So, last night was fun.
Standing over my coffee pot, I wait for it to start bubbling, my mind replaying the last twelve hours. I flirted. I drank. I cracked witty jokes. I felt sparks and butterflies and not even a sniff of companionship. Johnny had tickets to a local jazz club, a darkened, cosy space where we listened to Ella Fitzgerald and drank red wine.
On the way home we shared a bag of chips and a cigarette. A cigarette! I gave all that stupid smoking stuff up years ago when I got old and sensible and decided I didn’t want to die of some horrible disease if I could help it, but last night it felt reckless and fabulous all at the same time.
So when Johnny told me how he’d wanted to sleep with me the first time he laid eyes on me and how it was now his turn to see me naked, I decided to do what it says in all those articles that tell us to live in the moment. Of course, the red wine helped. But I felt intoxicated in a different kind of way. I wasn’t thinking about the past or worrying about the future, I was just totally absorbed in the moment.
Apparently psychologists call it ‘being in the zone’. Personally, I call it finding myself naked with Johnny and not feeling invisible or nervous or laden with emotional baggage, but feeling like I was eighteen again. Admittedly I wasn’t parading around the room with all the lights on, but that’s what scented candles are for, right?
And he stayed.
I open the cupboard and take out two mugs. I’ve left him asleep in bed and come into the kitchen to make us both some coffee. While, of course, going via the bathroom to ‘freshen up’. I rub the lip gloss in a bit more with my finger and smile to myself. Then catch Arthur studying me from his basket. He’s used to me shuffling around of a morning, zombie-like in a dressing gown with bits of dried porridge on it. ‘I have a man waiting for me upstairs, how about that?’ I whisper, bending down and tickling his ears.
I only stop when my coffee starts bubbling. Pouring it out, I add some milk and make my way back upstairs. Halfway up I hear my bedroom door and see Johnny in his boxer shorts.
‘Hey, I thought you were asleep?’
‘I just needed the bathroom.’
I smile. ‘Well, you know where it is.’
As I get to the landing, he reaches for the door handle. ‘I think there’s someone in there—’
The words don’t even have time to register before the door opens and Edward appears in his boxers. We all converge on the landing. Two men in boxer shorts and a woman in a T-shirt that’s not long enough. It sounds like an entertaining rom-com.
It’s not.
What it is, is excruciating.
‘Edward! I didn’t know you were here last night.’
I’m standing frozen on the landing, still holding the two mugs of coffee, but my mind is scrambling. He was here? The whole time?
‘There was an accident and the trains were severely delayed, so I decided to catch the early train down this morning instead.’
Looks are flying backwards and forwards and I want the ground to swallow me up. This is SO awkward.
‘Edward, this is Johnny . . .’ Feeling the mugs burning my hands, I begin hastily doing the introductions. ‘Johnny, this is Edward, my flatmate.’
I can’t say landlord. I just can’t. Flatmate sounds better. More normal. Oh fuck. None of this is normal.
‘Hi, mate.’ Half naked in his boxers, Johnny is unfazed.
‘Hi.’
Half naked in his boxers, Edward holds out his hand to shake Johnny’s. This is completely and utterly surreal. And mortifying.
‘Edward’s married and lives in the country with his wife and twin boys,’ I gabble, finally passing Johnny his coffee.
‘Well, someone’s gotta do it,’ quips Johnny.
‘Excuse me?’ Edward frowns.
‘Live in the country,’ he laughs. ‘Only joking, I’m sure it’s beautiful.’
‘Yes, it is.’ Edward’s face doesn’t flinch.
‘I’m from the country,’ I pipe up, but no one’s listening to me any more.
‘Well, Richmond is hardly the city,’ continues Edward, the muscle in his jaw beginning to twitch.
Oh shit.
‘Johnny’s a tennis coach. Edward used to coach tennis.’ Hurrah, I’ve found a bond.
Wrong. I’ve found a competition. They weigh each other up like rivals.
‘Well, I must get on.’
And then, just when I think they might actually come to blows, Edward goes back into the bathroom and shuts the door.
As the bolt slides into the lock, Johnny and I retreat into my bedroom and back into bed. But if I was worried about what Johnny’s reaction would be, I needn’t have because he finds the whole thing hilarious.
‘Did you see his face?’ he laughs, pulling me down beneath the covers. ‘Someone needs to tell him to lighten up.’
‘Shhh,’ I whisper. ‘He’s all right.’
I feel disloyal talking about Edward behind his back, and oddly protective. It’s OK for me to moan about him, but not for anyone else to. Like with family.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be quiet,’ grins Johnny, kissing me. Then he throws the duvet over our heads and—
Well, let’s cut right there.
I’m grateful for: