“No!” I laugh nervously. “It’s just…um—”
“Yoo-hoo!” Suze’s cheery voice interrupts me, and we both look up to see her in the doorway, holding a big cardboard box. “Your door was open, and this was on the doorstep.”
“Oh yes.” Luke bats his forehead with his hand. “I was intending to go back for that, but I was waylaid by my beautiful wife.”
I see something in Suze’s brow soften as she surveys the pair of us. She dumps the box on the table and grins at me.
“Sorry to interrupt your love-in. I’m here to take those vile statues away.”
“Excellent!” says Luke. “My day gets better and better. Glass of wine, Suze? We’re planning a little trip to Warsaw.”
“Warsaw!” says Suze in surprise—then her eyes light up. “Are you going with Craig?”
“Craig?” echoes Luke.
“You know, Becky’s old boyfriend,” says Suze blithely. “Wasn’t he in Warsaw this weekend? Has Becky told you about the hot tub?” she adds with a giggle. “I just went to check it out. It’s massive. I don’t dare tell Tarkie; he’ll flip out.”
She looks at Luke expectantly, but he’s standing there, holding the wine bottle, looking confused.
“Old boyfriend?” he says after a beat.
“Actually, Suze…I hadn’t told Luke about Craig yet.” I’m trying to sound casual, but Suze gapes at me in blatant shock.
“But you said you had!” she blurts out. “You said you’d told Luke!”
I feel a jab of frustration. Why did Suze have to react like that? She’s going to make this weird, when it isn’t.
“It’s no big deal!” I say quickly, with a little laugh, and turn to Luke. “This guy called Craig who I used to date—ages ago, at uni—anyway, he’s living in Suze’s cottage. And he wants us to have a drink with him tonight. That’s all.”
“Right.” Luke digests this. “And what’s the connection to Warsaw?”
“He was in Warsaw for the weekend. He invited you, didn’t he, Bex?” Suze adds, and I see a weird flicker pass across Luke’s face.
“I see,” he says in neutral tones. “So that’s why…Let me get you that wine.”
“It just gave me the idea of Warsaw,” I say. “We should definitely go, Luke! It sounds awesome!”
I’m trying to recapture the mood we had a moment ago, but I’m not sure it’s working. Luke pours out three glasses, and when he lifts his head he’s smiling again, because that’s what Luke is like.
“So, why’s this chap in Letherby?” he inquires.
“He’s burned out after a tour,” says Suze knowledgeably. “He’s a real…you know. Rock type. Leather jacket, boots, tattoos, long hair…a bit grungy. Nothing like you, Luke,” she says eagerly. “He’s totally different.”
I think Suze is trying to reassure Luke. But I kind of wish she wouldn’t.
“I see,” says Luke again, and his gaze runs over my blue-streaked hair, then down over my frayed suit to my new boots. He looks at them for a silent moment, then back up at my face, which is growing hot—I have no idea why.
I stare helplessly back, thinking, No, you’re wrong!
But wrong about what, exactly? I don’t want to second-guess what Luke’s thinking. I don’t want to make some tiny little nothing into a thing, when it’s not a thing. It’s not.
“Anyway.” I try to sound breezy. “He’s asked us to go for a drink tonight. He’d love to meet you. Suze is babysitting.”
“Great,” says Luke in the same neutral tones. “Sounds fun.”
My head is prickling and I can sense Suze staring meaningfully at me, but I don’t want to meet her gaze. I want to make the perfect lighthearted comment that will instantly smooth everything over. Right now, though, I can’t quite think of it.
* * *
—
As we walk through the chilly streets of Letherby to the Lamb and Flag, the village looks enchanting. All the cottages have light glowing from their curtained windows, and there’s a Christmas tree on the green, all twinkly with lights. It’s idyllic here and I do love it. Even if it isn’t edgy Shoreditch.
I can’t really savor my surroundings, though, because I’m a bit nervous. Luke hasn’t said much since I landed the news on him that we’re having a drink with my old boyfriend. His eyes are quite distant and his jaw is tight. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking.
I mean, honestly! It’s no big deal. Or it shouldn’t be. Luke and I are an established, happy couple. The fact that Craig is my ex-boyfriend is neither here nor there. Luke should be open-minded about it. If it were me, I’d be open-minded, I tell myself firmly. In fact, I was open-minded when we came across an old girlfriend of his called Venetia a few years ago. I was.
(Until we had a massive flaming standoff, but that was totally provoked.)
The point is, Craig is a talented, interesting guy and he’s a neighbor and we should be friends with him.
“So I expect you want to know all about Craig,” I say casually as we walk along.
“Not really,” says Luke in unreadable tones.
“Right. Oh. Well, anyway…we hardly dated at all,” I gabble nervously. “So. He’s hardly an ex-boyfriend at all.”
“Mmm,” says Luke, as though this fact is of no interest to him.
“I mean, in some ways he’s like you,” I say, after a moment’s thought. “He travels a lot too.”
As I say the words, I have a sudden image of Luke heading to the airport in his overcoat and briefcase, compared to Craig on an Instagram post, lounging in a tour bus, caption: #hungover. I have to admit, they’re not that similar. But I won’t go into that now.
We pause at a crossing and I tug at my amazing new skull-printed tights. I got them from the same website as the killer boots and they’re a bit too small, but they look so edgy. In fact, my whole outfit is edgy. Under my coat, I’m in a gray T-shirt (torn at the edges) and a black leather miniskirt. I’ve put on my new silver and black skull earrings, too, and I’m wearing full electric-blue eye shadow. Plus I’ve tied my hair up with a leather thong.
I glance at Luke, who’s still in his work suit, and feel a tiny wave of dissatisfaction. We’re going out for tequila with a rock musician, but he looks as though he’s about to give a presentation to HSBC.
“Why don’t you unbutton your shirt?” I suggest. “Loosen up, Luke! Get into the spirit of it!”
I ruffle his hair and unbutton his top button. I’m hoping he might relax, but he just gives me a look.
“Would you rather I went home and put on a slashed leather jacket?”
“No!” I say, laughing. “Don’t be silly!” I hesitate, then add, “Have you got a slashed leather jacket?”
He gives me another look and I bite my lip. Right. Duh.
We walk on, and still Luke says nothing. Am I imagining it or is the tension growing? I keep glancing at Luke, but his jaw is even more rigid. And as we approach the door of the pub, I feel as if I might have made a huge, fat mistake.
Am I in denial? Is there sexual tension between Craig and me?
I mean OK, yes. Hand on heart, I did try to look edgier today. Because of what Craig said. But I don’t fancy him.
Do I?
Well, maybe I do fancy him a bit, simply because he is objectively good-looking and anyone would fancy him. (Look at Suze.) But I don’t want him.
Do I?
Oh God. Do I want him without realizing it? Does my subconscious want to have an affair with Craig?
I walk along silently, feeling breathless, as I probe the innermost corners of my mind. But the trouble with asking your subconscious what it wants is, it just laughs at you and says, “Work it out for yourself, moron.”
What about Luke? He looks calm enough—but is he silently bubbling with jealousy and hatred? As we reach the entr
ance to the pub, I feel a lump of worry in my throat. Should I quickly cancel and say, “Let’s go home”? But if I cancel, won’t that make things look worse?
What if Luke and Craig get into an argument? Or a duel? I have no idea where this thought has come from, but I suddenly see Luke in his Armani suit and Craig in his leather jacket, hacking at each other with swords, leaping up onto the bar of the pub and round the seats, while I cry desperately, “Please! Don’t fight over me! Your lives are too precious!”
“Becky?” Luke gives me an odd look. “Are we going in?”
“Right.” I come to and blink a few times. “Yes. Let’s do this.”
* * *
—
It’s warm and cozy inside with a crackling fire. Over the sound system, Chris Rea is singing about driving home for Christmas, and there’s the smell of mulled wine in the air. As I take off my coat, I’m aware of the girl behind the bar eyeing up my outfit curiously.
“Going to a costume party?” she asks.
Honestly. They wouldn’t ask that in Shoreditch.
“No. Just an evening out,” I reply coolly. “With friends.”
To my own ears, the word “friends” sounds quite cryptic and mysterious. I’ve never felt like a femme fatale before—but I feel as though I’m in a love triangle in some film noir and this is the pivotal scene.
“Luke, you do know I love you, don’t you?” I say, my voice low and throbbing.
“Yes,” says Luke, looking at me as though I’m an idiot.
“What can I get you, Becky?” says the bartender, Dave, in a cheery voice. But before I can answer, the pub door swings open behind me and I hear Craig’s voice, accompanied by violins in my head: “Becky.”
It’s practically exactly like that bit in Casablanca. (Except in a pub. And not black and white. And not in Casablanca.)
“Craig,” I say breathlessly, wheeling round. Then I blink in slight surprise. He’s not wearing leather. He’s wearing a coat. And has he shaved?
He greets me with a kiss on each cheek—then I turn self-consciously to Luke.
“Luke…this is Craig,” I say momentously.
I don’t know what exactly I’m expecting. An instant confrontation? But of course there’s nothing like that. They shake hands and Luke says, “Welcome to Letherby,” whereupon Craig says, “Thanks, mate. Cold out there. What are you drinking?”
The whole film noir vibe has sort of ebbed away. They just sound like two blokes in a pub.
“What can I get you, Becky?” says Dave again. “Your usual? Baileys on ice?”
I feel a flash of embarrassment. Baileys on ice is not my usual. I’ve only had it a few times.
“Tequila, thanks,” I say in my coolest voice, glancing at Craig. “We’re doing tequila shots, right?”
“Tequila shots?” says Luke, looking astonished, but I pretend I didn’t hear him.
“Not for me,” says Craig, lifting a hand, and I stare at him.
“What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t serious about tequila,” he says with a rueful smile. “Can’t do that anymore, not after wrecking my stomach lining. I’ll be on wine. But don’t let me stop you guys,” he adds, turning to Luke.
“I’ll be on wine too,” says Luke firmly. “There’s a nice Malbec here—”
“The Malbec.” Craig nods enthusiastically. “That’s a good wine. I had it the other night.”
Malbec? Since when do rock gods drink Malbec?
I watch, discomfited, as Dave pours out two glasses of wine and a tequila shot. I feel stupid now. I don’t want to do shots on my own.
“Cheers,” says Craig, clinking glasses with Luke and me. The two men sip their wine and I drain my tequila.
Ooh. That was quite strong. The air’s gone a bit blurry.
“You want another one?” says Dave, watching me curiously.
“Er…maybe in a minute,” I say, getting out a tissue to mop my eyes.
“So, are you into wine?” Craig is saying to Luke.
“A little,” says Luke. “You?”
“Got into it recently,” says Craig in his raspy, laid-back way. “My mate Mark—lead singer in Blink Rage—just bought a case of 1916 Château Lafite at Sotheby’s.”
“I read about that,” says Luke, his face lighting up. “The bidding got quite frantic, apparently?”
“It was intense,” says Craig. “I was with Mark. He was bidding by phone, freaking out….Hey, you want to sit by the fire?” he adds, as a group of people get up from their seats.
“Sure.” Luke nods. “Good idea.”
As the two of them head over to the fire, I watch them, feeling affronted. When I said I wanted Luke and Craig to hit it off, I didn’t mean I wanted them to start talking about wine and ignore me.
“Becky, are you coming?” asks Luke, looking round. “And do you want another tequila shot?” he adds quizzically.
Is he making fun of me?
“I’ll get myself a glass of wine,” I say with dignity.
I wait for Dave to pour me my wine, and order some packets of crisps too. I’m about to join Luke and Craig by the fire, when the door opens and a girl comes in. She’s about my age, wearing a coat and a very tight gray business suit, revealing quite an incredible cleavage. She has long straight hair, a biscuity fake tan, and very manicured eyebrows. And she’s definitely had her lips done with filler. (Probably twice. The first time I’m guessing she said, “Keep it natural,” and the second time, “I love it! Go for it! More!”)
She eyes my skull tights with surprise, looks at my skull earrings, and bites her cushiony lip in amusement—then scans the pub.
“Craig!” she exclaims in a nasal voice.
“Love!” Craig’s whole face lights up and he gets to his feet. “Love, over here! Luke, Becky, let me introduce you to Nadine, my girlfriend.”
His—
What?
* * *
—
Why shouldn’t Craig have a girlfriend? Of course he has a girlfriend. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me before that he would have a girlfriend. It isn’t a surprise, really.
Although what is a surprise is…
Well. Her.
If you’d said “Craig’s girlfriend” to me, I’d have pictured someone cool. Rock chick. With electric-blue eye shadow and grungy tights, like the girls in his Instagram posts. But Nadine is nothing like that.
She’s got herself a drink and come to join us, and I can’t stop staring at her in disbelief. She can’t be with Craig, surely? But somehow she is. She’s very polished, and apparently she drives a Fiat and hates Craig’s music. He keeps telling us that as though it’s a good thing.
“She won’t come to hear me,” he says, laughing. “She won’t come on tour. Will you, babe? Just refuses.”
“Blink Rage!” says Nadine in return, and takes a swig of prosecco. “What kind of name is that? And have you heard the noise they make?” She runs her eyes disparagingly over my skull tights again. “But maybe you’re into all that, Becky?”
“I’m eclectic,” I say with a casual shrug. “I used to hang out with Craig’s band at Bristol. That’s how we got together, back in the day. Good times,” I add reminiscently.
I’m expecting Nadine to ask more, but she says, “Mmm,” with a supreme lack of interest, then turns to Luke.
“Now, I know all about your company,” she says. “Brandon Communications. It’s famous. Where you are, that’s where I want to be one day. Believe you me, you’re my inspiration.”
She’s leaning forward and gazing at Luke with clear blue eyes. And boosting her cleavage with one arm, I suddenly notice.
“Nadine’s doing really well with her marketing company,” says Craig. “She’s got a new client. Sportswear.” He gulps his wine and pats her arm proudly.
>
“I’d love to learn from you, Luke,” says Nadine breathily. “Anything you can teach me. How did you start out? What was it like at the beginning? You’re such a role model.”
Every time she speaks, she juts out her cleavage a bit more. Is she for real? I glance at Luke, wanting to catch his eye—but he seems captivated by Nadine.
“You don’t want to hear my long and tedious journey into business,” he says with a laugh.
“Oh, I do!” Nadine bats her eyelashes at him. “Believe you me, I want to know every detail. I can learn so much.”
“She does,” agrees Craig. “She’s been on at me! ‘Introduce me to Luke Brandon.’ You know, forget meeting Blink Rage. Not interested. She wants to meet you.”
“Well,” says Luke, looking amused. “I’m flattered. Do you want another glass of wine, Craig?”
“I’ll get them,” says Craig easily, getting to his feet. “You two have your chat. Becky, you OK?” He shoots me a fleeting glance.
“I’m fine!” I say with a bright smile. “I’m fine! All good!”
* * *
—
But it’s not all good. An hour later, my smile has frozen solid. This evening is the opposite of what I expected.
Luke and Nadine have been engrossed in boring, technical talk about marketing, which nobody else can join in with. Nadine has told Luke about a thousand times how he’s her inspiration, “believe you me, Luke.” (She says “believe you me” about every five minutes, and it’s driving me nuts.) But Luke doesn’t even seem to have noticed. He just seems delighted by the attention.
Meanwhile, Craig has ignored my attempts to make conversation. I’ve tried every topic, from music to Kiev (I did some research) to telling him about our brunch in Shoreditch. But each time, he’s broken off midstream to tell Luke what a hard worker Nadine is or how she’s a total tech expert and redesigned his whole website.
“Another drink, Luke?” says Nadine, seeing that his glass is empty, and he glances at his watch, then at me.
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