To Have and Hate

by Alam, Donna

  ‘Anyway, who makes these rules?’ Her voice brings me from my melancholy thought back into the moment. ‘Dumb internet quizzes and Cosmo articles. Your relationship will follow its own path, regardless of what so called internet experts say. ‘Now, are you gonna to answer my original question; how’s it going? How are you doing?’ Her words are carefully spoken but sincere.

  ‘I’m good. It’s going . . . good. I guess it’s just a little overwhelming at times.’

  ‘Like when you have to turn on the gold faucet to brush your teeth? But seriously, of course it’s overwhelming, relationships are hard. It’s like they take on a life of their own and are almost a whole other entity, when before there was only you to think about. Now there’s you and there’s him and then there’s your relationship and a million thoughts about those three things.’

  A million is right. A million in my bank accounts.

  ‘I’m just in a funk. Don’t mind me, Reg. I’m just having one of those days.’

  ‘Oh-oh. Time to stock up on the chocolate?’

  ‘That’s probably it.’

  ‘I hope he’s the kind that’ll go out in the middle of the night to buy tampons.’

  ‘I’ll have to report back to you on that one.’ He probably has some online concierge service he’d pay to do it for him.

  ‘Can I just say, this magazine spread? You look hot. Marriage suits you. Makes you radiant, girl.’

  ‘They brought in a stylist.’ My reply is accompanied by a chuckle as I glance at the magazine cover and the photograph of the Duchess of Cambridge. Now she looks radiant.

  ‘You can’t style the way you were looking and him. And no amount of makeup could paint the expression Beckett was wearing while looking at you.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Oh, I do. I’m calling it the Beckett effect,’

  ‘He is easy on the eyes.’

  ‘No, it’s not about how he looks, it’s how he makes you feel. The love shining from your face? As clear as the nose on my face. And you know I have a nose.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with your nose,’ I scoff.

  ‘Nothing a good plastic surgeon couldn’t fix, you mean. But you tell me I’m not reading that picture right,’ she dares.

  ‘He makes me feel good.’ A lot of different kinds of good. ‘And other times he makes me feel like I could happily murder him.’

  ‘Passionate.’ She draws out the word on so many syllables, her tone all bedroomy.

  ‘Sometimes. And other times he just makes me feel . . . ’ My answer is a sigh as my thumb brushes the stones on my pendant.

  ‘Attraction is supposed to increase and decrease with how they make us feel. We can all appreciate the sight of a rocking hot bod or a handsome face, but the way they make us feel is the key to how much we dig them.’

  ‘He makes me want to choke him.’ Flowers and diamonds and mind-blowing sex, but we’re still sticking to our timeline? Really? Okay, so maybe it’s just when I overthink that I want to choke him.

  Reggie’s hoot of laughter vibrates down the line. ‘Oh, I get that. I do. One of these days I’m going to make Josh wear the toilet seat as a necklace with a big D on his head.’

  ‘I do not need to hear about Josh’s D.’ I snort, then giggle, my friend joining in. ‘I have no complaints. And toilet seat wearing isn’t a fantasy, by the way. I’m not into the whole humiliation thing.’

  ‘I get it.’ I find words spilling out of my mouth. ‘I have this fantasy of helping Beckett on with his tie, we’re standing close and his hands are on my hips, his fingers almost piercing as I tighten the knot again and again until my hips are arching, and his eyes are full of panic. And I’m just loving the power.’

  ‘Listen to you and your bad self,’ she chuckles, still not taking me seriously. ‘That sounds like pure passion.’

  ‘I thought it sounded like homicide.’

  ‘No, you were talking about sex. And it sounds like the sex is good. Is it?’

  ‘The best.’ The truth. ‘He makes me feel worshipped.’ Another truth.

  ‘Oh, that is a good answer. Passion and worship. A good recipe.’

  ‘Or one for disaster.’ Because this will end regardless of how I feel. Regardless of how he makes me feel.

  ‘You know what they say; you can’t have a relationship without fights, but you can make a relationship worth the fight.’

  ‘That sounds suspiciously like it came from Pinterest.’

  ‘Are you throwing shade, girl?’

  Chapter 37

  OLIVIA

  ‘Come on, Ols. It’s not meant to be serious. It’s just for shits and giggles and a bit of publicity.’

  I glance around the city bar, the velvet lined booths and wingback chairs. One cork lined wall is filled with framed black and white photos which are, on closer inspection, vintage mug shots. The rich patina of the mahogany bar, a smoky mirror behind, etched and aged. The hundred fancy liquor bottles lined up in front of it. The cocktail menu offering liquor-laced cordials and tinctures at prices to make your eyes water.

  ‘This place isn’t exactly subtle, is it?’ I glance at the staff, the women behind the bar dressed like can-can dancers, the men like bootleggers in collarless shirts and suspenders, flat caps and natty little Trilby hats.

  ‘What?’ Miranda’s gaze follows my own, though seems to see a different space. ‘It’s cool. Sort of intimate. It doesn’t look like a knocking shop, if that’s what you mean. Besides, you chose the place. And we’ve hung out here twice since.’

  I let out a long, nervous breath as I push my hand through my hair. ‘Tell me I’m panicking over nothing.’

  ‘You totally are. This place is the bomb. It’s got exactly the look we’re going for. It’s vibey and the punters are going to love it.’

  ‘Vibey,’ I repeat, looking around the place again. ‘Not more kind of refined depravity?’

  ‘Retro,’ she argues. ‘Someplace you’d expect to find gangsters and their molls hanging out. Pinstriped pants and jackets with wide lapels, feather boas and red painted fingernails holding thin cigarette holders.’

  ‘Underworld charm.’

  ‘It’s a bar, for goodness sakes. It’s sexy. The exact kind of place you want to be associated with. We’re selling romance here, are we not?’ I smile at her use of the majestic plural; we are amused. Very amused. But we are also very nervous. ‘Just think of how the photographs will look.’

  ‘You’re right, I’m just stressing.’

  She’s right about the photos, too. The Evening News are sending a reporter along tonight, plus a photographer, and they’ve promised us a feature in their weekend supplement. The more publicity we get, the more members we have, and the more members we have, the easier it’ll be to sell E-Volve. The aim of the game. The reason I sold my soul to Beckett and all that.

  ‘What do you want me to do with these?’ Heather suddenly appears next to me, a dozen small silver buckets dangling from her hands. She looks like a dairy maid off to do the milking. If dairy maids wore skinny jeans and T-shirts that declare “Brains are the new tits”.

  ‘Put one on each table,’ Mir directs. ‘Then put the cards inside each.’

  Heather has spent the week printing out fancy prompts that are to go in the buckets, so our guests have somewhere to start. Icebreaker questions, I suppose.

  What do you do for fun?

  What’s on your bucket list?

  What do you do to relax?

  What’s your biggest dream?

  Tell me something fascinating about yourself.

  And other kind of scintillating enquiries.

  ‘So, when they come in, I give them each one of these little scoring cards, right?’

  ‘It’s maybe better we don’t call them scoring cards, Heather. This isn’t a game of mini golf.’

  ‘But we’re giving them each a mini pencil, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yeah, one of the branded ones.’ Mir’s idea. I don’t know. Maybe she likes mini gol
f?

  ‘Let’s call them feedback cards.’ After all, that’s what they are. Cards with checkboxes to rate their speed dating companions.

  Χ or ✓

  Yes I’d like to be contacted by this person again with a view to getting to know them better.

  With or without underwear, we don’t need to know.

  No thanks. This person smells.

  Not really.

  I’d like to hear from this person with a view to being friends.

  Or FWB.

  ‘So they get a little pencil—’

  ‘And as much free booze as they need to loosen them up,’ Miranda interjects with a cackle.

  ‘No, they get a glass of some drink they’re making in honour of the evening.’ I wave my hand in the vague direction of the bar. ‘And there’s some prosecco after that, and a few bottles of wine; red and white. The last thing we need is a bunch of drunk, horny singles on our hands.’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ Mir answers. ‘That sounds like some of my best work.’

  ‘Anyway,’ getting back to the topic in hand. ‘Heather, it’s your job to collect the score cards—’

  ‘Feedback cards,’ she corrects.

  ‘Yes, those. You collect them at the end of the evening and then we collate the scores, I mean, the information. Then we’ll get back to the participants through their membership email.’

  ‘And then one or two of the couples will see each other again,’ Mir exclaims, ‘they’ll have a date at the cinema, then he’ll take her for a nice meal, they’ll date for a couple of weeks, then shag, and fall in love. And then E-Volve gets in the newspapers again. Bish, bosh, bash!’

  ‘Yeah, we’ll see.’

  ‘You still don’t seem very excited for tonight. Come on, chill out.’ Mir arm slides around my elbow. ‘It’s going to be a grand success. People don’t take speed dating too seriously. It’s just a way to have a laugh and a few drinks, maybe meet some cool people, or get back into the saddle after a breakup. It’s just for shit’s and giggles, Ols. That’s all.’

  ‘We’re not in business for shits and giggles though, are we?’ At least I’m not.

  ‘You’re just feeling the pressure. First that thing in Hiya and now the Evening News. But that’s what happens when you become half of the hottest power couple in London.’ I actually groan because I know what’s coming next. ‘Bolivia.’

  ‘Wipe that grin off your face. It’s such a terrible portmanteau.’

  ‘Port man what?’

  Which is pretty much what I’d said when I’d told Beckett how we were now being referred to in the office. I’d used explanation name mashup and he’d looked on, confused. So I’d further explained; B for Beckett, then Olivia. He’d smirked and informed me the word I was looking for was a portmanteau. Smart ass.

  ‘Bolivia is a portmanteau of Beckett and Olivia, don’t you know,’ I reply rather loftily.

  ‘Like a name mashup?’ Mir says, her face still scrunched in consternation.

  ‘Yeah.’ I give in. ‘Exactly like that.’

  ‘Bolivia isn’t that bad. After all, it might’ve been Olecket.’

  Strange. That’s what Beckett had also said. Not that Olecket wasn’t bad, but that it wasn’t too bad if you consider Bolivia as the home of llamas, cocaine and civil unrest. He said if you take out the llamas, as a name, it wasn’t so random for the pair of us.

  I didn’t laugh.

  ‘All done,’ Heather announces, appearing next to me. ‘Name badges are by the door, profiles and pencils are on the table, ice breakers are in the buckets. What’s next?’

  ‘I know,’ Miranda answers with a gleam. ‘Let’s make an early start on that prosecco.’

  Chapter 38

  BECKETT

  ‘What are you doing spending Friday night with me?’ I place my phone face down on the table and turn my attention to Harry sitting across from me. ‘I know I’m pretty, but I’d have thought you’d prefer to spend Friday night staring adoringly into the face of your wife?’

  ‘Is that your not so subtle way of telling me you’re bored with my company?’

  ‘Bored? It’s like I’m sitting here by myself. All you’ve done since you arrived is brood over your phone. You’ve grunted a few times, your contribution to the conversation less than scintillating, and you’ve nursed one drink. I’ve had more fun with statues.’

  ‘I don’t need to know what you get up to in your gallery. Or what gets up you.’

  ‘Funny. Put your fucking phone away,’ he complains as I reach for it again.

  Fuck. While late to the phenomenon, I’ve suddenly become obsessed with social media. More specifically, the E-Volve Instagram account. I find I can often discover how Olivia is spending her day, and see her smiling face. Though she’s not responsible for the running of the account, she features in many of the posts.

  Let’s face it. I’m a fucking stalker.

  ‘You know, you’re pretty shit company all round these days.’ My gaze slides away from Harry’s smug expression, despite the truth in his words. ‘You don’t introduce us to your wife and we’re not allowed to talk about her. If I hadn’t seen photographs of you together, I might think she wasn’t real.’

  ‘My wife is my business,’ I reply sharply. Harry grins and reaches for his drink.

  ‘Business you’re not attending to this fine Friday night,’ he adds pointedly.

  ‘She has commitments. And a business to run, just as I do.’ Because as of yesterday, the B in JBW is the majority shareholder of the company, two and a half months ahead of my projected timeline.

  ‘Congratulations once again,’ he offers, tipping his glass. ‘Although, it appears to me to be all the more reason you’d be with her. You know, celebrating.’

  But in order to celebrate, I’d have to have shared the news. And I haven’t.

  It’s the strangest thing to admit to I’m not content with the expedient play of things. I even went as far as to negotiate a lower bid, thinking perhaps the lawyers could haggle for a few weeks, but no such luck. Maybe the bastard is currently fucking Mrs Jones number five behind the back of number four, because he agreed to a lower price and wouldn’t move on a completion date, insisting it be pushed through this month. It all sounds like he’s trying to liquidate assets while he has a chance.

  There was, of course, a sense of triumph in signing the paperwork, in knowing that I’d achieved what I’d set out to do. But now I don’t particularly feel like I’ve won anything. I’ve mentioned the change of status to no one but Harry, and even that wasn’t in the plans. He’d happened to call into the office at the same time Jones had cracked open the champagne to celebrate the company’s change of direction— new blood at the helm. And the doubling of his bank balance, no doubt.

  The bottom line is, the minute the news is out is the minute I lose Olivia.

  But lose isn’t the precise term. I never really had her to begin with. Not really. She shares my bed because the sex is good, because I make her feel good. And she shares her meals with me because she’s kind and a generous cook. We talk, of course, mostly about work and I’ve become a sounding board for her. It’s been gratifying to see her flourish. Add in a few engagements she accompanies me to and that’s the extend of my having her.

  Meanwhile, my insomnia is filled with less exercise and much more introspection and longing looks. I find myself watching her sleep like some fucking nutter. My head tells me to run this to full term would be dangerous, but my heart and my hands know they can’t give her up.

  I know I have to. That I’m not the one for her. But it doesn’t stop the cravings.

  ‘What is it she’s up to on a Friday night that’s keeping her from you?’

  I don’t like his insinuation, even though I know he’s just poking sore points. Trying to get a rise. But because the bastard seems to have no intention of giving up, I flip over my phone and pass it to him.

  ‘There’s a function tonight for E-Volve, speed dating, I believe. The pres
s will be there, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Speed dating?’ he says without looking up from the screen.

  ‘It is a dating app she’s running. She’s not taking part.’ Obviously.

  ‘It’s at Parman & Co.’ Looking up once more, he slides my phone back across the table. ‘That’s near here.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘We should go.’ My brows pinch. ‘You’ll get to see your wife and I might even take part. Find myself a pretty little date.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘What’s ridiculous about it? We don’t all have wives to warm our cold beds.’

  ‘So get a fucking electric blanket,’ I grumble, slipping my phone in my pocket. ‘Anyway, you’ve got to subscribe to the app to join the event. Preregister, I should imagine.’

  ‘Who says I haven’t joined?’ he answers, his expression inscrutable all of a sudden. ‘Besides, I’m sure you could put in a good word for me. You know, with the wife I’ve yet to meet.’

  But he doesn’t need to meet her. I prefer to keep her for myself.

  ‘No.’

  Besides, I can’t afford for him to meet her. Not now he knows about the business.

  And she doesn’t.

  ‘What do you mean no?’

  ‘I should’ve thought that was clear enough, unless there’s something wrong with your hearing.’

  ‘Fine. Leave your wife at an event full of single men. Rapacious, randy single men.’

  ‘She’s working,’ I growl.

  ‘But do they know that?’

  ‘You’re an utter bastard,’ I murmur, signalling for the cheque.

  Chapter 39

  OLIVIA

  ‘If at first you don’t succeed, get another drink and try another table. You’ll be amazed how much less you care,’ Mir declares, taking the note from the petite brunette in front of her before shooing her back into the room.