Going Too Far

by Catherine Alliott

  I made a strange retching sound and bit my knuckles. ‘No!’ I gasped. ‘No, I don’t. Did I? Gosh, how awful! I’m so sorry, Sam, how embarrassing.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, I loved it. I haven’t had a night like that for ages. I mean, phew, hot stuff or what, I didn’t know if I was coming or going. I was like a boy of eighteen that night – I even impressed myself!’ His eyes were shining now. ‘It puts my batting average up beyond belief, talk about a personal best, I must have –’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Sam,’ I groaned, hiding my burning face in my hands. ‘Spare me the score card, would you? I get the idea, you surpassed yourself.’

  ‘Oh Lord, I’m sorry, Polly,’ he said quickly, ‘I didn’t mean to get – you know – crude, but you did ask and it really was the most terrific night. But what a shame you don’t remember. What a waste.’ He looked slightly hurt, then suddenly his brow puckered as if he were recalling something. ‘I suppose,’ he said, nodding slowly, ‘yes, I suppose if I’m absolutely honest with myself I’d have to admit I was a little surprised when you fell asleep on top of me like that, right in the middle of that last frenzied bout of lovemaking. All of a sudden you just went limp and heavy and started snoring in my ear. I had to prize you off, which was quite difficult under the circumstances, seeing as how we were still very much connected – attached, if you like – and, well, I’m not saying you’re a heavy girl, Polly, but I was a bit worried I wouldn’t be able to shift you, actually. Thought I’d have to call a porter.’

  I gave a faint but audible whimper at this point, seized my wine glass and threw its contents down my throat. It was no good – if I didn’t get some alcohol into my bloodstream pretty damn fast I was going to die of shame right here on the spot, and if I went the baby went with me so it might just as well have a drink with me instead. God, how awful! I’d collapsed like a beached whale on top of him! Yuck, how repulsive! Sam’s mouth was still moving, he was obviously still shedding light. I listened in a daze.

  ‘… but up until then you were game for anything. At one point you asked me to get on all fours and make a noise like Thomas the Tank Engine.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Sam nodded emphatically, ‘definitely Thomas the Tank Engine – you were quite specific.’

  ‘God! And did you?’

  ‘Well, I had a go. I gave a sort of feeble peep-peep, which seemed to go down rather well actually. You did quite a bit of toot-tooting back and kind of chugged round the bed a bit. Said you were Gordon.’

  ‘Jesus!’

  ‘Then you wanted to ring room service and send down for some sex food.’

  ‘What the hell’s that?’

  ‘You may well ask.’ He frowned and scratched his head sheepishly. ‘It came as a bit of a surprise to me too. You were babbling a bit by this stage but I seem to recall you thought an assorted fruit bowl might do the trick.’

  ‘No!’ I gasped in horror. ‘What on earth was I thinking of?’

  ‘Lord knows,’ he said wistfully, ‘but I wish we had, the very idea got me pretty feverish, I can tell you.’

  ‘Oh God,’ I groaned. ‘Oh, Sam, how awful, what must you think of me?’

  He grinned. ‘I think you’re a pretty game girl actually. It made me realize I’d been leading a frightfully tame love life. Couldn’t stop thinking about it the whole time I was in Egypt, but – don’t you remember any of this?’ he asked incredulously.

  ‘No,’ I muttered, staring down at my hands, shame filling every part of me.

  ‘And can’t you even imagine doing all that?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I whispered miserably, ‘that’s no problem, that’s the awful thing. Given the right amount of alcohol and a little encouragement it’s all entirely possible, I’m afraid. I’m only surprised I didn’t treat you to some naked abseiling or a flying trapeze act.’

  He looked at me wistfully. ‘Really? I’d have loved that. Still, I think you made up for it. I love that thing you do with your toes, by the way.’

  I froze, my eyes huge with terror. ‘What thing?’ I breathed, paralysed with dread.

  ‘You know,’ he winked conspiratorially, ‘that … thing. Come on, Polly, you must have done it before, it’s absolute dynamite.’ He grinned salaciously and wiggled his fingers on the tablecloth. ‘This little piggy went to –’

  ‘Stop, stop!’ I shrieked. I shut my eyes tight and stuffed my fingers in my ears. ‘No more!’

  After a moment I opened my eyes cautiously. His mouth, thank goodness, was firmly shut in a rather hurt little line. I slowly removed my fingers from my ears.

  ‘No more, really, Sam,’ I said in a shaky whisper. ‘I – I don’t want to know.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, but you did ask. I was only trying to enlighten you,’ he said in a wounded tone.

  ‘And I’m most grateful, really I am, but if it’s all right with you I think I’d rather be left in the dark as far as the rest of the evening’s concerned. I’m quite sure my imagination can fill in the blanks; it’s already boggling out of my earholes as it is.’ I drained my wine glass, feeling rather faint. ‘Oh, Sam,’ I whispered, ‘you’ve no idea how awful this is.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Polly – it was wonderful!’

  ‘No, but … you don’t understand. I have to think of Nick.’

  ‘Well of course, and I have to think of Sally, but what’s done is done; it’s no good wishing it had never happened. And look at it this way,’ he went on brightly, ‘if you can’t remember a thing about it then you almost have a clear conscience, don’t you? It’s almost as if it never happened, practically puts you in the clear, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Practically,’ I whispered, ‘apart from one tiny detail.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  I gulped. ‘Nick knows.’

  ‘What!’

  I nodded dumbly. ‘He knows.’

  Sam’s jaw dropped, his eyes grew wide with alarm. ‘But – but how on earth did he find out?’

  ‘I … told him.’

  ‘You told him? Polly! What on earth were you thinking of?’

  ‘Well,’ I muttered, avoiding Sam’s gaze, which was one of undiluted horror, ‘he found out I wasn’t at home that night. It was the night of the burglary, you see, and the police were round questioning us, and when they’d gone – well, it just all came out. I had to tell him. I suppose I thought he’d understand,’ I said miserably. ‘I thought he’d believe me when I said I couldn’t remember what had happened but – he didn’t. He was furious. He’s left me actually,’ I whispered, ‘moved out. I’m on my own.’

  Sam could hardly speak ‘You told him?’ he blustered eventually. ‘You actually told him you spent the night with me? Did you say it was me?’ he added quickly.

  I nodded without looking up.

  He shook his head in despair. ‘Oh, Polly, Polly, what were you thinking of?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ I wailed. ‘I know it sounds ridiculous, and obviously in retrospect – well certainly in retrospect, particularly now I’ve found out what happened – I wish I hadn’t, but at the time I didn’t even know I’d snogged you, for God’s sake! Let alone wrestled you to the ground in a lift, got you chuffing round the bed like a steam engine and performed some sort of gruesome Fergie-meets-David-Mellor toe-job on you. I didn’t have a clue! And I suppose I thought he’d think the best of me. But he didn’t,’ I went on in a small voice, ‘he thought the worst, and obviously he was right.’

  ‘Jesus,’ muttered Sam.

  I looked up earnestly. ‘So the thing is, Sam, I want you to talk to him. Please, you’ve got to – it’s the only thing that’s going to get me out of this mess. You’ve got to swear nothing frisky happened, say I passed out or something and – and you just spent the night beside me making sure I was OK. You must,’ I pleaded, ‘don’t you see? He’s never going to forgive me and it’s the only thing that’ll save my marriage now. You’re my last hope!’

  Tears were springing into my eyes. I could fe
el them, hot and salty and swimming around at the bottom ready to fall. ‘Please!’ I begged. ‘Please say you’ll do it!’

  Sam lit a cigarette. He shook his head slowly. ‘Polly, you’re asking the impossible, you really are. How can I possibly get involved? This is between you and Nick now. You’ve told him you spent the night with me. I can’t just turn round and lie to him, pretend nothing happened. He’d never believe me, I’d feel a complete tosser. Anyway, you wouldn’t lie to Sally if I asked you to, would you?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ I said eagerly. ‘If you wanted me to, I could do it easily, no problem at all, honestly, pop round if you like!’

  Sam raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, I’m sorry,’ he said flatly, ‘but it’s just not my style. I can’t tell a bare-faced lie just like that, I really can’t.’

  ‘But it’s only a tiny little one,’ I pleaded, ‘a sort of off-white one, and anyway,’ I went on angrily, ‘this is no time to be moral, Sam – this is my sodding marriage we’re talking about, damn you!’

  He began to look huffy. ‘There’s no need to be like that, Polly.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ I said quickly, realizing this was no way to cajole him into anything. ‘I’m just a bit desperate, that’s all.’

  ‘But – what on earth made you tell him in the first place?’ he said, looking mystified. ‘I mean, what did you think he’d say, for heaven’s sake? Oh never mind, Polly, don’t let it happen again? Or – good for you, have one on me?’

  ‘No,’ I groaned, ‘no, of course not.’

  ‘Or perhaps you thought he’d imagine we just did a bit of innocent hand-holding? Read each other poetry in bed? Played a bit of Scrabble, perhaps? Hell’s teeth, he’s a man, Polly; he knows what goes on. Did you really think he’d give you the benefit of the doubt when you said you were pissed out of your mind and ended up in a hotel bedroom with another man? God, I’m surprised he’s not coming after me.’ He took a rather feverish drag on his cigarette.

  ‘Well, I –’

  ‘And as for roping me in on this …’ He shook his head vigorously. ‘He’s a big chap, your Nick, he’ll – he’ll knock my teeth into my head, it’ll be pistols at dawn, he’ll –’

  ‘Oh no, you don’t have to see him,’ I said quickly, ‘just ring him up and explain nicely over the phone. You don’t have to come within a hair’s breadth of him, but you must understand, my life dep–’

  ‘No, Polly,’ he said firmly, cutting me short. ‘I’m afraid I’m just not for it. I’m not getting involved and that’s that.’

  He helped himself to another glass of wine and downed it decisively. He looked rather cross and petulant now.

  I stared at him, the tears ready to brim over. ‘You mean … you won’t do it?’

  He sighed. ‘Oh, Polly, please’ – he took my hand – ‘don’t do that, don’t give me the emotional blackmail bit. I’m so fond of you, you know that, but I just can’t do it. As far as I’m concerned it happened, it was wonderful – beautiful even – and I’d dearly love for it to happen again. I’m not going to deny it; it makes it so – well, cheap.’

  ‘It was,’ I muttered softly.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Nothing. Forget it, I’m sorry, we’re obviously both coming at this from completely different angles. You see it as a night to remember and I see it as a night to – well … Never mind.’

  A silence engulfed us. I stared at the tablecloth in a daze. A few minutes later a waiter materialized beside us.

  ‘So sorry to have kept you waiting, there’s been a slight delay in the kitchen,’ he purred. ‘Can I take your order?’

  I don’t think it had occurred to either of us that we’d sat there for about half an hour with diddly-squat to eat. Suddenly I didn’t feel in the slightest bit hungry, in fact I felt positively sick at the thought, for emotional and biological reasons.

  I shook my head. ‘I’ve lost my appetite,’ I muttered.

  The waiter looked concerned. ‘Is madam all right? Can I get you some water, perhaps?’

  I looked up. He was a young chap, with a nice open face. He was worried, how sweet.

  ‘No, I – I’m fine,’ I faltered, trying to smile.

  ‘Could you give us a moment?’ asked Sam. ‘You see, I’m not sure we’re going to –’

  ‘No, we’re not,’ I put in decisively, ‘at least I’m not.’

  ‘What, nothing at all?’ asked Sam, in concern. ‘Not even a quick spaghetti?’ he suggested.

  ‘Not even a quick anything,’ I muttered between clenched teeth. Then I remembered my manners. ‘No thanks, Sam, I’m not really very hungry.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Sam to the waiter, ‘could I just pay for the wine?’

  ‘Of course, I’ll get the bill, sir.’

  He took one last look at my pale face, then disappeared. I stared at the tablecloth. Sam shifted around uncomfortably. He cleared his throat and gave a nervous laugh.

  ‘That suits me, actually, I’ve got so much to do at the office. You know what it’s like when you’ve been away. My desk looks like bloody Snowdonia!’

  I nodded dumbly. I couldn’t speak.

  He leaned over. ‘Polly, don’t hate me,’ he mumbled. ‘I’m sorry, but what more can I say? I simply don’t want to get involved. You can’t blame me for that, surely?’

  I didn’t look up. I shook my head. ‘No …’ I said slowly, ‘I suppose not, but I just sort of thought … hoped really …’

  The waiter came back with the bill. Sam quickly paid in cash and stood up. He helped me on with my jacket and we walked outside.

  When we got on to the pavement the light hit me. It was a beautiful day. I blinked hard against the sun and bit my lip; tears were imminent. Sam saw and took me in his arms. He hugged me close.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve caused you so much pain,’ he muttered. ‘It’s the last thing in the world I wanted to do.’

  A cab cruised past with its light on. I broke away from Sam’s embrace and stuck my hand out to stop it. Suddenly I just wanted to get away. It screeched to a halt in front of us and I went to open the door and scramble in. I turned back as I was halfway inside. Sam was standing with his hands thrust in the pockets of his overcoat. He looked hurt, miserable.

  ‘Sorry to rush off, Sam, but there’s nothing more to say really, is there?’

  He gave a rather bleak smile. ‘It would appear not.’

  ‘Um, can I give you a lift? I’m going to Harley – Oxford Street to do some shopping.’

  ‘Well, you could drop me at Knightsbridge Tube if you could bear to sit next to me for another five minutes.’ He grinned.

  I managed to smile back. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, of course I could – get in.’

  Must we prolong the agony? I thought miserably as he sat down next to me. I felt dumb with despair and I wanted to be alone. The cab pulled away. I was dimly aware that Sam was making a stab at polite conversation but I was unable to concentrate on a word. I stared out of the window as the shops flashed by in all their Knightsbridge glory. I’d lost Nick. Lost him. And it was all my fault. And, much as I hated Sam for refusing to comply, it was crazy of me to blame him – I could see that. I looked up. His face was pale with tension; he was looking at me anxiously.

  ‘Are you all right, Polly? I feel absolutely dreadful, really I do, but –’

  ‘It’s OK, Sam,’ I said wearily, ‘it’s not your fault. Don’t lose any sleep over it.’

  We drove the rest of the way in silence. As we drew up at the Tube station he leaned across to kiss me. I think it would have landed on my lips but the cab lurched to a halt and he missed. We laughed nervously as he ended up somewhere round my ear. He smiled ruefully as he got out of the cab. I pulled down the window.

  ‘Bye then, Polly,’ he said. ‘Don’t think badly of me. I’ll certainly always have wonderful memories of you.’

  I cranked up a tepid smile. ‘Bye, Sam.’

  The cab pulled away. If only he knew, I thought bitterly, sinking back into the black
leather upholstery, if only he knew I might be carrying his child, he wouldn’t be so keen not to get involved then, would he? Oh no, he’d be on the blower to Nick before you could blink, denying all knowledge of our night of passion, disclaiming any sort of responsibility. Or would he? I gazed out of the window. Perhaps I was being too hard on him. After all, he’d wanted to carry on the relationship, perhaps he’d have wanted me big with child too? Who knows. But I wasn’t about to find out.

  The taxi lurched up to some lights, taking my delicate tummy with it. I breathed in hard through my nose and gulped back the bile. Thankfully, the moment passed and I sighed the sigh of the fated as we trundled north towards my next assignation, the third appointment on my fun-packed agenda. Oh yes, I was in for even more thrills and spills now, because what was my next blind date? A trip to the gynaecologist. As Cilla would say, what a lorra fun that was going to be. I groaned.

  ‘Whereabouts in Oxford Street, love?’ yelled the driver, cocking his ear at the glass partition.

  ‘Actually I want Harley Street – hang on, I’ll give you the number.’

  I reached down to the floor for my bag and it was then that I saw the case. A silver, typically posey, film director’s attaché. Oh no, he’d left his case behind! I looked around wildly, almost as if to catch him and fling it out of the window, but of course he was long gone. I leaned back in despair. Christ, now I’d have to get it to him somehow, have to bloody see him again. I bashed my head hard against the headrest.

  ‘Aaaaargh!’

  ‘Sorry, love? What number was that?’

  ‘Oh, hang on.’ I rummaged around for the bit of paper. ‘Seventy-two,’ I yelled.

  I gazed out of the window and it was with a profound sense of relief that it dawned on me. No, I didn’t have to see him at all – all I had to do was give the blasted thing to Pippa, who could take it with her to the office in the morning. Phew. Well, thank heavens for small – and we’re talking minuscule here – mercies. I sighed as the taxi headed north.

  Chapter Twenty

  Having skipped lunch I was of course far too early for my appointment with Mr Taylor. I walked aimlessly up and down Harley Street, sat waifishly on doorsteps and eventually trudged dejectedly into number 72 with still about half an hour to spare.