by Lynda Renham
Does she have to make me sound ninety?
‘Couldn’t I have had both?’
I want to weep. I mean, let’s face it, you’re only thirty once aren’t you? I’d imagined last night would have been Oliver and me together with our friends having a really good night at Romeo’s. It’s one of those restaurants with a small dance platform. We would have all got drunk on tequila and danced all night. After I’d opened all my cards and presents, Oliver would have given me surprise tickets for Venice or Rome or somewhere equally romantic. Instead I had spent the evening with a stranger, as lovely as that was it wasn’t quite what I had hoped for.
‘What are your plans for this evening?’
Just a quiet evening in with a razor blade.
‘I’m meeting Muffy,’ I say.
‘Oh lovely, we’ll give her your cream. Must dash, we’re off to look at 3D televisions. Any word from Oliver?’ she adds hopefully.
‘He sent flowers.’
‘Oh that’s hopeful,’ she says chirpily. ‘Especially now, you know, with your body clock ticking.’
She makes me sound like a time bomb. And has she forgotten Oliver’s little indiscretion already. I hang up and pull my laptop towards me to check Oliver’s Facebook page and cringe at his new profile pic. It’s one of him with me. I’m looking at him adoringly. It was taken in Corfu, I remember it well. We were both slightly pissed and the Greek waiter had said,
‘Look loving into the eyes.’
I never was sure if he meant his eyes or Oliver’s. I remember he was very sexy. The waiter that is, not Oliver, although Oliver is very sexy too, especially first thing in the morning. I always found him hard to resist in the mornings when he strolled out of the bathroom smelling clean and fresh from the shower. Oh, I do miss him. I scroll down the page and read his status.
‘Missing my lovely girl Binki, bad days and bad backs.’
Trust him to get his back in there somewhere. There are several emails. No job offers from any of the agencies I had signed with which is a bit odd. I remember Ben Newman’s words and feel my stomach lurch. I google positions in sales and see there are plenty in the city. My eyes zoom in on one company and I remember Mike Sawyer, the sales director. We’d been on some sales courses together. A polite lady answers my call and puts me through to Mike.
‘Hi Binki, how are you?’ he says cheerfully but I can hear a hesitancy in his voice. I feel my heart beat faster.
‘I’m great actually,’ I lie, forcing brightness to my voice. ‘But I’ve left Temco. It’s a bit complicated but I’m looking for another job. I see you have a vacancy …’
‘The thing is Binki, I’d love to work with you …’
‘I just want an interview,’ I say quickly. ‘I don’t want any favours.’
I certainly don’t. I’m not giving or receiving any favours thank you very much.
‘Yeah, right, I understand, I mean totally. It’s cool you know,’ he mumbles.
I knew there was a reason I’d turned down his offer of a drink a few years ago. It always seems to take him forever to say a few words, that is, a few words that make any kind of sense.
‘If you could get someone to ping me over the application form that would be …’
‘Yeah, right, cool. It’s just I think that particular post got taken, you know?’
‘But it’s in this week’s job section. You surely haven’t had applications back yet, let alone interviewed people,’ I say feeling a strange sensation in my stomach. Something doesn’t feel right here.
There is an uncomfortable silence and then Mike clears his throat before saying,
‘Yeah yeah, you’re right of course. This is a bit uncomfortable Binki …’
I can almost visualise him loosening his tie.
‘This thing with Ben Newman …’ he begins.
‘Ben Newman,’ I practically yell. ‘Ben Newman, what has he got to do with this? What thing with Ben Newman are you talking about? I mean, Christ, Ben Newman.’
I feel nauseous. Does everyone who works in sales in the whole of London know about the thing with Ben Newman? Oh God, they don’t seriously believe I would throw myself at someone like Ben Newman with the wart on his nose do they? I must seem so desperate.
‘Yeah right, cool, you’re right. I mean, absolutely …’ mumbles Mike who must be almost strangling himself with his tie by now.
I clench my fists and fight the urge to throw my mobile across the room.
‘Mike just spit it out for Christ’s sake. You’re doing my head in.’
There is a long sigh at the other end of the phone.
‘Oh hey Binki, I’ll have to call you back. The fire alarms are going off like crazy here …’
‘Oh really,’ I say. I can’t hear a bloody thing except him sighing.
‘Yeah Christ, it’s like The Towering bloody Inferno here. Better go. You know – help the others get out.’
The Towering Inferno my arse, honestly what a load of crap. Before he hangs up I hear a voice say,
‘Here’s your coffee Mr Sawyer.’ Steaming hot obviously.
I hang up and phone six more companies. The first three I don’t even get past the receptionist once I give my name. The other three claim the positions have already been filled, but I know that can’t possibly be true. I hang up the phone and glance at my emails to make sure I haven’t missed anything. I delete the email from the relative of the deceased African dictator who wants to put a million pounds in my bank account, and from someone called Marina, who tells me she has everything I have ever wanted, but unless she means a nice soft pillow and a job in sales then I am really not interested. I ignore the tweets from Oliver that simply say #Missing @binkigrayson, which makes it sound like I am either on the missing persons’ register or have become mistaken for someone’s lost cat. He’ll be sticking posters on lamp posts next, and before I know it I’ll be seeing a reconstruction of my departure from the Notting Hill flat on Crimewatch. I know he means he is missing me but he could have worded it better. I push the whole Ben Newman thing out of my head, telling myself it was just an idle threat. Everyone in sales isn’t going to close their doors to me, surely. I sigh and roll out of my bed with another groan. I’ll be walking around like the Hunchback of Notre Dame at this rate. I slip on my robe, grab the carrier bag that holds my laundry and open the door gingerly, although I don’t know why as the whoosh-whoosh sounds are as loud as ever. He’s like the guy in the film Sleeping With the Enemy. I only wish he resembled him when it came to the tidiness of his cupboards. I open the door further and a gust of cold air hits me in the face. The window on the landing is wide open. Jesus, it’s like a freezer out here. I rush and close the window feeling a whisper of cold air across my feet as I pass the end bedroom. God, he’s got that window open too. Honestly it’s all right for him, whooshing away isn’t it? I wander down to the kitchen still wondering if I should ask Oliver to send some of my things. I could sneak to the flat when he’s at work and just take them I suppose, but what if she’s there? That would be so humiliating. Perhaps Muffy could collect them. I’ll ask her. It would be nice to have my nice soft pillow, not to mention my CDs and books. I’ll ask him to pack up my candleholders too. Right, that’s what I’ll do. After all, it looks like I’m going to be here a lot longer than I had planned. If only I could find a job. I open the kitchen door sleepily and walk straight into Andy. Jesus, what the hell? It’s Saturday for goodness’ sake. The other two builders are sitting at the kitchen table sipping tea. They give me a little wave like it is the most normal thing in the world for them to be in my kitchen in their muddy boots while I’m in my dressing gown. Christ, I could have been in my bra and panties. What a terrible thought. They’ll be coming here for dinner next. Why are they always drinking tea? Then I see it and my eyes must bulge out of my sockets. Oh my God, is that the chocolate tea pot? They’ve only gone and made tea in the chocolate teapot.
‘Morning Mrs Ellis,’ grins Andy, sipping from his mug.
‘I’m not …’
Oh, what’s the point?
‘What are you doing?’ I squeal. ‘Why have you made tea in the teapot?’ I sound totally unreasonable because after all isn’t that what people do? Make tea in teapots.
The kitchen door is shoved open behind me, bashing me in the bum. I turn to see William in his running shorts and top with a towel around his neck. I pull the robe together quickly and glare at the teapot.
‘But that’s what it’s for isn’t it?’ says Andy, looking bemused at the other builders.
I rack my brains to remember how many M&Ms I’d left in there.
‘Morning Andy,’ William says pleasantly before nodding at me. ‘Any tea left in that pot?’
What?
‘It’s not for making tea in,’ I snap, grabbing it.
Andy shakes his head nonplussed.
‘It’s not?’
‘No, it’s not. It’s a chocolate teapot.’
I place the teapot back on the kitchen counter. I see William pull a face at Andy and the other builders fight back their sniggers. I look down at the muddy floor and bite back a comment about their muddy boots.
‘Perhaps you’d like breakfast too before you start work. Is a full English okay, or would you prefer continental?’ I add sarcastically.
‘Well, if you’re offering, the lads and me wouldn’t mind a …’
‘I think she’s cross,’ smiles William, leaning across to the mug cupboard. ‘Isn’t that right Binki?’
I give him a filthy glare.
‘I’m surprised you can manage breakfast,’ I say turning back to the builders, ‘considering the amount of M&Ms you’ve scoffed.’
A guilty look crosses their faces.
‘Here, have these,’ says William, handing Andy a pack of muffins. Honestly, are they here to work or just bloody eat, drink and bloody pee? Thank God, they have a portable loo outside or I’d be bathing with them next. Well at least the muffins are not from my cupboard. I’m honestly surprised he can find anything in his it is such a mess.
‘Thanks Mr Ellis, we’ll erm replace the M&Ms,’ says Andy sheepishly.
‘We thought they were old stale ones,’ I hear him whisper to William.
Stale ones my arse, it didn’t stop them eating them did it? I take a mug from the cupboard and ignore William’s winks. I remove my jar of coffee and, being as my chocolate stash has gone, stretch to reach my half-open pack of chocolate digestives.
‘Can I help?’ he asks, pouring coffee into a mug.
‘No, I can manage,’ I say stubbornly, taking a wooden spoon from the drawer and reaching up to knock the biscuits out. I finally hit them and annoyingly they fall straight into Williams hands. It was a good catch I have to admit, but I don’t want to have to feel grateful to him right now. He gives them to me and turns back to his coffee making. The familiar smell of him wafts over me and I give him a sidelong glance. He is studying a text on his phone and his forehead is creased in concentration. He looks vulnerable with his flushed cheeks and tousled hair.
‘You look lopsided, like someone who has had a stroke, except your face looks normal,’ he says blandly.
‘I’ve got a crick in my neck,’ I say. ‘It’s those awful pillows.’
He sits down to join the builders at the table.
‘Ah well, I would swap with you …’
‘You would?’ I say happily.
‘Except, I also found them too hard, which is why I chucked them in the spare room.’
And there was me thinking he was going to be nice and offer his. I open the packet of digestives and stare at them. Right, if the bugger thinks he can steal my biscuits he can think again. Honestly, he is the one with the high-powered job. I begin counting the biscuits aloud. As I thought, there are two short.
‘You’ve had two of my biscuits,’ I say accusingly, holding up the packet.
He shakes his head.
‘I’ve not been near your biscuits or your chocolate pot,’ he says dismissively, tapping into his phone.
‘Teapot,’ I correct. ‘And yes you have, because I had eleven biscuits left and now there are only nine.’
‘Oh no, call Special Branch. There are two chocolate biscuits missing. Seal the exits, nobody leave the cottage,’ he says mockingly.
‘Don’t laugh at me,’ I thunder. ‘It’s all right for you isn’t it? With your high-powered job and bulging bank balance, while I’m living off my wedding savings …’ I stop as I feel tears brimming behind my eyelids. It’s not fair. Why did Oliver do this to me? He’s given me this crick in my neck. I can never sleep on my old fluffy soft pillow again can I? Not if her perfumed hair has been on it. I don’t care if he washed the pillow case. The scent of her will always be in that bed won’t it. I hate him. I hate all men and I hate William Ellis even more. How dare he steal the little I’ve got?
‘Well, we’ll be off then Mrs Ellis’, chirps Andy. As difficult as it must be to tear himself away from the drama I assume he has had enough entertainment for the time being. At last they leave, but not before one of them bends down to pick up his tool kit, exposing his builder’s bum crack from his loosely fitting jeans in the process. I jump up from the table and throw my dirty laundry in the washing machine.
‘I’ll leave you to your biscuit investigation,’ says William. ‘I would help but personally I’ve got far more interesting things to do. I’ve got an important meeting with Nathan in town today. And before you nag, I haven’t forgotten it’s on the rota for me to empty the bins.’
Before I can reply he has left the kitchen and I hear him running upstairs. I flop onto a chair and take a breath. He’s quite right of course; it is only a couple of biscuits. I never used to be this mean and hateful. I fight back my tears. I must try and be more positive. After all, things aren’t that bad are they? They could be a lot worse. I could be without a home altogether and still living with Muffy. Not that much has changed of course, except I own the house I am sharing, at least I hope I own it. Oh God, what if it turns out that William is the real owner? What will I do then? No I must not think about that. Aunty Vera most certainly left it to me. I sip my coffee and look at the washing tumbling in the machine. Even if she did leave it to William surely he wouldn’t just throw me out would he? One day at a time, Binki, one day at a time, it is the only way. My eyes focus on the washing as it dawns on me that everything looks blue, that can’t be right can it? I definitely put my whites in. I peer closer at the suds in the machine, finally crawling towards it and watching it as it tumbles my washing around. My God, everything is bollocking blue. Panicking I turn the stupid thing off and wait the agonising thirty seconds before the automatic lock clicks and I can pull out all my white underwear, except it’s not pissing white any more is it? It’s all sodding blue. Absolutely everything is blue from my white frilly knickers to my lacy bra. Oh no, my new silky white camisole is blue. I stare stunned for a few seconds and then scatter them around me, my tears dropping onto my knickers. I can’t take any more, I really can’t. It is then I see it, a dark pair of running shorts. His running shorts. It isn’t even his washing day and his running shorts are in the washing machine. I tear upstairs like a demented witch, waving my wet blue underwear in the air as I go. We collide on the stairs and he looks at me wide-eyed.
‘I take it there must be a good reason you’re waving your knickers at me,’ he says casually walking past me. ‘Don’t tell me a pair of those has gone missing too. I can assure you I don’t have them.’
He’s wearing a pale blue shirt and tie. Even in my anger I can’t help noticing how sexy he looks.
‘Everything is blue,’ I say, barely able to contain my anger. ‘All my washing is blue.’
‘Well, that’s nice isn’t it,’ he says in a disinterested tone.
I swear it is a good thing I’m not near the cutlery drawer right now.
‘This is why all my white undies are blue,’ I say through gritted teeth, holding up his blue shorts.
He pul
ls a face before putting on his jacket.
‘Ah, I see.’
I feel all the anger drain out of me and feel suddenly exhausted.
‘My fault, I forgot all about you,’ he says.
I raise my eyebrows and he shakes his head.
‘Not forgot about you literally, but just forgot that you were using the machine too. I tend to throw things in as and when.’
His phone rings and I sigh. Bloody Nathan.
‘Oh Andrea hi, no it’s fine.’
He turns his back on me and I feel invisible.
‘I’ve a meeting with Nathan but I can meet you before, no problem,’ he says softly. I notice his tone changes when talking to her and I feel myself grow envious. I don’t remember Oliver ever talking to me like that. He said he loved me and everything but he never spoke to me with a soft caring tone like that. He hangs up and turns to me.
‘I’m really sorry. Let me know what the damage is and I’ll sort it out with you later and happy birthday by the way.’
He hands me a card and walks to the front door. I turn back to the kitchen to my blue washing and the muddy kitchen floor. And there was me thinking things couldn’t get any worse.
Chapter Eighteen
I push through the doorway of the sex shop dragging Muffy with me. The stuffy dark interior takes me by surprise and I wait for my eyes to adjust. Muffy looks around and nudges me in the ribs.
‘What are we doing here? I thought you said you were taking me for coffee.’
‘I am, after,’ I whisper.
‘After what?’ she asks clasping my arm tightly. ‘I’m not being funny Binki, but they do have these in Notting Hill you know. If I’d really wanted …’
‘Hello girls,’ waves a camp man from behind the grimy till. He is wearing a tight-fitting cropped top and a long hooped earring with a skull hanging from it.
‘Don’t be shy,’ he smiles.
‘This is seedier than Soho,’ Muffy grumbles. ‘I thought Hampstead Heath was a nice place, if you ask me it’s a bit like Skegness with sleaze. We’ll be eating greasy fish and chips on a bench opposite Hampstead Heath ponds next, and consorting with the local punks.’