Carla always has the knack to make me feel better, like a big sister should. Even deep in her own troubles, she always keeps a clear head and dispenses pearls of wisdom to the ones she loves, in true Buddha style. Wish I was like Carla. Always cool and collected. Well, apart from the meltdown at the Victorian Room and the tattoo blunder.
Khaleesi would call, wouldn’t she?
Well, I’m working on it, but I don’t actually have Khaleesi’s guts or dragons. Nor Buddha’s composedness.
Brainwave! Sending a quick WhatsApp would be less scary. There’s no need to speak and have possible awkward silences. A cute apology. That will do the trick.
Phone…WhatsApp...Josh…Message…There… Argh!!!!
I shriek loudly, ‘Carla! How do you delete a WhatsApp you’ve already sent?’
‘What now? What have you done?’
‘I sent him the wrong emoji! I typed “miss you” and put a sick face afterwards instead of a sad face. He’ll think I’m being sarcastic! And horrible!’
‘Em! The wrong emoji? How does that even happen? Don’t you have any control over your own fingers? Show me!’ Carla snatches the phone from my hand and peers at it. ‘Ok. You’re calling him. Now.’
Carla presses the call button and when Josh picks up at the first ring, shoves the mobile against my ear.
I’m forced to have a heart-to-heart with Josh. We end up chatting for over an hour and make plans to catch a movie next weekend. Phew! Our budding relationship is saved. Rah rah rah!
Emily
Friday night (at last, way hay!). My flat. 5 pm.
Josh and I have sent lots of flirty messages back and forth this week. His overuse of emojis rather than actual words worries me slightly. Hope he doesn’t have attachment issues. I feel terribly excited about tonight’s movie date. I’m busy struggling with wax strips that won’t grip (so much for being cheap and buying supermarket brand instead of Veet) when the phone rings. Ha! Might be boyfriend! Surely secretly calling Josh “boyfriend” is allowed on the eve of our third encounter?
‘Emily, darling! Your old mother has a favour to ask you. I’d like to invest in some Batcoin. Fifty quid worth. Do you think you could help me arrange that?’
‘Mum, I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Batcoin! Don’t tell me you haven’t heard about it. It’s basically internet money. I know it sounds ridiculous – you can’t withdraw it in bills or coins even though it’s called Batcoin but it’s supposed to be the investment of the future. They call it Kryptonite currency. Whoever invented it must be a fan of action comics.’
‘You mean bitcoin? Crypto currency? Seriously? Mum, I don’t know anything about it and I don’t have a spare penny to invest. You’d better ask Carla about it.’
‘Oh, what a great idea. What don’t you ask her and report back to me? Let me know by next week. We need to act quickly. It’s going up fast. We don’t want to miss the boat. While I have you, I wanted to ask you something else. Sue and I – well, you remember Sue from work, right? I did the Macmillan walk with her last December. We’re doing Comic Relief together! Listen to this. We’re planning on hiring some exercise bikes and setting ourselves up in Sainsbury’s – you know the big one by the roundabout – dressing up as clowns and cycling all day to raise money! Fab, don’t you think? We need a third person to carry the bucket and go around asking for donations. You don’t have to wear the clown outfit. You could just pop on a red nose and a funny wig or something. What do you say?’
‘Mum, I’m a bit busy now,’ I mutter, struggling to concentrate on pulling the wax strip in the proper direction while shutting off disturbing images of Krusty the Clown and Stephen King’s It hanging out with my mother and Sue from work.
‘Even Auntie Gertrude said she might do it if her knee gets better by then. If you prefer, we could take turns with the bike and the bucket. I don’t expect any of us to be cycling all day. There’s a great coffee shop in Sainsbury’s on the first floor. They make a hot chocolate which is simply out of this world. Oh, you’d love it. Fully loaded with whipped cream and those mini white and pink marshmallows. Anyway, we can take breaks and still raise money. We just need to leave the bucket on a table by the entrance! You don’t have to let me know now. Would Carla do it too? Have a word, will you? I’ll just put both your names down. Hmm, would Louise definitely say no? Hang on a second, Emily. Who is it? William! Who is it? Is it the plumber? William! Tell him it’s the pump’s hot water feed! Feed, not lead! Emily, your dad is useless, I need to go see to this. The shower’s pressure been playing up again. I’ll call you back later.’
Argh! Khaleesi would not dress as a clown and walk around with a bucket. Even for Comic Relief. Surely there is a way to do one’s part for charity while retaining dignity. Must stop being a weak-willed pushover with own mother.
Phone goes. Mum again! Will firmly tell her that I will donate ten – no, twenty – pounds to her cause and be done with it. My way or the highway.
‘I will not dress as a clown,’ I state resolutely as I answer the call.
‘I wouldn’t want you to. Cheerleader, though. Or, policewoman with handcuffs, mmm. Max here.’
MaddMaxx? WTF? It’s been two weeks. I assumed it was cancelled. Did he think I would just wait around at his beck and call? After he ignored all my messages (three WhatsApps and five texts)? Did his phone get snatched by a thief in lederhosen while he was skiing down an Austrian mountain with a beer in one hand and his mobile in the other?
‘Evening, Max. Your other dates didn’t work out? Is that why you’re calling me?’ I ask frostily.
‘I’m sorry, Em. I went to Austria to do that dirt biking thing, remember? I broke a few ribs. I was in hospital for a few days. Horrible Austrian food. Hoity-toity nurses with no sense of humour whatsoever. I just got back to the UK last night. Thought I’d check up on you and see if you’ve been a good girl.’
MaddMaxx called me as soon as he got back! He wasn’t ghosting me! It was a case of force majeure. I was thinking badly of him when he was lying in agony in hospital in a foreign country surrounded by insensitive staff who wouldn’t even give him a glass of water. My poor brave biker!
‘Max! I feel so bad for you. How are you now?’
‘I actually had a funny sharp pain on my side yesterday, so I’ve been at St David’s overnight. I’ve had X-rays and I’m waiting for the doctor’s round right now. He doesn’t seem to be in any rush, though.’
‘Stay where you are Max. I’m coming.’
‘I’d like to hear that more often,’ MaddMaxx replies gravely, making me flush from head to toe.
Emily
St David’s Hospital. Day Ward. 6 pm.
I have last-minute doubts about the ‘get well soon’ Tatty Teddy balloon I got from the hospital shop. I should have brought him a beer instead. I was in such a rush to get to him, I just chucked on some clothes and jumped on the bus. I knock on the door and push it open.
He’s sitting in bed, even more gorgeous than I can remember.
‘Here, I got you this.’ I hand over the balloon meekly.
‘Thanks, Em. Exactly what the doctor ordered.’
‘A teddy balloon?’
‘No, some sexy female company.’ MaddMaxx grins from ear to ear. ‘Are you blushing again?’ He seizes my hand, pulls me near him and whispers into my ear, ‘I can think of a few more things I can do to you to make you blush.’
I pull back and remain on the edge of the bed timidly. He is so tall, even sitting down he towers over me. He could pin me down with his big hands, bend his handsome face over mine and… Shaking myself free of my fantasy, I ask,
‘Have you had any visitors?’
‘Only you. I haven’t told my parents; I didn’t want to worry them. And my brother is in Scotland right now – not that I would have called him anyway. We’re not talking and it’s not like I’m dying, you know!’
‘When are you getting discharged?’
‘Don’t know yet. It’d better be tonig
ht, or I’ll go mental. I’m sick of hospitals. They gave me some more painkillers – can’t wait to mix them with a stiff drink. But you’re the best medicine I’ve had all week.’
I’m the best medicine he’s had all week! Now if that isn’t some heavy-duty flirting, I don’t know what is. I notice his right hand is bandaged up.
‘What’s this?’
Maddmaxx shrugs dismissively. ‘Just a scrape. I grazed my knuckles when I punched a wall at the hospital in Austria last week. I was pissed off at the whole broken ribs thing and felt like taking it out on something. The brick wall seemed a good idea at the time. I am harder than most things.’
‘A wall?’
‘It’s nothing, trust me. I broke my metacarpals before punching other stuff. Hand bones don’t do very well against anything unmovable and metallic. Punch bags or idiots, though, it’s what they’re there for. The rider who cut me off as I was getting ready to jump is not in a pretty state. I fell off because of his dangerous manoeuvre. I caught up with him afterwards and landed one on him.’
‘Max!’
He frowns and flexes his right fingers slowly, balling them into a fist. ‘He deserved it.’
He gives me a teasing sideway look and smirks. ‘Although it’s thanks to him that you’re here now.’
My chest is burning from self-consciousness and hankering for him. I try to change the subject. ‘How are you getting home?’
‘With you. And a taxi.’ MaddMaxx grabs me by the waist and drags me closer to him. ‘Don’t be shy. Do you want to see it?’
‘Huh?’ I interject in alarm.
He throws his head back and laughs. ‘My bruise. You filthy girl.’
MaddMaxx lifts his T-shirt with a grunt, displaying an impressive six-pack, a wisp of stomach hair and a large yellow and purple bruise.
‘Ouch. It looks terribly painful. Did you put ice on it?’ My fingers almost brush his skin, but I stop a few millimetres away, fearing my touch will hurt him.
‘Not yet, but you will later. I also expect you to kiss it better.’ He gives me a panty-melting glance that churns my insides so fiercely, I feel compelled to leave the room to recover my composure.
‘I’ll go and get us some drinks from the vending machine. I’m pretty sure they don’t have beer. What do you fancy?’
‘Besides you? A Sprite would be awesome.’
In the corridor, I go through possible witty comebacks for MaddMaxx. The guy is amazing. I need to seduce him into total submission. Khaleesi would tempt, tantalize and torment. Easier said than done when he’s the one who seems to do all the teasing. I apply the cold bottles of Sprite to my cheeks to cool myself down.
I am Khaleesi. I will bewitch this mere mortal.
I am still trying to come up with a flirty joke when I return to MaddMaxx’s room.
I walk in on him hanging up on someone – on my phone.
‘You left your mobile on my bedside table,’ he explains. ‘It was ringing. I thought it rude not to pick up.’
I cringe. Who could it have been this time? Crazy Lola checking up on me? My mother going on about dressing up as clowns? Carla with another tattoo emergency? Jess with something to do with her affair? Louise asking for yet another random favour? All archangels in heavens please be merciful.
‘It was this guy called Josh,’ MaddMaxx announces sternly.
Holy Mother of God. Josh. Movie date night. I drop the bottles of Sprite. One of them bounces and rolls under the bed and I scramble unceremoniously after it.
Nobody ever wants me. How come the few guys I ever go out with end up believing I have a throng of suitors following me? What a cruel joke. My Khaleesi power is too strong.
‘Come here.’ MaddMaxx invitingly pats the space next to him, a shark smile playing on his lips.
I come forward hesitantly, sweat pearling on my forehead, an inch at a time. What am I doing? He’s the dark, angry kind, isn’t he? Shouldn’t I just grab my mobile and run off? I could set off the fire alarm on my way out and scream ‘Fire!’ to create a commotion in the hallway in case he tries to chase me. I eventually reluctantly sit on the bed, and only one of my bum.
‘Josh said he knew nothing about me. You guys apparently had a date tonight?’
I wince and squirm, unsure whether to confirm or deny.
‘You stood him up to see me instead. That’s cute. If you’re going to bail out on someone, though, better let them know first. I can just picture the poor guy with roses and popcorn waiting at the cinema. It’s a bit unfair on him. I get it, though. You like me. You might like him, but you like me better. Who wouldn’t? I like me! He might not forgive you, but I do. So, Emily Davies, you have indeed been a bit naughty while I was away. How are you going to make it up to me?’
I could combust from mortification at the situation – and lust for him.
I am Khaleesi.
Grabbing him by the back of his head, I pull him into a soft kiss. ‘Like this, Max.’
Chapter 12
Screaming Orgasm
Screaming Orgasm
Ingredients
30 ml Absolut vodka
45 ml Baileys
15 ml Kahlua
Crushed ice
Pour first the vodka, then the Baileys, then the Kahlua, into a cocktail glass over crushed ice.
Stir.
Serve.
Caution: Only use high-quality vodka. Cheap vodka can cause the Baileys to curdle. Test your brand of vodka by mixing 1 tsp each of vodka and Baileys first.
Carla
Monday. Emily and Lola’s flat. 6 am.
I gaze at the ugly mountain of black bin liners monopolizing a corner of Emily’s quaint room. Some of my possessions are also stashed in Lola’s room and piled up behind the sofa in the lounge. I should shift some of the stuff to Mum’s garage, but then I would need to explain the breakup and can’t face having that conversation with her. Ursula Davies would just say, ‘Carla, this is a lot of piffle. You just got your wires crossed! Let me talk to Ben.’
Yellow Storage is surely the way to go – or, the selfish and cheaper option, just have the girls put up with the mess until I find another flat to rent.
I don’t really want to move out, though.
Every evening, I look forward to coming home to the girls’ cosy pad, fixing some dinner, and sharing the day’s goss. Ben would always arrive home late, turn his laptop on, and turn the TV over to Sky Sports 1. I would warm up his dinner and he would polish it off while engrossed in his footy team’s online forum and the latest news on BBC sports website, barely acknowledging me.
Having some female company in the evenings is a welcome relief. Lola is invariably cheerful, though over the top with her ‘female power’ speeches and has the knack of making me burst into hysterics even in the worst situations. Emily is an awesome toot, always trying to play the protective little sister, and waiting on me hand and foot.
It would be depressing to be all lonely in my own studio.
Perhaps I should move into shared accommodation. Wait! I could rent a three-bed flat and share with Lola and Emily. Stroke of genius. Now that would be unreal. To live with someone who doesn’t only want you for sex or cleaning the house. Who doesn’t expect you to put up with their sports ramblings while disregarding your emotional needs. To live with someone who cares about you and supports you. To live with someone who’s ready to change their plans at the drop of a hat to go to a party with you, or sit in with a cuppa and actually listen to you.
Maybe we could build an Amazon-style tribe with sperm-donated-IVF-produced young and live in peace and harmony forever.
The green digits on the alarm clock threaten my serenity. There’s only another ten minutes at best before I must get ready to go to work. Daunting prospect this morning, when on Friday night I had pictured myself waltzing into the office, a massive rock on my finger, and announcing my engagement to everybody. As an unforeseen alternative today, I’m going to have to broadcast my breakup. I’d better make it public i
n case Freddie doesn’t hold his tongue about our tryst, despite his boyscout promises.
Freddie. Another dispiriting matter. I don’t know the lad. I have no idea how things are going to turn out. Hopefully, I’ll just be another notch on his bedpost and he’ll only brag about his conquest to a few close mates – fingers crossed, none in the office. Despite being employed by the same department, we don’t often cross paths as the marketing division at Mezmeerize is huge.
Emily doesn’t stir when I get up as noiselessly as possible. No doubt she’s dreaming about that Max guy. Young love, bless.
Carla
Mezmeerize UK office. 9 am.
The office is effervescent with activity. The fall campaign is being rolled out, with Kate Upton as the new face; the partnership with the Jimmy Choo AW collection; the print advertising budget; the hires for the social media promotion… Argh! I don’t know where to start.
‘You smell nice.’
I jump out of my skin. Freddie, appeared from nowhere, hands me a steaming cup.
‘Coffee? Milk, one sweetener, right? You have a meeting at ten this morning about website SEO. You have to sign off the display banner budget. Urgently. You need to go over the nurture strategy with Rich at some point today. You have two pitches for the fragrance creative at 2 pm and 3 pm. Corporate wants to talk to you about Asia going rogue over the brand guidelines, so conf call at 11 am EST – that’s 4 pm UK time – on the usual conf call number, unless you want to video it in, which case I’ll sort out a WebEx. You had no time to spare for social media, so I squeezed them during your lunch break. Amanda from accounts is complaining about discrepancies in your expenses, so I suggest I take over this for you from now on. I’ve been given access to your mailbox so I deleted the junk and highlighted the tasks you need to prioritize. Here. I’ve summarized everything in bullet points.’ Freddie hands me a neat A4 sheet.
‘What? Why?’
‘I’m your new assistant. Starting today.’
#Toots Page 17