The First Mistake

by Sandie Jones

  What did you have in mind? I typed, though as soon as I sent it, I held a cushion up to my face and squirmed. If I allowed myself to imagine I was in a bar having this conversation, I saw myself sitting there, my body giving off all the right language, yet my mind in turmoil at what my mother would think. You can never stray too far from a Roman Catholic upbringing.

  I’m not looking for anything serious either. Fancy meeting up? he replied.

  I wasn’t sure he’d understood the sentiment in my words. When I said life was too short to be serious, I didn’t mean I didn’t want a serious relationship. I was just trying to get across the devil-may-care attitude I pretended to have. I was twenty-eight, with ovaries fit to burst, and a mother who had attended church every Sunday for the past ten years, so that Father Michael would see his way to marrying her only child when the time came. Of course I wanted a serious relationship, if only to appease those who demanded it!

  I’d convinced myself that maybe Mr ‘Up for some fun’ was best avoided, but that was until I saw his photo.

  ‘Blimey,’ I said, out loud, making Tyson jump. He looked at me with his chocolate-drop eyes, staring out between his daft floppy ears, waiting for his equally sappy owner to elaborate. ‘Well, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed on a cold night,’ I said, as Tyson cocked his head inquisitively to one side.

  Here was a man who knew what he was about. His confident stance, sense of style, those ‘take me to bed’ eyes and that smile. ‘Oh, that smile,’ I said to Tyson as he laid his head down on my feet. ‘Does it really matter if he’s not looking for anything serious?’

  When? I replied, brazenly.

  Tonight?

  I almost choked on my wine. If we met up on the strength of this conversation it’d beat even Marcus, the blind date that Mel, another teacher at school, had set me up with. At least we’d enjoyed a twenty-four-hour virtual courtship before meeting in the flesh. At this rate, I could see myself waking up in this dreamboat’s bed tomorrow morning.

  I looked down at my dressing gown and the stain that Tyson had caused when he’d jumped up at me a week ago, making me spill the cup of tea I was holding. And my slippers, one of them chewed through at the toes by my ever-faithful, if sometimes infuriating, furry friend. I didn’t look in the least bit glamourous, but it wouldn’t take long to get myself back round the right way. Then I remembered I had winter legs – and no smile, not even George Clooney’s, would have warranted me shaving them.

  Tomorrow? I replied, pleased with myself for playing hard to get.

  Sure. Westbury Hotel in town, just off Bond Street? Polo Bar 7.30 p.m.?

  I was momentarily stumped by his authoritativeness, unused to being told what to do, but there was a little part of me that quite liked it.

  See you there, I said, already working out what the hell I was going to wear. He’d made it sound posh without even trying.

  ‘So, you’re just going to turn up there and . . . what?’ said Maria the next morning, open-mouthed. She gives off the impression that if she was single she’d be out on the prowl every night, but she’s only that brave because she’s happily married and living the single life vicariously through me. The reality of dating sends her into a head spin, as if I needed another over-protective mother figure.

  ‘Yes,’ I said simply, because there was nothing more to add, though I knew she’d have a dozen more questions.

  ‘But what if . . . I mean, what happens when . . .?’ None of her sentences were finished.

  ‘This was your idea,’ I said, laughing. ‘You’re the one who forced me onto a dating site.’

  ‘But I wanted you to meet a lovely man to marry, not to have sex with a stranger in some anonymous hotel.’ Her expression was pinched and disapproving.

  ‘Er, excuse me,’ I said in mock outrage. ‘Less of the anonymous hotel. I’ll have you know that the Westbury is a very well-respected establishment.’

  She laughed and threw a packet of crisps across the staff room at me. ‘You know what I’m saying,’ she said. ‘Just be careful.’

  I jest, but despite shaving my legs, I really wasn’t intending to sleep with him that night. Not until I saw him. Not until I saw that smile, and then all bets were off.

  15

  ‘Do you usually go to bed with men on the first date?’ asked the man, who I now knew as Thomas, as we lay on the most expensive-feeling sheets and pillows I’d ever laid on.

  ‘Do you usually expect it?’ I replied, because he seemed to me to be a man who usually got what he wanted.

  He propped himself up on one arm and traced my cheek with his finger. ‘This is not what I usually do, but I’m afraid I couldn’t help myself with you.’

  I rolled my eyes and started to get up, assuming that we’d both got what we’d come for. There was really no need for the post-coital sweet talk.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asked, catching hold of my wrist.

  ‘Home,’ I said, suddenly uncomfortable. Funny how allowing myself to be tied up and rendered helpless by this stranger in the name of love-making somehow seemed safer than this unexpected invasion of my space.

  ‘I’d like to see you again,’ he said, releasing his grip.

  I smiled. ‘That’s very gentlemanly of you, but you and I both know that’s unlikely to happen. There’s honestly no need for pretence here.’

  He looked hurt. ‘I think we’ve got something special.’

  I laughed as I stepped into my dress. He would have perhaps seen it as me making light of the incredible time I’d just had, but I knew it was my defence barrier going up, ever-ready to take the knock that I was sure was coming. That’s why I always made sure to get in there first.

  ‘Look, I had an amazing time,’ I said. ‘A really amazing time, but you made it quite clear that you’re just looking for some fun, and I’m happy with that. Really, I am. Let’s not make this any more awkward than it needs to be.’

  ‘I’m away a lot,’ he said. ‘That’s why I can’t commit to anything serious.’

  That’s one I’d not heard before.

  ‘But if I was around more, I’d definitely want to see where this went.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, as if placating an upset pupil in my class. ‘And if I was around more, I’d like to see where this went too, but alas . . .’ I childishly refused to let him have the upper hand, to make him think that I was in any way disappointed.

  I sat back down on the bed and ran my hand across his bare chest, onto his toned shoulder and down his tattooed arm. If he carried on smiling like that I’d have to get undressed and do it all over again.

  ‘You want to, don’t you?’ he asked, as if reading my mind.

  I smiled. Of course I did, but there was no harm in leaving him wanting more.

  ‘When you’re next in town, give me a call and let’s see if we can hook up.’ I sounded like I’d swallowed a ‘How To Play It Cool’ manual. He pulled me down on top of him, his tongue searching my mouth. It took all of my willpower to pull myself off.

  ‘I’ll surprise you,’ he said as I reached the door.

  ‘You do that.’ I smiled, wishing he would, but knowing he wouldn’t.

  So to say I was gobsmacked when he texted a week later is an understatement. I was already talking about him in the past tense to Maria the morning after I’d met him at the hotel, as if he was just a dream I’d had.

  ‘I swear to God, he was the sexiest man I’ve ever seen,’ I’d mused, as I’d allowed my tea to over brew. Maria had listened enviously, no doubt imagining it was her. ‘But he wasn’t as sexy as your Jimmy,’ I’d added.

  ‘Who are you kidding?’ she’d said, swiping me around the arm with a tea towel that had been in the staff room for years. I had a recollection that it might have been on my rota to take it home and wash it every once in a while. I couldn’t remember ever doing so. ‘Every man’s sexier than my Jimmy,’ went on Maria, ‘but I love him all the same. Will you be seeing him again?’

  ‘Oh shit,’ I’d
said, as I’d caught sight of the manila-envelope coloured tea and pulled the bag out, burning my fingers. ‘Of course not. It was a one-night only performance and I’ll happily live off it for the rest of my life.’

  Surprise! his text said, almost making me drop the phone.

  Make him wait, I said to myself. No need to be overkeen. If I’d been in class, it would have been okay, but I was planning lessons in the library, and every second that passed felt like a day. I was quietly impressed that I lasted over four minutes.

  Who’s this? I texted, knowing damn well it could only be him.

  It’s Thomas . . .

  Sorry??? Sometimes I’m my own worst enemy.

  From the other night . . . we met at the Westbury. I tied you up and then I . . .

  Well, that served me right. I looked around the library, imagining that the conversation was being played out over a tannoy, and blushed furiously.

  I typed and deleted Hey, what’s up? five times, before hitting send.

  I’m in town tonight and want to see you.

  Was he asking me or telling me? Either way, it turned me on and I knew I was going to go, no matter what prior engagement stood in my way.

  I’m not sure I’m free, I replied, knowing that my diary was clear.

  No problem, he wrote, calling my bluff. Another time perhaps?

  Fuck.

  Let me check, I texted back, far too quickly.

  I waited for what felt like an inordinate amount of time, but in reality, it was probably only two or three minutes. Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen – that’s me!

  I’m supposed to be having dinner, I typed. But I might be able to move it. What was wrong with me? Why didn’t I just say, Yes, I’m free and I’d love to see you?

  Great, I’ll come to you. There’s a nice hotel over your way called the Clarendon. I’ll meet you there at 7.30 p.m.?

  For dinner? I asked presumptuously.

  He ignored my question, instead asking, What do you do?

  Wasn’t that information we should be sharing over a meal? I cringed as I recalled falling into bed with him without knowing anything about him. He knew even less about me. But that was when I honestly believed it was going to be a glorious one-night stand, something I’d embarrassingly become accustomed to over the previous three years.

  In my defence, whilst my friends were living their late teens and early twenties in a hedonistic whirl, I had been playing the faithful wife to Joel. Well, we weren’t married, but we may as well have been, as we lived the life I’d expected to be living fifty years later. We stayed in when everyone was going out. We drank tea whilst they were necking jäger bombs. And we had Tyson whilst they were responsibility-free and able to jump on a Ryanair flight to Ibiza at the drop of a hat. How I had yearned for that life. So much so that after six years, I stuck Tyson under my arm and walked out.

  ‘Keep everything,’ I’d said, with a flourish of abandonment.

  ‘But you can’t leave,’ said Joel. ‘You can’t go, just like that.’

  ‘We both deserve better,’ I’d said honestly. ‘We both deserve more.’

  ‘Well, leave Tyson here then,’ was all he’d said, and I knew I’d made the right decision. We still bumped into each other every once in a while, but he could barely bring himself to say hello. Not because I’d left, but because I’d taken Tyson with me.

  The idea of embarking on a new relationship with Thomas made me tingle. Now that would be worth staying in for.

  I’m a teacher, I said finally, in answer to his question.

  I’d better be good then, otherwise you’ll have to keep me behind after school.

  I smiled. Maybe that’s exactly what I’d do. I could be the strict teacher, happy to dish out discipline. I’d delight in punishing him for his low mark in a test and would gladly put him in detention for starting a fight.

  I resisted the temptation to search for ‘sexy professor’ images on Google, but I couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the afternoon as I mentally scanned my wardrobe, whilst listening to the children take it in turns to read Horrid Henry.

  Thomas wasn’t there when I arrived, at least not in the places I looked. He didn’t specify whether he would be in the lobby, the bar, the restaurant or a room. My stomach flipped at the thought of him in the latter, but if we went straight to that, there was every chance that I’d leave knowing nothing more about him than I already did.

  I’d only just ordered a vodka and orange when I felt a silent presence behind me, the heat of breath on my neck. I could smell expensive aftershave, emanating from freshly washed skin.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ he whispered, before leaning around to kiss my cheek. ‘I was just finishing my homework.’

  I looked down, through the horrendously magnified glasses that Maria had lent me, at my pencil skirt and pale pink twinset, pleased that my efforts hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  ‘Can I get a large gin and tonic?’ he said to the barman, all the while stroking my leg through the crepe material. His hand stopped moving as his fingers reached the clasp of my suspenders and he turned to look at me with a wide grin.

  ‘I’ve made a dinner reservation, but I think we might have to take a rain check on that,’ he said, raising his eyebrows in question.

  I nodded – it took all of my willpower not to unbutton him right there and then.

  I followed him to the lift and moved aside as an elderly couple got out. We stood there, a foot apart, unspeaking as the doors closed. If I imagined this scenario in my head, I would have put money on me to burst out laughing; the role-playing and me being mute would have tickled the immature side of my character. But the atmosphere was so sexually charged that I didn’t feel anything other than an overwhelming desire to get our clothes off as quickly as possible.

  ‘So how did I do, Miss Russo?’ he said afterwards, with a naughty glint in his eye.

  I rolled over onto my side and propped my head up on a bent arm.

  ‘I would say that you are a very willing pupil with an eagerness to learn. Your ability to focus on the job in hand is exemplary, needing only the most basic of tuition to reach a more than satisfactory conclusion. Overall, an outstanding performance and I look forward to welcoming you into my class again soon.’

  He smiled, his full lips parting ever so slightly to reveal a row of perfect white teeth.

  ‘Dinner?’ I asked, having worked up an appetite.

  His eyes bored into mine with an intensity that pulled at my groin. ‘Or shall we just skip straight to dessert?’

  Butterflies fluttered in my tummy as he touched me. It didn’t matter what was on the menu, no dish was worth missing this for.

  16

  ‘You didn’t tell me you had a dog,’ said Thomas when he came around to my flat for the first time a few weeks later. Seeing as we’d only met four times and had gone straight to bed on all of those occasions, it was hardly surprising that we’d not yet had the opportunity for small talk.

  ‘This is Tyson,’ I said proudly, as if I was introducing him to my child.

  Thomas couldn’t help but laugh as he went to pet him. ‘But he’s the cutest dog I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Don’t be fooled,’ I said. ‘He lives up to his name – cockapoos can be ruthless.’

  ‘He’s not one of those territorial dogs, is he?’ asked Thomas, in between planting kisses on my lips. ‘The type who won’t let you go into the bedroom with a man – no matter how hot he is.’

  ‘He can be, but he should be all right with you.’

  Thomas smiled as his hands wandered onto my behind, pinching it.

  ‘Ow,’ I laughed, swiping him round the shoulder.

  ‘So, shall we test your theory?’ he asked, as he began to unbutton my jeans.

  ‘No,’ I said, playfully pushing him away. ‘We’re going to eat first.’

  ‘Aw, seriously,’ he whined, sounding like a disgruntled little boy. ‘Can’t we just . . .?’

  ‘No, absolutely not. If
I keep choosing sex over food, my mother will wonder what’s happened to me.’

  ‘You’d tell your mother something like that?’ he asked incredulously.

  I couldn’t help but laugh at the horrified look on his face. ‘No, I meant she’ll notice that I’ve lost weight.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ He dipped his finger into the béchamel sauce in the pan.

  ‘Honestly, you’re worse than the kids in my class,’ I remonstrated, swatting his hand away. ‘Will you just behave yourself for a minute and get the wine out of the fridge.’

  ‘I’ve got something to ask you,’ he said later, as he tucked into my homemade lasagne.

  ‘Mmm,’ I replied, though I wasn’t really listening – too busy concentrating on whether the pasta sheets were cooked enough.

  ‘I’m in the middle of setting up a deal with a really important client.’

  ‘O-kay,’ I said, hesitantly, wondering how that could possibly have anything to do with me.

  ‘He’s coming over to London next month and it’s important that I create the right image. I need to present myself correctly, you know?’

  I wrinkled my forehead as he pressed on. ‘It would just help my cause if he could see that I have a girlfriend and that I’m a serious guy.’ My expression went from one of confusion to one of surprise, but although I thought I knew where this was going, I still wanted to hear it from him. ‘I just wondered if you were free to, you know, come with me.’

  ‘Are you asking me to be your trophy girlfriend?’ I said, having to stop myself from giggling, though I don’t know whether it was from embarrassment or excitement.

  ‘It’s okay, if . . . you know, you don’t want to. I understand.’ He looked at me with doe eyes, like Puss in Boots from Shrek.

  ‘Don’t pull that one,’ I laughed. ‘I’d love to come. What do I have to wear? Do I need to be a slutty girlfriend or a posh bit of totty? Oh, can I be like Vivian Ward in Pretty Woman! All the gear, no idea.’

  He looked at me as if I was completely mad. ‘You can just be you,’ he said, before smiling and adding, ‘You won’t be needing to coax any slippery suckers out of their shells.’