‘I love her, but she terrifies me,’ she cried, sitting up.
‘She really liked you,’ I started to explain, though really I knew I shouldn’t.
‘She had a funny way of showing it. She only wanted to see me when she could do something practical, or rescue me, and then shower me with attention afterwards. She has this way of making you feel special, and then dropping you when you show any kind of rebellion or independence. I didn’t have a choice but to break it off.’
I couldn’t disagree with her. I looked at Elinor and she shrugged.
‘We know what she’s like,’ was all she said.
Other people’s relationships were so complicated because even when another person inflicted pain, you had to weigh up your own reactions when you had a relationship with the perpetrator. Really, it was none of my business, but it felt like it was, and I know I was guilty of wading in and pointing my judgy wand at people at times. Jo was a walking dichotomy. I didn’t want to join in slagging her off. I liked her enormously and she also did so much for other people, including me!
‘You gave me the impression you didn’t want to be with her,’ I said tactfully.
‘I did! I didn’t want her pitying me, or trying to fix me. I wanted her to see past all the divorce drama, the cancer drama, and want to be with me the person, but she was treating me like a fucking victim. I think it was the drama that she was in love with. So I automatically withdrew and dealt with my own shite, but she didn’t want me to. I don’t get it. I know she’ll be with someone else now; she can’t be on her own…’
‘Look, the children want to know what’s up,’ Elinor tried. ‘Why don’t you come down, just for a bit, see how you feel? Ignore Jo, all your friends are out there and want to see you. Samantha’s stuck behind the BBQ trying to keep up with the demand.’
‘Aye,’ Debbie smiled weakly. ‘We can’t let Jo anywhere near there.’ She slowly got up off the bed.
‘Here, let me fluff you up a bit. Indulge me,’ I said. ‘What wig do you want?’
As I straightened Debbie’s red hair in the hallway, just before we re-entered the Mews, I had to pose my own burning question.
‘Can I just ask something?’ I ventured, my curiosity getting the better of me. ‘Were you bisexual before you got together with Jo?’
She didn’t say anything, just pursed her lips.
‘Shit, I’m sorry, that was way too personal and intrusive. Forget I asked.’
‘No, it’s fine. I’m thinking. I don’t believe I was.’
‘What’s so special about Jo, then? Would you consider dating another woman?’
‘No, I doubt it. It isn’t about whether Jo is a woman or a man, it’s about the person she is. She makes you feel safe, wines and dines you, pulls out all the stops, knows what you want before you do. But… the flip side is she wants everything on her terms. She wants to rescue you and if you’re not up for it, then it’s bye-bye.’
I nodded.
‘She thinks she’s being altruistic, but really it’s about her… God, I wish I’d known that, having a relationship so close to home. What a mess!’
It was on the tip of my tongue to mention Steve, hoping Debbie would see through Jo’s peccadillos. Maybe they could work it out… Do NOT meddle! Mini Amanda blasted in my ear. Nothing good will come of it.
I waved off Amanda and Chris at eleven – they had taken a strung-out Grace with them, who was desperate for a sleepover with Meg, but would also be in a coma by the time her head hit the pillow. Ursula left early to go on to another party with one of Carl’s friends, and Jacqui staggered after Amanda. It had been an eventful shindig – the noise police had joined in, rolled their eyes, and informed us to keep it down and that actually we were within the parameters of normal levels for the time of night, but they had to investigate every complaint (and there had been a few).
Elinor and Samantha had been distracting Debbie and steering her away from Jo, who was getting progressively hammered, her cheeks stained puce. She’d started barking orders, an indecipherable stentorian diatribe, words crashing into each other. I sat her down in a deck chair and forced her to drink water, as she roared at me: ‘Just shag him, you both want it!’ Then she passed out.
Francesca had sent a shit-faced Teyo home in a taxi after he’d drunkenly tried to chat up one of the girls from the flats while the others from the Qi Gong class looked on, all of them obviously caught in his thrall like a doting Playboy Mansion harem. It didn’t end there.
‘Mum, how could you be so cringey?’ Ariel, Francesca’s eldest, blasted after Teyo’s disgraced departure. ‘Everyone could tell you fancied him. The shame – he’s not even fit!’ She’d stormed off with a group of mates she’d invited, escaping through the side gate, not returning until much later, clearly pissed.
‘Are you OK?’ I’d asked Francesca after she’d returned from putting Ariel to bed with a sick bucket next to her.
‘Not really, but if you pass me some more wine it’ll block it out until tomorrow when I’ll deal with it!’
I think I saw, but wasn’t entirely convinced, Francesca and Ian emerge from behind the Biffa bins at about midnight, rearranging their clothes. I must have imagined that…
‘Where was the spy tonight?’ Carl asked at two in the morning while we picked up the worst of the party debris. Most people had sloped off to bed half an hour ago.
‘I think he was at a wedding.’
‘I think he fancies you.’
‘I really think he doesn’t.’
‘He does.
‘He doesn’t.
‘He does.’
‘Are we going to do this all night?’ I eyed him and he laughed. I was surprisingly sober, but knew by the laws of science I couldn’t be and that alcohol was most likely the main component of my blood. I’d managed to keep Bad Ali at bay; no blow jobs down the alleyway tonight; not from me, anyway.
‘We can do something else.’
I stopped myself from bending over to gather up a couple more cans of lager from the floor. I’d been catapulted into a parallel universe where the real me was watching from behind a two-way mirror. I had been OK with Carl throughout the entire party because ever since Debbie had mentioned her regret over a home-grown romance, I took it as a sign from the universe. I’d kept up a mantra in my head: He’s just a friend, in the friend zone, just a friend.
‘I meant we can talk about something else.’
I picked up the cans and dumped them in the black bin bag he was holding.
‘I’m knackered,’ I replied. ‘I’m going to bed.’
‘We’ve just a few more cans on this patch, then we’re done.’
‘You do it.’ I turned to head over to my front door. ‘Great party. Night.’
‘I was jealous.’
That was the moment – the key phrase, the ‘let me get you into bed’ moment, the money shot, the winning formula, the words that won the prize.
Watching from my two-way mirror, I banged on the glass, screaming at myself – ‘Don’t do it, walk off, ignore him!’ But I couldn’t hear. All I could think about was what he was saying.
‘I felt sick when Jez was talking to you, every time he looked at you, when he asked about you.’
I opened my mouth to say something but just sighed in disbelief.
‘I’ve said too much.’
‘No, you haven’t.’
I was facing him now and leaned over and kissed him before I could stop myself. Bad Ali had busted out. Carl dropped the bag to floor. It made a jangling sound like the empty cans tied to a newly-wed couple’s car. My fists tried so hard to smash through the glass, to grab myself round the waist and rugby-tackle my body to the ground, knocking in some much-needed sense. But I couldn’t redirect the tornado. It had a life of its own.
The kiss was everything I had imagined. No clashing teeth, no lizard tongue, no drooling or, worse, licking (freaks!). It was gentle and sexy, then urgent with a decent amount of restraint. I pulled away, feeli
ng dizzy, and as I did so, noticed Nick’s front door shut behind him. Had he seen us? He must have: we were standing in the middle of the road snogging like blithe teenagers.
‘I need to go,’ I said. ‘I think Nick just walked past us.’
‘He’ll be jealous.’ Carl smiled dangerously and my insides melted, common sense already abandoned as it usually was by this stage of the proceedings. ‘Can I come with you?’
Carl led me up the stairs to my bedroom, which now looked like a stranger’s room – had I even bought those cushions? Who would choose so many clashing patterns? As for the carpet of knick-knacks cluttering up every surface… He lay me down on the bed, tantalisingly removing my clothes one garment at a time. The suspense was killing me. Once he was naked we rolled around for what felt like too long – I was ready to explode. His body was lithe and he carried no extra weight. I, on the other hand, wished I could employ Miley Cyrus as my body double just for this scene.
‘I have some condoms in my drawer just there,’ I said, pointing to the bedside cabinet. He ignored me and carried on teasing me. He was an expert at foreplay – he easily beat Ifan and Jim into submission – but was in real danger of ruining me for the main event. I let him kiss my neck until I could stand it no longer.
‘Carl, we have to use one. I’m not doing it without.’
‘I know,’ he said, his face buried in my neck, his voice muffled. I was on the verge of tipping over the edge and reached for the condoms myself. ‘I’ve never had… successful sober sex.’
I breathed out forcefully, my shoulders sinking heavily into the bed. I rested my arm across my tummy, leaving the condoms where they were for now, desperately hoping I could rescue the situation. After all, we both wanted this so badly; I was sure we could work it out…
‘Never?’ I found it hard to believe and stroked his cheek hopefully, longing to continue at a slower pace if necessary. ‘Even when you were younger?’ I ran my fingers down his side towards his perfectly toned stomach.
‘Never.’
‘Even with Janey?’
‘Even with Janey.’
He rolled off me and lay back, staring at the ceiling. I knew then it was over. My desire had extinguished in that capricious way it does when faced with serious shit. This was too big a burden for me to take on.
‘I thought it would be different with you.’
‘Why?’ Did I even want to know why?
‘Because you’re so different from the girls I normally go for.’ He wouldn’t look at me.
‘What? Old and saggy and grateful?’ I spat out, pulling my crumpled knickers from under the bed, and jabbing my feet furiously through the leg holes.
‘No! Is that what you think of me? I thought we were friends.’ I pulled my knickers up and shimmied them over my bum while lying down, my right tit getting trapped under my armpit.
‘I don’t know what to think, Carl,’ I huffed. ‘You’re not explaining yourself very well.’
‘You’re normal.’
‘Normal? As in, I’m not a model with perfect stats and the same age as my shoe size?’
‘Oh my God, will you stop taking things the wrong way? No, I mean normal as in I can talk to you, like I could to Janey, about real things, not just work crap and fake stuff. You’re genuine…’
‘Oh.’
‘And I fancy you.’
‘Oh. OK. It doesn’t look like you fancy me now.’ I ogled his deflated manhood.
‘Yeah, sorry about that.’
The old Oasis T-shirt I slept in was stuffed under my pillow and I reached and grabbed it, ramming it over my head. I couldn’t have these conversations naked.
‘I do really like you, but this thing is a problem.’
‘I don’t expect it’s something you can talk about in AA?’ I ventured.
‘No, can you imagine? Hello, my name’s Carl and I have never had proper sober sex and the thought of it makes my penis shrivel up inside my scrotum.’
I smiled, trying not to laugh. ‘But you can beat off, though?’
‘Yes, like a teenager, four times a day.’
‘Carl! TMFI! When the fuck do you find the time?’
‘Oh, there’s always time. My favourite slot is when the pasta is boiling. Ten minutes is the ideal time to tease one out before dinner.’
‘Jesus, remind me not to come round to yours for pasta and sauce. So your cock works then?’
‘Yes. However, throw another person into the mix, it always… dies a death.’
We lay there in silence; I wasn’t sure how to fill it.
My eyes started drooping and my succession of yawns caught Carl on the wrong foot and he started yawning too.
‘I need to sleep,’ I groaned. ‘Sorry. Can we talk about this in the morning?’
‘Do you want me to leave?’
I did. I know it was awful, it really was, but I wanted to be on my own.
‘No, it’s fine. Go to sleep.’
He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead and I curled over on my side of the bed, pulling my knees up into a foetal position. And that’s where I lay for the rest of the night, wide wake despite feeling ridiculously wrung out. I tried not to move while berating my spineless willpower like Oliver Hardy to Stan Laurel: ‘Well, here’s another fine mess you’ve gotten me into.’
By the time daylight had started filtering through the gaps in the curtains, I knew I had to run away. I slid noiselessly out of the bed and slipped down the stairs to the kitchen. The clock above the back door said 4 a.m., but really it was 5 a.m. because I still hadn’t changed it to British Summer Time from the clock change in March before I’d moved. No point now: it was almost August; it would be Christmas soon…
I made a cup of tea, and sent Amanda a text.
Please can you text me when you get this? I need to escape to yours.
Then I realised I still had a key somewhere and I knew how to disable the badly fitted chain on the door by slipping my hand through the too-wide gap and unhooking it. I could let myself in and fall asleep in the spare room or on the sofa.
Forget the last text, don’t be cross, it’s an emergency. I’ll let myself in and sleep in your office.
I scrawled a note on a scrap piece of paper and crept up the stairs. I was too scared to text Carl in case it woke him up. I left the note in the middle of the floor where he couldn’t miss it.
I’ve gone to pick up Grace – Amanda texted and said she was asking for me. I’ll see you later. Ali x
*
‘So you liked him when his penis worked, and now it doesn’t, you don’t fancy him?’ Jacqui surmised with the expertise of a hard-nosed lawyer instead of the gentle touch of a yoga teacher.
‘Yes, you could say that, m’Lud.’
We were all huddled on the benches in Amanda’s sprawling back garden, jumpers on to ward off the inconvenient chill. Typical British summer – as soon as the schools broke up, it decided to hang out its grisly weather instead of blazing sun. Amanda had pegged out her plastic bag collection on the washing line, dripping wet and snapping in the breeze. I swear some of those bags she lovingly rewashed and reused predated all her children.
‘Is it just the penis situation or is something else at play here?’ Amanda asked judiciously. ‘Or was it because he was nice and you know how you’re allergic to that?’
‘No, it’s something else.’ I sighed. I felt so awful even telling them about Carl’s issue with sober sex, but I had to talk to someone about it; anyone in the Mews was out of bounds.
‘It’s because he has so many issues – he’s only just in recovery, only just begun to be honest about the depth of his addiction, and the icing on the cake is the sober sex thing. I don’t think he needs a girlfriend; I think he needs a therapist. I couldn’t even be in the same bed as him afterwards because the fear of being sucked into the black hole was overwhelming. It was actually a fun, sexy distraction from Ifan when it was all Ross and Rachel. I can’t take on someone like this when my own life feels
such a multi-storey car park of disasters. Jim’s revelations have made me realise my whole relationship with him was built on a bed of lies. I know it ended on one, but somewhere in the middle I thought maybe it was genuine love with the same goals for Grace.’
Amanda shrugged. ‘I don’t think it’s helpful to linger too long over it. It happened in the past. Hattie is the one dealing with him now.’
‘Yes, but it feels like she was The One. She was worth having the reversal for, worth a baby.’
‘I disagree!’ Jacqui piped up. ‘It’s all about timing, not about who’s more deserving or more loved or The Bleeding One! If I hear one more fucking person bang on about The One, I’ll shove a crystal up their arse during downward dog.’
I started laughing.
‘Jacqui’s right. The only reason Jim has had the reversal is because he’s approaching fifty and in a blind panic that Hattie’s going to leave him. He can’t afford another divorce. He most probably feels no different about her than he did about you. He’s just in a different place now. He was right really when he said it’s nothing to do with you, it’s about him. Same with all the other men who have ever fucked you over. It’s their shit.’
‘So coming back to Carl and his cock, if it had worked you would have shagged him, wouldn’t you?’ Jacqui said emphatically. She lit a fag and inhaled deeply, blowing the smoke up in the air, away from us.
‘Yes. I’m fucking shallow. I did fancy him rotten, but it doesn’t work and I think it saved me from Bad Ali.’
‘Has he texted you?’ Jacqui quizzed.
I shook my head.
‘He must know why you really disappeared. I would know.’
‘What if he starts drinking again? It will all be my fault.’
‘It won’t!’ Amanda cried. ‘He has to be able to live soberly within the addiction – alcohol was his coping mechanism for everything before, now he’s just left with himself. Someone taking up drinking again is their own decision, regardless of how serious the prompt is. I think you should talk to him about it, though. Don’t be that person who just ghosts him. Treat people how you want to be treated.’
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