‘Killjoys!’ shouted a deep voice. ‘I only wanted a bit of chocolate.’ There was a burst of male laughter and the letterbox crashed shut again with a clatter.
‘Wankers!’ shouted another voice, of even more combative timbre, then we heard the stomp of heavy, disappointed feet lumbering up Will’s drive and finally, a call of ‘I need Dairy Milk and I need it now!’ in the near distance.
We burst out laughing in the way you do when you’ve had to hold it in for a while. Gabby and I always did it in lifts, when we couldn’t dare catch each other’s eye for risk of exploding, but this time I wasn’t standing in a lift with Gabby… I was kneeling in a small, darkened hallway on a scratchy coir mat, with my very hunky next door neighbour sat on his haunches and wearing a very tight and muscle-exposing superhero suit.
Suddenly we stopped laughing. Suddenly, everything went serious. It was like one of those tumbleweed moments you see on TV, except there was no dusty ball of hay bouncing down a Western street, but a kind of charged silence. There were no wispy bits of straw tumbling around on a whippy summer’s breeze at the O.K. Corral; instead we were frozen in the eye of an electric storm. My heart was thumping. Will’s face looked weird. I saw a swallow go down his throat. His eyes underneath the Batman mask were dark and intense. The moment seemed to last forever. I realised I was good at this staring into the eyes lark after all. I felt I could look into Will’s eyes for days. At the same time, I was waiting. Waiting for him to do something. Oh god, it looked like he was going to kiss me. Was he going to kiss me? I really wanted him to kiss me. His lips looked delicious; they were more pronounced because of the mask. They were quite full, and warm with laughter and fun. Kissable. Really kissable. Oh god.
He leaned forward and kissed me.
I could feel the heat of his lips before they even got to me. And when they did… oh god, it was amazing. It wasn’t the lacklustre pecking and dry, beer-and-brandy-tinged kissing of Ben. It wasn’t the face-chewing and blatant sexual probing of Dex. It was sweet and soft, but warm and intense and the feel of Will’s lips on mine was incredible. I wanted to place my hand on the back of his head but I didn’t dare, but then he surprised me by cupping my face with his hand. Oh god! It was absolutely fantastic… He had such lovely lips… I began to really kiss him back, my heart thumping… Oh lord, this was my neighbour…
Suddenly, and without warning, he pulled away.
‘We shouldn’t be doing this.’
‘No?’ My heart was thudding in my chest. My lips were tingling and ready for him again. Where was he? Why had he gone? Our faces were inches away and we were both breathing heavily. ‘No. I know,’ I said. ‘I’m so sorry.’ That was what I was saying, but I wasn’t sorry at all. I was far from sorry, at this moment. I wanted him to kiss me again.
‘This is wrong. You’re my neighbour. We’ve only just met. I…’
‘I know, I know. This is so wrong.’ But it felt so bloody right! It really did. God, that kiss, those lips. Why weren’t we still kissing? Why? ‘We’re neighbours,’ I agreed, reluctantly. ‘I’ve only known you about a week. Well, it’s a week and a half now, isn’t it… I…’
‘And you’re seeing someone, too… I’m not the sort of man who…’
‘I’m actually not,’ I said quickly. I knew we shouldn’t have been kissing, but I hadn’t wanted him to stop. Why did he stop? Please don’t stop, Will!
He withdrew his face further from mine, looking confused. ‘You’re not seeing anyone? What about your date on Tuesday, with the guy you met on Monday? And you saw him again last night, didn’t you? I saw you go out, all dressed up…’
‘Oh,’ I said, embarrassed, I hadn’t wanted to admit to him that I was out at another singles thing last night, like a complete saddo. I still didn’t. ‘Well, yes, but we’ve broken up now.’ God, I sounded like a teenager – where was my zombie apocalypse costume? ‘I won’t be seeing him again. But you’re right, we shouldn’t be doing this. We really shouldn’t.’
‘No.’ He nodded. He ran his fingers though hair. ‘I’m sorry, Daryl. I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was wrong, we’re…’
‘Look, it’s fine. I totally agree with you. We’re neighbours, this would be utterly stupid.’
‘This is wrong.’ All right, he didn’t need to keep saying it. It was wrong, I got it.
Oh. I got it. This wasn’t just about us being neighbours. This wasn’t just about Ben, the man I was no longer seeing. It was also about Angie. He couldn’t kiss me because of Angie. He’d never got over her. He still loved her. That’s why there weren’t lots of pictures of her around the place; he couldn’t bear to be reminded of her and her loveliness and her beauty. That’s why he was so grumpy about his summerhouse, and why it was in such a state, because she’d loved it and now he couldn’t bear to use it except for a dumping ground… And he certainly didn’t want to be kissing some woman who was undoubtedly so utterly and completely ridiculous in comparison to her. Some woman who passed out on drives and stuffed cake in her gob and got paint all over her and couldn’t cook and looked terrible in a dressing gown and had an enormous bottom… He wasn’t ready to move on, and he certainly wasn’t ready to move on with me.
I was an idiot; he’d been kissing an idiot.
‘I think we’ll leave it there,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’
I felt crushed. He didn’t want to kiss me. I was an awful and embarrassing person. It had all gone horribly wrong.
‘Just so you know,’ I said, remembering all the bum-perving I’d done, ‘I wasn’t expecting you to do anything. Tonight.’ My voice came out all husky. I cleared my throat.
He just looked at me. His face was impassive, stony almost. Why did I say that? What a stupid thing to say. I sounded all sulky and defensive, never great, even coming from a sulky and defensive teenager; it was definitely not great coming from a middle-aged divorcee. It was true though; I certainly hadn’t been expecting that. Had the way I’d said it sounded like I had?
‘I know,’ he said. ‘Why would you? It’s fine.’
He placed his hands on the carpet in front of him and stood up, his cape fluttering. He was still too close to me. I awkwardly got up too. We were now just standing next to each other, in Will’s dark hall, trying not to look at each other, but there was nowhere else to look. He reached behind him and switched the light on. The big light. It was like pulling the plug on a fab pop concert or horrible strip lights coming on at the end of a school disco. Ouch! It was almost painful. The moment had certainly turned that way.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, again.
‘What for? Please. Don’t be.’ My shoes and bag were right by the front door. I could shove them on and flee. Now. This was awful. This never should never have happened. ‘It’s absolutely fine,’ I said. ‘Honestly. Nothing happened. It shouldn’t have happened. It’s stupid. I’m your next door neighbour. We shouldn’t be doing… kissing… or anything like that. What if it all went wrong and we became neighbours at war and stars of an ITV2 documentary or something?’ I was gabbling. What on earth was I saying? I was making it worse. If that was remotely possible.
‘We can’t risk that,’ said Will, smiling ruefully. A rueful smile, that’s what this situation called for. And there it was.
A mobile phone rang from the kitchen. I just stood in the hall, helpless and like a shamefaced imbecile, while Will went to fetch it. He stood in the doorway, another odd look on his face.
‘I’ve got to go. I’ve been called to the hospital. There’s an emergency.’
‘Oh right. Absolutely. Of course. Go! I’ll go.’
‘Okay.’ He started grabbing his keys and his jacket, from the hooks by the front door. Picked up his briefcase. Once he had everything, we stood looking awkwardly at each other again. ‘Right. Well, thank you for a lovely evening,’ I said formally.
‘Thank you for coming.’
‘Indeed.’
Indeed? I stepped backwards and immediately knocked over a painted wooden eleph
ant that was behind me on the floor. It was from Thailand or somewhere, I guessed. I bet it was a souvenir from Will and Angie’s honeymoon, or something. From the wonderful honeymoon with his beautiful wife. Earlier I’d thought about getting on it and pretending to ride it, for a laugh, in a lull between Halloween visitors. Thank god I hadn’t. Deranged (sober!) woman from next door rides precious honeymoon memento – the horror! Thank god I’d managed to rein myself in.
I righted it, gave it a little pat on the head and fled out the front door without looking back.
Chapter Seventeen
A week Sam had predicted would be fun-filled and flirtatious and ending in love (ninety-nine percent chance? What a joke! I didn’t even want love! I’d told Sam that!) had all gone terribly wrong. Four nights since Sunday, when I had declared myself fit and ready for fun and dating, had ended in misery. Yes, the week had been full of men – too flipping many of them – but it had been a disaster, hadn’t it? One date. Two singles nights. And three kisses, which were all hugely unsuccessful in massively different ways:
One: not quite good enough. Didn’t really fancy him.
Two: horrible! One-sided and presumptuous and predatory and just yuk.
Three: heartbreakingly wonderful, but short-lived and immediately regretted by at least one of the parties.
A fine list if there ever was one. I’d made a right mess of everything. Oh, Sam and your well-meaning love forecast! The only thing there was a ninety-nine percent chance of was me ending the week in total despair and I couldn’t even do it in a onesie and a vat of wine: I still had tomorrow night’s graduation to get through. And that made me feel guilty and awful because I should be looking forward to my darling girl’s special night, not dreading it because my tosser of an ex and my bitch of an ex-best friend were going to be there.
I let myself in the front door and stood against one of my freshly-painted walls, banging my head softly on it behind me. Truth be told, I felt completely let down by all men. Ben, who I had no real spark with, but hadn’t called me anyway; Dex, a sleazy perv only after one thing; and Will… Well, it wasn’t really his fault, it had just sort of happened and we shouldn’t have done that in any shape or form – but he had kissed me and hadn’t liked it. And that hurt.
Our fledgling neighbourhood friendship was ruined. There’d be no more friendly exchanges on the drive. There’d be no borrowing of sugar, nor the bringing over of post. It was all spoiled. I wished he hadn’t kissed me. And I wished I hadn’t enjoyed that kiss so bloody much that I’d never wanted it to end.
I needed wine and I needed it now. I walked into the kitchen, plonked my bag down on the worktop and went to open the fridge to get a bottle of prosecco out. As I opened the fridge door, my bag chimed. A text. Who could that be? Well, certainly not Will – we hadn’t exchanged numbers and it would hardly happen now, would it? We’d have to totally avoid each from now on, I decided. It wouldn’t be enough to stop having lovely chats on the drive and not bring post over for each other any more; I’d have to engineer it so I never even clapped eyes on him again. I’d have to wait for him to disappear into his house before I came out. I’d have to keep all my blinds and curtains closed, permanently. I’d basically have to conduct myself as if I were on witness protection. Some neighbours never ever saw each other, or spoke. That would have to be us.
I took out the lovely and chilled bottle of prosecco (never had a woman needed alcohol more) and went over to my bag. Who could be texting me at this time of night? Sam? Peony? Mum? Freya to tell me Gabby wasn’t coming tomorrow night after all? If only…
I pulled out my phone from the inside pocket. Oh! This was a surprise! It was a text from Ben.
Hey, sexy. Where are you?
Several thoughts immediately cycled through my head. Firstly, ‘Where are you?’ was typical of him: it was ten past eleven on a Thursday night, but he probably thought everyone – even people our age – were out and about, doing cool things, swinging by here, swinging by there. Seeing people. Doing stuff. Awesome. Secondly, he hadn’t forgotten me after all: he was texting me, he wanted to know what I was doing. That felt good, actually, after the evening I’d had. And thirdly, he called me sexy. I hadn’t been called sexy for a long time. The last time had probably been when Jeff drunk too much sherry at a bonfire night at the golf club in 2003 and had described me to the captain in the clubhouse as his ‘sexy wife’. I had been pretty gobsmacked, but totally thrilled. Secretly, I thought I had always been quite sexy. But no one had ever agreed with me.
Ben thought I was sexy. His ‘sexy’ could not have come at a better time. If I was in the gutter with disappointment and confusion and frustration, then Ben’s sexy was a warm hand up onto a nice, smooth pavement, with the promise of an evening stroll. Hey, sexy. Call me shallow, but I liked it. And it did the job quicker than wine.
I clicked onto the text and tapped out a reply.
‘I’m at home,’ I replied. Why shouldn’t I reply to him? He was being nice and asking a friendly question; I was being friendly and nice and replying to it. The man had done nothing wrong, I realised. So he hadn’t called me since Tuesday night – it was only Thursday! – I didn’t know why I’d made such a big deal of it. And his only other crime had been being not quite fanciable enough – but I’d really fancied Dex and where had that got me? A horrid invitation for a one night stand to nowhere, that’s where. And I’d fancied Will, despite myself, in a moment of madness, and where had that got me? The best kiss of my life followed by a hideous rejection and him pootling off into the night in his Volvo. Here before me was Ben, an Interested Man. I was coming to realise they were rarer than hen’s teeth.
Another text popped back.
I’m at the Goat and Garter. Meet me?
The Goat and Garter was a pub on Wimbledon Common: open fires, posh clientele; very countrified. I’d been there with Jeff a few times. He loved it, all that roast beef, fine malt whiskey and braying well-to-do people. Gabby and I had been there once, too, to dump one of her Cherubs.
I could go there. It would take me fifteen minutes to drive there at this time of night. I could go and meet Ben. Just for an hour. He liked me. He wanted to see me. Approximately five miles away was a good looking, ever so slightly younger man who thought I was sexy and enjoyed kissing me. The disappointment of my night – and last night, too, come to think of it – could be dissolved fairly quickly in the company of a keen and attentive man. Or, I could drink a bottle of wine and feel awful and go to bed feeling horrible and that my life was over and that I was the most hideous, embarrassing, unwanted person in the world.
It was a no-brainer, surely?
I wouldn’t be hasty – I’d been that too many times already this week – I’d give myself five minutes to think about it. So I’d had a disappointing night, so Ben had a flicker of interest in me, did this mean I had to go hot-footing it off into the night like some teenager? What would Will think if he knew I was driving off into the dark twenty minutes after leaving his house? He’d think I was mad. And I didn’t fancy Ben; I knew I didn’t. I was just flattered by his attention at such a depressing juncture of the evening.
I spent five minutes re-organising the fridge – a job I hated, but it gave me then time to think – and then I had an answer for Ben.
Sorry, Ben, thank you for the offer but no thank you.
I didn’t need to answer a booty call. That’s what it was, wasn’t it, when all was said and done? Ben was out, had probably had a few beers too many, nothing much was going on and he wanted to call me, and what did he want, at this time of night, a walk in the park? If I really thought about it, he was no better than sleazy Dex. Well, I was better than that. I was better than all of them – Ben, Dex, even Will, although he hadn’t really done much wrong except kiss me in an amazing way which I had totally reciprocated… I mean, I’d hardly pushed him off, had I? Oh god, I couldn’t think about that now…
I was done with men! I didn’t need them. I could be fabulous and fre
e all on my own without dating anyone at all. Dating was dangerous; dating led to disaster. Dating was not for me.
I put on my favourite sheep onesie, the one with the ears, and I made myself a hot chocolate. I was all wired and knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I went to bed straight away so I tried to watch telly but couldn’t concentrate; I tried to read a book but couldn’t get further than a couple of pages. I had too much going round my mind.
Wandering back into the kitchen, I remembered Will’s insomniac baking. Maybe I should try and make a cake! If it worked for Will, it could work for me, and at least something could be salvaged from this horrible night – a nice chocolate cake. I could save some for Freya, to help celebrate her graduation. Now, where was it? I had Nigella’s Domestic Goddess book in a drawer, somewhere; I’d attempted a couple of things from her book when I was with Jeff – one of them had even been edible. Ah, here it was, now to just find a really nice chocolate cake recipe…
An hour later, I was covered in cocoa powder and eggs and sugar and everything else. I may as well have dispensed with the oven and just baked the cake on myself. Not that actually putting it in the oven fared much better – the cake was flat on one side, burnt on the other and resembled a tramp’s shoe after a night under the viaducts. Like the scallops and the tiramisu, it was fit only for the bin. I was no cook and never would be. I made a terrible insomniac baker.
I was dumping the cake in the bin and scraping the burnt edges off the tin with a spatula, when I heard the sound of a car coming up the road. Oh no, it was Will, coming home from the hospital, wasn’t it? A quick glance out of the kitchen window confirmed my fears, and I panicked – my kitchen light was on. He’d see me in here. I didn’t want him to see me! I had no choice but to crouch down, like an absolute lunatic, in front of the kitchen sink, with my head below the edge of the worktop. I heard the engine being shut off, the car door closing and Will walking up the drive and I froze, trying not to breathe, not that he would have heard me anyway. I waited until I heard his keys jangling in the lock and the sound of his front door shutting, then I exhaled. Phew, he hadn’t seen me; he hadn’t witnessed me doing copycat baking at midnight dressed as a sheep.
Cloudy with a Chance of Love Page 18