by Jessie Jones
‘I know that. Who’re Victoria and Hazel?’ she asked more insistently.
‘Just friends, that’s all,’ I said breezily. ‘Sorry, Hannah, I was just winding you up. I shouldn’t have done that. It’s going out with Archie. He’s such a wind-up merchant. It must be infectious. Honestly, they’re just mates.’
But she wasn’t buying it. While she grilled me I lied as best I could and silently cursed Simon for his promiscuity. I decided that the next time I saw him, I would kill him.
Which was much sooner than I’d expected. The next day he was waiting for me outside NaturElle when I emerged into the daylight, blinking like a pit pony. In typical autumn style, it was pouring down and the streets were packed with commuters rushing for the tube, but getting soaked and jostled seemed to be the last things he was worried about. He didn’t look to be in the best of moods.
‘I could bloody well kill you,’ he spat.
‘Excuse me?’ I was a bit taken aback. That was going to be my line.
‘Don’t go all innocent with me, Dayna Harris. Why did you do it? Did you really have to go and shoot your mouth off to Hannah the first chance you –’
‘How dare you shout at me?’ I shouted at him. Actually, I was suddenly feeling really bad about what I’d done. He’d always been so easy come, easy go about his multiple-girlfriend lifestyle that I’d never imagined him getting upset when things went wrong. But I figured that attack was the best form of defence, so I decided to give as good as I got and to do it at the top of my voice if necessary.
‘I’m the one who should be mad at you, Simon,’ I snapped. ‘What was I supposed to say to her? If you’re going to screw half the women in London and expect me to cover for you, you’re going to have to start keeping me informed with memos or something because I CAN’T KEEP UP!’
‘All right, don’t shout,’ he shouted, wiping droplets of rain from his nose. He glanced uneasily at the people who were slowing down to stare at us. ‘Come on, let’s go in here.’
He grabbed my arm and pushed me into the Caffè Nero next door to the salon. He sat me at a table, strode up to the counter and ordered two coffees. Bloody cheek, I thought. For all he knew I might have had a hot date to rush home and get ready for. What made him think I had time to sit around drinking coffee with him while he bawled me out for dropping him in it? I nearly ducked out of the door, but he was back too soon. Typical. The one time you need someone to be served really slowly, the staff come over all efficient.
He sat down opposite me and smeared the rain off his face. ‘Jesus, what a mess,’ he said gloomily.
I didn’t say anything. I hadn’t quite worked out what my position was going to be, especially as he didn’t seem so mad any more, just sad.
‘It’s over,’ he said.
‘Hannah?’
He nodded. ‘She doesn’t want to see me again.’
‘Sorry.’ I didn’t know what else to say. Well, apart from, ‘Try keeping it zipped up for once in your life, you serial shagging brainless hunk of muscle.’ Sorry seemed more concise.
‘Yeah, well, not your fault really,’ he said. That was the thing with Simon. He could not stay mad with anyone for long. I did worry about him becoming a soldier. Weren’t they supposed to get mad on a professional basis? I could picture him arriving at the war zone and saying, ‘Those Iraqis, they’re not so bad really. Decent blokes, most of them. Shall we knock this on the head and go for a curry?’
‘To be honest, it’s a relief,’ he went on. ‘Strange girl. She kept wanting to do it with candles and rose petals and stuff all over the place. What is it with girls and candles?’
I just shrugged and said nothing.
‘I’ve got bigger things to worry about,’ he said. ‘Got my PRMC next month.’
‘You’ve booked yourself in again?’
‘Uh-huh. I have got to be prepared for it this time … Actually, I was wondering, would you help me?’
‘Definitely,’ I told him easily. That’s what you do for your friends, right? Help them out when they need you, that is when you’re not too busy being mad at each other, which we clearly weren’t any more. ‘What do you want me to do? Not more forms to fill in?’
He shook his head. ‘I get up at five every morning for a run before I hit the gym. Eight k, building it up to twelve.’
‘That’s brilliant,’ I said, wondering where the hell I fitted in.
‘Thing is, I need a pacemaker, someone to help me keep my speed up.’
‘I’m not running with you,’ I exclaimed.
‘Don’t be silly. You don’t have to run,’ he laughed. ‘You’ll be on a bike.’ He looked at my flapping mouth and added, ‘It’s OK, you can borrow mine.’
What the hell was he talking about? Was he mis taking me for Kelly Holmes? Number one: I did not get up at five in the morning. Number two: I did not get up at five in the morning in order to climb on a bike and cycle eight kilometres, let alone twelve. I hate mornings only slightly less than I hate exercise. I’d get a cab to the corner shop if I thought no one would notice.
‘Why don’t you get Victoria to help?’ I suggested. ‘Or that other girl, what’s her name … Hazel?’
‘Hazel? Who’s Hazel?’
‘Hazel, from the gym. She must be fit.’
‘Oh, her. I can’t ask her. I hardly know her.’
‘But you said you were seeing her,’ I said, thinking I must be going mad.
‘Seeing her? No,’ he said.
Damn, I’d made the basic error of giving Hannah false information. Maybe he wasn’t such a cheating scumbag after all.
‘I’ve shagged her a few times,’ he explained, ‘but it’s not like we’re close or anything.’
Mmm.
He looked so caught up in his troubles that I kept quiet.
‘OK, then, if you won’t help me with the running, will you test me on the practical stuff? You know, go through the Q&As. How about this Sunday?’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ve got a date on Sunday.’
‘A date?’ The word seemed to get stuck in his throat. ‘Who with?’
‘His name’s Archie.’
‘Who the hell’s Archie?’ He was looking angrier now than he had when he laid into me for grassing him up to Hannah.
‘Just a guy I’ve met. We’ve been seeing each other for a few months, so I suppose he’s my boyfriend, but it’s not that serious yet.’
‘Right, so let me get this straight. You’d rather go out with some guy you hardly know than help me – who you’ve known for years – with the most important thing I’ve ever done?’
‘I … Well, it’s not like that … I just …’
I was lost for words. He was making me feel like the most selfish person to have ever drawn breath. The sort of friend who sits back at the dinner table and watches you choke to death while she sips at a glass of water to wash down her own food.
‘Well, thanks a lot, Dayna. Just remember this conversation the next time your car breaks down in a scary car park in the middle of the night.’
And with that, he stormed out into the rain.
As I got ready for my date with Archie the following Sunday, I couldn’t help but feel bad about Simon. He’d had a point, hadn’t he? In the old days, how many times had I called on him to come and help me out? Always at some ungodly hour as well. And he’d always come running. There was the time when Emily and I heard noises in the middle of the night and we’d woken him up, convinced we had a ghost or a stalker tapping on the window. He spent three nights getting a cricked neck on our sofa. And he didn’t complain once, not even when he was in a neck brace.
By the time Archie arrived, I was feeling really bad. Simon had dozens of mates he could have asked for help, and who had he turned to? That’s right, me. But I’d refused him. I promised myself I’d make it up to him immediately.
Well, immediately after my lovely date.
Archie was taking me out for lunch.
‘Where are we goin
g?’ I asked as I grabbed my bag. ‘What do you like? French? Italian? Indian?’
‘Indian? Do me a favour,’ he said with a loud laugh. ‘I’m taking you for some proper food.’
It wasn’t exactly a chippie. It was a proper restaurant with tables and chairs and tablecloths, but when it came down to it, that’s what it was: a chippie.
‘I’ve never been here before,’ I told him, pulling my jacket tightly around my shoulders.
‘It’s great, isn’t it? Always packed too, which tells you everything you need to know. I’m having the cod, but it’s famous for its scampi. You should try it.’
We were sitting down in the centre of the restaurant. It was busy and there was a lively, friendly buzz about the place. It didn’t stop me feeling uncomfortable though.
‘Why don’t you take your jacket off?’ Archie said, studying the menu.
I thought about the little black dress I had on underneath it, then looked at the other customers, who were dressed correctly for a fish and chip dinner – i.e. not a little black dress or pair of tottery mules in sight.
‘Just a bit cold,’ I told him, doing this little shivery thing as I felt the sweat glands in my underarms going into overdrive. It was boiling in there.
‘So you’re not a very adventurous eater, then?’ I asked after we’d ordered.
‘What are you talking about? I love my food,’ he protested. ‘I just don’t like anything foreign, that’s all.’
I laughed really loudly. I’m not sure if he laughed back. I was getting way too hot to notice anything much to be honest.
But that didn’t stop us from having a fantastic time. He told me about his parents. His dad, who’d been a foreman at the Matchbox factory in Hackney until it shut down; his mum, who was still a dinner lady; and his brother, who had gone into nursing and who he hadn’t got on with for years. Run-of-the-mill family stuff, but the way Archie told it made it sound fascinating. He was such a good storyteller. I leaned forward, savouring every word, feeling I was really getting to know him.
And feeling myself falling in love.
He finished off by telling me how he’d got into the skip business. He’d left school at sixteen with no GCSEs and got a job in the skip yard. At eighteen he was driving one of the trucks and at twenty-two he made the owner an offer. He got himself a loan and TK Skips became Archie’s.
Amazing, I thought, what a risk to take at twenty-two. Not much older than I was then, but I couldn’t imagine going up to the owner of NaturElle and making her an offer.
‘I was telling my mate about what you do,’ I told him. ‘She thought it was a pretty unusual line of work.’
‘Not half as unusual as those birds who cover half-naked strangers in sticky oil and rub their bits for an hour with whale music playing in the background.’
‘Ha, ha. You wouldn’t be taking the piss if I gave you one of my specials,’ I said.
‘Funny you should say that. What are you doing later?’
‘Giving you one of my specials?’
We finished up quickly, went back to mine and stayed there until the next morning, when it was time for me to go to work and give half-naked strangers a little bit of what I’d given Archie the night before. But only a little bit, mind. I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea about the sort of massage service I normally provided.
Three months on, another date with Archie. He was taking me to the pictures. It could have been a night out with the tramps under the arches and I’d have had a good time. Yes, I’d moved way past falling in love. I was there: it was the real thing.
The phone rang as I was getting ready. It was Archie. ‘Sorry, but I’m going to have to blow you out, sweetheart.’
‘Is something wrong?’ I asked anxiously, thinking family crisis or whatever.
‘No, everything’s fine. Just work. A boring meeting I thought I could get out of, but I can’t.’
‘A meeting?’ I asked, surprised. What did skip people need to have meetings about? I immediately thought of Simon the lying cheat, and my suspicions were up.
But then he gave me the details. All that stuff about council permissions and kerb licences was so complicated and boring that he couldn’t possibly have been making it up. When I put the phone down I felt sorrier for him having to spend the evening with a bunch of stuffy councillors than I did for myself. And, actually, I was quite glad to be having a quiet night in. We’d been out a lot lately and I was exhausted.
But as soon as I’d made myself a coffee and flopped in front of the TV, there was a knock on the door. Probably Kirsty, I thought, wanting sugar or milk or riotous lesbian sex. No, thankfully things were cool again with my neighbour. We’d seen quite a bit of each other since we’d crossed on the stairs. Ruby was with her most of the time, they were both really normal and friendly and I’d come to see all my embarrassment and awkwardness for what it was: plain silliness.
So I bounced to the door, opened it and got the shock of my life. A bigger shock than if it had been Kirsty, naked, clutching a selection of elephant-sized vibrators and chanting, ‘I’m coming to get you.’
‘Emily!’ I shrieked. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
Then I flung my arms around her and very nearly squeezed the life out of her, which is probably not what you need after a twelve-hour flight from Tokyo.
* * *
‘Does Max know you’re here?’ I asked, once I’d dragged her suitcase in, sat her down and made her a cup of tea.
She shook her head. She’d started crying and was now finding it difficult to speak, and I was still wondering what on earth had happened.
‘He went away on business,’ she whimpered between sniffs. ‘Again. Manila this time. He wanted me to go with him, but, honestly, why the hell would I do that? To hold his hand?’ She’d suddenly rediscovered her powers of speech. I sat down on the sofa beside her and got ready to listen. ‘He doesn’t need me, Dayna. I’m just like this useless spare part. I’m miserable the whole time, I’ve got no proper friends … I have absolutely nothing to do. And if I complain, he either tries to come up with things for me to do, which is so patronising, or he gets angry and tells me I don’t understand the pressure he’s under.’
I listened and tried to comfort her, but what could I say? I totally saw it from her point of view and that was the problem. If I told her, ‘God, Max is a bastard,’ what would happen when she inevitably turned it all round and made up with him? It was a hard one. But, actually, it didn’t matter that I was at a loss because she wasn’t in the mood to listen to advice. She just wanted to spill her guts.
‘You know what the most stupid thing is?’ she spluttered. ‘Before the Japan offer, they wanted him to go to New York. New York! I’d have loved it there, I know I would have.’
‘What happened?’ I asked. It was the first I’d heard about New York.
‘He turned it down, didn’t he? Because of me. I made some stupid comment once about ninety per cent of Americans not having passports and how we should return the favour by boycotting them. And he took me seriously! As if!’
Well, I guess Max must be a complete and utter moron, then. How could he possibly think that the girl who’d boycotted everything from fur to canned tuna wasn’t serious about doing the same to the Americans?
Again, I did the wise thing and kept schtum.
She had plenty to say about Max and I just let her get it all out without offering any opinions. She told me he was selfish, work-obsessed and totally money-motivated. I could have told her that ages ago, but better that she got there all by herself, don’t you think?
‘Well, you mustn’t worry about any of that now,’ I told her, sounding a bit like her mum. ‘I’ll run you a nice hot bath and you can stay here for as long as you like.’
‘What? You mean you haven’t got a flatmate yet?’ she half-screamed, sounding a lot like my dad. ‘You’re throwing away all that money your dad gave you on rent! Jesus, when are you going to start acting responsibly, Dayna, a
nd grow up?’
I stalked from the room and ran her a bath, maturely resisting the urge to add some of the sulphuric acid bubble bath I kept in the cabinet for times just like this.
Max took two days to track her down. I suspect he knew where she’d be all along and decided to leave her be for a bit. Given the state she was in when she arrived, I’d probably have done the same myself.
When I answered the phone to him, she yelled, ‘Tell him I’m not here,’ in a voice loud enough to make it all the way to Tokyo without the help of telephone technology.
‘Just tell her to come to the phone,’ was Max’s response without me saying a word. She did talk to him of course, and while she started the conversation as Emily Ice Queen, by the end of it she was speaking fluent mush. ‘I love you so much, Max, I want to be with you forever too, nothing will come between us ever again, blah, blah, bleeurrgghhh!’ If I’d had a sick bag, I would have filled it twice over before she hung up. I vowed there and then that if I ever got that besotted with Archie, I’d never let myself sound like a cheesy Hallmark Valentine’s card.
‘So you’re going back there, then?’ I asked when she’d finally rung off, having managed to make the goodbye last longer than the rest of the call.
‘Nope,’ she said, smiling.
‘But all that stuff you were saying. It sounded like you were going to be on the first plane out of here.’
‘Au contraire, my dear. It’s Max who’s going to be on the first plane anywhere. He’s jacking it all in and coming back. For me!’
I remembered how big and empty the flat had seemed when Emily had first left me. Funny, isn’t it, how you acclimatise yourself to a new situation without even noticing? Over the months I’d managed to spread out and fill all the available space. I’d grown to enjoy living alone.
Now that my best friend was back, I was … hating it. God, I hadn’t realised before what a slob Emily was. Clothes everywhere, food never put back in the fridge, make-up strewn across the bathroom instead of sitting tidily in a little bag on top of the sink unit like mine was. Don’t get me wrong. It was wonderful to see her again. I’d missed her so much and I didn’t want to fall out with her over something stupid like knickers left draped over the sofa. Consequently I spent so much time biting my tongue I’m surprised I didn’t draw blood.