Friday September 16th
Hazel was waiting for me after work and we grabbed a quick glass of wine in the Drum and Monkey before making the short walk to Bath Street.
‘Do you think they do threading?’ I asked as we stood in reception.
‘Your eyebrows are fine.’
‘Not my eyebrows. The sunlight caught the little hairs on my chin this morning and I looked like Gandalf
‘Stop it,’ she laughed. ‘Here come the beauty therapists.’
Two girls in their early twenties – Amy and Annie – welcomed us, took our coats and led us through to the treatment rooms. Hazel choose an anti-ageing facial and I chose one that would supposedly get rid of the open pores I wasn’t aware I had until Annie pointed them out. She pulled back my fringe and began cleansing my skin to within an inch of its life.
Forty-five minutes later I emerged into daylight with a sticking-up fringe and a freshly scrubbed pink face.
‘Oh, of all the days not to bring my make-up bag,’ I moaned, keeping my head down.
‘You could have borrowed some of mine,’ said Hazel, who’d reapplied both foundation and concealer before leaving the salon. ‘Might have taken a bit of the redness away.’
‘It’s OK. Given a choice between wearing no make-up or having a face three shades darker than my usual skin tone, I think this was the lesser of two evils. I’m getting a taxi home though. I’m not sitting on the train like this.’
By the time I got home my face had calmed down and felt smooth and wonderfully clean. I put on some comfy clothes and settled down to watch Mulholland Drive, probably the only David Lynch movie I haven’t seen.
10.51 p.m. God, that scene between Betty and Rita was a total turn-on and now I need to get laid or I’m going to die. But everyone I know seems to be happily shagging someone else: Frank has Vanessa, Oliver has Ruth, and Stuart’s still seeing his girlfriend. It’s not that I’m envious; it’s more like I’m JEALOUS AS HELL. I’ve had the feast and now the famine is slightly harder to swallow.
11.48 p.m. I’m lying in bed, trying to take my mind off my own sad, sex-free existence by listening to Ludovico Einaudi and reminding myself that my birthday weekend is coming up and I’ll be able to relax with my mates and forget about everything for a while, under a blue sky and a cloud of fag smoke. I need some normality.
Saturday September 17th
‘Would you mind if I bring Ruth along to Skye?’ Oliver asked. ‘She’s never been and I think it’d be fun for her to meet everyone properly.’
Meet everyone? Properly? Was this serious? I was completely taken aback and blurted out, ‘Sure, if you want to. Why not? Hooray!’ and then mumbled something about having bread in the oven (bread?) and got off the phone. Paul is bringing his boyfriend, so I couldn’t really tell Oliver not to bring his girlfriend, could I? Will this be awkward? It’s not so much that he has a girlfriend, it’s more the fact that I’m not going to get a bloody shag on my birthday now, am I? For the first time it occurred to me that my time with Oliver might have finally come to an end.
Sunday September 18th
Today is a day of action. I woke up with a plan to overhaul my bedroom and start taking control. My room is a mess – neglected, and clearly the bedroom of someone who isn’t coping very well with life. I texted Alex and told him to come over on Wednesday so we can talk, and now I’m off to B&Q to choose paint and a new lightshade, then Marks & Spencer to buy new bedding and curtains.
9.14 p.m. With a lot of hard work I have finally finished transforming my bedroom. My lovely dark red ‘feature wall’ has turned my bedroom into a boudoir and I’m pleased with myself. It looks sexy. Not that I have anyone to show it to.
10.45 p.m. I’ve decided that when I get back from Skye I’ll get back on track with the dating plan and I’ll be happily involved with someone awesome by Christmas. Part of me is still annoyed at Oliver, but he’s met someone he wants to spend time with and I should be happy for him. I guess I’m just miffed that he found someone more quickly that I did.
Tuesday September 20th
Holiday meeting tonight! Guests invited to Skye: me, Lucy, Hazel, Paul, Dan, Oliver and, of course, Ruth. We’ve arranged to take two cars as there are seven of us (boys in one, girls in the other). The fellas have agreed to bring the booze, the girls are bringing the food. This is actually a cunning ploy as a) booze is more expensive, and b) if the boys bring the food we’ll be living on crisps and toast for two days. Lucy has been politely banned from making anything with her own two hands and must only buy from supermarkets, and Hazel is bringing the cake. I made it clear that if anyone puts thirty-three candles on my cake, I’ll blow them out using spit.
Wednesday September 21st
Son of Satan arrived at my door this evening carrying a bunch of flowers. More bloody flowers. Why couldn’t he have brought gin?
‘Thanks for coming, Alex,’ I said, letting him in. ‘We really need to sort this out like grown-ups.’
‘The flowers are for your birthday since I won’t see you,’ he said, taking off his coat and handing it to me before swanning into the living room.
‘Make yourself at home,’ I mumbled, dropping his coat on the hall floor.
‘I’m leaving her,’ he announced. ‘Is that grown-up enough for you?’
‘What? You’re leaving her?’
‘I am, Phoebe, I’m leaving her. Listen, I don’t know how things got so bad between us, but I’ll make it right.’ He pulled me in for a kiss but I pulled away.
‘You’ll fuck me about, Alex, because that’s what you do, and I don’t think I could take it again.’
‘I won’t. I promise I won’t.’ He sounded so sincere, just like he had in the hotel room.
We sat and talked for hours about everything. It was like when we first met, as cheesy as that sounds. There’s part of me that still believes he loves me and another part that remembers what a complete shit he is. We ended up in bed and he noticed I’d been in training for the sexual Olympics. ‘It was never like this before,’ he grunted while on top of me. ‘We’re so good together.’
For a time we were good together and I wonder if it could be like that again. But could I ever trust him? I told him I’d have to think about things and would see him when I got back from my holiday. Once again I’ve got no idea what I’m doing. God, I hate women like me.
Friday September 23rd
BIRTHDAY TRIP!
This morning I was first one into the car, with my sunglasses on and half a croissant stuffed in my mouth.
‘You do realize it’s pissing it down?’ said Lucy, who still had her pyjamas on, her glittery flask of coffee in hand, ‘and not sunny.’
‘Well, you still have your pyjamas on. I might look odd but you just look mental.’
Lucy looked down at her pyjamas, then reached into her bag and pulled out some massive sunglasses and put them on.
‘Now I look mental. Let’s go!’
2 p.m. We’re almost there! We’d probably be closer if Hazel didn’t have to stop for the loo every few miles (‘Shut up, I have IBS and that bacon sandwich is killing me. Unless you want me to shit myself, you’ll stop’), but the sun is shining, the sky is blue and I just know it’s going to be the best weekend ever! I have nothing to do but eat, sleep, get drunk and think about where my life is going. I should do that before I get drunk.
4 p.m. We still haven’t arrived. The boys are there, of course, way ahead of us and are no doubt picking the best bedrooms and showing each other their muscles. Ruth has been eating the same packet of crisps for an hour and the rustling is driving me mad. I inhaled mine within twenty seconds and am now on to my second sandwich.
5 p.m. We’re here! I drove the last half-hour and we all sang along to The Immaculate Collection, except Ruth – ‘I don’t know the words to “Vogue”.’
Who the fuck doesn’t know the words to ‘Vogue’? Even my dead goldfish knows the words to ‘Vogue’. Despite the satnav telling us we had arrived at our
destination twenty minutes ago (a field with one unimpressed bull staring at the car), Hazel managed to remember where the house was.
6 p.m. I get my own room cos I’m the birthday girl. Hazel and Lucy are sharing, the happy couples are also sharing and probably doing perverted things to each other as I write this. Going down for dinner soon and then it’ll be wine o’clock. The house is small but gorgeous and it’s pretty much surrounded by nothing except some friendly sheep and a Blair Witch-style wood I’m sure I’ll end up exploring when I’m drunk.
4 a.m. Tonight was all about the booze. We played drinking games, sang drinking songs and when we’d run out of those we just drank. It felt strange watching Oliver with Ruth, and a couple of times he had to remove my hand from his leg when I drunkenly forgot I wasn’t allowed to touch him. She really is beautiful. We had my birthday cake just after midnight (one big candle) and then we all went outside and did some terrible dancing in honour of me being old. Oliver stepped into the middle of our little circle and made a speech:
‘Everyone, please raise your glass, well, your tumbler … whatever you have in your hand … to Phoebe! Whom I’ve known since we were seventeen. Who has no idea just how beautiful she is, but makes some cracking jokes about her own face so we all laugh anyway. Who, in fact, makes me laugh like no other person I know and who is, without doubt, my best friend. To you, Phoebe!’ Of course then I had to say a few words. ‘To my lovely friends, old and new,’ I said, trying to point to where Dan and Ruth were. ‘Thank you for celebrating my birthday with me and for generally putting up with me and my exploits this year. It’s been quite a year, eh, Oliver?’ I laughed and I could see Oliver glaring back at me, with a ‘don’t say any more, Ruth doesn’t know’ look. I continued:
‘In other news, I might also be getting back with Alex but this hasn’t been confirmed yet … But I think I love him. Again. Anyway, you’re all fuckers but be assured that I love you all more than Alex.’
I remember the stunned looks on everyone’s faces. Now it’s 4 a.m., I’ve sobered up and all I can hear is moaning coming from both Oliver’s and Paul’s rooms. I wonder if Ruth is better than me in bed? If I don’t get some sleep soon it’s going to be a long day tomorrow.
Saturday September 24th
11 a.m. Happy Birthday to me! Thirty-three and I don’t look a day over thirty-three. I woke up feeling surprisingly well, considering I drank almost an entire bottle of Jack myself last night. Mum and Dad called after lunch.
‘Happy birthday, darling!’ they both yelled over speaker-phone. ‘Are you having fun?’
‘Thank you. I am actually! How are you both?’
‘Oh, fine,’ said Dad. ‘We’re just off camping.’
‘Why?’ I asked, screwing up my face at the very prospect. ‘Jesus, you’re both in your sixties. Go and lie down or something.’
I heard Mum shouting in the background, ‘Tell her we’re going to look for trolls.’ Dad continued, ‘She’s not kidding, you know. We’re going to have some nature time. There’s nothing quite like waking up in the morning beside a lake and skinny-dipping by moonlight. You know how it recharges your mother.’
‘Oh God, ENOUGH!’ I yelled, dying inside at the prospect of my mother and father howling at the moon, dressed in nothing but Jesus sandals. ‘I remember you used to do that by the loch. Well, until the police told you to stop.’
‘We’ve got to go, darling, but we just wanted to wish you lots of fun on your birthday!’
Recharges. Yuck, I just know that is hippy code for ‘arouses’. Still, it could have been worse. Oliver’s parents are the same age and they never leave the house. They sleep in separate beds and watch the world through twitching curtains. I’d take my crazy parents over them any day.
The seven of us spent a couple of hours this afternoon exploring the island and pretending to have adventures, like characters from an Enid Blyton novel, but a really warped one filled with swear words, smoking, gay men and characters who shag at the drop of a hat. When we got back from exploring we all congregated in the garden to sunbathe. Ruth looks amazing in a bikini; even I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I played it safe with a sarong over my bottom half to avoid giving the entire troop nightmares. We all had a cheeky joint while listening to ‘Rainy Day Women’ and giggled hysterically at fuck all. Ruth just read her book. ‘Let’s have a bonfire tonight!’ announced Hazel with great gusto. ‘It’ll be brilliant. We can get wood from trees!’ I giggled again.
Oliver stood up, stoned as hell. ‘Right, I will go and collect wood and Henderson will come as my wingman.’
I scowled. ‘Don’t tell me what to do. YOU’RE NOT MY REAL DAD.’
Ruth looked up from her book. ‘I can help you, babe,’ she said quietly.
‘With those nails?’ Oliver laughed. ‘Finish your book, honey. It’s about time Phoebs did something around here other than drink.’ I made a face, but tied my sarong around my waist and threw on some flip-flops: ‘Right, into the trees we go.’
Hazel shouted, ‘There’s rope in the shed for the twigs, makes them easier to carry!’ We grabbed the rope and walked the short distance to the woods behind the house. ‘So … Ruth is nice then,’ I said, kicking a stone out of my shoe. ‘Nice and thin and pretty and—’
Oliver cut me off mid-sentence. ‘You’re getting back with Alex? Phoebe, don’t do it. Please. You know how I feel … how we all feel about this. I couldn’t bear to see you hurt again, none of us could.’
‘Oliver, I know. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m confused. He says he still loves me and, well, everyone needs someone, don’t they, and you have Ruth … and I don’t have a Ruth and … what was I saying again?’ Truly the ramblings of a stoner.
Feeling woozy, I sat down and Oliver lit two cigarettes. ‘Ruth is great, Phoebe, but it’s nothing special,’ he mumbled. ‘She is nice – and really clever – but she doesn’t make me laugh. It’s strange.’
‘You’re strange,’ I said, smiling at him. ‘I heard you guys last night, even with my drunken ears. What’s the problem? Sure she doesn’t know the words to ‘Vogue’, but she’s probably been on the cover and you hate that song anyway. Impressively, she manages to stay thin and eat crisps and she … Ouch!’
I had dropped my cigarette on my thigh. Oliver hurried to brush the ash away but I was left with a small red blister. He blew on it, very gently at first, gradually moving his mouth closer and closer. I closed my eyes. The next thing I felt was his mouth kissing the inside of my thigh. I opened my eyes again. ‘Oliver, we—’ but he stopped me.
‘Remember the bondage challenge? It’s your turn now.’
I looked at him. My heart raced. ‘Here? Now? But what about Ruth?’
Oliver didn’t answer. Instead he picked up the rope we’d brought for tying the twigs and stood over me. ‘Get up,’ he said quietly, and I did what I was told. He pushed me back towards the tree and began to loop the rope around me, making sure my arms were restrained but leaving my legs free. To be honest, a five-year-old girl scout could have undone the knot he tied, but I didn’t struggle. He carefully pulled down my bikini bottoms and began licking me, so slowly I felt my knees buckle and my face flush. He undid his jeans, wrapped my legs around his waist and held me up. I could feel the tree scratching my back as he went faster and faster and then he stopped, looked into my eyes and kissed me. I mean really kissed me, and all I could do was kiss him back. It was passionate and as he started to move inside me again I cried out it was so intense. ‘The thing about Ruth,’ he breathed as we fucked, ‘is that she’s not you, Phoebe.’
I stared back at him, trying to think of something clever to say in response. But by then I was so close to coming I couldn’t focus properly. He let me come before he did and then kissed me again and pulled up his trousers.
‘Why did you bring Ruth here?’ I asked as he untied me.
He sighed. ‘Why do you think, Phoebe? I hoped actually seeing me get serious with someone else would make you realize you want
ed me too. In my own twisted way I hoped you’d be jealous.’
I rubbed the tops of my arms where the rope had been. ‘On my birthday? I don’t get you. We agreed no strings, you’ve never once shown an interest in me in that way, Oliver, and—’
He looked annoyed. ‘Oh, I have, believe me I have. You’ve been so wrapped up in your own world and your stupid list of challenges you just haven’t noticed. It’s been getting more and more difficult hearing about you with other guys. I thought maybe after taking you to that hotel, and that moment we had at the beach, you might realize … but now this thing with Alex again. I’ve never heard anything so foolish, even for you.’
‘You’re foolish,’ I said quietly, like a four-year-old who’s just been told off. ‘And Alex and I have a history. It’s not that simple—’
‘I give up,’ he said. ‘Get back together with Alex. Do whatever the fuck you like. Christ, Phoebe, I’m standing here telling you I love you and it doesn’t make any difference to you. Fuck you.’
I watched him walk away.
‘What about the sticks?’ I shouted.
‘Fuck the sticks!’ he yelled back. Then he was gone.
I managed to gather some up and walked back to the house, wondering what the hell to expect. But there was Oliver, sitting beside Ruth, having a beer with everyone else.
‘You took your time, Phoebs,’ laughed Lucy. ‘Did you find a gingerbread house in there?’
‘Sorry I was too stoned to help,’ said Oliver flatly before putting his shades on, kissing Ruth and lying back in the sun. I just smiled and dumped the sticks at the front of the house before retreating to my room to cry.
11 p.m. Oliver and I haven’t spoken much since this afternoon, just enough to make it seem like everything’s normal. I faked a headache an hour ago and left them all beside the bonfire, dancing round it like Tales of the Unexpected. Hazel came in about half an hour ago. She’s smarter than a lot of people give her credit for. She sat on the bed and brushed my fringe from my eyes. ‘What a mess, Phoebs. I know Alex is the Antichrist, but if you decide to get back with him, that’s your choice.’ I nodded. ‘And if a certain Irishman really loves you, he’ll accept that too.’ I looked at her, wondering how the hell she knew. ‘Oh, that’s been coming for a while,’ she laughed. ‘Now come downstairs and finish your birthday. Please, I insist.’ She got up and before closing the door she added, ‘You’ve spent almost a whole year taking no shit, Phoebe. Don’t give up now.’
The List Page 24