Mason flops back on the bed. ‘Tonight?’
‘Working.’
You see, in the cold light of day, I can rationalise that I don’t want to be with someone like Mason, but there’s no doubt that I have a weakness for him.
‘At least let me make you some tea.’
‘I’m fine. Honestly.’ After what we did last night, for some reason I’m embarrassed to be naked before him. I find my clothes, scattered about the floor alongside Mason’s in our haste to undress. The thought of it brings a flush to my cheeks and my loins. And I really didn’t even think I had loins.
While I pull on last night’s underwear – inside out, give me some credit – I look round the room. It’s so masculine, so Mason. The bed is chocolate brown leather and there’s a leather chair in the corner. Above the bed is a huge painting of a vintage cycle in sepia tones, the bedside tables bear anglepoise lamps. There’s not a thing out of place anywhere – he’s the tidiest sex addict I know. Yet, stylish as it undoubtedly is, it looks more like a hotel room than a home. Unlived in and a little bit unloved. I know we made our way through the kitchen and living room in our rush to bed, but I’ve no idea what either of those look like. I imagine that they’re both as achingly trendy.
When I’m dressed, I go to kiss him on the cheek. He tries to pull me back down onto the bed, but I ease myself out of his embrace.
‘Catch you later,’ I say. ‘Thanks again.’
‘That’s it?’
I shrug. ‘What more do you want?’
There’s an exasperated note in his voice when he says, ‘I’m not going to pursue you for ever, Brown.’
‘OK.’
He pouts like a toddler. ‘What am I going to do with myself for the rest of the day?’
‘I’m sure you’ll think of something. I’m going to meet Charlie.’
And I leave him in his swanky leather bed looking distinctly disgruntled.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Charlie is already waiting for me at the café. She’s bagged one of the tables on the terrace that overlooks the pond on the edge of the woods. It’s another glorious day and maybe summer will be here to stay for more than a day or two this time. We’ve had too many false starts this year. Making the most of the weather, the dog walkers are out in force and we’re lucky to get this spot. ‘I’ve ordered us two full English brekkies.’
‘Good. I’m starving.’
‘You look like shit.’ You can always count on Charlie to be candid. ‘Did you have any sleep at all last night?’
‘Not a lot.’
‘Joe?’
‘Complicated.’
‘Ah.’
With convenient timing, our breakfasts arrive and we busy ourselves with buttering toast and administering the correct amount of ketchup.
‘Al fresco cooky brekky! Does life get any better?’ Charlie exclaims.
‘Al fresco cooky brekky with The Barlow?’
‘Ah, yes. Everything is better with a bit of added Barlow.’
So that Charlie didn’t get the scent of my scandalous indiscretion, I did manage to go home after leaving Mason’s place and have a quick run round the shower. I also washed my hair and put on my work stuff, so I’m not still wearing last night’s clothes. I’m sure that she won’t be able to tell that I spent the night with Mason.
‘I had some great news this morning,’ she says. ‘I got free tickets to the Take That concert dress rehearsals in Manchester. Me and Paul are going up together. Yay! Go me!’
‘Cool.’
‘You don’t mind that I asked Paul instead of you?’
‘No. I’m glad. He’ll appreciate it more than me.’ Plus, I rather like the idea of her going with Nice Paul. He’ll look after her. I know it. ‘You must be thrilled.’
‘I like to imagine that Gary personally hand-picked me.’ Charlie goes all dreamy-looking.
‘I’m sure he did.’
‘How did the first family date go yesterday?’ Charlie asks between mouthfuls.
‘It was disastrous with a capital “D”.’
‘That bad?’
‘Shocker.’ I pause to contemplate while chewing my bacon. ‘The children, far from being the little sweethearts that I’d conjured up in my head, were evil. They were determined to hate me on sight.’
‘You’re trying to steal their daddy away from them.’
‘I’m not.’
‘But it must feel like that.’
‘Anyway, it’s irrelevant now. They got their wish. Joe and I are over before we really started. I can’t see it working. It would be like pushing water uphill to try to make a go of a relationship with him. Without even giving me a chance, they were dead set against me.’
‘They’ll grow up. In a few years they’ll be leaving home.’
‘Daisy’s only twelve. Even if she goes straight to uni, that’s six years. Six years! There’s no way I could cope with all those resentful faces for so long.’
‘Go easy on them, Ruby. Their mum hasn’t long left. It must be tough for them. They don’t need another mum right now.’
‘I know. I have no intention of trying to replace their mum. I just hoped that I could be their friend. Joe was right. It’s too soon. He has to focus all his attention on them.’
‘Maybe it’s not over just yet. Give them a bit of time. They may come round to the idea.’
‘I called him and ended it,’ I tell her. ‘That’s definitely it.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing. I didn’t actually speak to him. I just left a message. I thought he might call me back but he hasn’t.’
‘You muppet,’ Charlie sighs.
I might be a little bit hurt, but I’m not entirely surprised. After yesterday, he’ll probably view it all as too much hard work. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t blame him.
Chapter Sixty
It’s the official opening of the Vibe Lounge. I’m here as Mason’s guest. It’s not a date. I just want to get that straight. It’s not a date. Not.
I pulled my new Primarni frock out of the wardrobe again which makes me think of my date with Joe a bit. That was a nice evening. I had high hopes after that. Fool that I am. Of course, I’ve heard nothing from him after our disastrous lunch with the kids and my subsequent message on his voicemail. Nothing at all. It’s probably a good thing. I’m not potential stepmother material. We’ve probably both come to that conclusion.
Still, I won’t let thoughts of my failure there spoil tonight. I feel good in this dress, but its impact is slightly weakened by the amount of designer labels on show. Are all these people from Costa del Keynes? They seem too sleek, too sophisticated. Where do they normally go in their Alice Temperley dresses with their Mulberry bags? I never see them in Lidl.
Having exchanged my invitation for a glass of champagne, I’m now hanging round at the door not knowing quite what to do with myself. We’ve already established that I don’t know anyone else here, so I feel like Billy No Mates. I should have asked Mason if I could bring Charlie, but then she would have only taken the piss.
I catch a glimpse of Mason at the other side of the room. He’s busy schmoozing, as I knew he would be. After all, it’s the thing he seems to do best. Then I remember our recent night of passion and revise it to second best.
The music is mellow – no idea what, except it’s not Take That. Hipster waiters drift by with platters laden with tiny, ultra-cool canapes. No cocktail sausages here, love. One of them stops in front of me and proffers his tray. ‘Chicken and mango skewers with basil raita.’
‘Oh. Thank you.’ I take one and it tastes great. Though I feel really self-conscious eating it as everyone else seems to be waving the waiters away without partaking of their fayre. It’s only when I’ve eaten it and I’ve not a clue what to do with the remaining wooden skewer that I realise why. Clearly they are veterans of these things and I am not.
I inch closer into the room and, surreptitiously, stick my skewer into the nearest vase. So, if food
is off the menu, now what? Moving through the crowd, I go in pursuit of Mason – who seems to just keep moving ahead of me. There’s tinkling laughter filling the space, lots of bling on show, more designer label outfits than I have ever seen in one room. This is the life I could have with Mason Soames. I could become a social butterfly and flit from event to event. I could be his life and business partner – an indispensable party hostess, right at his side. I think we could do that well together.
Eventually, as I’m about to give up and go to the bar in search of more booze, Mason turns and sees me. He breaks into a smile, excuses himself from the group he’s talking to and comes over to me. He kisses my cheek in greeting, places a comforting hand on my arm and my confidence grows just from being with him.
‘I didn’t notice you slip in,’ he says. ‘Glad you could make it.’
‘As if I wouldn’t.’ I glance around me again and I can make a full appraisal now that I’m not alone and anxious. ‘The great and the good of Costa del Keynes are here.’
‘It’s going well,’ he says and Mason sounds slightly tense too, though he has no need to. As parties go, this seems to be a resounding success. ‘We just hope it translates into people signing up for membership.’
‘They’d be mad not to,’ I tell him and get a sudden rush of affection for him. Like the rest of us, Mason is only trying to do his best in the world.
‘Thanks, Brown,’ he says. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ He grabs one from a passing tray with a skill that’s clearly been honed by years of extreme socialising and hands it over. I glug it, grateful that I got a taxi instead of driving. ‘Let me introduce you to some people.’
We join a group of women, probably my own age. Clearly life has been kinder to them. They’re all as thin as a pin, groomed, tanned and toned. I don’t really know my labels – I was blagging earlier – but even I can spot a Chanel handbag and there’s at least one on show. And it’s definitely not a fake. The tan is, though.
‘Hey, Mason,’ one says. ‘Come and spend some time with us.’
‘I’m all yours,’ he schmoozes and air kisses both of her cheeks. Then, as I try to hang back, he eases me forward. ‘Ladies, this is my good friend, Ruby.’ They all look at me with haughty disinterest. So much for the sisterhood. ‘This is Charlotte, Honeysuckle, Emmaline and Serena.’
Now I feel that being called Ruby makes me sound like a charlady. ‘Hello.’
They look me up and down a bit more. As they do, someone calls for Mason and he says to me, ‘Back in a second.’
Before I can shoot off with him, he leaves me standing there with Sex and the City-lite. They all look at me blankly. To fill the awkward silence, more than anything, I ask, ‘How do you know Mason?’
They all giggle, girlishly as if I’ve asked them what colour knickers they’re wearing.
‘We’ve been friends for years,’ one of them answers. Except she says ‘yars’. ‘We ski together.’
I wonder if that’s all they do together. Then there’s another excruciating pause until one of them deigns to ask, ‘What do you do, er, Ruby, was it?’
‘I’m a waitress. At Mason’s pub, The Butcher’s Arms.’
They all look at me horrified. I don’t know what they do and am not the slightest bit interested. It looks as if they spend all day in the gym, if you ask me. Which no one did.
We all stand and look at each other, conversation clearly exhausted. With friends like this, Mason really doesn’t need enemies.
‘Excuse me,’ I say. ‘I need a refill.’ And, thankfully, when I hold up my glass as proof, it is actually empty. I slink away and then wonder what to do with myself. Might as well find another drink, I suppose.
So I head to the bar and, when I get there, am relieved to find that Ben from behind the bar at the Butcher’s Arms is moonlighting here. There’s a queue and Ben and one other barman are struggling to keep up with pouring drinks and mixing cocktails. I don’t mind queueing though as it gives me something to do.
‘A friendly face, finally,’ I say when I stand in front of Ben.
‘Ruby!’ He looks as relieved to see me as I am him.
‘I didn’t know you worked here.’
‘The odd shift. But I might move here permanently. What can I get you?’
‘A glass of white. Large.’
‘We’re drowning here,’ he says. ‘Typically, Shagger hasn’t considered the logistics of catering for this many people.’
‘Want me to roll up my sleeves?’
Ben’s stressed face brightens. ‘Would you?’
‘Why not?’ So I ditch my idea of another drink, go behind the bar and set to in serving the thirsty partygoers.
They say time flies when you’re having fun. It also flies when you’re serving behind a busy bar, trust me. When the last of the customers have been served, Ben high-fives me. ‘Thanks, Ruby. We couldn’t have managed without you.’
‘No problem. Let’s clear up and go home.’
The glitterati are drifting away now, the club is emptying nicely. I wash glasses, tidy the bar, think how much my feet hurt and how foolish I was to wear vertiginous heels. I might get home before midnight, at this rate.
Suddenly, Mason swerves up, looking horrified. ‘What are you doing, Brown?’
‘Helping. You didn’t have enough bar staff. Ben was overwhelmed.’ I point in the general direction of the retreating crowd as I polish a glass. ‘That lot seem determined to drink the place dry.’
‘It went well, though?’ He still seems worried.
‘A resounding success,’ I assure him. ‘They’ll be flocking to sign on the dotted line.’
‘I really appreciate you stepping in, but you shouldn’t be doing this.’ He lowers his voice. ‘You’re here with me.’
Except I wasn’t. I was standing round like a lemon on my own and keeping busy was definitely preferable.
I pick up another glass. This is probably my designated role in life. I’m not one of the party people, I’m more suited to being behind the bar at glamorous events. I don’t know what makes me think of Joe, but I wonder where he is now. He’d be my equivalent. I’m sure he’d rather be rolling up his sleeves and getting stuck in rather than standing posing in a dinner jacket.
When Ben moves away, Mason says, ‘Let me finish here. I won’t be long and then we can go up to my apartment and I’ll make it up to you.’
‘Yeah, sure.’ But that certainly isn’t on the cards tonight.
‘I promise I won’t be long.’
‘You go and do what you have to do,’ I tell him and he hurries off to chat to some of the guests as they depart.
I polish my last glass, dry my hands, kiss Ben on the cheek and say, ‘See you at work.’
‘Cheers again, Ruby.’
Then, without Mason noticing, I head out of the door and go home.
Chapter Sixty-One
The next morning I get flowers delivered. Can’t remember when that last happened. I think when I had my appendix out. Not surprisingly, they’re from Mason. Red roses. Two dozen. They’re gorgeous.
I text him to say thanks.
Then realise that I’ll have to go round to Mum’s to borrow a vase because I don’t possess one and I can’t really leave them standing in the sink.
Chapter Sixty-Two
A couple of days later, when I’m chucking the wilted roses in the bin, Joe calls me out of the blue and asks me to meet him for a coffee.
In truth, I’m reluctant to go as I’ll only like him again. However, as my default setting is to say ‘yes’, I’ve agreed to meet him before my brain can work out how to turn him down.
So later that day after we’ve both finished our shifts, we meet in the city centre at the Queen’s Court. Joe buys us iced coffees from the trendy stainless steel wagon that pops up in the summer months and we take up residence in the red-and-white-striped deckchairs set out to face the sun. It’s a beautiful day and this courtyard is a little grassy oasis in the busy shopping centre. There
are a few other people dotted around – a young couple smooching, two elderly ladies with their shoes kicked off on a break from shopping, a family with a boisterous boy who’s charging around while they try to relax. Me and Joe.
We’re shy with each other, a bit stilted, conversation awkward. It’s fair to say that our last meeting wasn’t a resounding success and my subsequent phone message is clearly hanging in the air between us.
Still, I sit back and close my eyes for a second enjoying the rays on my face and the brain-freeze from my ice-laden coffee. I decided that I was going to be cool, aloof, but seeing Joe again has made my heart soften. He’s a good, solid guy and they don’t come around that much these days.
‘I’m sorry about our lunch with the kids,’ he says. ‘I was pretty sure you wouldn’t want to hear from me again. Then I got your message.’
‘Sorry about that, but I thought it was for the best.’
‘They were unspeakable,’ he says. ‘I’ve never been so mortified.’
‘It’s difficult for them,’ I say magnanimously, even though they were both little horrors. I understand why. Truly I do. I’d probably be the same in their circumstances. They want their dad all to themselves, not sharing him with some random woman. If they see him moving on, then it’s a dead cert that their mum will never come home. Sad. I get that.
‘I’ve missed you.’ He looks over at me and, tentatively, takes my hand. ‘I know that you said you’d had enough, but I’m not ready to give up yet. Do you want to keep pushing on and see if my monsters learn to love you? I know it’s not an easy ask, so it’s entirely your call.’
And I guess that this is a defining moment of our future relationship. Do I say yes and commit to Joe or stick to my guns and simply walk away? I don’t think that there can be any half measures. You can’t dabble with a guy who’s got kids. Not that I’m the dabbling kind anyway. Except with Mason. It’s probably fair to say that I’ve dabbled with him.
‘You’re hesitating,’ he says, anxiously.
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