part0010

I lie still for a moment to take in my surroundings; I’m in my own bed with the duvet over me but as I lift it up, I can see that I’m still wearing the new black dress that I went out in last night. Although, obviously, this is not good as it means that I was incapable of getting undressed, in a way it is good because if I had no clothes on and were in a strange bed that would be bad. Very bad.

I have a dull thumping headache and an extremely dry mouth and my tongue feels like a large rubber ball has been inserted into my mouth but considering the amount of gin that I drank I don’t feel too bad at all.

That’s because you’re a hardened drinker, snaps the Beccabird.

I don’t need you to make me feel worse, I tell her, I feel quite bad enough already, thank you very much.

I wish, wish, wish, that I hadn’t gone last night because then I’d probably never have known that Jonathan worked at Atkinsons and even if I’d known I’d have been unlikely to have bumped into him. And more to the point he’d never have known that I worked there as well .

Remember when I said that I didn’t feel as if I’d even had a drink even though I was guzzling one after the other? Well that feeling lasted until the moment we stepped outside to go to the club; once the fresh air hit me, I felt absolutely wasted.

I pull the duvet over my head in an attempt to block out the memories but it’s pointless, there’s no forgetting the worst bits. One thing to be thankful for I remind myself; I’m at home in my own bed with my clothes on.

Considering the amount I drank it could have been much, much worse.

I felt sick when I saw Jonathan at the bar and also slightly impressed although I tried not to be. How did he get to be head of marketing? He always had the gift of the gab and could talk his way into anything but even so, how did he ever get that job? How did he get to be the high-flying head of marketing at Atkinsons and I’m stuck in a going nowhere, mundane job? I swallow down the bitter jealousy that rises like bile in my throat. Or maybe it is bile, considering the amount I drank. How unfair that seven years ago I was the one with the good job; I was the one with the career.

Boring is good, pipes the Beccabird. Boring is safe .

But it’s not, is it? Because here I am back in Frogham and back in Jonathan’s orbit. Back in danger because I have to admit to myself that I was attracted to him, drawn like a moth to the light. Stupid me.

Yeah, stupid you , mocks the Beccabird.

Jonathan’s a cheat, a liar and a swindler to boot so why the hell would I want to go back to him? I know what he’s like so why would I even give him the time of day?

Okay, Beccabird, it was a rhetorical question .

He looked good last night, no getting away from that. The expensive suit looked good on him and he’d had a haircut and the overlong, scruffy hair he’d sported when I’d stalked him was gone.

Em was hanging on his every word and there wasn’t anything ice queenish at all about the way she was looking at him. I’d quickly sat back in my seat when I’d first seen him so that he wouldn’t see me and when Gav suggested we go to the club I’d decided that I wasn’t going, I was going straight home. If I could avoid Jonathan seeing me, I knew I could still salvage the situation and he need never know that I worked at Atkinsons as well.

My good intentions lasted until I got outside into the fresh air and all of the drinks that I’d consumed hit me at once. I felt so unsteady that I had to hang onto Gav’s arm so I didn’t fall over. He didn’t mind at all and wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer.

Why should I let him spoil my fun? I’d told myself as I snuggled up to Gav, why should he ruin everything for me again? I’ll just ignore him, I decided, pretend that I don’t know him and that I’ve never met him before in my life.

The Beccabird was screeching at me at the top of her voice, wings flapping, trying to get my attention so she could stop me from making a massive mistake but as usual I thought I knew better and ignored her.

It was dark in the club which made me feel a bit better, he was even less likely to see me if I made sure not to stand anywhere near him. And I did ignore the fact that Jonathan was there, for all of the half an hour that it took him to spot me.

I kept sneakily looking in his direction to make sure that he hadn’t moved around or was getting closer to me, so I happened to be looking right at him when he saw me. I can’t deny that I enjoyed the look of shock on his face, it was priceless. He soon recovered of course because Jonathan is nothing if not adaptable. And I couldn’t help myself; I gave him my best seductive smile and then turned away and moved a bit closer to Gav who took the opportunity to snake his arm around my waist and pull me even closer.

I knew Jonathan was watching me, I could feel his eyes on me and I knew that I looked good and I was glad about that.

Why? the Beccabird had demanded. Why do you care what he thinks? You want nothing to do with him ever again.

I just wanted him to know what he was missing, what he’d thrown away, I wanted him to see what he’d lost.

So why was it that when I saw him making his way over to me my heart skipped a beat and my stomach did a crazy flip? Why was a secret part of me pleased ? I tell myself now that I’d had way too much to drink so I wasn’t thinking straight but as the Beccabird so helpfully pointed out, it’s usually your true feelings that come out when you’re rat-arsed.

So there he was, standing in front of me, blatantly looking me up and down appraisingly with that cocky grin on his face that made me want to simultaneously smash his face in and rip his clothes off.

‘Well.’ He’d leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

I was lost for words and stared at him dumbly whilst registering the look of surprise on Gav’s face.

‘I didn’t know you two knew each other.’ Gav looked from Jonathan to me with a quizzical look.

‘Oh, ancient history,’ I’d said, recovering my voice. ‘We knew each other a long, long, time ago. ’

Jonathan had moved a bit closer to me and I felt sandwiched between him and Gav. I’d wanted to run but how could I? Jonathan had looked levelly at Gav and said, ‘Oh, yes, Me and Bex were very close, back in the day.’

The way he said it made me feel uncomfortable because it seemed to imply that we were still close now and I couldn’t help but notice that Gav dropped his arm from around my waist and moved slightly away from me.

I remembered then how Jonathan used to be; how he would dominate people with his above average height and the sheer presence of him, not forgetting that he’s Gav’s boss so he’s always going to have the upper hand with him.

‘So,’ he’d said with a smile, ‘What’s brought you back to Frogham? You’ve been gone, what, six years?’

I know he deliberately got it wrong and I’d stopped myself from correcting him, I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking I’d been counting the days.

‘Oh, I’ve been back for ages,’ I’d lied.

Why I lied I have no idea, just that it seemed a good idea at the time, and I blame the gin. Obviously it wasn’t a good idea because if he chatted to Em and my name came up he’d soon find out the truth.

‘Really? So what are you up to these days? Married? Significant other?’ He’d said it with a smirk and a snigger and that’s my only defence; I’d had a few and I just wanted to show him because he obviously thought there was no chance of me being with anyone else because I’m a complete loser.

‘No, not married,’ I’d shaken my head, ‘But I am living with someone.’

Which wasn’t actually a lie, when you think about it. And it was worth it, just to wipe the smirk off of his face.

‘Oh,’ he’d said in surprise, ‘All loved up then.’

‘Yep, I certainly am. I couldn’t be happier.’ I couldn’t help beaming at him and out of the corner of my eye I saw Gav melt away into the crowd. So Jonathan had ruined my chances with Gav too by forcing me to lie, although I think they were ruined the minute Jonathan turned up. It has to be the kiss of death career-wise if you date the boss’s ex-girlfriend.

‘Who’s the lucky man?’ Jonathan stared right at me and I wanted to squirm but I’d felt trapped under his gaze and I’d forced myself to stare back defiantly, daring him to doubt me.

‘His name’s Flynn.’ I’d faked a dreamy look in my eyes. ‘My true soul-mate.’

‘Flynn? Unusual name.’

Too unusual, I realised too late. What if he knew him? He’d know I was making it up. I didn’t like the way Jonathan had looked at me; scrutinising me; he was the accomplished liar, not me.

‘So,’ I’d attempted to deflect the attention away from me, ‘What about you? All settled down, are you?’

‘No.’ He’d looked at me thoughtfully. ‘I’m still waiting for the right woman.’

I’d looked at him then and thought; same old Jonathan, hedging his bets. He probably lives with the blonde I saw him with but he wouldn’t let that stop him chasing other women. No doubt the blonde has her own house and a good credit rating that Jonathan can trash; I know that even a hundred grand a year salary wouldn’t be anywhere near enough for him.

He leant in closer. ‘What do you say we have dinner and catch up on the last six years?’

And I’d looked at him and even though I was drunk and my head was already beginning to pound I kne w ; the minute that I’d told him I was living with someone I’d flipped that switch in his head that he couldn’t ignore.

The switch that said he was better than everyone else and he could have anything or anyone that he wanted, all he had to do was take it.

I’d set him a challenge.

He had to prove he could get me back.

A couple of paracetamol and a shower and hair wash later and I feel almost human again. I have a burning need for some carbs to soak up last night’s alcohol and some hot, strong coffee. I’m determined not to let seeing Jonathan again ruin last night, or my new life.

The sun is streaming through the conservatory window as I sit in the armchair to enjoy my toast; it has so much butter on it’s almost sliced on it and I can’t eat it quickly enough. Some more; I decide, more buttery toast is needed. I pad out to the kitchen and put two more slices into the toaster.

It looks such a lovely day that I decide I’m not going to waste it by moping around indoors, I’m going to go for a walk into town and walk off the remnants of this hangover and have a look around the shops.

The toast pops and I thickly butter it and return to my seat in the conservatory and enjoy the feel of the sun on my face. I can see Flynn pottering around at the end of the garden; he looks as if he’s having a sort out of his spades and tools and putting them in the shed. I give him a wave but he can’t have seen me because he doesn’t wave back.

He was still up last night when I came in.

No he wasn’t, the Beccabird chips in, You woke him up .

Okay, I did wake him up. I forgot my key so I had to hammer on the door and ring the bell until he got out of bed and came downstairs and let me in. Sausage wondered what all the noise was about and came tearing out of the kitchen doing his funny little bark. Luckily for me, Flynn wasn’t staying at Steve’s otherwise I’d have had to spend the night on the doorstep. Although I did find my key this morning, it was in my handbag all the time but as I was wearing gin and tonic boxing gloves I just couldn’t seem to put my hand on it.

I don’t really remember him saying a lot last night – he was probably pissed off with me for getting him up and I can’t blame him. His hair was sticking up all over the place where he’d been in bed and I made some joke about him looking like Ronald McDonald which seemed hilarious at the time due to all of the alcohol I’d imbibed but now seems not funny at all. And rude. He didn’t laugh either.

I’ll apologise when he comes in.

I finish my toast and put the plate on the floor and sit back in the chair and close my eyes, I could almost pretend it’s summer sitting here in the warmth, it’s bliss.

When Jonathan had suggested dinner I didn’t say no because I knew that he would keep on until I gave in so I just said that it’d be great and to give me a call. He doesn’t have my mobile number so I should be safe, I was saved from having to give him my number because Em suddenly appeared at his elbow and started flopping all over him so I used the opportunity to make my escape. She was asking him about sales and fluttering her eyelashes and I found it a bit sad really, that she didn’t have anything else to say other than work stuff.

Funny how she actually saved me, by accident of course. I think she fancies him even though it was work talk; it’s probably the only conversation she has. If she only knew the truth about him she’d run a mile.

I excused myself by pretending that I was going to the loo – not that Em was interested and Gav had long gone and Jonathan just smirked. I went straight downstairs and out onto the street and walked down to the queue for taxis and got in line and waited, hoping that no one from work spotted me.

I felt bad for deserting Trina so while I waited I texted her to say I’d gone home because I had a headache. I hope she’s not too annoyed with me because we were supposed to be getting a cab home together but I just couldn’t stay there any longer, not with Jonathan there.

I’ll ring her in a while and apologise; maybe I should tell her the truth about why I really left.

A shadow falls across the sun and I open my eyes to see Flynn coming in the back door. He looks serious and I realise I have some major grovelling to do for last night.

‘Hi, Flynn, How’s it going?’

‘Hi.’ He looks very serious. He wipes his boots on the mat and then bends over and unlaces his boots and pulls them off and chucks them outside the back door. He comes back in and closes the door and walks around me and into the kitchen. Sausage sits in front of me waiting for a cuddle and I bend down and stroke him while he hoovers up the crumbs from my plate. I quickly scoop the plate up out of his way remembering Flynn’s warning about human food for dogs – a few crumbs will be like a three-course meal to a dog the size of Sausage - and jump out of the chair and follow him into the kitchen and stand and watch as Flynn washes his hands.

‘Look, Flynn, about last night? I’m really sorry that I got you out of bed to let me in. ’

He doesn’t answer and finishes washing his hands and takes the towel from the hook and dries his hands carefully.

Oh God, have I really offended him? Have I ruined the very best place I’ve ever lived with my drunken behaviour last night? Is he going to ask me to leave?

‘I’m sorry about the joke too; it was really rude of me and not funny at all.’

He looks up from the towel at me with a very strange look on his face.

‘And not true either. Of course your hair is nothing like Ronald McDonald’s.’ I think maybe I shouldn’t have said that because he might have forgotten what I said and now I’ve just reminded him.

Keep digging! cackles the Beccabird.

Flynn finishes drying his hands and carefully hangs the towel back on the hook.

‘It’s fine,’ he says flatly as he walks past me. It’s so obviously not fine.

I open my mouth to apologise again and then close it without saying anything. I’ll only make it worse by blathering on.

See? That’s what happens when you hit the gin.

Told you so , says you-know-who.

I’m about to sink into the familiar vast pit of self-loathing but I stop myself; no time for wallowing in self-pity, I have more apologising to do. I need to ring Trina. I press her number and it rings and rings and I’m just about to hang up when she answers. Her voice sounds croaky and sleepy and I launch straight into my speech about how sorry I am for ditching her last night. She reassures me that she got a lift home with some of the youngsters and she doesn’t seem annoyed with me at all. I breathe a huge sigh of relief; she’s still my friend .

We chat for a while and I tell her my plan to walk into town for a bit of window shopping to chase away the hangover and to my surprise she says she’ll come too. I arrange to call for her on the way and we end the call.

I’m about to put the phone back in my pocket when it chirrups and I look to see I have a new text message from an unknown number.

Perhaps it’s Gav; I gave him my number last night before Jonathan turned up. Although he heard the conversation about me living with Flynn so realistically he’s not likely to ask me out now, is he? Or is he? I have a battle with myself; do I come clean and tell him that I’m not with anyone and I was lying to Jonathan or will that get hideously complicated because I don’t know how friendly he and Jonathan are?

Yeah, and it might not even be Gav , the Beccabird says helpfully.

That’s very true, because thinking about it, we exchanged numbers so he wouldn’t come up as an unknown number.

Arrogant pig, he hasn’t even put his name he’s so sure I’ll know who it is. How did he get my number? He must have got it from Gav. Or Em. I break out in a cold sweat at the thought of being caught out in all of the lies I’ve told him. What would Flynn think if he knew? He’d definitely throw me out; probably think I was some sort of psycho.

No. Jonathan must have got my number from Gav, because wouldn’t it be a bit weird asking Em for it, especially as she fancies the pants off him?

Aside from that, what am I going to do? I can’t risk going for dinner with him because who knows where it’ll end – because in spite of everything I’m still attracted to him. There, I’ve admitted it and this time I’m sober. But I know if I don’t go he’ll keep on and on and the longer I say no the more attractive I’ll become to him because Jonathan always wants what he can’t have.