‘What the fuck was that?’ she yelled. I remembered now she had a very deep voice. She pulled herself up to standing, which wasn’t that much higher than the bed because she was so short, and flicked her hair out of her face, revealing rosacea-spattered cheeks and bee-stung lips. I bit my own lips, searching for any kind of residual snogging evidence but surely I would have remembered an illicit lesbian encounter?
‘A thing licked my foot.’
‘Oh, that’ll be Bert.’
I turned round and sat up on the edge of the bed to find a slug-grey pug dog squatting there, wagging its stumpy tail and making snuffling noises through its squashed nose. I hoisted up my foot and wondered where my shoes were. The door nudged itself open and two more creatures casually waddled in, another pug-like thing and a portly brown sausage dog the size of a generous leather clutch bag. They began barking at Bert, who joined in the animated chorus.
‘Boys, stop!’ Jo bellowed. Surprisingly they obeyed. ‘They’re hungry. Come on, let’s go downstairs.’
‘Where are my shoes?’ I asked.
‘You took them off when we did the limbo.’ A hazy cringe-worthy flashback taunted me. ‘They’ll be around somewhere unless one of the boys has eaten them. Let’s go.’ Jo had a certain drill sergeant manner that made you automatically step in line.
Her kitchen was at the front of the house overlooking the street and every surface was carpeted with empty bottles, lipstick-smeared glasses, scrunched-up crisp packets and half-eaten pizzas still in their grease-stained takeaway boxes, the crusts curling up to meet the congealed pepperoni topping. The evening swam back to me from the recesses of my memory and I recalled the pizza delivery boy being enticed inside for a beer. He had looked terrified. I half-heartedly began clearing up.
‘Stop that! I’ll do it later. Sit down. I’m just going to feed the boys.’ Two tabby cats wound themselves round my legs, making me jump. This place was like a zoo. Jo pulled out a sack of food from a cupboard and shovelled kibble into five bowls on the floor up against the neon-orange back wall where a preposterously bombastic giant canvas of her face in the style of Andy Warhol hung. The dogs started fighting over who got there first and the cats hung back, their tails tickling my arm as I sat at the small round kitchen table. The air smelled of nauseating pet food and stale beer as Jo started pouring the remaining contents of open drinks cans down the plughole.
‘What would you like for breakfast?’ she asked, scratching her head and squinting at me.
‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll eat at home.’ How could she stand the smell?
‘Don’t be silly. All your stuff’s in boxes. I’ll make you something. Scrambled eggs? Bacon? I’ll get some coffee on the go.’
‘Can I just have a glass of water, and maybe some eggs, please? I can help.’
‘Noooo! Sit down. You’re a guest. What time did you say your little girl was being dropped off?’
‘At five.’
‘Well, we’ve got all day then!’ And she winked at me, setting my cheeks alight. I wanted to jump up and run, and she burst out laughing. ‘I’m messing with you! Did you think we had sex or something?’
‘I, er, no, of course not.’
‘Your face was a picture, though. I wouldn’t take advantage of you passed out. I prefer my partners to be conscious and willing. I’m attached, anyway, not that it’s ever stopped me before!’ She cackled away to herself and I wondered who on earth would be brave enough to go out with her.
‘Why was I in your bed then?’ I asked dubiously, knowing I wouldn’t have climbed in voluntarily, even in desperate circumstances.
‘Francesca and I carried you up there after you tried the shisha pipe. You went all funny and asked if you could lie down. My lodgers are in all the other rooms so I couldn’t put you in one of their beds.’
‘You have lodgers?’
‘Yes, they’re all students – you know the type, vampires. I hardly ever see them. They’re still asleep recovering. So who’s Ifan?’
‘How do you know about him?’ I asked suspiciously.
‘You were calling him a cunt when we carried you up the stairs.’
‘He’s my ex-boyfriend and the reason I came out last night.’ I told Jo about the text, hoping to hammer it home that some lesbian loving wasn’t on the cards.
‘I trust you’re going to ignore him? What a tit. Do you have any idea what he wants to talk to you about?’ I shook my head. ‘Well, you’re safe in the Mews. No one can get in unless they know the code.’
‘Hello, you up?’ Francesca called through the door, which must have been left open.
‘In the kitchen.’
‘God, I feel rough. Oh, hello! How are you feeling?’ She laughed in a knowing manner, which set my teeth on edge.
‘I’m OK. My head is sore but I’ll live. I have to unpack everything today before Grace gets back.’
‘Do you want me to rally the troops? I can get a team together and we can blitz the place for you.’
‘No, I’m fine. Look, I think I am going to go. I do need to get on. I’m really sorry about crashing in your bed. Thank you for looking after me.’
‘At least you got to meet everyone. Well, apart from Nick the Spy. He never comes to anything.’ Francesca helped herself to the only clean mug in the cupboard and started making tea.
‘I don’t remember everyone’s names. Is he really a spy?’
‘We think he is. He just about says hello, miserable northern bugger,’ Jo said, briskly whisking eggs in a glass bowl by the hob. ‘He’s lived here for three years and has never come to anything apart from some Christmas drinks when he first moved in. We see an older lady every now and then get in or out of his car, but no one else ever visits. He’s a real loner. Geeky-looking, too. Old busy-body Norman frequently tries to muscle his way into Nick’s house, says there’s a funny smell, but Nick always shuts the door in his face.’
‘Maybe he just wants some privacy,’ I offered up, spotting one of my red ballet pumps on the floor by the fridge, covered in slobber.
‘Well, he moved to the wrong place if that’s what he wanted!’ Jo roared, and Francesca joined in. I could feel a sweat break out on my top lip and I wanted to lie down in the dark. I abruptly stood up, knocking one of the cats out of the way.
‘I’m sorry, I really must go. Thanks so much for having me. I’ll just take this shoe, and if you see the other one, let me know!’
*
‘So what happened at the party?’ Jacqui asked on Monday when she Skyped me to see how the move had gone. I’d propped my laptop up on the breakfast bar and given her a virtual tour of downstairs but sadly the Wi-Fi signal couldn’t stretch to a show-and-tell upstairs. I had managed to unpack pretty much everything and the place already felt like home. Something about it felt very different from the other flat. Maybe because it was an actual house with a front door and a garden, or maybe it was because on Sunday afternoon, Elinor had knocked on my inside front door.
‘Have you recovered?’ she’d asked, hovering in our shared hallway like a concerned mum.
‘Yes, I’m fine, just a bit embarrassed. Tea and flapjacks helped. Thanks for those! Do you want to come in?’
‘No, dear, I’m just making sure you’re OK. I know these parties can take some getting used to, but everyone has a heart of gold and no one judges. Well, we don’t. I can’t say I speak for Nosy Norman.’ She giggled. ‘When I moved here fourteen years ago after my divorce, this place saved me. People all have their own dramas, but nothing is ever too much trouble for the rest of us, so if you need something, do let us know. I look forward to meeting Grace properly. Maybe Princess and Tinkerbell can be her friends.’
I vainly pressed down giggles, holding my core rigid. Princess and Tinkerbell? They must be her granddaughters.
‘I know,’ she said, reading my mind. ‘Ridiculous names. Karen, my daughter, let them choose their own names once they were old enough. I’ll tell you another time. Just glad you’re OK…’
‘So you passed out at the party and ended up in bed with the village lesbian?’ Jacqui laughed. ‘Who else did you meet?’
‘I can’t remember names, apart from Carl, my other next-door neighbour. He’s a photographer. I don’t remember much after the shisha pipe.’
‘Jesus. So you made an impression then?’
‘Yeah, I think Jo fancied me, which is awkward, and I think Francesca thinks I shagged her.’
‘It’s not like you to cause any drama, is it?’
I pulled a funny face at her.
‘So you like it? How’s Grace?’
‘She wouldn’t sleep in her bed last night but she was OK this morning going to school. I was expecting some kind of resistance. First impressions are good, though, I think. It reminds me of the road I grew up in with my parents back in the eighties or living in halls at university. The goldfish-bowl lifestyle will take some getting used to but you know me, I hate being on my own, so I will slot right in.’
My phone pinged with a text from an unknown number and butterflies flitted around my guts at the mere thought of it being Ifan. I hated that he still had a hold over me.
‘What’s up?’ Jacqui asked, my face evidently betraying me. She was drinking wine while I was sipping a cup of herbal tea. The time difference always made catching up tricky – we had to be so organised.
‘Ifan keeps texting me. I’ve deleted his number.’
‘Block him then. He won’t be able to get through at all.’ I conceded it was the sensible option, but somehow I couldn’t bear to do it. It felt too final. And yes, YES, I knew it was over, and he’d been a total dick, and I was better off without him, yadda yadda, yadda, but try telling that to my heart. My phone pinged again. I was itching to check, but I knew I couldn’t as Jacqui would notice.
‘Just read it! I know you want to. I won’t tell Amanda!’
I laughed. We both knew what a militant hard nut Amanda was for stuff like this.
Please ring me. I need to talk to you ASAP.
Then:
If you don’t ring me I’m going to throw myself under a bus.
‘He’s threatening to kill himself if I don’t ring him.’ I shook my head in disbelief. He was always so histrionic. The sneaky flame of hope flickered once more. Maybe he was really truly sorry and would never ever EVER treat anyone like that again. Maybe he was going to grovel, tell me he had landed a major contract with Models 1 and was ready to make a serious commitment to us. Maybe he had turned over a new leaf and realised he couldn’t live without me.
‘Let him!’
‘That’s so mean.’
‘Not really. Of course he isn’t going to kill himself. He’s just saying that to get your attention. People who say they’re going to do it never do. The quiet ones who just go off and do it are the ones to watch out for.’
My phone started ringing.
‘Don’t answer it.’
‘But what if he’s got something to tell me, something important?’
‘Like the fact he’s really married with three children and lives in St Albans at the weekends?’
The ringing stopped, only to resume a second later. I answered.
‘Hello? Ali?’
‘What do you want!’ I hissed. ‘I told you to stay away.’
‘I am staying away.’
Jacqui pursed her lips in the frame of the laptop screen. I turned away so she couldn’t see me. It felt too rude to just walk off.
‘Why did you threaten to throw yourself under a bus?’
‘To make you answer the phone.’
Fucker.
‘Look, I’m really sorry to do this to you, but I have to tell you something.’ My stomach tied itself into a calcified knot; hope timidly flying a flag above it. ‘I have chlamydia and I think you should get yourself tested.’
7
First Big Drama
‘Oh my God, what a total wanker!’ Jacqui cried when I burst into tears after flinging my phone on the sofa in total disgust. ‘Stay calm, it isn’t as hideous as you think.’
‘What do you mean, it isn’t as hideous? It’s gross! I have a disgusting disease, all because he couldn’t keep his Welsh cock in his Calvins.’
‘Come on, it’s way more common than you think. It’s just that no one talks about it.’
‘No it isn’t. I don’t know anyone who’s had anything, ever!’
Jacqui remained emphatically silent, picked up her wine and started sipping it in a lady-like manner, her little finger jutting out like she was taking afternoon tea.
‘Jacqui, have you had it?’
She raised her eyebrows at me while she swallowed and slowly nodded.
‘Oh, dear Lord, really? When? Why didn’t you tell us?’
She sighed, blowing her lips out. ‘Because I felt embarrassed. It was during the Single Mums’ Mansion madness when we went out all the time and had hideous one-night stands.’
‘Oh God, yes, well, my mad years are still going on. Shit – what happened?’
‘I had antibiotics and was fine. You will be too. You’ll have to get tested for everything, though, just in case. Ifan was off having threesomes so you have no idea what went on.’
‘I wonder if he’s told Mary and Sandeep to get tested.’ Rancorous thoughts of poetic justice flashed across my mind; then I remembered we were all in the same infected boat.
‘Who knows? Maybe you’ll see them at the clinic.’
‘No way! I’m not going there.’
‘Shut up. Yes you are. It’s all anonymous.’ I looked at Jacqui’s wholesome face framed in my screen like one of Harry Potter’s moving photographs with her perfect blond ponytail, the picture of vitality. I couldn’t ever imagine her in a seedy clap clinic weeing into a test tube. Yoga teachers weren’t supposed to be like that, were they? ‘Just go! It’ll be over sooner than you think. They send your results in the post a week later. Or there are online tests that send you back results with a prescription. Just do it!’
*
Ten days later, I heard Elinor slip the post under my front door as I walked down the stairs. I knew what it was the minute I saw it poking out amongst the flimsy flyers from Lidl and Morrisons, advertising glistening Easter roasts, giant Cadbury chocolate eggs and bargain booze for that family get-together. I ripped it open and there it was: I had tested positive for chlamydia. Cunty McFucksticks. I didn’t want to go to the doctor because only psychics seemed able to make GP appointments these days – you have to know precisely when you’re going to be ill a month before you are since the hypochondriacs have it all sewn up and ring the second the phones go live at eight a.m. However, the real reason was I felt so ashamed and I couldn’t face telling the doctor. I wished I could ask Jacqui what to do but she was asleep. Instead I typed in my question on the all-knowing oracle that was Google and, after filling out an extensive form on Superdrug’s website, my antibiotics arrived in the post a few days later. What was so preposterous was I had no symptoms and could have gone on for the rest of my life not knowing I was infected. So for that, I should have been grateful Twat Face phoned me at all. But of course, this is me – spitting rage still coursed through me alongside the antibiotics. I prayed for Ifan to rot in hell while his knob gradually turned gangrenous and caused him endless agonising pain. No one got the clap in the movie of their life.
*
A few days later I kissed Ursula goodbye outside the East Dulwich Tavern on Good Friday evening, delighted at my restraint in having only one bottle of wine. We’d been celebrating the end of my course of antibiotics. I walked up to the bus stop, passing The Bishop, which was still busy, windows steamed up and the hypnotic throb of a tuneless bass leaked out into the chilly air every time the bouncer opened the door.
I spotted him instantly. He was sitting next to a girl on the benches outside where the smokers congregated and I could see he was holding her hand. As if in slow motion I watched him bring her hand up to his lips and he nibbled her knuckles gently. She loo
ked to be in her twenties with a heart-shaped face and that gamine look that I knew floated his boat. Ifan was grandstanding his best seduction techniques, the same ones he’d used on me that night we first met. Blind fury erupted in a seismic explosion behind my eyes, sending out sparks throughout my entire body, making it jerk involuntarily. I had to stop walking in order to take a breath. Not even the Black Beauty soundtrack playing in my head could have saved me as Bad Ali burst forth out her box. He was still living his life like nothing had happened. I walked over to the bench, clenching and unclenching my hands into vengeful fists, a frenetic desire to wound pumping through my veins. Mini Amanda sang urgently in my ear: Walk on by.
‘I’d be careful if I were you. Ifan has chlamydia. He gave it to me – I’ve just finished my antibiotics, but who knows if he took any. He also likes threesomes with men and women.’ My voice crackled, thickly woven with adrenalin, the words tripping over each other.
‘What? Fuck off, you nutter!’ Ifan cried angrily.
The girl’s stricken eyes widened in alarm as she stared at me.
‘I’m not the nutter,’ I growled. ‘You ruined my life, lied, cheated, and now you’ll do it all over again. Stay away from him, he’s nasty and he’s dirty.’
‘You’re a fucking psycho!’ he yelled.
The bouncer poked his shaved dome out from the pub doorway; it was time to leave. Lordship Lane was open ground, rendering me vulnerable like an antelope cruising the African plain. I stepped stealthily into a side road, hiding in a dark alleyway between the pub and a house. Just as I did, Ifan whipped past the end of the road, frantically looking left and right. I was shaking now and had to clamp my jaws together to stop my teeth from rattling in my skull. He walked past a few minutes later, half venturing towards my bolthole, then gave up and presumably returned to the pub.
I remained in the shadows until my breathing had stabilised and the shakes had abated. When I ventured out into the street, I clapped eyes on a familiar bike locked up to the nearest lamppost. The yellow light cascaded down onto its battered seat, also revealing the half perished rubber on the right handlebar. Without thinking, I marched over, double checked, then thumbed the well-known numbers into order: 5677, and the lock split apart, releasing the bike into my thieving hands. I swung my leg over, lifted my bum onto the seat, my feet straining to reach the pavement. I pushed off and peddled along the backstreets towards my house.
The Single Mums Move On Page 5