Chapter Twenty-five

I thought my hangover would be over by this morning, I thought the headache and nausea of last night was it. Jesus, was I wrong. It takes me a few seconds to orientate myself, to remember where I am, why my head’s pounding, and then, when I roll over and see the other half of the bed hasn’t been slept in, I start to feel even more sick and I remember that Brad didn’t come home last night, and by the looks of things he hasn’t been home at all.

My heart starts to pound, and a wave of nausea washes over me as I shake my head, trying to clear it, to work out what is going on. And then I hear noises from the kitchen, plates clashing together, the scrape of cutlery.

I pull on a dressing-gown, and, with hand to my head to protect my hangover from any more of the brutal noise from the other end of the flat, I slowly make my way to the kitchen and stand quietly in the doorway, watching Brad, wondering what to do next, what to say.

He’s humming to himself as he stirs scrambled eggs on the stove, and on the counter next to him is a wooden breakfast tray, immaculately laid for breakfast for one. There’s a basket of muffins, a glass of orange juice, coffee, and a vase filled with huge, dewy red roses.

What is all this about? I don’t say anything for a while. Just lean against the door-frame watching him, and after a few seconds Brad turns round and jumps as he sees me.

‘Hi, baby,’ he says, coming over to kiss me on the lips, and I can’t do this, I can’t pretend that everything’s okay when it quite obviously isn’t. I feel as if he’s broken my trust so I turn my head away, leaving Brad to skim my cheek.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I am so sorry about last night.’

‘What happened?’ Even I’m surprised at how cold my voice is. How stern. ‘Where were you?’

‘The meeting just went on and on, and it was so late I ended up sleeping at the office.’

‘Where in the office?’

‘I swear,’ says Brad, seeing that I don’t believe him. ‘I slept on the couch in the lobby. The maids couldn’t believe it when they walked in this morning.’

‘Why didn’t you phone, at least let me know where you were?’ It comes out like a whine and I have to remember to be more angry, less pleading.

‘I knew you were going out, and by the time the meeting finished it was so late I didn’t want to worry you.’

‘So you just let me think you’d been in a car crash or something?’

‘Oh I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t think for a moment you’d be that worried. I figured you’d be fast asleep and by the time you woke up in the morning I’d be home.’

‘I can’t believe you’ve been this selfish.’ Careful, careful. I don’t really want to be angry, because this is the first time I’ve ever had a proper boyfriend, and look how gorgeous he is, and if I really do lose my temper I might scare him away, and if that happened what would happen to me?

‘JJ, I’m sorry. You’re right, I was selfish, but it won’t happen again, I promise you.’ Brad looks sorry, he looks like he means it, and with his head hung low he looks so contrite, so like a little boy, so completely vulnerable and gorgeous, I have to forgive him. What else can I do?

I know you probably think I shouldn’t forgive him, I should make him feel guilty a bit longer, but the story is plausible enough as long as you don’t look too deeply, and I don’t want to look too deeply, I want to believe him. Despite the fact that more and more problems with this relationship seem to be emerging every day, I want to at least pretend that everything’s rosy, because look at us. We look so good together. We’re the perfect couple.

‘Okay,’ I say, shrugging.

‘Okay?’ His face lights up. ‘Does that mean I’m forgiven?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘God, I love you, JJ,’ he says, putting his arms around me and kissing me on the nape of the neck, the one place he knows is guaranteed to send shivers shooting down my spine.

I lean into him, smelling his smell, feeling the light stubble on his face with my cheek, and slowly I allow myself to feel better. Brad circles my back lightly, moving his hand slowly down until it’s sliding in between my legs, and I can’t help the small gasp that comes out of my mouth, and then the pair of us are sliding down the wall to the kitchen floor, and soon the breakfast has been forgotten, and the only sounds emerging from the kitchen are our soft whispers and groans of pleasure.

‘I do love you,’ I say to him afterwards, after possibly the best sex we’ve ever had, when I’m feeling guilty at making him feel guilty, when he obviously loves me so much. ‘And I’m sorry for being a bitch.’

Oh Jemima, stop being such a wimp, you weren’t a bitch in the slightest. Perhaps you should have been, but more importantly you offered Brad the information that you love him, and you said it first, it wasn’t a reply to him. Do you really, Jemima? Do you really love him?

Lying on that floor, feeling the muscles in his back, for the first time Jemima starts to believe that she might love him, that everything may well work out after all.

‘I’m taking the day off today,’ says Brad, as he goes in to take his shower. ‘I want to spend the whole day with you, with no interruptions.’ He kisses my shoulderblade as I walk past him, naked, to the bedroom, with, and you’ll be very glad to hear this, no inhibitions whatsoever.

‘Really? The whole day?’

‘Really,’ he says, turning away. ‘I thought we could have lunch, maybe go blading later. Whatever you’d like.’

‘I’d love that. I don’t mind where we go, as long as I’m with you. The only thing I have to do is get started on the column I was telling you about. Maybe we could go star-spotting? I’ve got to work out exactly what I’m going to write about.’

‘Celebrity gossip is the last thing you should be worrying about in this town,’ Brad says with a smile. ‘All you have to do is pick up a copy of Daily Variety and the Hollywood Reporter and you’ve got everything you need.’

‘Well.’ I’m doubtful. ‘Maybe if we got back in the afternoon I could do some work later on.’

‘Good,’ he says, closing the bathroom door. ‘That sounds perfect. I’m just going to take a shower. Won’t be long.’

The phone rings as I’m lying dreamily on the bed, going over every inch of Brad’s body in my mind. I don’t normally pick up the phone here, it still feels a bit strange, answering the phone in a house that isn’t yours, but Brad’s in the shower, and there seems little point in letting the machine pick up. It might be important.

All I hear is a long groan then, ‘JJ, it’s me, Lauren. Just tell me, are you feeling as disgusting as me?’

I laugh. ‘No, not even a fraction as disgusting as you. You had far more than me to drink, remember?’

Lauren groans again. ‘I wish I could remember. I can’t remember a bloody thing. How did we get home?’

I tell her about our ride home in the taxi, about her leaning out of the window and singing old Abba songs at the top of her voice, about her very nearly throwing up in the back seat.

‘I really disgraced myself didn’t I?’ she says.

‘Absolutely!’

‘Really?’ Lauren’s voice picks up. ‘Tell me, tell me. Did I pull? Did I give out my phone number to any gorgeous men?’

‘Actually, you did. You screamed it from one side of the restaurant to the other for the barman, but I think every man in the place was writing it down.’

‘Oh my God! It’s coming back to me. The barman, I remember the barman! Was he as handsome as I think he was?’

‘You are a complete nightmare!’ I laugh. ‘Yes, he was as handsome as you remember. You scored better than me.’

‘You weren’t out to score. You’ve got the gorgeous Brad. So was he tucked up in bed wondering what you were up to?’

‘No, he wasn’t.’ I don’t know whether to tell Lauren or not, because I’ve got a sneaky feeling I know what she’d say, which would, in fact, probably be the same thing Geraldine would say. In other words, they’d both tell me to be careful, not to accept things at face value, not to believe him, and, stupid as this may sound, I don’t want to hear this right now, I want to believe everything’s fine, that he was telling the truth.

I listen to check the water’s still running, Brad’s in the shower so he won’t be able to hear, and then I tell a tiny white lie. ‘He wasn’t in when I got back, his meeting ran on, but he came home when I was in bed.’ Not quite a lie, I just omitted the fact that it happened to be this morning.

‘Hmm,’ says Lauren. ‘How late was he?’

‘Not very. Everything’s fine. I’m not worried so why should you be?’

‘Okay. If everything’s fine with you then it’s fine with me. So what are you up to today? How about lunch?’

‘I can’t today, Brad’s taken the day off work and we’re going out.’

‘Sounds like a guilty man to me.’ Now that’s exactly what I didn’t want to hear.

‘Sounds like a man in love to me,’ I say with a false ring of confidence, hoping to convince her, hoping to convince myself.

‘Well, have a good day,’ says Lauren. ‘Don’t worry about me, all by myself.’

‘Come with!’ I say, trying to sound as if I mean it, because even though I think Lauren’s fantastic, I’m so looking forward to spending a whole day with Brad, just the two of us, on our own, I don’t mean it at all. ‘I’d love you to come with and Brad won’t mind, he’d love to meet you!’ Which isn’t exactly true, because Brad has shown surprisingly little interest in what I do or who I meet when I’m not with him.

‘Yes,’ says Lauren, with a hint of sarcasm in her voice. ‘Because I really love playing gooseberry.’

‘You wouldn’t be.’ Even I can hear that I don’t sound sincere. ‘Brad and I aren’t like that.’

‘Brad and I. There you go. That’s a sure sign if ever there was one.’

‘So you’re not coming?’ I think I’ve just about managed to hide the relief.

‘Nope. But thanks, JJ, it’s really nice of you to ask me.’

‘Will you be okay? What are you going to do?’

‘I might catch a movie this afternoon. Oh, hang on, my call waiting’s going.’

I sit on the phone and wait. And wait. And wait. I hate this, I hate people who leave you hanging on the line for hours. Just as I’m about to put the phone down Lauren comes back.

‘JJ? Oh my God! I’m so sorry, but that was him! He called!’

‘Who?’

‘Bill! The barman!’

‘And?’

‘And I now have plans for today. We’re meeting for lunch.’

‘Just behave yourself,’ I laugh. ‘We don’t want you getting into trouble.’

‘I will. Behave, that is. I don’t plan on getting into trouble just yet.’

We both laugh and say goodbye as Brad walks out of the bathroom.

‘Who was that?’

‘Lauren.’

‘Who’s Lauren?’ Typical. That’s how much attention Brad has been paying to my life.

‘Brad!’ I hit him playfully. ‘You know exactly who Lauren is. She’s my new friend, the one I met at the Broadway Deli, the one I was out with last night.’

‘I totally forgot you went out with her last night. Where did you go?’ Brad’s towelling his hair as he talks.

‘We went to that new restaurant on Main Street.’

Brad stops towelling for a second then starts again, but slower, more thoughtfully. ‘Which restaurant?’ he asks, his voice sounding slightly strained.

‘The Pepper,’ I tell him. ‘It was fantastic.’

‘Oh,’ says Brad, picking up speed.

‘Have you been there?’ I ask.

‘Is this a trick question?’ Brad asks, putting down the towel, and maybe I’m going crazy but I could swear he’s paled underneath his golden tan.

‘What on earth do you mean?’ I ask, trying to work out whether he has gone pale, and if he has, why.

‘You know I’ve been there,’ he says carefully.

‘No, I don’t,’ I say, completely bewildered, I mean, what is going on here?

‘I thought I told you I went there.’

‘No, silly,’ I laugh, relieved that I must have been imagining it, that there’s nothing sinister going on. ‘You didn’t.’

‘Oh, I thought I did,’ Brad says, adding, ‘I went on the opening night.’

‘Nope, you didn’t tell me that. Fabulous isn’t it?’ I say, sitting down at the dressing table and picking up a hairbrush.

‘Mmmm,’ says Brad, as he crosses the room, takes the hairbrush from my hand and stands behind me, watching me in the mirror as he brushes my hair.

‘That feels so nice,’ I murmur, as I close my eyes.

‘It’s supposed to,’ says Brad, as a thump down the hall makes us both start.

‘Mail,’ he says, putting down the brush, and a few seconds later he calls out, ‘JJ, there’s something here for you.’

‘For me?’ What could have come for me? I feel a buzz of excitement as I run down the hall to the front door, where Brad hands me a letter addressed in Geraldine’s distinctive handwriting.

‘It’s from my friend Geraldine in London,’ I tell Brad, who’s not really listening, and I smile as I rip open the envelope and draw out these newspaper pages. I read the compliments slip and laugh, thinking that Geraldine never changes, and wondering how she’s getting on with the Top Tips column, and then I open the pages that are clipped on to the slip, wondering what they are.

‘Jesus Christ!’ My hand starts shaking and I have to put my hand over my heart to stop it pounding.

‘What’s the matter?’ Brad looks at me in alarm.

‘Nothing, nothing.’

Brad walks over and looks at what’s written on the pages. ‘Who’s Ben Williams?’ he says.

‘Just someone I used to work with.’ I can’t take my eyes off the page, I scan all the pictures, read the headlines, go back to the pictures. It’s Ben. My beloved Ben. Oh my God, I’m not supposed to feel like this. I look at Brad in alarm, but his back’s turned to me, he doesn’t see the expression on my face. So I stand there and I start to read, with my heart tumbling around at the sight of the man I thought I’d forgotten about or, at the very least, put firmly in my past.

‘Sure he’s not some old boyfriend of yours?’ Brad’s smiling, but I don’t return the smile, I can’t look up from the pictures of Ben, and I don’t say anything at all, I just walk into the bedroom and collapse on to the bed, trying to stop the pages trembling as I devour every single word.

I’m not entirely sure how I manage to calm down, but I do, and I even resist the urge to pick up the phone and call Geraldine. I’m not sure how I feel. Confused might be the best description. I really thought I was over Ben, I really thought that I’d finally found happiness with Brad, and that I’d always think Ben was good-looking but that it would be in an objective way, that it wouldn’t actually affect me personally.

And I’m confused because I can’t believe that the mere sight of him, simply reading about a man whom I know, a man I thought I once loved, can make me feel like the Jemima Jones of old, the Jemima Jones I thought I’d said goodbye to.

But Ben’s not here, I tell myself, and even if he were there would be no guarantees. Okay, so I look completely different, but he was never interested in the past, he probably wouldn’t be interested now.

And I look at Brad, at this huge, golden lion of a man, and I know that he could have his pick of women, but he has chosen me, which must mean I’m very lucky. And okay, sometimes I worry that maybe we don’t have as much in common as perhaps we should, and occasionally I do find myself comparing him to Ben and, apart from the looks front, he seems to fail pretty miserably, which is why I try not to do it all that often, and we may not have the same sort of teasing friendship I had with Ben, but then Ben never wanted me and Brad does.

And he is good to me, he treats me well. Okay, so last night he slipped up, but work is work, and I have to try and understand that side of his life. I am lucky. I must be. I mean, look at him.

Oh yes. One more thing. The sex, of course, is amazing.

And we do have a blissful day. We go for a long, leisurely walk right up to the end of the Santa Monica pier, where we sit on a bench facing the ocean, and Brad tries to persuade me to go on a fairground ride, but I decline because I’d feel too much like a tourist and right now I’m trying to feel like a native, like Brad’s wife, and, considering it’s only been four and a half weeks, I think I’m doing a pretty good job.

We walk back along the pier, hand in hand, and I smile to myself as I watch the other women watching Brad, and Brad makes me laugh when he points out one bizarrely dressed woman and whispers, ‘Would you look at that? What is she wearing? God, cowboy boots with those awful legs and that dreadful mini-skirt.’

And I try very hard to shove Ben to the very back of my mind, I try to keep reminding myself how lucky I am to have a man like Brad.

We kick around in the ocean like a couple of kids, yelling and screaming as we splash one another with water, and then, after smooching in the sand to yells of encouragement from a group of boys sitting around a ghetto blaster, we continue walking until we hit Shutters on the Beach, according to Brad the best hotel in the area.

We walk through the lobby and it is beautiful. The polished wood floors, the over-stuffed white damask sofas, the beautiful bowls of fresh roses that sit on the antique furniture, and we walk through to sit on the terrace overlooking the water, feasting on delicious food, feasting on one another.

And after lunch we go back home, pick up the car, and Brad drives me up to the Pacific Palisades, where we park the car and take a two-hour hike into the mountains. Now this, breathing in the clean, fresh air and striding alongside my gorgeous man, is what life should be about.

And when we get back we share a bath, and naturally one thing leads to another and we end up having frantic wet, soapy foreplay in the bathtub, when the phone rings.

‘Leave it,’ I murmur, just on the brink of orgasm.

‘I can’t,’ moans Brad, standing up and going to the phone in the bedroom, as I groan and roll over. ‘Hello?’ I hear him say. ‘Oh, hi.’ There’s a silence for a bit, while I assume he’s listening to someone and I pull a towel off the rail and wrap it around myself, still basking in the delicious glow of afterlove, and wondering how on earth I could have missed out on this incredible feeling for so many years. And then, I know this is crazy, but I’m sure I hear Brad whispering.

Eventually he puts the phone down, but he doesn’t come back to the bathroom, he goes to the kitchen, so I follow him in there wondering whether I’m going mad.

‘Who was on the phone?’ I say, trying to make it sound like a casual inquiry.

‘The phone? Oh, just work.’

‘Why were you whispering?’

He looks at me as if I am crazy. ‘What are you talking about?’ he says. ‘I wasn’t whispering.’ And I believe him.

We would have thought this strange. Actually, we probably would have thought it a hell of a lot more than strange, but Jemima doesn’t think like this. Jemima refuses to think like this, and when Brad leaves, half an hour later, to sort out a problem at work, he tells her he loves her and she believes it.

And when she eventually sits down at Brad’s desk to do some work of her own, she reads the piece about Ben Williams again. Ben was a fantasy, she thinks. Brad’s a reality. I’m much happier with Brad than I could ever have been with Ben, and with that she opens the Hollywood Reporter and starts scouring the page for stories.