Rubbish Boyfriends

by Jessie Jones

  On the Monday after the wedding, Dad and Suzie went off on their honeymoon: two weeks in Tenerife. Not exactly Barbados, I’d thought when they’d booked it, but then Suzie showed me the hotel brochure. The Gran Melia Bahia del Duque. Flash? I think it had a star for each letter in its name. They’d booked themselves a suite in a special wing of the hotel that gave them their own private plunge pool, a butler and, probably, a helicopter with personalised number plates. Clearly it was going to cost more than the average jaunt in the Canaries.

  But then, as Archie had so helpfully informed me, my brand-new stepmother was loaded.

  On the morning they left, I went round to Dad’s – rather, to Dad and Suzie’s as it had officially become. I thought we might have an hour or so to have a coffee before they left, but I’d got the flight times all wrong and we only had ten minutes until the taxi arrived.

  ‘You’re so scatty, Dayna,’ Dad snapped, like he had a BA in Organisational Skills and Time Management. ‘You’ve got to start acting a bit more responsibly. You can’t just swan around thinking everything will just fall into place around you because it won’t.’

  ‘Well, sorr-eee,’ I replied. God, what was he so uptight for? I wasn’t about to do a triple heart bypass on him. I’d only come to say goodbye.

  He didn’t say anything. He just glared at me and rubbed at his face agitatedly.

  ‘What’s wrong with you, Dad?’ I asked. ‘Because clearly something is.’

  ‘OK, since you’ve brought it up, it’s you, Dayna. You are what is wrong.’

  ‘What have I done?’ I asked, stunned. After the special moment we’d had at the registry office, I’d thought we were cool again, that we’d wiped the slate clean after all the trouble we’d had (OK, that I’d had) since Suzie had come onto the scene. Apparently not. I looked at Suzie for a clue, but she was staring awkwardly at her shoes – strappy pink holiday heels. Funny the stupid details you remember.

  ‘You’re all over the place, Dayna, that’s what,’ Dad said, seemingly building himself up for a blow-out. ‘You’re drifting, rudderless, a shambles.’

  I was knocked sideways. We’d had our share of rows down the years, but he’d hardly ever been that blunt with me.

  I fought back the tears and reacted angrily. ‘What are you on about?’ I snapped. ‘I’ve just started a new job. I’m a senior therapist now and –’

  ‘And you’re throwing away all your wages on rent. What are you doing about finding yourself a flatmate? Bugger all, I bet. And I bet you’ve spent every penny of that cheque I gave you just on heating the place.’

  I wanted to respond, but he was already on to the next item of his agenda. ‘And what about your love life?’ he demanded.

  ‘That’s none of your business,’ I told him angrily.

  ‘Oh, I think it is when I see you having drunken snogs with strangers at my wedding. I’m telling you, you’ve gone right off the rails since you dumped Simon.’

  I couldn’t speak. I just let the tears roll. He softened then. Just a bit, but he definitely softened.

  ‘Look, I’m worried, that’s all,’ he said. ‘I’ve been wanting to have a chat with you about things for a while, but –’

  ‘Well, Michael, perhaps you should have talked to her sooner,’ Suzie interrupted gently. ‘It’s hardly fair to throw all this at Dayna five minutes before we leave, is it?’

  Right on cue the taxi beeped from the street. Dad looked from me to Suzie, then angrily grabbed a suitcase and hefted it out into the hall. When he was safely out of the house, Suzie put an arm around my shoulder.

  ‘You shouldn’t take too much notice, you know,’ she said. ‘He’s been a bit mixed up this morning, that’s all.’

  ‘What’s he got to be mixed up about?’ I asked, still reeling. And it was a serious question. He was a newly married man with a beautiful wife and he was setting off on a honeymoon in a fifty-star hotel. He should have been on top of the world.

  ‘Well, you know …’ She trailed off and looked at me for a moment. Then she said, ‘He’s been thinking about your mum a bit. It’s not a big deal, so don’t go getting upset about it, but he just, you know, misses her.’

  Now, I know he’d mentioned Mum for the first time in ages at the registry office and maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. And I wondered how his new wife felt about him brooding over his first one when the ink was barely dry on their marriage papers. Poor Suzie, I thought, which was definitely a first.

  Just then, we heard Dad come back into the hall and Suzie lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘This holiday will straighten him out. I’ll make sure of that,’ she said quickly. ‘And best you don’t mention what I just told you, eh?’

  Dad came back into the living room to collect the last suitcase. I looked at him and felt more awkward than ever. What to do? Or say? He’d just been really horrible to me, so it wouldn’t have been that unreasonable if I’d told him to sod off and wished him a miserable honeymoon with cockroaches in his Jacuzzi. But on the other hand, I was now in full possession of the facts and all I wanted to do was give him a big hug and tell him I knew how he felt. Look at us both, arguing like kids. To top it all, the only person acting with any degree of sensitivity was the woman he’d just married. It wasn’t right, really, was it? Any idiot could see that.

  So I did what any idiot would do.

  I muttered the briefest goodbye and walked out of the house without looking back.

  I’d been at home for about an hour when I gave in and rang Dad’s mobile. It was time to put things right.

  ‘Hello,’ I heard him say. Just about. It was a really crackly line.

  ‘I’m really, really sorry about earlier, Dad,’ I said hurriedly. ‘I just wanted to wish you a happy honeymoon.’

  ‘Who? Hello? I can’t …’

  The line crackled some more and I heard someone talking in the background.

  ‘Dad?’ I prodded. ‘Dad, can you hear me? Shall I ring you back?’

  ‘Sorry, yes, I’ll switch it off,’ he said.

  ‘Switch what off?’ I half shouted.

  ‘Dayna? Oh, I’m not talking to you,’ he yelled. ‘We’re going through security. Have to put my mobile on the x-ray whatsit … Speak to you –’

  ‘Dad, listen, I just wanted to say I love …’

  Too late. The line was dead.

  Archie called me a couple of days later and I agreed to go out with him. Why? Because I wanted to kiss him again with sober lips to find out if he was any good; or because I was still stung by my dad’s ‘drunken snogs with strangers’ jibe and wanted to make Archie less of a stranger? I wasn’t sure, but I definitely knew that the only way to find out was to go out with him and see how things went.

  We were only meeting in a pub down the road, but I dressed up for it. I looked set for a wedding. Actually, given my frock’s sparkle factor, it was probably what I should have worn to the actual wedding – the first time Archie clapped eyes on me – but no matter. Here was a chance to dazzle him properly.

  As luck would have it, I bumped into Kirsty on my way out of the flat. I’d managed to avoid her since the … you know, the incident, but there she was coming up the stairs as I shut my front door.

  ‘Hi stranger,’ she smiled. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Oh, wonderful. Really great,’ I blustered. ‘I’m in a bit of a hurry, actually.’

  ‘Going someplace special?’

  ‘Got a date. With a man, you know. Well, obviously you don’t know, but it’s just –’

  ‘Chill. You’re going on a date. With a guy. That’s great. You look stunning.’

  She seemed so relaxed that I really didn’t know what I was making such a fuss about. Actually, I did. That girl and I had (possibly) swapped bodily fluids. Not that I thought there was anything remotely wrong with that sort of thing, but I just didn’t want to see her ever again. That’s all.

  As she reached the landing, the door to her flat burst open. ‘Hi, you’re home,’ said t
he girl behind it. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

  Kirsty flashed her a broad grin. ‘Sorry, Ruby, traffic nightmare. Dayna, meet Ruby, my girlfriend.’

  Ruby didn’t look like a lesbian. But then, what exactly is a lesbian supposed to look like? Butch, cropped hair, pint of lager clutched tightly in hand? Ruby was tall, slender and pretty. She had long auburn hair and no (visible, at least) piercings. She was giving me a curious smile. Oh God, did she know about what may or may not have happened that night? Was I being paranoid? Of course I was! She was smiling because we’d just been introduced. What sort of idiot was I? As if these two didn’t have anything better to talk about than me.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Dayna,’ Ruby chirped. ‘Kirsty’s told me all about you.’

  Arrgghh!

  ‘Great,’ I gabbled. ‘Gotta run.’

  And run I did …

  All the way to the pub. I got there a respectable ten minutes late, having walked round the block twice to get my breath back and also to make sure I was a respectable ten minutes late. Archie was already at the bar.

  ‘So I haven’t been stood up,’ he said, standing up.

  Nice manners, I thought.

  ‘I’m just going to the loo,’ he went on. ‘Get the drinks in. Mine’s a Bud.’

  Annoyed, I made a move to get my purse out when he burst out laughing. ‘I’m only joking …’

  I laughed and closed my bag up.

  ‘… Only Yanks and poofters drink Bud. I’ll have a pint. John Smith’s.’

  God, this was going to be a long evening.

  It turned out to be an exceptionally long evening, but only because I ended up having such a great time I didn’t want to go home. Archie was a riot and I don’t think I’d ever laughed so much. By last orders my jaw had seized up, my ribs ached and my mascara had made its way down to my chin. We were the last people in the pub, sitting at a little corner table, which you couldn’t actually see for the empty glasses. Yes, I was quite drunk. Again.

  As we left the pub, I was having trouble standing up straight. Archie had been putting it away like he was building up reserves should he ever have to face some kind of twenties-style prohibition, yet he seemed as sober as when we’d met up.

  ‘If we’re going to carry on seeing each other, I’m going to have to work on your stamina,’ he said as he half carried me up the stairs to my flat. ‘You’re such a girl.’

  ‘No I’m not,’ I replied huskily – not because I was trying to be sexy, but because, really, I couldn’t speak. ‘I’m all woman.’

  ‘You’re that all right,’ he said as he opened my front door and dropped the key back into my pocket.

  I leaned against the doorframe and took a (long) moment to steady myself. Then I fixed my eyes on his and asked, ‘Fancy coming in for a coffee?’

  He smiled. I took that as a yes.

  And even though I was quite drunk, I’m pretty sure it was the best coffee I’d ever had.

  After I’d been at NaturElle for a couple of months, I was beginning to think that my dad had had a point that day he’d laid into me. Was I drifting and rudderless? Was I a shambles? I was wondering these things because I’d rapidly gone from loving my job to dreading going in.

  I know why now. Having since moved on, I realise I was miserable at NaturElle because it was underground, i.e. while the reception was at street level, the treatment rooms were in the basement. So after two months of seeing virtually no daylight between the hours of nine and six, I was beginning to feel like a depressed badger.

  Women go to salons for treatments, but they also go to offload. Everyone knows that and I’d always enjoyed that aspect of my job. Having someone share her job woes or boyfriend traumas while I ripped the hairs from her legs made me feel like a therapy therapist as well as the beauty sort.

  But at NaturElle, listening to all that misery was starting to get to me. Like I said, most of our clients were office girls and all they did was moan. Moan, moan, bloody moan. Of course, I listened and tried to give advice and when I couldn’t think what to say, I just tried to make the right noises. It was hard, though, and getting harder with each passing day.

  I tried to concentrate on the positive. At least Dad and I were at peace again. We hadn’t talked about things since he’d returned from Tenerife all tanned and loved up, but at least we hadn’t argued either. A part of me thought that we should have a proper heart-to-heart about stuff, but most of me shouted, ‘Sod that, just be everything he wants you to be and it will all be fine.’ So I tried my best to be grown-up and responsible and nice to Suzie, which was actually quite easy now that I liked her.

  So, on the surface at least, things with Dad were cool.

  And so were things with Archie.

  I hadn’t known having a boyfriend could be so much fun! My relationship with Simon had been a laugh, but the memories were clouded by all his infidelities. And of course, we’d been too young to know what a proper relationship was. Chris had simply been a hopeless case of bad casting. Kirsty didn’t even count because she wasn’t a boy and what had happened between us (if anything) was so insignificant and meaningless that it doesn’t even belong on this list.

  But now I had Archie. He was thirty. A man. He was self-confident and worldly. He was also gorgeous and so, so funny. Plus, of course, there was the sex. Where Simon had been a roll-on-roll-off sort of boy, Archie had a bit more imagination. I never knew I had so many places that could … tingle.

  Excited? You bet. I was seriously beginning to think Archie was The One.

  I hadn’t seen Hannah, my old college mate, for ages, so when she called and suggested meeting for a drink, of course I said yes. Bad idea. When you’re a beauty therapist who’s in a bit of a rut, the last thing you want to do is meet up with another depressed beauty therapist. She was working in a salon in Golders Green and she hated it. It was clear that all she wanted to do was gripe about work so, for the sake of my sanity, I quickly moved the subject on to Archie.

  ‘What’s he do, then?’ she asked.

  ‘You won’t believe this,’ I said. ‘He’s got his own skip company.’

  ‘Skips?’ she spluttered (which had more or less been my reaction when he’d told me).

  ‘Archie’s Skips,’ I announced as proudly as if I owned it.

  ‘Funny job. You just don’t imagine anyone actually runs a skip business.’

  ‘What do you think? They just magic themselves out of the sky and then disappear back up there once they’re full?’ I laughed (which had more or less been Archie’s answer when I’d expressed surprise). ‘His are everywhere,’ I went on proudly. ‘Bright yellow, Archie’s Skips painted on the side. Now I’ve told you, I bet you’ll start spotting them. I’m telling you, it’s like going out with a celeb.’

  She laughed, then said, ‘He must be doing OK, then. No wonder you like him.’

  He was doing all right as far as I could tell, but that wasn’t the reason I liked him. ‘He’s just so funny. I’ve never met anyone who makes me laugh so much.’

  ‘God, I could do with some of that,’ she said wearily. ‘So, why’s he so funny?’

  ‘I don’t know, he just is,’ I said vaguely. Well, it’s a hard question to answer, isn’t it? It’s like having to say why you like chocolate. You just do, don’t you?

  ‘Go on, tell me the last thing he said that made you laugh,’ she prodded.

  Suddenly my mind was blank as I trawled it for something, anything funny that Archie had said.

  ‘OK, OK,’ I said at last. ‘This is really funny. He was telling me about his friend that he goes to football with – they’re big West Ham fans – and this friend takes his little boy with them. He’s eight, a quiet little thing – he listens to all the chants and never says anything. There’s this one player who’s always whingeing, apparently, at the referee, at his team-mates, whatever –’

  ‘Who is he?’ Hannah interrupted.

  ‘I don’t know. I hate football, don’t I? Anyway, the fans a
lways sing, “You’re always fucking mooaa-ning!” at him. One Saturday Archie’s round his friend’s house and they’re getting ready to go to the game. His friend’s wife comes into the room and starts going on at the little boy. You know, “Your room’s a mess”, “Look at the state of your T-shirt”, that sort of thing, and then the boy turns to her, points and sings, “You’re always fucking mooaa-ning!”’

  At that point I broke up, holding my sides and feeling the tears stream down my face, laughing as much as I had when Archie had first told me.

  When I recovered enough to look at her, Hannah was just staring at me. ‘Charming,’ she said snootily. ‘There’s nothing funny about an eight-year-old with a mouth like a sewer.’

  Which I thought was a bit rich coming from her, the girl who slept with other girls’ boyfriends.

  Hmm. I’d forgotten about that.

  I shouldn’t have said anything, but her being so pious all of a sudden triggered something in me. ‘So how is Simon?’ I asked.

  ‘How do you know about me and Simon?’ she said, blushing.

  ‘He told me.’

  ‘Oh. He told me we should keep it quiet on account of the fact that he’s joining the Marines and they’re not allowed to have girlfriends. Or something like that. Sounded a bit strange to me.’

  ‘What a load of crap,’ I explained as condescendingly as I could manage. ‘The reason he wants to keep it quiet is because he’s still going out with Joanne … Or is it Victoria? Or Hazel?’

  I immediately regretted opening my big mouth (again). I’d been thinking that she’d known that Simon was also seeing other women. So why then did she look so devastated?

  I was hurriedly thinking of ways to backtrack when she asked, ‘Who’s Victoria? And Hazel?’

  I didn’t answer. Instead I said, ‘What am I like? Joanne! She was the girl he went out with before he started seeing you. Remember? I told you way back about her. He finished with her ages ago.’