bites her lower lip.
My pulse leaps, wild and erratic.
What is this now? She mustn’t have forgotten the effect that had on me.
Spinning around on the stool, I turn my eyes away from her and force my mind to deviate from whatever the hell is going on here.
Instants later, when I’m about to grab our beers and head back to the table, I feel a light hand run down my back.
“How about if we catch up today?” Mary’s voice resonates through me.
“Excuse me?”
She rests her hand on my thigh and comes closer to breathe into my ear, “How about if we go elsewhere? Just the two of us?”
“Sorry, again? The music’s too loud, I can’t hear you.” I act nonchalant, pretending I don’t understand her advances.
Her eyes twinkle with mischief and her lips form a slightly crooked smile. “You know,” she insists, her hand sliding up my leg, her knuckles surreptitiously grazing my groin, “I’ve been watching you. And what I’d like to do with you right now is actually a criminal offence if done in public.”
I catch her hand immediately, stopping it from moving any further. “Listen to me, what happened that other day was a huge mistake. It’s not going to happen again.”
She covers my lips with a finger and comes closer, to whisper in my ear, “I’m feeling so horny right now...”
Tightening my grip, I push her to my chest and hiss through clenched teeth, “What’s the problem, darling? Grandpa can’t get it on anymore? That’s too bad. But there’s nothing I can do about it. This ship has sailed and you won’t get on it ever again.”
“Brian!” There’s shock plastered across her face.
“Now get the fuck out of my way.” I stand and push my way past her. It’s time for me to get the hell out of here. Jake is on his own, I’m calling it a night.
Desperate to get home, hit the pillow, and forget the mess I’ve been in for a few hours, I grab my jacket and rush outside. Under the neon lights of the club, I suck in a long breath of fresh air. It does little to ease the turmoil roiling inside me.
Zipping up my jacket, I walk by the people queuing up to get inside and head down the street. Just when I’m approaching the car park and dig in my pocket for the key, my phone buzzes with a text.
Rogers | Friday, September 4 | 22:25
Stay the fuck away from her.
I stand rooted to the spot, reading the text over again, not sure what to think of it. The irony almost makes me laugh. Almost. I’m seething inside, my head throbbing at his audacity. How dare he! Son of a bitch!
Suddenly, a feeling of coldness creeps up my spine and my eyes dart around the dark, checking if I’m being followed. I see no one. There’s nothing but silence. Only the feeling of blood roaring in my ears, as if the rhythm of the pounding music came chasing after me.
On an impulse I hit the green call button and press the phone to my ear, turning around furiously, hoping to see him emerge from wherever he’s hiding.
Two beeps and his rough, smoky voice comes on. “What? Wasn’t I clear enough?”
“Very.” A dry, rasping chuckle fills the line.
“What the hell is so funny, boy?”
“Whatever you do, don’t lose your cool—that’s what you always told me, remember?” I ask, not bothering to suppress another cynical laugh. “So, yes, it’s actually quite funny. When people fail to practise what they preach. But, where are you? Why don’t you come talk to me, face to face, like a man?”
“Let go of her. Accept it’s over and move on with your life. There’s no need to make this harder than it is, for any one of us.” A brief pause and he adds, “Consider this a friendly warning, son.”
I feel my jaw clench, my hand forming into a fist. “I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about. But go ahead, continue. This might just get interesting.” I make no attempt to hide the sarcasm.
“Just stay away from what’s mine, you got that?”
“I don’t know what kind of trouble there is in paradise, but you seem a bit desperate, mate. What’s up? Life’s coming back to bite you in the arse?”
“Don’t mess with me, boy. You know well patience is not one of my best attributes, so you’d better not step over the line or–”
“Or else what?” A contemptuous, hate-filled laugh escapes me. “Did you know I could be fucking your very classy girlfriend in some seedy bathroom stall this very moment? Sure you do, you’re spying on her—how pathetic is that?”
He doesn’t reply to my provocation.
“Thing is, old man, I could be fucking her, but I’m not. Want to know why? Because I don’t want to. The only thing I want from that woman is distance. So, you’d better tell your people to do a better job because it’s not with me you need to worry
about. You got that?”
I hang up before he can say anything else and get into the car, every muscle in my body throbbing with fury. Wrestling to regain control, I grip the steering wheel, so hard it hurts, and let my eyes drift closed, as I inhale a calming breath.
A few moments later, I’m ready to push the key into the ignition and hit the road. I turn on the radio and a somehow familiar breathy, rough voice touches me somewhere deep.
Only Love Can Hurt Like This?
It’s that song from the other night, when I took Olivia to my apartment. I smile to myself, not exactly amused by the coincidence. It’s more a self-commiserating smile, ignited by the words of some idiot who thinks himself a poet: when you’re falling for someone, suddenly all love songs begin to make perfect sense.
Poetry or not, this one kind of does…
Though it only adds more pain to the hurt, I don’t change the station. I turn it louder and louder, to an almost deafening level, until I feel so numb and can’t think of anything else anymore. Because the awareness I’m no longer able to contain what I’m feeling is just too overwhelming. I’m scared. I’m scared of losing her, of keeping her, of never seeing her again…
What are you going to do now?
What needs to be done.
What if it crashes and burns like it did before?
Let it ruin me, then.
17 Wild guesses
Saturday, 5 September. 5 pm or something like that.
Handshakes, check.
Anthems, check.
Kick-off, check.
What exactly happened next? I guess I’m pretty clueless here...
The thing is, we all came here today, to my sister’s place, to have a family dinner and watch the ball game. Our national team is playing against San Marino.
Mark and Josh, all dressed up with England’s jerseys and waving scarves and flags, are already celebrating effusively. On the opposite end of the sofa, my father, all steamed up, is grumbling about the crazy amount of money players are getting these days for kicking a ball like a girl.
0-2, I check on the TV screen.
Apparently, Wayne Rooney has just scored and equalled Sir Bobby Charlton’s all-time goal record and is now a national hero. It seems England is about to qualify for Euro 2016. Finally, some good news.
0-6, end result.
Six? We scored six times?
I swear I only saw one goal, the one some poor wretch from the other team threw into the wrong net, scoring for us. He’s probably in the doghouse right now and feels like shit, as if he had shot his own foot.
That’s basically how I’m feeling too.
Bloody hell. My mind has been miles away the whole time, reeling as I try to figure out how I’m going to deal with it, with the fact that I want to see her so badly but don’t quite know where to start. If I should even start in the first place.
It could all go so wrong.
Yeah, but it could be sort of great too.
What if it doesn’t work out?
But what if it does?
“Sue! Bring us some more beer, will you, babe?” Mark shouts towards the balcony.
My sister, who’s outside chatting with our mother, turns to look at him with narrowed eyes. “What?” She heard him right. She’s just giving him the chance to think it over before she asks why he isn’t moving his own ass instead.
“Never mind, I’ll do it.” I get up and head to the kitchen. I’m in no condition for post-match comments anyway.
After pulling three beers from the fridge, I begin to rummage through the cabinets and drawers for the bottle opener. “Mark, where’s the–?”
“Here!” My sister hands it over to me. “And I’ve got something else for you. Wait a sec, don’t go yet.”
“What then?”
Sue disappears into the corridor, returning a minute later, carrying Emma on her hip and holding a post-it note in her hand. She puts her toddler down, next to the play kitchen set, and sticks the paper onto my forehead.
“Now, don’t be a wuss,” she says, completing her strange action with a knowing smile and a wink. Without further words, she leaves, missing the confused frown on my face.
When I’m about to look at the small paper, a small hand begins to tug at my jeans. “What the fuck, Uncle Brian!”
“Sweetie, what?”
“What the fuck!” She screams louder this time, her tiny hand pulling quite energetically.
I shove the note into my pocket and bend down. “Emma, that’s not a nice thing to say.”
She sucks in a long breath and puts on a huge pout, her face turning red, a sob threatening to break out of her chest any second. And it eventually does. Dreadful. She begins to cry and scream the same line repeatedly, louder and louder, her feet in a sort of frantic tap-dancing.
Sue storms back into the kitchen with her face screwed into a huge frown and grabs some tiny pink weird thingy from the counter. “Here you go, sweetie,” she says, calming her down and sending her back to her little kitchen.
I look at her, confused.
“She wanted the fork, duh!” She sighs dramatically, shaking her head.
I hold my hands up in surrender—Ah-ah, the fork! Obviously! What else could it be?—and, for the first time today, I let out a loud, heartfelt laugh.
When I’m holding the three open bottles and getting ready to return to the living room, our eyes meet and Emma giggles, her huge blue eyes now so bright, her smile the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Want to play with me, Uncle Brian?” She gets up and extends her hand to invite me to join her. Somehow the hem of her dress is now up and her tiny bottom is exposed to the open air.
“Where’s your underwear?”
She shrugs, her hands held out in a pretty, innocent, open gesture. “I ran to the bathroom as fast as I could, but it was faster than me...”
Seriously, I can’t handle any more details. “Sweetie, go talk to mommy.”
She shakes her head. “Uh-uh. I like it this way, it feels soo much fresher.”
Oh God, the chill zone. Looking up, I take a deep gulp of air. If I ever have kids, please, have mercy and send me a boy.
“Uncle Brian?”
“Yes?”
“Mommy doesn’t have a weeny.” She’s seemingly distracted, as she pretends to pour tea into a mini cup.
“I know.” I stifle a snort.
“But she has boobs. I can’t wait until I have my own!”
Oh.My.God. Another loud laugh echoes throughout the house.
*
“What am I supposed to do with this?” I ask Sue later that evening when she joins me in the back garden. I’ve been sitting here for a while now, alone, drinking my feelings away and flipping the yellow note with Olivia’s address between my fingers.
“What do you think?” Her gaze penetrates mine. “Look at you, you’re a wreck since she left. For the love of God, do something about it.”
“I’m not so sure she wants to see me again. She didn’t even let me take her to the airport.”
“You didn’t insist.”
“You’ve got to be joking, she totally blew me off! Johnny should take her, everyone heard that.”
Sue’s eyes snap open and she takes a sharp inhale. “Listen, what women say isn’t always what they mean, you should know that by now! For Christ’s sake, you have to learn how to read between the lines.”
“What the fudge is that supposed to mean?”
She blows out a quick exhale. “Hear me out: when women say ‘maybe’ what do you think they mean?”
“Are you tipsy or what? Maybe means maybe—what other hidden meaning could I possibly be missing here?”
“No, you clueless twonk! It means no. What if a woman says ‘we’ll see’?
“Maybe?”
“Wrong again. That’s another resounding no. What if she says ‘yes’?”
I just shrug now, I don’t even dare to take any more wild guesses.
“It means yes,
of course!” She pauses for an instant. “Though sometimes it’s a maybe... sometimes even a no. It depends on the context. Yeah, it’s kind of complex...”
“You bet it is. Someone should write a frigging user-friendly manual to help us sort out what you’re really saying. It’d be a best-seller.”
“Yeah, like you’ve ever seen a man reading the instructions, right?” She lets out a hearty laugh. “The thing is, sometimes a ‘no’ is not a no, it’s an ask again because I want you to work harder for this. Got that?”
I shake my head, frowning. That’s just the craziest theory I’ve ever heard.
Silence sets in.
After a short while, Sue carries on, trying to lighten the mood, “Here’s another one: what does ‘do whatever you want’ mean?”
“Easy. We’re basically screwed if we go ahead and don’t do exactly what you want. Voilà!”
“Good! How about ‘I’m almost ready’?”
“That could be five minutes, thirty minutes or an hour. Only God knows when, so we’d better grab a beer and something to eat.”
“‘You don’t need to buy me anything’?”
“If we really love you, we should come up with something that blows your mind, otherwise no one is getting laid in the next two weeks.”
“Man, you’re good!” She gives me an amused pat on the hand. “How about ‘not now, we’ll talk about this later’?”
“You’re so pissed off you can’t think straight anymore. You need time to gear up and figure out how you’re going to bust Mark’s balls. And now, the game is over. I really don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“But–”
“I know you mean well, but you and your husband should stop hooking me up with every woman you know. It was fun at the beginning, but it’s becoming kind of annoying now. And as for Olivia, I’d prefer if you just stayed out of it. It’s not as easy as you think and besides... well, it’s none of your business!”
She crosses her arms and looks into the void. “Fine.”
I nudge her with my elbow. “And ‘fine’ doesn’t mean fine. In Chickanese it means just the opposite, it means you feel like smacking me on the head right now.”
