‘She’s right, it is kinda hot in here,’ he said.
‘Must be all that whip action,’ I replied.
‘Do you want to get some air?’
‘Sure.’
A couple of smokers were hanging around the patio, but Simon led me towards the back of the garden to a bench by a magnolia tree. It was pitch black and silent apart from the distant roar of the North Circular.
We sat facing the house, my leg pressed against the length of his. I shivered and Simon wrapped his arm around my shoulders, which only made me want to shiver more.
‘It’s peaceful out here,’ he said.
‘Yes, it is,’ I agreed, completely ignoring my racing pulse.
He took my hand in his. God, I hoped my raised heartbeat wasn’t obvious.
‘You look beautiful tonight, Frixie.’
I didn’t know what to say. The little voice that had always warned me not to read too much into his words was uncharacteristically silent.
‘Yeah, I tend to look good in the dark.’ And there it was. Still scared to accept a compliment from him.
‘I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.’
My eyes were adjusting to the dark now, and I could see his expression. Surely there was no way to mistake it? It’s the way I used to look at him; the way I’d longed for him to look at me. My heart knocked against my ribs.
He twisted round to face me. ‘You make me want to do something bad.’
I swallowed. ‘How bad?’
He leant in close. ‘Pretty bad,’ he whispered.
‘Maybe you should just do it.’
He kissed me softly on the lips and pulled back.
‘That’s not so bad,’ I said, my breath raspy.
He leant forward and kissed me again. This time his lips lingered longer.
‘Is that bad enough?’ His voice was low.
‘Not even close.’
He bent his head to my lips again, this time for a proper kiss.
I couldn’t shut off the voice in my head. I’m kissing Simon! With tongues! I’d imagined this a hundred times and here he was, flesh and blood and putty in my hands.
His arms were suddenly scooping me up off the bench and onto his lap. His hands were in my hair, and mine were roaming his broad back.
He broke off the kiss, and rested his forehead on my shoulder.
I stilled my hands. ‘Everything okay?’
He looked up. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.’
I smiled. ‘Me too.’
He ran his thumb over my cheek. ‘You’re beautiful.’
I could sense a ‘but’ coming and swallowed back a ball of lust and disappointment.
‘What is it, Si?’
‘I have all these feelings swirling around my head, confusing the hell out of me. Until a few months ago, I was desperately trying to make my marriage work. And now I’m in London with you, and I don’t want to mess things up.’
‘You haven’t messed anything up.’
He hugged me closer. ‘You’re amazing and sexy and God, I feel like I could fly right now.’
I grinned, even though he couldn’t see me. ‘You’re not too bad yourself.’
‘But I need us to take things slowly. Could you bear that?’
‘Of course I can, Si. We can take all the time you need.’ I’ve been waiting half my life, I wanted to say, what are a few more weeks? I couldn’t stop smiling as we walked back to the party, my hand in his. Fucking hell, I wanted to scream: Simon and me. It was finally happening.
As we reached the patio door, our hands uncoupled. Probably best not to give Georgia a hint of anything. Not when it was all so brand new. I went straight to the loo to give myself a chance to compose myself. My pink-faced reflection stared back at me. My hair was mussed up and the red lipstick was gone – hopefully not all over Simon’s face.
I wanted to stay in my little post-kiss bubble for a bit longer. Simon’s stubble had left a track of pink from my jaw down my neck, where he’d planted soft kisses.
A knock at the door made me jump. I guess twenty guests sharing two bathrooms meant my time was up. I flushed the toilet, ran the tap for a couple of seconds then made my way back to the living room.
Simon was deep in conversation with Dean. They seemed to be discussing alloy wheels. Or at least, Dean was leading the charge, even getting his phone out to illustrate his question about whether to choose eighteen- or nineteen-inch rims on his new car.
Simon was the least car-crazy bloke I knew, but he was ably holding his own. His eyes locked on mine for a second and a smile played at his lips, but then his attention was back to Dean.
I could tell without looking that Georgia’s eyes were burning a hole in me. She had a sixth sense like that. I kept myself busy chatting to others so she wouldn’t get the chance to interrogate me. She only got her chance when we hugged just as I was leaving with Simon at 1 a.m.
‘I will want every salacious detail, madam,’ she whispered in my ear.
Later, in the taxi ride home we sat side by side, my leg pressed against Simon’s. The driver was listening to Smooth Radio, and it was nice to have soft, soothing music serenade us as we drove. I felt like I was in some sort of alternate universe, my head resting on Simon’s shoulder, his hand stroking my knee. As we turned into my road, ‘My Heart Will Go On’ came on.
I lifted my head and Simon smiled.
‘Sometimes I put this on when I want to be reminded of you.’ His voice was low.
‘Same,’ I said, my heart feeling like it was going to burst.
A few short moments later, the cab was pulling up outside my flat.
We got out slowly, the spell broken.
I looked up at him. ‘Do you want to stay for a nightcap?’
We both knew what I really meant.
His eyes drifted to my mouth. ‘I think it’s probably better to avoid that particular temptation. I’ll go up to get my clothes, but I won’t stay.’
He asked the driver to wait, and I opened the front door to let Simon up.
I preferred to wait outside, scanning the stars that crisscrossed the midnight sky, enjoying the cool night breeze against my skin.
When Simon returned carrying his bag, he stopped to kiss me just below my ear. I shivered. It was almost more intimate than a kiss on the lips. It took all of my willpower not to grab him and drag him back into my flat.
His car disappeared down the street and I sighed. A bit too loudly. A passing bloke looked up and winked.
I hastily ran up the concrete steps to my front door. There should have been a light flashing above by my stoop. Next level unlocked! Shiny new world revealed! But everything was the same as before. The same peeling black paint on the door; the same tarnished brass on the lock.
We’d kissed!
So why was I on cloud eight-and-a-half instead of cloud nine?
The answer was already waiting for me: because Simon wanted to take things slowly. We’d been dancing around this for years. I was raring to go, so why did he still need time?
I walked into the kitchen, my ruby shoes clicking against the tiled floor. If I tapped my heels together three times, would they grant me my heart’s desire?
I tried, but the clicks made hollow echoes in my silent flat.
I got ready for bed, carefully hanging up my blue-and-white gingham dress. I was being melodramatic, I decided, as I brushed my teeth. We’d dressed as characters from the movies tonight, but real life wasn’t like the movies; regular people didn’t jeopardise everything for love – they made conscious decisions after carefully weighing up the risks and rewards. Simon worked in finance, he knew this better than anyone.
It was good to be prudent. Still, it was hard to go to sleep without imagining what it would have been like to have him sharing my bed tonight.
16
If I Can’t Have You
My eyes sprang open at 8 a.m. the next morning. I lay in bed replayin
g the delicious memories from last night. How Simon’s lips had been soft on mine, the hard muscles of his back under my eager hands. I felt better this morning about Simon’s suggestion we take things slowly. He was moving to a flat nearby with plans to stay put. We had all the time in the world.
My improved mood paid off; after I’d showered I saw I had a missed call from him. Hmmm. Maybe he wanted to come over tonight and take things slowly again. The thought made me shiver.
‘Hey, Frixie,’ he said, when I called him back. ‘I was just thinking about you.’
Maybe he wanted to come round right now to take things slowly.
‘How are you feeling this morning?’ I asked. ‘Not too hungover, I hope.’ It would be just my luck that he’d been too drunk to remember what happened.
‘Nope. I’m on top of the world.’
I grinned. Same, I wanted to say. But didn’t.
‘I spoke to Jess.’
I froze. ‘Oh?’
‘To ask her about meeting up with us and Nick.’
I’d almost forgotten about that. ‘Of course. What did she say?’
‘She’s really busy and is off on tour tomorrow.’
My editor brain was finally catching up. Jess disappearing was a problem. ‘Damn.’
‘But we’re in luck because she can do tonight. Are you free?’
I perked up. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘Pick a bar you like and we’ll both be there. Shall we say eight o’clock?’
‘That would be great.’
‘What about Nick?’
Simon sounded uncertain, but I wasn’t. This was as important to Nick as it was to me. What earth-shattering plans could he have on a Sunday night that he couldn’t cancel – was he washing his hair? ‘Nick will be there too.’
Simon was silent on the other end of the phone. Did he want to talk about last night?
‘Are you okay, Si?’
His voice was low. ‘I took an executive decision.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘When I was talking to Jess – I told her Nick was your boyfriend.’
I couldn’t have been more winded if someone had socked me. He’d done what? ‘Why would you say that?’
‘Because she seemed suspicious of him.’
My mind was reeling. This was wrong on so many levels. ‘But we didn’t say we were a couple the other night.’
‘I’m not sure she remembers much from that night,’ said Simon.
It was a good point.
‘I’m not crazy about lying to Jess,’ said Simon. ‘But you’ve assured me it’s for a good cause.’
Another good point.
‘I’m sorry about all this, Simon. It will be the last time – I promise.’
We said our goodbyes, and hung up. I paced up and down the kitchen, feeling rattled. Did he really have to tell Jess that Nick was my boyfriend? It was weird, but something more was bothering me.
I took out a mug to make tea, mulling things over. As the kettle boiled, things slowly moved into focus. I hated the idea that Simon was happy to see me with another man. I wanted the idea to repel him, not for him to be the one suggesting it. Would he really be so sanguine if I announced I was actually seeing someone? And then on top of that, I would have to adjust my focus and act like I was with Nick, when all I wanted to do whenever Simon was in the same room as me was lock eyes on him.
Maybe I was overreacting. Simon was only asking me to pretend. There was a world of difference between faking a boyfriend and having one.
I poured milk in my tea and threw the tea bag into the bin. I still had one more hurdle to overcome: Nick had to agree to our faux relationship too. It was almost nine o’clock now – was that too early on a Sunday to ring him?
I scrolled through the numbers of my mobile and found Nick’s. It rang twice before going to voicemail. Dammit. I had wanted to get this over with quickly. I hung up without leaving a message. I opened and closed cupboards, trying to find my emergency stash of Rich Teas.
I was in the middle of dunking my fourth biscuit when Nick’s number flashed up on my mobile.
‘Hi, Nick, thanks for calling back.’
‘No problem. What can I do for you?’
‘This is kind of awkward, but Jess is going away for a couple of weeks so if you want to talk to her it has to be tonight.’
‘That should work. I can shift a couple of things.’
Okay, now I needed to get to the hard part. ‘There’s just one small detail. Simon thought it would be easier to explain your presence to Jess if we said you were my . . . um . . . boyfriend.’
Silence.
‘Nick? Can you hear me?’
‘Not very clearly because it sounded like you said you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend.’
He sounded offended, which was a bit rich. I mean, it’s not like he’d never flirted with me.
‘Yes,’ I said stiffly. ‘That’s exactly what I said. She’s more likely to trust you that way. It was actually a genius idea.’ Did I just use the word ‘genius’ to describe this hare-brained plan?
‘Being your boyfriend – what exactly would that entail?’
Jesus, he sounded like a drama student with a walk-on part who insists on discussing his motivation. ‘Just act normal – like we did the first night. No one’s asking you to act untoward.’
‘Is this something you do quite often?’
‘Jesus, what do you take me for? No! But I can’t see the big problem. What’s the difference between friends and dating?’
He paused for effect. ‘Zoë, did your mother never sit you down and have that special talk?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, you’re making a big deal out of this. It’s not like we have to prove to Jess we have carnal knowledge of each other.’
Why did I just say carnal?
I tried again: ‘For all she knows, you’re a born-again Christian who doesn’t believe in sex before marriage.’
Shit. Wrong again.
‘Not that there’s anything wrong with that if you are . . . are you?’
Stop. Talking. Zoë.
‘Am I what? A virgin or a born-again Christian?’ He paused. ‘Is this something you ask all your prospective boyfriends?’
He was enjoying this.
I rolled my eyes. ‘No, just the fake ones.’
‘Lapsed Catholic, if you must know. And very few of us are virgins when we get married.’
This discussion was featuring far too many sexual terms for comfort. ‘So, it’s settled – drinks tonight?’
‘I’ve got a meeting beforehand in London Bridge – if we could meet on that side of London that would be really helpful.’
‘Sure, no problem,’ I replied, relieved to have got the evening plans firmed up.
‘I know a nice place. I’ll send you the details.’
‘You owe me the Marcie interview after this. It’s the only reason I’m going through with all this fakery.’
‘Noted: you don’t like to fake it.’
He hung up, no doubt congratulating himself on getting in one last pun.
I had a busy morning ahead of me. Once a month on a Sunday, I invited the team over for brunch, and today was one such Sunday. It was nothing particularly fancy – but I’d got quite adept at frying sausages and eggs for half a dozen people at a time. And I only burnt the toast some of the time.
I set off for the supermarket to get bacon and eggs and tins of baked beans, and when I got back to the flat I started sorting out the kitchen. I cleared the table because our get-together was usually an excuse for us to play board games – they sure weren’t coming to sample my culinary skills. The oven was on the blink. Again.
Gavin and Lucy arrived first. He’d brought along a new game called Risk. Well, new to us, but it was a classic, he assured us. Rob arrived next, bringing with him a jar of artisanal honey.
‘Got this at Borough Market earlier.’
Bless Rob – he never arrived empty-handed. Last to arriv
e were Ayisha and Jody, who looked like she’d got less sleep than I had.
I was halfway through the first fry-up when the doorbell rang again. When I went to answer it, it was Mike. I took a step back. He was always invited to these mornings, but he rarely came. And by the look on his face, I could tell that he had news to impart. And not the fun kind.
‘Everything okay, Mike?’
‘Of course,’ he said, but he didn’t fool me.
‘Spill it.’
‘It’s nothing urgent. My more pressing question is: do you know how to make French toast?’
The answer to that was an unsurprising ‘no’, but Mike had suspected as much. He’d brought his own bread, eggs, flour and cinnamon, guessing rightly that my own spice rack would be lacking somewhat.
After we’d eaten and had our mugs refilled with tea, Gavin painstakingly explained the rules of Risk.
I tried to pay attention, but my mind kept snagging on why Mike was here. What worried him enough to warrant a trip from Berkshire to Shepherd’s Bush on a Sunday that couldn’t wait twenty-four hours?
We played in three teams, and enjoyed – I use the term lightly – a fiery few hours playing Risk. Sadly, I wasn’t a natural. Rob, Ayisha and I came last, our poor little green soldiers getting their butts kicked wherever they went. But at least we didn’t get into a nuclear showdown with anyone, unlike Jody and Lucy, who waged a fierce and expletive-filled campaign for Kamchatka against Gavin and Mike.
Lucy claimed that Mike’s military background gave him an unfair advantage. He didn’t usually talk much about his time in the army, but as we played he casually divulged that he’d once been on a mission in Kamchatka.
‘How can that be fair?’ asked Lucy.
Gavin tried to cool heads by reminding them that success in the game largely depended on the roll of a dice, rather than whether or not a player had seen action in the region they were trying to conquer. And he was proven right by the fact that he and Mike came second, crushed by Jody and Lucy’s victorious yellow plastic troops.
‘Beginners’ luck,’ Gavin muttered, who was unlucky enough to roll three ones, which resulted in losing Western Europe to Lucy and Jody. It was a catastrophic retreat that he never quite recovered from.
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