‘No, El, please,’ I protested, but it was too late – the spoon was wedged into my mouth, filling it with a delicious explosion of flavours. She must have managed to find an opening during the ‘e’ and ‘a’ vowels of ‘please’. Elouise’s face lit up and she danced back towards the pan. Suddenly my hunger returned. ‘Wow! That’s even better than the last one you made,’ I said, putting both thumbs up.
‘So anyway, what’s the problem with you texting this bloke?’ she persisted.
I looked over to her and as she sashayed around the room in a pair of skinny jeans and a vest top, I wished I had just a little bit of her confidence. Elouise is a heartbreaker, but not in an evil-on-purpose, bitchy kind of way. It’s just part and parcel of being Elouise Dalton. If she needs a marquee for a party, ten will arrive the next day complete with musclebound men to put them up. If she needs a lamp fixing, there will be electricians queuing out of the door. If there’s a leak, all of a sudden every bloke including the town vicar will fancy himself a fully qualified plumber . . . You get the gist. She is adored, a sweetheart – and great to talk to about men.
‘Well, I don’t like chasing men, really, El. Plus, if it goes wrong I’ll have to go to a different gym.’ I slipped my boots off and put my feet up on her sofa.
‘You need to think a little more romantically, my lovely. Just go for it. You’re gorgeous, he’ll be bowled over,’ she said, dishing up the dinner.
My mouth started watering. ‘So what do I put?’ I asked, gratefully accepting my bowl full of heaven and starting to chow down.
‘Just say hi, and ask him on a date.’
‘A what?’ I shrieked, a tiny shrimp falling from my spoon and into my lap. I quickly picked it up and dropped it back into my bowl before she noticed.
‘Yes, Sienna – a date. Are you sure you’re over Nick?’ She looked at me doubtfully.
‘Of course, El. Yes I am. In fact, I’m going to text Ben right now.’ I put down my fork and fished in my bag for my BlackBerry and the piece of paper with Ben’s number. I drafted the message. ‘How does this sound? “Hi there, this is Sienna, from the gym. Do you fancy a drink sometime? S x”’ I considered putting a joke in there about my loving embrace with the toilet pan, but felt it was maybe best to let that one go.
‘Yeah, that’ll be just fine, Si,’ replied Elouise, that sparkle in her eye making me even more excited.
‘OK – I’m sending it now,’ I said, suddenly wussing out at the last minute and saving the message to drafts. God, I was pathetic. ‘Done!’ I looked at Elouise and did my best ‘I just sent that text’ smile.
‘Fab. See – it wasn’t that hard, was it?’
After dinner, I dashed up to the bathroom and brushed my teeth with the toothbrush I have at El’s for those drunken, sleepy nights when I can’t face the walk home. I looked a lot better now, I thought, as I pushed my face towards the mirror above the sink. The colour was returning to my skin. God knows what had happened at the gym earlier.
El and I talked for a few minutes before I walked out into the sticky summer evening to get back to Dad. As I made my way towards the flat I felt a vibration in my bag and pulled my phone out, half expecting it to be my father. Instead, it was from a number I didn’t recognise . . .
‘Hi, Sienna. Lovely to hear from you. Of course I want to go for a drink. How does Thursday night sound? Ben xx’
What a sneaky girl. And how could she tell I was lying? Some people would be very angry about this, but I was glad she’d done it, really.
A smile spread across my face. It was so big, I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. What on earth was I going to wear?
16 months later . . .
Nick
‘Let’s take it slow, Nick.’
That’s what she’d said less than a year ago as she slurped on a milkshake by the sea. It was a conversation right at the beginning of our relationship. Sometime after the kiss ambush in the pub, and sometime before I felt it appropriate to take her to weddings and let her use my toothbrush. Round about the period when we were doing posh dinners and cocktails on a Friday night, rather than bickering over plughole hair.
But you see, that phrase is a bad sign – it means the opposite. People are generally quite bad at taking things slow, unless of course it involves paying invoices or walking right in the middle of Oxford Street when you’re trying to dash from shop to shop. And they are particularly bad at taking relationships slowly.
In fact, I would go so far as to say that as soon as you hear the phrase ‘Let’s take it slow,’ then you should know that things are about to get a lot speedier.
And that’s exactly what has happened. She is all over my house. There are pots of Chanel nail varnish on the living-room table, a ladies’ razor in the bathroom, unexplained cushions on the sofa and carefully placed lingerie in my bedroom. And it’s all a strategic Chloe move to make me feel like I can’t live without her.
To be honest, she’s doing a pretty good job. She does not live with me. She does not have a key cut. She certainly isn’t insured on my car. But she is creeping into my world. It’s like a slow infiltration of pink things that smell nice and almost every day I find something new. It always makes my heart race a little bit, but I do think I need to grow up a little. I turn thirty this year, for God’s sake. I really need to be able to cope with this, and if I can’t cope with a creature as beautiful as Chloe sharing my living quarters, then I’m screwed, really.
She likes to come and stay most nights, which I found quite difficult at first, but I love it now. I think having been single for so long, I became a little bit selfish. You want to be able to do what you want, when you want, and just how you want it.
I love having the warmth of her next to me all night long, and waking up to her nuzzling against my chest. She’s gorgeous and I only hope we can go the distance. Plus I fancy the pants off her.
But there’s been one major problem in all of this. Sienna. Lately, she has been the subject of quite a few rows. She doesn’t have a clue this has been going on. The most spectacular firework finale of them all happened this evening, and it went a little like this:
‘Sienna and I were thinking of going to this street art exhibition next Saturday, Chloe, I can’t wait. Are you still away with the girls that weekend?’ I said innocently as we were driving through Balham.
She had some spa break planned with her mates, most of whom I can’t stand. I quietly hoped some of them would get stuck in a steam room and come out much smaller and quieter than they had been before. Though not Chloe, of course . . .
The clouds instantly moved over my girlfriend’s face, giving her this angry expression that she adopts whenever Sienna’s name is mentioned. And there really is no need for it. I am well and truly over Sienna – and besides, nothing ever actually happened between us.
‘Yes I am, Nick,’ she said abruptly, looking out of the window and craning her neck so far round it was pretty obvious she was trying to hide something. She was fiddling with a ring on her finger, too; that was never a good sign. She tended to do that when she was really pissed off.
There was cold silence as we drove further away from Balham and out into west London.
‘Chloe, come on. You know we love that kind of thing. What’s the problem?’ I responded, noting how her feet were pushed hard against the footwell in what looked like unexpressed frustration.
Silence. More silence.
I pulled over and stopped the car. This had to be sorted out once and for all. I was getting a little tired of her silent protests every time I mentioned my best friend’s name.
‘Chloe, I think we need to talk about this,’ I began, taking a deep breath and fiddling with a pear-shaped air freshener dangling from the rear-view mirror.
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she replied. It sounded like she was gritting her teeth.
‘Please, Chloe, just look at me. What’s the problem?’ I leaned over and touched her arm; she pulled it away sharply and tu
cked it inside the Zara cardigan that I’d bought her for her birthday. I didn’t buy it so she could hide bits of her in it when she was in a mood with me, though.
‘Well, we aren’t going anywhere until we talk about this,’ I declared, putting my hands on the steering wheel and pushing my seat back so I was a bit more comfortable. We could be here a while, I thought.
Drizzle started to hit the windows; I watched as the droplets raced each other to the bottom of the glass. It was captivating. Seconds went by, then minutes . . .
Bang. The passenger door had been slammed hard; the pear wobbled in fear. I turned to see that the seat Chloe had been occupying was empty. There was a small dent in the leather and you could still feel the heat from her body on the surface. She had got out of the car and stormed off into the street, and I could only spot a flash of her blonde hair in the distance. Shit.
I scrambled to my feet and started to run, slamming the door behind me, locking it remotely and chasing her down the street. The rain was really falling now, I could feel the dampness of it through my jeans. My trainers slapped hard against the shiny concrete and my shirt stuck to my stomach. Chloe was walking very fast despite the heels she was wearing. She didn’t even look back. Not once.
‘Chloe!’ I yelled, through the passing pedestrians, dodging children and ducking under spiky umbrellas. I even pushed into one woman by accident, shouting my apologies as I ran backwards and then into a newsstand and its disgruntled owner. Jesus, this was annoying.
When I finally caught up with her she was in a bit of a state, black mascara running down her cheeks. I grabbed her hand and hoped that she would just come to a halt so I didn’t have to keep running in this horrible weather.
‘Stop, Chloe, please. For God’s sake, what is wrong with you?’ My tone was angrier than I’d intended but I was getting very frustrated by all this.
‘Me? Me, Nick? Are you serious?’ She turned away again, storming down the steps to the underground.
Here we go again . . . I ran fast down the stairs, my legs moving so quickly the upper part of my body wasn’t quite keeping up and I feared I would slip over and land in a heap at the bottom. I managed to catch up with her. In the small space of the ticket hall, everyone could hear our argument. Bloody marvellous.
‘What, Chloe? For Pete’s sake, I don’t understand what’s going on here!’ I yelled. A skinny woman with her hair in a tight ponytail tutted and gave me daggers. This probably looked much worse than it sounded.
‘You want to know what’s going on?’ she raged, moving towards me now like an angry tiger, her finger pointed straight at me. Well, at least she had changed direction. I suddenly realised that she meant business and backed myself up against the wall.
We were attracting quite a lot of attention by now, so I tried to calm her down with frantic arm gestures. Her hair was matted with water and her plaits were sticking to her neck and cheeks, but she was still so beautiful. I wanted to pull her close to me and kiss her until she stopped being so angry, but I didn’t think that would work this time.
‘I’ll tell you what’s going on.’ She gritted her teeth again and pushed both of her hands against my chest. I could feel the cold of the tiles against my sopping wet back.
People were really staring now. A group of teenage boys found the sight of a soggy me cowering under my girlfriend’s grip very amusing. Tears were welling in her eyes and it dawned on me that this was really quite serious.
‘You, Nick, are in love with someone else.’ There was a loud sigh from the audience. It was like Jerry Springer: The Underground. ‘I’m sick of hearing about all the things you like to do together. I’m sick of being told where she is at any given time. I’m sick of hearing about her favourite colour, or her favourite flavour of ice cream. I don’t care about her dad and how ill he is, and I certainly don’t want to know about your fucking art exhibition. Got that?’
OK, this was quite nasty. An elderly woman covered her granddaughter’s ears.
Chloe was definitely slightly less attractive than usual right now.
A wave of anger swept over me but I had to stay calm. She was totally wrong. I was not in love with Sienna. Yes, all right, I had been, but not now. I grabbed hold of her hands and pulled her close to me despite the fury I was feeling. I just wanted to end this circus display, tell everyone to disappear and deal with this in private like we should have been doing in the first place.
At first she resisted as fat tears slid from her eyes, which were now so dark brown they scared me. The colour that I’d once adored now seemed so foreboding.
I could feel her body trembling as she gave in and let me hold her against my chest. She was genuinely very angry and I’d had no idea she felt like this.
‘Chloe, for God’s sake,’ I whispered into her ear, pulling a great handful of soaking curls away from her face and looking at the assembled crowd with a ‘sod off’ expression on my face. Some of them took the hint and scuttled back to their lives, which must have been immensely boring in comparison.
‘I don’t love Sienna like that, OK? But you have to understand how important she is as a friend.’ When I said the words I felt her shake against my chest as she started to cry even harder. But I had to be honest with her. ‘Chloe, please. There’s a real difference. If Sienna and I were interested in each other like that do you not think something would have happened by now? We’ve been friends for a very long time – you have to understand that, sweetheart. And if you can’t, then I’m not sure if we can . . . You know . . .’ I trailed off, not sure how I could finish a sentence like this.
But there it was. The big ultimatum. Basically, what it boiled down to was that my friendship with Sienna was more important than my relationship with Chloe. I should have phrased it differently. Now the words were out there I couldn’t take them back. I could tell I shouldn’t have said it.
In fact I definitely shouldn’t have, because the next thing she did hurt. It involved her hand and my face. A collision of the two that left a red mark on my cheek with five clearly visible fingers. I swear I heard clapping . . . Ouch.
And just like that, she was gone.
She really wasn’t that kind of woman – you know, someone who thumps men in public. She was a gorgeous, flirty, delicate little flower, who was occasionally feisty, but generally the sweetest thing you could ever be lucky enough to know.
That was the awakening, really; it dawned on me that this wasn’t really very fair on anyone. On her. On me. On Sienna. But I wasn’t really willing to change anything, either. I was fiercely protective of my friendship with Sienna. I had fought for it, against my true feelings, for years. I had battled so hard to suppress my feelings, and succeeded. I could never let her go.
I considered all this as the two remaining members of the audience stared at me in utter disgust, then turned away as I pressed my fingers to my throbbing face. They were teenage girls in hip-hop style streetwear with ponytails piled on the tops of their heads. They gave me the look of people who know everything when clearly they knew nothing really. Not compared to an adult who had dealt with several real-life relationships. That alone was deeply irritating.
I walked back to my car like a naughty dog, my wet tail between my legs and my ears thoroughly clipped. She had gone. I tried calling her several times, but her phone was off. I resented having to chase her around London when I had done nothing wrong. I hated the whole thing. She had no idea about the torment I had been through with Sienna.
Too angry to start driving, I locked my doors and lit an emergency cigarette from a packet rattling around with the service booklet in the glove compartment. The smoke seeped out through the tiny crack of the open passenger window.
My heart was thumping hard in my chest. There was only one person who could make me feel better right now and that was Sienna. I picked up my phone and held down the 2 button – she was on speed dial. The phone rang twice but I panicked and hung up. Calling her now would be totally inappropriate and I certain
ly couldn’t tell her about what had happened. I had kept all this arguing away from her. It would be too late to explain it all now.
I took more deep drags on my cigarette and exhaled hard, the nicotine rushing through my body, giving me that familiar buzz I craved so much in situations like these. That was when I remembered Ross telling me that night in Brixton how girls and guys couldn’t just be friends. But we’d managed it, hadn’t we? It’s not as if Sienna had feelings for me. Surely not? I knew she didn’t like me like that. And I had certainly pushed my feelings aside. No, that was nonsense.
Eventually, when my heart rate had slowed down a little, I drove home, taking deep gulps of air all the way. When I pulled up to my drive I saw the figure of a beautiful blonde girl on my doorstep. My beautiful blonde girl. Thank God.
I was so relieved she was there – now I would have a chance to talk to her properly. I got out of the car and walked towards her slowly, a little bit nervous after she’d hit me so hard. My skin was still stinging.
‘Nick . . . Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,’ she said, walking up to me and putting her hand up to my face. I winced as she touched my right cheek.
‘Shit, Nick. I can’t believe I did that.’ She began to tremble again, clearly startled by the strength of her reaction.
The next few hours we spent soul-searching over tea and chocolate biscuits in my kitchen. I gave her a towel and she mopped herself dry; I put the heating on and hoped we could sort this all out.
‘Just so I can understand, Nick. Can you tell me, from the beginning, how you met and how you’ve become so close? I’ve just never known a guy and a girl to be . . . well, such good friends,’ said Chloe, looking down at her feet resting on the wooden boards. Her socks were draped over the radiator. She had peeled off her soggy jeans and sat in a pair of my shorts. She looked much better in them than I did.
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