#Toots

by Linh Le James

  It is all too much. I double over and throw up the contents of my stomach.

  As I catch my breath, the revolting sight of my vomit on the immaculate white tablecloth makes me retch once more. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Miraculously, a proffered serviette appears under my nose. Thank God for Michelin starred restaurant staff. It seems so incongruous to me now, I can’t help but cackle like a demented witch. They must all be staring now. Let them stare.

  I inhale deeply in the napkin, grab the leftover bottle of Ruinart and teeter away.

  ‘The bill’s for him,’ I spit at the startled maître d’ as I exit the building.

  There is nowhere for me to go but back home. Mercifully, Ben won’t come home tonight. Whenever we row he crashes at Charlie’s until he gathers sufficient courage to face me. Except there won’t be an argument this time. I have decided to end the relationship, once and for all.

  The flat feels cold and empty. My dress, my heels and my heart are so painful I want to weep. I only have enough strength to lie down on the bed in the foetal position, call Emily and break down.

  Chapter 5

  A Short Trip to Hell

  A Short Trip to Hell

  Ingredients

  30 ml Jägermeister

  60 ml peach schnapps

  60 ml strawberry schnapps

  60 ml berry schnapps

  1 Red Bull

  Shake Red Bull, peach, strawberry, and berry schnapps in a cocktail shaker with ice.

  Strain into a glass. Then pour the Jägermeister into a shot glass.

  Drop in the shot and drink.

  Carla

  Friday. My flat. Later that night.

  ‘Em! Facts now! How long has she been like this?’ Lola barks, frowning in concentration and concern.

  She could act in ER. Must be thanks to her experience volunteering for St John Ambulance.

  Lola checks my temperature, removes the diabolical shoes, unzips the suffocating pencil dress. She wraps me up in a warm robe, cleans the sick off my hair, and applies a cold flannel to my forehead all at once. She orders Emily to bring me a cup of hot, strong tea with honey, and dumps the rest of the bottle of Ruinart.

  Lola and Emily are gesticulating around me. I have retreated somewhere deep inside myself, buried my head in my knees and put my fingers in my ears.

  ‘She refuses to talk now, but she was adamant she needs to move out tonight before Ben comes home. We need to help her pack her stuff. She has finally realized it’s going nowhere with him. She looks dreadful, what are we going to do?’ Emily informs, arms flailing in agitation.

  ‘She’s in shock. Grab all the suitcases you can find – the rest can go in bin bags. Let’s take essential items like clothes and personal items she wouldn’t want to leave here. We’ll call an Uber XL. She’s staying with us. We’ll put the air mattress in your room.’

  Emily, useless whenever stressed, rushes around, shoving random bits into bin bags – washing up liquid, a framed photo of Ben hiking on a mountain, a small vase.

  I haven’t moved from the bed. I gaze at the wall, mute and detached.

  Lola snaps her fingers in front of my face and enunciates slowly, ‘Carla, hun, can you hear me? Carla? You’re going to be OK. You’re coming with us. You’re safe now.’

  ◆◆◆

  Crazy Lola busies herself while Emily packs. I hear her say she purchased online (using Ben’s PayPal, thanks to his password being saved on his laptop):

  - a personalized number plate, BN14 PUSI.

  - a giant teddy bear from Hamley’s with the gift message ‘To keep you warm at night – no one else will.’

  - a £200 indoor cat tree with the gift message ‘Get a cat for a companion – less commitment than a girlfriend.’

  Lola also stuffs the washing machine with Ben’s shirts, fills the detergent compartment with bleach and starts a synthetics wash. She cleans the toilet using his toothbrush and empties his expensive Tom Ford Private Blend Eau de Parfum down the sink. She throws all his shoes through the window into the communal gardens, except his trainers, which she leaves by the front door with a note inside ‘Keep running, Ben’.

  Saying Lola is a man-hater is an understatement. I feel sorry for any guy who crosses her or any of us sisters. I reckon she’s straight because she loves nothing more than going out with a guy then getting back at him in demented ways should he ever do anything wrong. I remember the Tom Ford perfume she dumped in the sink was actually an expensive present from me to Ben last Christmas but am too worn out to care.

  Two hours later, bags full of my things line the hallway.

  ◆◆◆

  Once we get back to their flat, the girls put me to bed, where I sink into a dreamless slumber.

  ◆◆◆

  A little after midnight, Emily creeps into the bedroom. I’m curled up on the air mattress on the floor. It is a bit uncomfortable, but it feels reassuring to be in her room. I’d much rather be here than at home on my own. I slept heavily for an hour then woke up, my pulse racing, my mind still full of a nightmare which blended with reality.

  I pretend to be asleep because I don’t want Emily to ask me one more time if I’m all right, if I fancy tea, food or a hug. She pulls the quilt up to my chin and slips into her own bed.

  Carla

  The next morning. 8 am.

  I’ve been awake since five in the morning, staring at the ceiling, studying the Artex swirls. I feigned slumber when Emily checked on me as soon as she got up. She then tiptoes out of the room and Lola slams the door on her way out. I drag the quilt to the lounge and bury myself under it on the sofa in front of the TV.

  Emily returns home a while later and finds me, pale and haggard, watching a product demonstration for a vacuum cleaner on the QVC shopping channel with no sound on.

  ‘Eat.’ she orders, placing my favourite almond croissants on my lap. ‘Drink.’ she hands me a takeaway coffee.

  Where did she come from? I was so wrapped up in a little corner of my head I didn’t realize she was back. I turn my attention back to the TV. I don’t want to move from that little corner of my mind. I want to spend the rest of my life there.

  She says she cannot bear to see me so miserable. Yep, I’m not keen on it either. I wish some Swiss lab had invented a paracetamol pill for the heart by now.

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Emily tempts in her best motherly voice.

  Shaking my head, I take a small sip of my drink. It doesn’t taste of anything. I wish pain would numb other senses than taste.

  We breakfast in silence while watching the rest of the product presentations: a rear-view mirror dash cam, an aluminium cookware set, an all-season hollowfibre duvet.

  After the programme ends, I confide in her, hunched over my coffee gone cold.

  ‘A part of me knew we weren’t right together any more. I hung on to the relationship like to a lifejacket on a sinking boat. I felt we had been a couple for so long it would be silly to just quit. I saw the signs long ago and just turned a blind eye. I refused to admit that I had failed at saving us. I’ve always put him first. We go on holiday to places where there’s a football World Cup game or a UEFA final. We go to visit his family at Christmas, his mother on Mother’s Day. If there’s a choice between his friends or my friends, he will always win. He only talks about footy or work, but it’s as though he talks at me, not to me. He hears me, but he doesn’t listen to me. He told me yesterday he’ll never ask me to marry him. I’m not the one. Ten years of my life wasted.’

  Emily grunts, ‘Don’t you dare blame yourself for anything. You had to follow this path to end up where you are today. Everything you’ve gone through was meant to be. You have nothing to regret. You gave it all you had, you loved, you tried to make it work, you hurt, you learnt. Remember, if life starts at forty, you’re not even born yet, you have your whole life in front of you. You will meet someone else. You’ll have five babies and Ben will become a distant memory.’

  ‘I think he
did love me. But not as much as I loved him. Not as much as I needed him to. It’s for the best. I don’t want to wake up one day and find out he’s leaving me for someone else who will be The One for him. I invested so much of my heart in him, and we had been together for so long that it felt wrong to give up on us. Every time we realized things were getting worse between us, we separated. But we always ended up getting back together. Why? Fear of being alone? Nostalgia? Because we couldn’t face looking for the right partner? We’re both to blame. Even if we’d eventually got married, we’d end up in the fifty percent who divorce. I’m making the right decision this time. For both of us.’ Defiantly, I bite into my croissant and change the channel. ‘I’m done with him.’

  Carla

  Lola comes home laden with carrier bags after a day campaigning. She finds us slumped on the sofa, chainwatching, empty bags of Wotsits and chocolate Buttons piling up on the coffee table.

  ‘I knew it. What have you girls been up to today?’

  ‘Had a mini spring clean of my clothes to make room for Carla’s. Took the stuff to the charity shop. Stopped at Co-op to get some snacks. We’re on season 2.’ Emily nods at the TV screen.

  ‘Right. We’re going out. Not just out. We’re going out out.’ Lola announces gleefully, popping open some Desperados. She grabs me by the shoulders and declares solemnly, ‘I dub thee Orithyia, queen of the Amazons, kick-ass bitch.’

  She jumps on a chair, searches for ‘We Are Free’ from Gladiator on her Spotify and plays it at maximum volume.

  Arms wide open, she beseechs, ‘My toots! My duty tonight is to remind you of the commandments you vowed to live by and obey. Thou shalt not dwell on past fucked-up relationships. Do you agree? Louder! I can’t hear you! I repeat, do you agree? Then shout after me! I am a fierce bitch! Louder! Say it like you mean it!’

  Fortunately, Lola’s enthusiasm is infectious. By early evening, we hit the town in high spirits.

  ◆◆◆

  London Batten Bridge Boat. 1 am.

  I would have rather stayed at home and moped in front of the TV, but there was no resisting Lola. So here we are, in London BBB, the latest place to be seen. The palm-studded outdoor top deck has lovely white day beds on one side, and lounging areas with purple plush seating and outdoor heaters on the other. The inner deck has a South American flavour, with its mix of salsa, Latino beats and electro.

  The girls are going crazy on the dancefloor. Lola invited guys from Tinder to meet up with Emily. Bless. Emily must start dating again; that Leo chap was bad news.

  I’m at the bar, waiting to be served. A light tap lands on my shoulder and I turn around to see a familiar face.

  ‘Carla, nice to run into you here.’

  ‘Hi! How are you? Sorry, what’s your name again?’

  ‘Freddie. I work in your office.’

  ‘Yes. I’ve seen you around.’

  I’ve noticed him without noticing him. He’s one of the department interns. He has a top-knot undercut and sports exceptionally tight pleats with the cuffs turned up to show off his kicks. He’s one of the kids the company uses as lackeys to distribute the mail and type memos, exploiting their hope to get a proper position after the internship concludes.

  ‘There are rumours you’re going to be head of department. Is that right?’

  ‘Maybe!’ I concede, giggling.

  ‘Well, cheers to that!’ He lifts his tumbler and we clink glasses.

  The boat is crammed. Freddie moves in closer to me to make room for the string of people passing by the bar. My back is against the wall and I have nowhere to hide. His proximity is both unsettling and gratifying. I breathe in his aftershave, feeling giddy.

  ‘What are you drinking?’

  ‘Brandy. Goes well with cocaine,’ he replies huskily. ‘Wanna try? Wait – I have something else for you.’

  He pulls a white pill from his pocket, puts it on the tip of his tongue, bends towards me and lets me retrieve it in a kiss. He transfers the glass of Courvoisier to me so I can wash it down. I hesitate for a second, then swallow the pill and a mouthful.

  ‘Nice, isn’t it? Very smooth.’

  At a loss for words, I simply nod. The whole experience of going out as a single woman, feeling irresistible and receiving a great deal of male attention is indeed enjoyable. Although I have to draw the line at Freddie. He’s just a kid.

  ‘How old are you?’

  ’I’ll be twenty-one next month. Does it matter?’

  ‘You’re ten years younger than me!’ I exclaim.

  Freddie shuts me up by pinning me against the wall and kissing me passionately. He then reaches between my legs and massages a spot on my inner thigh which makes me go weak at the knees.

  Carla

  The Connaught Hotel, Mayfair. 4 am.

  I’m high on whatever Freddie gave me earlier.

  The world is perfect. My heart bursts out of love for all the human beings, the trees, the seas and the mountains on this planet. I feel connected to all living creatures on earth, from carpenter ants to blue whales. It’s like a communion with the whole universe.

  Freddie spins around and wheels across the lobby the birdcage luggage cart on which I’m sitting cross-legged. The wind on my face feels so amazing that there are no words to describe it. The carpeted deck on which I sit feels so luxurious and velvety that I could run my fingers over it forever. I have never felt so fresh, so alive. The smooth floor means we can get up to a good speed. Freddie is an expert at stopping the cart just before it crashes into the wall, making me shriek and laugh hysterically. Eventually, the bellboy reclaims his luggage cart and shoos us back to our suite.

  Our suite!

  Its opulence and beauty are overwhelming. The interior is so sumptuous, I wish I could stay there until the end of time, in a state of permanent euphoria.

  Freddie finds me in the bedroom stroking the silver quilted bed throw in awe.

  ‘Freddie, touch it. It’s so soft. It’s so shiny.’

  ‘I’d rather touch you instead.’

  He reaches for me and lifts me off the bed effortlessly. He tips a tiny bit of white powder onto the back of his hand and brings it to my face. Exuberant, gorgeous, wonderful Freddie. So young. So vibrant. I sniff the powder as best I can and throw my head back, laughing. He takes the opportunity to nuzzle my neck and work his way down to my cleavage. His kisses feel like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. My skin and my heart are one, and every time his lips make contact with my body I can feel his beautiful soul opening up to mine.

  His mouth now explores my body with urgency. Ferocious waves of desire ripple through me. I kiss him back, grasp his hair and direct him back towards my breasts. Grunting with impatience, he starts to slowly move against me. I can feel his full erection through his jeans. I gasp, wide-eyed, startled by the intensity of my lust for him.

  In one swift movement, he tears his T-shirt off over his head without letting go of me. I pull him closer and tip him over onto the bed. I extract him from his denims and straddle him, grinding against him, whimpering with want. How much I crave him inside me is unbearable. The yearning is too strong. I yank my thong out of the way and quickly sink onto him with a moan of relief.

  I soon build up speed, my movements get fast and furious. Freddie gets hold of my hips. He rams me into him, maximizing each of my thrusts, hitting me right in my sweetest spot, deep inside. The feeling of him filling me up is overwhelming. I lose control. I push his hands away and free from his grasp, start riding him frenetically, digging my nails into his shoulders. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Until a mind-blowing climax sends jolts of bliss through every inch of my body. I arch my back as the final waves of pleasure pulse through me and finally collapse, sweaty and complete, on his chest.

  Carla

  The Connaught Hotel, Mayfair. 7 am.

  Why is everything so bright? Am I dead and travelling through the tunnel of light?

  I want to shield my face from the blinding light but am too exhausted to lift
my hand. My jaw hurts as if I have been grinding my teeth all night, no doubt a side effect of whatever drug I took. I open my eyes a smidge. I forgot to close the curtains before I fell asleep, and the harsh light of day floods into the room through the bay windows.

  My mouth feels dry but in desperate need of a drink, but I daren’t move in case the headache starts to hammer my forehead again. My back itches but I’m too hungover to twist my arm to scratch it.

  Freddie’s asleep on his front, his arm wrapped over me. A wave of panic flashes through my wounded brain. Is he underage? No, he can’t be. I’m pretty sure he is at least eighteen. The department intern. Who has the maturity of a toddler. Oh my God. I’m going to be his boss in a couple months’ time. And I just slept with him.

  I shut my eyes and try my best to fall back to sleep in the hope I will wake up and it will all just have been a bad dream.

  Disturbing flashbacks come back to me as I doze off.

  - Leaving messages for random people: Ben to tell him I was forgiving him, Mum to say I loved her and owed her my life, my boss Rich to thank him for the promotion, Walkers’ customer helpline to rave about how awesome their baked crisps from the minibar were.

  - Making an online donation (no idea how much, better check my bank account ASAP) to the Dogs Trust after having an enlightening conversation with a homeless person about his adorable pet.

  - Posting lots of photos of my left hand on Instagram. I found that part of my body at that time incredibly beautiful and just felt the need to share it with the world (#PerfectHand #NoRingNeeded).

  - Eating some leftover chips in a bag I found on a bench and asking passers-by if they had any ketchup.