Conditional Love

by Cathy Bramley

  Tonight, however, I was Marc’s girlfriend and all that other teeth-grinding stuff could wait. I managed to restrain myself from leaping into his arms and wrapping my legs round his waist. Despite his wink, he was hungry and when he was hungry he was irritable and wouldn’t appreciate the distraction.

  He had only arrived ten minutes ago and had headed straight for the fridge. He was now cooking up a storm for himself with seven eggs and a bag of spinach. Luckily, I’d already eaten earlier with Jess and Emma. A perfectly balanced meal of cheesy beans on toast and a mint Aero. Goodness knows what all that egg would have done to my digestion. Actually that was a lie. I knew exactly what the result would be and I didn’t want to have to sleep with the window open, especially as it looked as if he might be staying over.

  Jess had departed for her date with Spike, and Emma was in the bath, nose out of joint at being the only singleton in the flat. The smell from her eucalyptus oil burner wafted out from under the bathroom door and I was pretty sure she’d taken a bottle of brandy in there with her, muttering something about warding off the onset of flu.

  I hovered at the door, watching him. Or more precisely, drooling over him. When Marc was in there he filled the tiny room completely. Yet despite his bulky frame, he was extremely dexterous in the kitchen. He claimed he had learned to cook as a matter of necessity due to having a mother who didn’t bother. On that basis I should have been a cordon bleu chef.

  ‘Perfection on a plate.’ He tipped his masterpiece out, abandoned the frying pan and sauntered into the living room, with me close behind.

  His tracksuit bottoms clung dangerously low on his pert bum, accentuating his narrow hips. A tight-fitting vest curved between his shoulder blades and showed off the muscles in his chest and arms to devastating effect. My body hummed with contentment just having him in view.

  Looking good was so effortless to him, I thought, running a hand over my own hips and dismissing his hours of gym training and strict nutritional intake. I snaked my hand towards an open bag of Doritos, before snatching it back again.

  Perhaps I should go and do a few abdominal crunches while I was waiting?

  Marc finished off the last of his omelette, pounded his fist on his chest and produced a belch loud enough to wake the dead. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and planted a kiss on my cheek.

  I smiled indulgently at him, relishing the feel of his stubble on my face. I took the plate from his lap and slid it onto the carpet.

  ‘This is nice, isn’t it?’ I snuggled up against him on the sofa and he pulled me into his arms. ‘Just the two of us.’

  ‘Mmm,’ he mumbled into my hair.

  I took a deep breath and then nonchalantly added, ‘We’ll be able to do this more often, once the new house has been built.’

  I didn’t want to get ahead of myself, imagining that he would be moving in with me. Not at first anyway. Although it would probably take a year before the house was built; anything could happen in that time.

  Marc cleared his throat and I felt his body tense. ‘I was talking to a bloke at the gym the other day. His brother-in-law is a property developer in Manchester with a small office in Nottingham. Mostly pubs and clubs, but they’re looking to expand into residential. He reckons you could get three houses on that plot of yours.’

  I laughed and traced a finger across his chest. I didn’t want three houses, I only needed one. Besides that idea wasn’t even a remote possibility on my budget. I was just about to cover my finger tracks with kisses when Marc wriggled away from my grasp and cupped my face in his hands.

  ‘Don’t laugh! I mean it.’ He frowned and shifted away.

  Damn, I’d upset him and ruined the atmosphere. I wasn’t scared of him in the physical sense; I knew he wouldn’t lay a finger on me, but his moods were bad enough. Once he descended into a sulk, he could wallow there for hours.

  I apologised instantly and tried to make light of my comments.

  ‘Building one house is waaay out of my comfort zone, and I can barely afford that. Besides, we only need one little house don’t we?’ I batted my eyelashes at him and hoped he’d pick up on the ‘we’.

  Marc sat up straight and gripped my shoulders. The determined glint in his eye concerned me. Gone was the cosy night in I’d been hoping for.

  ‘Three houses! Just think of the money! Divide the plot up, get planning permission for three houses and sell two. You’d make a killing!’

  A vision of Lilac Lane with two extra houses on it flashed into my mind. I didn’t think the neighbours would be too happy. Anyway the plot wasn’t that big; dividing it into thirds would mean no privacy and no gardens.

  Marc mistook my hesitation as a good sign.

  ‘Good idea of mine, yeah?’ He grinned and pinched my cheek. ‘And don’t worry about the business side of things, all the negotiating with the developers and what have you. I’ll do all that.’

  Oh bless him!

  ‘For a fee of course,’ he chuckled.

  Only fair, I suppose. Hold on a minute! I gave myself a shake. I was halfway to going along with his plan. I needed to nip this one in the bud, sharpish.

  I looped my arms around his neck and pressed my lips to his. There was a metallic hint of egg on his breath and I tried not to recoil.

  ‘It’s a great idea,’ I said diplomatically. I glanced up at him long enough to see his eyes light up. ‘But it’s not only about money. I wouldn’t want to live there squashed next to two other houses. It would –’

  ‘You don’t have to!’ He grabbed my hands and squeezed them tight. ‘Sell them all! Who cares if they’re squashed? We’ll have enough money to buy somewhere bigger, somewhere in town. You don’t really want to be stuck out there in the sticks, do you?’

  We. He said, ‘We’ll have enough money’. I wasn’t especially materialistic, but we seemed to have gone from Marc earning a fee to outright sharing.

  This is the man you love. If you married him, what’s yours would be his. What’s the difference?

  I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry, Marc. It would be wrong to build three houses on that plot. It would ruin the lane. And you’re wrong. I really do want to live there.’

  It was true. Building my own house was my number one priority. I had something to prove now. My father would never see it, but I would know. I might not have had the money to go to university like his other child, I might not have been able to pursue my chosen career, but I would fulfil my ultimate design dream to create the perfect home for myself. Myself.

  The look on Marc’s face was one of pure disgust. He got up from the sofa. I felt my bottom lip wobble. This was like a replay of when he asked to borrow money in February. Look what had happened then! I should have agreed with him. I still could. My mouth opened and closed again.

  ‘Same old Sophie, no sense of adventure.’

  I’d let him down again. I fought back the tears and gazed up at him. That was so unfair, I wasn’t the same at all. My life had been bonkers for these last few months. I mentally added up all the life-changing decisions I had made this year: Facing up to the father who’d abandoned me. Embarking on a new dynamic attitude to my job at The Herald. Designing the layout of a new house. I mean, how many single women did you see on Grand Designs? I’d got it all going on!

  Marc shook his head and strode over to the window. He was looking for an escape route, I could tell. Perhaps I would never be exciting enough for him? He was probably regretting telling that mate of his he was staying over at his girlfriend’s. I bet that girl in the MX5 with the red sleeve was exciting. She was probably a Formula One racing driver by day and pole dancer by night. I could possibly buy a sports car. I drew the line at the pole though.

  I stroked the empty seat on the sofa next to me and adjusted the cushion, my eyes pricking with tears.

  Why can’t he just love me unconditionally, love me for who I am?

  He turned from the window to face me and I couldn’t believe it; he was grinning from ear to ear! My
heart did a quick highland fling; he wasn’t doing a runner after all.

  ‘My silly little mouse. What am I going to do with you?’

  Kiss me please, preferably, or a hug would do, just don’t dump me again.

  He reached a hand down to me and with one effortless tug pulled me up in front of him. He rubbed his thumbs gently under my eyes and wiped away my tears.

  We moved closer until my nostrils were filled with the scent of Sure for Men. His eyes locked onto mine and he slid a hand behind my neck. My legs trembled as his lips came within kissing distance.

  ‘Perhaps I can change your mind.’ His breath whispered against my ear and sent tingles from the nape of my neck to the bottom of my spine. I melted against him as his lips brushed mine.

  I snaked my arms around his broad back, tracing the contours of his muscles with my fingertips. It felt so good to be back in his arms. When I was with him, I felt safe and protected, as if his strength was enough for the two of us. I couldn’t bear to lose him again.

  ‘Yes, perhaps you can,’ I murmured, submitting happily to his kiss.

  Marc pulled back, his eyes glinting triumphantly. ‘That’s more like it, Princess!’

  I squealed as he picked me up and swung me round.

  ‘Shall we go to bed?’ He winked at me, inclining his head towards the door.

  I wriggled out of his arms. ‘You go ahead, I’ll just tidy up here.’

  My heart was going like the clappers as he headed into my bedroom. He was staying over! I couldn’t believe it; back there for a minute, I thought I’d blown it.

  Yay! I’m his girlfriend, his princess!

  I collected the dirty plates and glasses and dumped them in the kitchen sink. The washing up could wait, the fifteen stone stud muffin in my bed couldn’t. I turned to leave, an industrial-sized grin plastered across my face.

  Emma stood in the doorway, in her dressing gown, arms, legs and eyebrows crossed. I clutched at my chest.

  ‘Jeepers, Emma! You frightened the life out of me!’

  ‘So you’re taking him back then?’

  ‘He’s taking me back. And I can’t believe my luck,’ I corrected her.

  She huffed in disgust. ‘I don’t get it, what has he ever done for you?’

  My mind was full of the things I hoped he was going to do for me any minute, and quite frankly she was ruining the mood. As much as I valued her support, right now I didn’t really want to get into the ins and outs of my relationship with Marc. So to speak.

  ‘Look, I love you to bits and I know that you’re just looking out for me. But can’t you just be happy for me?’

  I glanced towards my bedroom door. He would be getting impatient soon, or worse, he would drop off to sleep and bang would go my plans.

  Emma pulled her mouth to one side. Her brown eyes looked worried. She wasn’t convinced. I gave her a big hug.

  ‘I offered him money, you know. To start that second-hand car business. Do you know what he said?’ I said. She shook her head warily.

  ‘He wants to do it himself, pay his own way. There!’ I pulled back, hoping to see her lighten up a bit.

  Emma shrugged. ‘Glad to hear it. I’m sorry, I want to be happy for you, but I just don’t trust him.’

  ‘It’s different this time. I’m standing up for myself much more these days.’ Well sort of. I wasn’t sure Emily Pankhurst and friends would have been cheering from their graves at my pathetically submissive display of five minutes ago.

  ‘Jess says –’

  I raised my eyebrows, annoyed that they’d been talking about me behind my back. She placed a placatory hand on my arm.

  ‘We just care about you. You haven’t even begun to deal with meeting your dad properly yet and we’re worried you’re rushing into this thing with Marc as a result.’

  I gasped. That wasn’t true, was it? My dad was the biggest waste of space I’d ever met and I wasn’t going to waste any more of my time thinking about him. It was as simple as that. Nothing to do with ‘dealing with it’.

  My bedroom door opened and Marc appeared wearing only his boxer shorts. Emma yelped with embarrassment and ducked out of sight.

  ‘I’m waiting, Princess,’ he crooned seductively, waggling his eyebrows. Every fibre of my body responded and I practically skipped off to join him.

  ‘Just be careful, Sophie,’ called a hushed voice from the kitchen.

  A noise woke me up ludicrously early. I opened my eyes and shut them again. It wasn’t time to get up yet. A self-satisfied smile crept across my face. Marc was still here and this time I’d managed not to roll out of bed during the night.

  My grin got wider as I remembered how I’d reacquainted myself with Marc’s body last night. It had all been over very quickly, and he had been snoring five minutes later, but that was OK, we both had work today and it was important to get a good night’s sleep. The best thing was that he hadn’t mentioned the Slendertone machine once, and for that I would be eternally grateful.

  I pulled the duvet up around my shoulders. Shame he couldn’t stay in bed a bit longer for a cuddle. I’d forgotten how early he had to go to work. I could hear him getting dressed; jangling keys, rustling papers, the soft clicking and beeping of his phone… his phone? I turned over and attempted to focus on his shadowy shape in the dawn light.

  ‘Marc? What are you doing?’ I rubbed my eyes and squinted at him.

  He whirled round from his position at my dressing table.

  ‘Er – you looked so gorgeous lying there asleep, I thought I’d take your picture. Say cheese!’ He held his mobile up and it flashed.

  ‘Oh God, delete it!’ I groaned, my hand flying to my bedhead hair. I probably looked like one of the Muppets.

  ‘I haven’t got any pictures of you. Mum was asking what you looked like.’

  His mum was asking about me? He had never taken my picture before, so I should be pleased. Perhaps this was a sign of things to come?

  ‘Can I see?’ I smiled sweetly. ‘The least you can do is to show me how bad it is.’

  ‘No time, Princess.’ He leaned across and gave me a peck on the forehead. ‘Gotta get to work.’ He reached under the covers, pinched my bum and with a dirty laugh, he was gone.

  I was about to drop back off to sleep again when I remembered what day it was. My eyes sprang open. I jumped out of bed and dived into the shower. Nick had called yesterday to say that the draft drawings were ready. My very own grand design was ready for inspection.

  An hour later, with freshly washed hair and wearing one of my favourite dresses, I was ready for work. I collected the Lilac Lane folder from my dressing table and headed to the office.

  twenty-five

  ‘That was a long lunch hour, or should I say hour and a half?’ said part-time Maureen, leaning low across her desk to stay out of Donna’s eye line. ‘The boss has been up and down like a jack-in-a-box waiting for you to get back.’

  I groaned; I’d hoped she wouldn’t notice if I was late back. I had an entire boring day at the office to get through before the meeting with the architect and the suspense was killing me. The only bright spot had been my lunch break, when I had spent a blissful hour daydreaming in the homes magazines section in WHSmith. Unfortunately, I had lost track of time.

  ‘I had to cover for you in the end,’ said Maureen, knitting her eyebrows together with worry.

  There was a sarcastic tut from Jason, who seemed to relish me getting into trouble these days.

  ‘Thanks, Maureen, I’m really grateful,’ I said, still out of breath from my dash back to my desk. ‘What did you tell her?’

  ‘Dentist. Emergency filling.’

  I stared at her incredulously. Now I would have to fake a numb face and dental pain for the rest of the afternoon.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Maureen, pulling her cardigan tighter and folding her arms. ‘You know how nervous she makes me. It was all I could think of. Anyway, you’d better get in there. Oh, and Frannie Cooper called. I said you’d call her back
ASAP!’

  Joy.

  I rifled through my drawer for a spare McDonald’s straw, popped it in the top of my bottle of water and practised a clumsy suck. Clutching my face tenderly and ignoring Jason’s sniggering, I hurried over to Donna’s office.

  If there was one thing Donna despised, it was her staff moaning about their ailments. So when she asked me if I was all right, I didn’t have to act: my face was numb with shock.

  ‘Yeff fankf,’ I nodded, taking a seat opposite her. ‘Ve dentist pold me a go home, b I fay I’m foo bibby.’ I slurped my water and allowed a tiny dribble to run down my chin, pretending not to feel it.

  Things got even more bizarre when Donna handed me a tissue and pointed to my chin. I was worried now. That was a blatant display of compassion. If Donna had a motto like John Lewis, it would be ‘Never Knowingly Understanding’.

  It hit me all of a sudden; I was getting the sack. It was the only possible scenario. This out of character display of kindness was all part of the process in case I tried to sue her at a later date for unfair dismissal.

  I knew instantly what must have had happened: Jason had stitched me up on The Herald’s Facebook page again. I’d spent an hour this morning deleting all the lewd photos that he’d got his mates to post on my new ‘Funniest Holiday Snap’ competition. What had he done this time? I glanced through the glass and caught him grinning at me. The toerag.

  ‘Don’t worry about talking,’ said Donna, patting my hand. This was getting seriously freaky. ‘Just nod and shake your head.’

  I nodded.

  ‘As you know, the trial period for your social media project finishes this month.’

  Does it? It must have slipped my mind. I nodded anyway.

  She opened a black folder in front of her and ran her finger down the front page. Reading upside down, I could just make out statistics for Twitter and Facebook activity. I stifled a smile, before remembering I was supposed to have a numb mouth. Trust Donna, the technophobe, to have a paper copy of an internet report.