32

SAM

By lunchtime on Saturday, I was filled with that wormy boredom Saturdays are prone to producing – especially ones that aren’t spent hungover. I had more energy than I knew what to do with and zero motivation to use it.

Without Mara and Ed around, the flat was far too quiet. Now and then, George would mew anxiously, calling for Mara. His cries seemed to magnify how lonely I felt and also how crap I was at spending time alone. I picked up a magazine but I couldn’t concentrate on it. I’d done the little housework there was to be done; the kitchen counter was clear, the floor was swept. I checked my phone for the thirtieth time that morning. Nothing. From. Nobody.

Fuuuuuck.

Sort it out!

Just bloody text someone.

Him.

No, not him.

OK, him.

My fingers hovered briefly over the keys but only briefly.

 

Am free this afternoon, fancy a lazy drink? S

 

I hesitated over how to sign the text, almost adding a kiss; I usually did on texts to friends. But was Charlie a friend? No. He was an ex. One of those people in your life that don’t really have a place. Can’t file them into the friends drawer – not if you were being completely honest with yourself. Some you can just chuck into the enemies drawer but it’s never that simple.

He’d replied straightaway.

 

Great. How about the Cock & Bull in Notting Hill? Cx

 

Was he for real? I laughed and it seemed to reverberate around the quiet room. Mara would find that hilarious. How apt, Charles, and how typical. He’d never been one for irony. But I couldn’t show it to Mara, of course. I couldn’t show the text to anyone because there was no one there to show. Nothing for it but to go out.

I marched down the street towards the Tube. The day was brightening and I was glad to leave the dead air at home behind. I was expecting him to be late but there he was at the bar when I arrived. I watched him for a moment before joining him. He took off his long black coat and laid it on a stool next to him. It was lined with salmon satin, the very edge of a gilt-edged label peeking out. I swallowed and crossed the room and watched with satisfaction how his face lit up when he saw me. I took a seat one stool away from him, the coat an island of fine tailoring between us, and took the glass he offered me. His eyes were loaded with innuendo.

We chatted about this and that. I could see an extra line under his eye I hadn’t noticed a couple of weeks ago.

‘You look a little tired.’

‘I’ve been manic at work,’ he said. Work! Why hadn’t I thought of that all this time I was worrying he didn’t want to see me? I nodded and took a sip, glad I hadn’t asked him about his silence outright. It was strange but, for the second time, any annoyance I had been feeling for him dissolved. I shrugged away his behaviour. He couldn’t help it really. He was my shitty ex. I supposed everyone would have one in their closet. An ex who was a bit – or a lot – of a bastard. A bad boy. Or in Charlie’s case, a bad boy with a really good haircut.

‘So what’s new with you this week?’ he asked, flicking his floppy fringy thing out of his eyes.

I paused. Other than thinking about you? I thought. Worrying about money. I opened my mouth and shut it again. No, I would not discuss that with him. I scraped around for something else . . . Ed. I could tell him about Ed.

‘My flatmate’s brother is home from India and is staying with us.’

‘Oh yes, touring or working out there?’

‘Taking photographs. Opening his mind, that kind of thing, I think.’

‘Lucky chap. I’d like to take a photographic sojourn somewhere one day—’

Sojourn, what a pompous fart.

‘—although you wouldn’t catch me in India.’

I stiffened. Here we go. ‘Why not, Charlie? Too many Indians?’

Charlie responded by laughing and holding his hands up in the air. ‘You said it, not me.’ He was loving this and it felt very familiar.

‘You thought it.’ I glared at him.

‘How do you know?’ He took a graceful but manly, practised sup from his pint and eyed his loafers. ‘I could have been about to say that I don’t have the right shoes.’

I struggled to keep a straight face. Damn you, Charlie. I could never work out if his prejudices were for real or not. I’d always thought he wasn’t really as conservative as he made out but perhaps that was wishful thinking on my part. It didn’t matter anyway. He was gorgeous and charming and twinkly-eyed. No matter what we argued about, we always used to end up laughing. He always charmed his way past the words into my heart, into my pants.

And as we sat there, at four o’clock on a Saturday afternoon, Charlie’s eyes bored into me as ardently as they ever had before. His intention was very clear. I wriggled on my stool. My jeans were skintight, and I was becoming acutely aware of how tight they were at the very top of my legs.

‘Fancy a stroll?’ Charlie asked me.

The air cut into my cheeks so sharply it felt like it was taking a layer of skin off. Charlie pulled on soft black leather gloves and we marched down the road, my hands stuffed deeply into my pockets. He seemed to have a plan of where we were going and I was happy to go with him. At first I thought we might be going to Hyde Park but he turned down a residential street with white Victorian terraces running down both sides. The entranceways alternated between shabby chic and shipshape smart. They all appeared to be single dwellings – not carved into lots of little flats, like the street that Mara and I lived in. I was lost in a daydream imagining living in one of these beautiful homes when Charlie slowed down abruptly, took my elbow and steered me through a gate. A short black-and-white-checked walkway led up to a glossy black door, complete with a shiny brass doorknocker in the shape of a lion’s head.

‘Oh,’ I said in surprise.

‘Tea time.’ Charlie twinkled at me, flicking his hair out of his eyes again.

‘Oh?’ Couldn’t I say something else?

He took keys out of his pocket and opened the door.

‘Welcome to my place,’ he said. He stepped inside and waited for me to join him.

I eyed the brass lion as I passed; it returned my gaze imperiously. ‘Beware, shabby intruder,’ it seemed to be saying. I swallowed and followed him up the stairs.

His place was simple and orderly. A cream leather sofa sat next to a glass-topped coffee table with an enormous vase of lilies. An ultra-thin television sat sleekly in one corner. On his dining table, a bowl of fruit and piles of magazines. It felt tidy and calm, and lived in.

My mouth felt dry and my stomach bubbled nervously. We hadn’t discussed his girlfriend and if the flowers were anything to go by, we should.

‘So how’s Lucy?’

There. Said it.

Charlie’s shoulders stiffened and he looked at me, obviously trying to remember when he’d told me about his girlfriend. But you won’t remember, I thought, because you haven’t got around to telling me.

But with a shrug as if to say to himself, oh well it’s probably better that she knows, he replied, ‘She’s away skiing at the moment with her family.’

‘Nice.’ I tried to smile like I cared. Of course I didn’t care what fun Lucy was having. I wished she didn’t exist at all. But at least she wasn’t in the same country right at that minute. I didn’t think now was the time to meet her, not in Charlie’s living room. Not in the lion’s den.

Charlie was putting biscuits on a plate and setting out cups while the kettle boiled. I watched him from the door to the kitchen, my arms crossed. I’d never seen him do anything domestic. We never played house as teenagers. Any eating without parents had involved wall-to-wall pizza, with either Wotsits or Frazzles on the side. Now, as I watched him, I felt something more than plain desire kindle inside. A softer, deeper drawing through my veins. He was making me tea and he wanted me to be in his home! In his life? Be quiet, I told myself. Not in his life – I’m having some fun with him on the edge of his life. On the side. A bit on the side. Which is a start, isn’t it?

We sat, one at each end of the long three-seater, and drank our tea. Charlie slipped his shoes off and stretched his legs out towards me, tucking his toes in behind my back.

‘Oi!’

‘What?’ he asked me, as he slid onto his back, his arms up behind his head.

My mouth became dry again, my tummy fluttering with excitement. I kept my eyes straight ahead, my tea cupped in my hands, and looked out the window. I felt enormously self-conscious as he watched me sip. My lips. My tongue. I wanted to put it down but it was giving me something to do. Charlie was gently rubbing his feet up and down the small of my back and I felt the heat rising in my face again. Eventually I couldn’t bear it any longer and took a deep breath, set the tea down in front of me on the table and turned to him.

It didn’t take long and afterwards I lay on top of him, panting for several moments.

‘Jesus,’ I finally managed to say, and I picked my head up off the cushion next to his and looked at him. He was strangely unreadable. I lifted my bum into the air and he inhaled as I left him. I retreated to my end of the couch again, putting my boobs back into place, and pulled my top down. I fished my pants off the floor and put them on but waited to put on my jeans. I didn’t quite fancy squeezing myself in just yet.

Charlie lay there completely relaxed, making no effort to put his bottom half on again.

‘Do you recognise this sofa, Sam?’ he asked me after a while.

I looked at it. ‘It’s not . . .’ I trailed off, rubbing my hand across the leather. I hadn’t noticed it to start with but it had obviously had a life.

‘The very same. Dad gave it to me when I bought this place.’ He looked down the sofa at me. ‘Do you remember fucking like rabbits on it when we were together?’

‘I remember your brother walking in on us.’

‘Which time?’

‘What do you mean, which time? I only remember it happening once – that was traumatising enough!’

I remembered one Friday night when Jimmy was out at a party, and Charlie and I had the boys’ den to ourselves. We’d been watching something . . . what was it? Ha, I almost laughed out loud when I remembered. Mission: Impossible. It wasn’t the first time we’d seen it, so most of our time had been spent . . . well . . . our hands had been occupied elsewhere. The film was only halfway through when I was on top of Charlie, the light from the screen flickering on my bare bum as it rocked back and forth. It was at that moment that Jimmy stumbled in, pissed as a fart.

Charlie and I froze, in a position I have seared on my memory for life. He stared for what felt like a long time but was probably only a heartbeat, and then hiccupped, ‘Whoops! Don’t mind me,’ and stumbled out again. I had collapsed onto Charlie in embarrassment, wanting to giggle and talk about what had happened – which I did – while Charlie continued with the job at hand.

‘What did you mean by which time?’ I asked.

‘Oh nothing,’ he said lightly.

I persisted. ‘What did you mean?’ I stared him out until he closed his eyes and sighed.

‘Oh, I think there were a few other times that he saw us.’

‘How do you know?’ I heard myself squawking.

‘Oh, I saw his little eye peering through the door a few times.’

‘I don’t remember that!’

‘You were usually on top, Sam, as you like it so much.’

‘No!’ Not sweet little Jimmy! Two years younger than Charlie, he had a floppy mop of hair like his brother’s but much blonder. He idolised Charlie and was always trying to impress me, saving up little stories from his week, hoping to make me laugh. I knew he had a crush on me but I’d assumed it was a sweet and innocent crush, based on mucking around together, both showing off in front of Charlie, teasing each other. It wasn’t, I thought, based on any first-hand sightings of my private parts.

‘Why didn’t you tell him to go away?’

‘Oh, I told him all about it after you’d leave. He never looked for long anyway, just long enough to refresh his memory.’

‘Refresh his memory!’ I threw a cushion at him. ‘That was my bum he was looking at!’

‘And your breasts.’

‘You shit! You’re nothing more than a pimp!’ I leapt onto Charlie and we wrestled until he pinned me on the floor.

Later, we finally extricated ourselves from each other and dressed. Charlie made another cup of tea and we sat at the table, absent-mindedly reading the paper together. I felt warm and filled up. I’d forgotten completely about the existence of Lucy until the sound of footsteps on the stairs had Charlie jolt upright and look, confused, towards the door. My heart leapt into my stomach, creating a shock wave that I was sure was going to have me off my chair.

In she strode, even more beautiful in person: tall and thin, wearing skintight white jeans and a full-length Puffa, and holding a large black tote.

‘Hiiiii . . . oh.’ She looked at me and then at Charlie.

He found his voice quickly. ‘Hi, babe, you’re home early! This is Sam, an old friend.’

‘Oh, hello.’ Lucy crossed the room to shake my hand. All very formal. I offered a reluctant hand, wishing I could have found an excuse not to touch her. I was sure I just reeked of sex.

Lucy walked to the sofa – Charlie and I watching her with horror – and slung her jacket over the back and wandered into the kitchen. Good, that must mean we put all the pillows on the floor back on the couch again. I moved my head around, catching a strained glance from Charlie as I did so.

‘So . . . I thought I’d come home a day early and surprise you.’ I had missed the first bit of the story; my head was full of white noise, pure panic.

‘Well, I’m surprised, darling,’ he called into the kitchen, as if she was more than a couple of yards from his seat. Strange how fright can make people louder and brighter – you’d think they’d get quieter. I swallowed.

‘I hope I haven’t interrupted anything,’ Lucy asked.

‘No, nothing exciting, babe. Sam here is an old friend, a bit like a cousin in a way. We’ve been putting the world to rights.’

‘Oh? I don’t think you’ve mentioned her before,’ she replied coolly, bringing her tea to the door of the kitchen.

A bit like a cousin? My face was going to crack with this smile. I dropped it for a moment although that was probably the wrong thing to do. Now I probably looked upset as well as guilty.

‘Don’t lump me into your family, thank you very much. I’ve got a perfectly respectable one myself.’

Lucy smirked and I relaxed, ever so slightly. But I had to get out of there. I felt sick. I stood up.

‘I should get going really, get home for supper.’ I picked my jacket up off the back of my chair and put it on, my heart thumping loudly enough to be heard.

‘Oh, don’t let me change your plans,’ Lucy said.

‘No, really, I should be going. I just popped by for—’

‘A cup of tea,’ finished Charlie. No, that wasn’t a good look. Hesitation over explanations was dodgy. God, could this be any worse? I walked over to the couch to find my handbag and there I saw that yes, things could get infinitely worse. Slumped quietly on the floor, down the end that Charlie was sitting in originally, was a condom – a white, shiny bomb. My stomach was in my mouth instantly, along with my heart, my morals, my backbone. It was very crowded in there and for a moment I was sure I was going to empty everything all over the cream sofa but I swallowed it all down. How could Lucy have missed seeing it when she put her coat down? And how the hell was I going to pick it up without being noticed? Lucy and Charlie were standing yards away, watching me. My handbag was sitting uselessly on ‘my’ end of the sofa. Perhaps . . . my mind raced . . . yes, it could work. I braced myself; I didn’t have an option. I walked around to get my bag from the sofa. From here, it would have made sense to the onlooker for me to walk back around the back of the sofa and go to the door. Instead I awkwardly manoeuvred my way through the small gap between the sofa and table, bending over as I did to smell the lilies. I could feel them watching me, no doubt bemused by my strange actions, and I hoped Lucy couldn’t see me shaking as I inhaled the pollen deeply. There . . . and here it comes, a rushing, bubbling a-tish-hoo! that forced me to drop me bag.

‘Bless you!’ came the beautifully intonated vowels from behind. Eyes streaming, I bent down to retrieve my bag, scooping up the condom as I did so. I straightened, holding my bag close to my body in one hand, like a little dog, with the squelching condom wedged wetly between my fingers and the bottom of my handbag. I prayed it wasn’t slipping between my fingers and wouldn’t dangle into view. I turned back towards the kitchen, my vision blurry and sinuses still buzzing. I went to rub my eyes with my free hand and discovered I had somehow got pollen on my hand. I looked at the orange on my fingertips. I’d probably got it smeared all over my face. What a muppet. I felt completely out of my depth. I had no place here in this smart house with my falling-apart cheap pumps, my unbrushed hair and my orange-smeared face. I longed to be home in the safety of Queen’s Park.

‘Well, bye then, see you again, nice to see you both,’ I said, cheeks burning. Lucy came over to say goodbye, offering her hand again, but my right hand was full of hidden bagged semen and my bag. I held up my left hand to show her the pollen on my fingers, as if to say, sorry, really messy, darling, can’t shake! And then I disappeared down the stairs, my heart hammering under my ribs, with Lucy calling out behind me, ‘Bye, Sam, nice to meet you.’