by Alam, Donna
‘I’ve already paid for the room.’
‘So you said, but think of last night.’
Think of it? I think it’s branded on the inside of my eyelids. Every time I close them, I see skin sliding against skin, my insides sliced by the sensation of Archer’s lips whispering unintelligible utterances between my legs.
‘Okay?’
I nod, my brows settling lower because the way he keeps looking at me? It’s like he knows.
‘I’ll be right back.’
I watch as he grabs an umbrella, the torrent of rain against the courtyard loud as he pushes open the door, manoeuvring both bags and umbrella through it in a way that I wouldn’t have been able to do.
It’s nice of him to offer to take me home.
I wonder if he does that with all his dalliances?
Especially the ones who’ve coerced him.
He’s been so very lovely about the whole thing. And he even said he likes me. Or was it he said that he liked me only when I’m being mean to him? Honestly, men are like another species.
The queue moves, and I shuffle forward, my mind pulled by a million thoughts. I hadn’t planned for the night to end as it did, both of us baring more than just skin. Although, baring skin also seemed highly improbable. The fact that I asked him, the fact that he said yes. It all just seems so ridiculous. And what now? Are we friends? Because I know we can’t be anything else. Archer Powell does not swing that way. The monogamous way. He made that more than clear. And I’m sure if he did, Heather Whittington wouldn’t be top on his list of prospective.
‘Heather? Heather Whittington?’
Yep, that’s me. Heather Weirdington.
‘It is you!’
Wait, what?
Large arms envelop me as I’m crushed to a substantial chest, one that smells of manly soap and laundry detergent and a sort of wholesomeness.
‘Look, it’s me!’
‘Barney?’
‘Hello, H!’
The man standing before me with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever, and hair the same colour as its fur, was the best friend of my eldest brother, Leif, and he used to live next door. And H? Well, that’s what he used to call me back when I used to be the horrible little sister my brothers never wanted around. Though unlike my brothers, Barney tolerated me. He never chased me down the garden with the hose.
Barney, by the way, isn’t his name. It’s William or something. God, I can’t remember. But he was Barney from being a toddler, I seem to think, because his parents said he was like his grandfather’s beloved dog because of his affable nature. Although one time when Leif was in a particularly bad mood, he said it was because Barney was a little bit thick, just like the breed. But I think he meant oblivious rather than stupid. Maybe?
‘What are you doing here?’ I return his hug with one of my own now that I’m over the surprise.
‘I was supposed to be here for a wedding, but my plane was late getting in. I missed the service, and more importantly, I missed the food.’ He rubs his stomach like a department store Father Christmas, though his figure is hardly the same, even though Leif also once said his parents nicknamed him Barney because he was also the other kind of thick, heavyset like the breed. He did used to be a little portly, I remember, but he certainly isn’t anymore. He was the kind of boy who seemed to be older than his years. Very serious and would always introduce himself to those around him with a very formal introduction which included a handshake.
‘I was here for a wedding, too. Poppy’s wedding?’ I can’t imagine there was more than one wedding in the place yesterday.
‘Goodness, yes! She’s my second cousin. Not so close that I would’ve been missed yesterday—what I mean to say is I didn’t miss any responsibilities. My ushering services weren’t required, and I wasn’t orating because that would’ve been dreadful to miss.’ Typical Barney. Always thinking of others.
‘Well, I’m sorry I missed it. And I missed you.’
‘But I’m here now. It’s so lovely to see you, H. All grown up.’ His eyes flick over me, leaving me with a weird sense of being appraised. But it has been a while, probably pre my pink-haired days.
‘Yep, all grown up, I think. Or at least I have been pretending to be for a while now. What about you? What are you up to these days?’
‘I went into medicine, like my mother.’
‘We always thought you would.’
‘You don’t choose your calling; your calling chooses you.’
‘If you’re lucky, I think.’ Or else you get stuck in an office posting vacuous words and stupid memes to social media accounts.
‘What do you do, Heather?’
‘Oh, office stuff. Far too boring to talk about.’
‘I’m with Médecins Sans Frontières at the minute. That’s how I missed Poppy’s big day. My flight from Mogadishu was delayed.’ He ruffles a hand through the thatch of his hair. ‘Actually, it was cancelled.’
‘Oh, wow. For the, erm, job. Too bad about the flight.’
‘Yes, very much too bad. We could’ve caught up. Chatted about the old days.’
‘How long are you here for?’ The queue shuffles forward, and I duly oblige.
‘Just today. I’m off to Inverness this evening to spend a day or two with my parents and then back to Somalia on Wednesday.’
‘So really just a flying visit?’
‘Yes. But I’ll be back again in a few weeks for a little bit longer.’
‘Cool.’
Another hotel employee joins the desk and things start to move quicker, though Barney makes no move to return to his room or head for breakfast or whatever his plans were before he happened to stumble upon me. And we continue to chat, just like the old friends we are, though as we do, I keep one eye on the door, wondering where the hell Archer could be. It’s still raining heavily, but that’s no reason to fret. So why am I fretting, again?
‘Does your mum still cook those huge Sunday roasts?’
‘Sorry, what? Oh, yes. Three o’clock Sunday. Like clockwork.’
‘The image of you all around that table brings back such fond memories. Well, most of you would be seated, though invariably, one of your little sisters seemed to choose three o’clock to throw a tantrum, and your youngest brother preferred to sit under the table. And there was usually a baby in a highchair squishing peas and mashed potatoes through pudgy fingers and throwing it against walls. And you’d be so serene, sitting with your back to the fireplace, napkin dropped daintily to your lap, and your nose in a book as though pandemonium wasn’t breaking out all around you.’
‘It’s called selective deafness. And it still comes in handy.’ Usually when I’m at work.’
He sets off laughing, a great bellyful of bass chortling. ‘Goodness, I envied you all that.’
‘I don’t know why you’ve be envious. It was madness. Actually, it still is. There’s usually someone throwing a wobbler because they’ve been put on dish washing duties when they did them last week. And no one throws mash potato these days, though Primrose did throw a can of beer off Daniel’s head once.’
‘Really?’ He seems really tickled by the prospect.
‘He deserved it.’
‘And you all still sit down together for Sunday lunch?’
‘Not all of us all of the time. More like some of us some of the time. Lives.’ I shrug my shoulder, hitching my purse higher at the same time. ‘Jobs. Sunday hangovers. You know how it goes.’
‘Not really. Only child and all that,’ he answers, pushing his hands into his pockets. It’s weird how I remember all of these little quirks. The way he stares bashfully from under the mop of his hair and how he never seems to be able to keep still even when he’s standing in one spot. ‘Why do you think I spent so much time at your house?’
‘And here I thought it was my scintillating company.’
And then the weirdest thing happens; Barney’s face turns red. Yes, with blushing! The exact same way that mine does, but him instead
of me! I feel sort of tickled. Chuffed! Is this how Archer feels when I go pink when he teases? No, I don’t suppose it is. My joy is in solidarity, not in making fun of someone. Also, Barney’s red face doesn’t make me think of sex, and Barney’s red face especially does not make me think of Barney having sex. Except it does now—now that I’ve opened the floodgates of my ridiculous mind. It’s not a good thought, especially as that tell-tale sting begins in my cheeks.
‘I always did have a soft spot for you. Leif used to tease me about it.’
Wait, what? ‘That’s so sweet.’
‘In fact—’
‘Can I help you?’ My attention is drawn by the liveried desk clerk and his bland but professional smile.
‘Ah, my turn.’ I shoot Barney a small smile of my own as he instinctively steps back.
‘Of course. I’ll just wait over here.’
‘Just checking out. Room 312.’ I turn my attention back to the clerk, sliding the key over the dark wood desk towards him.
‘Should I charge the extras to the card on hold, or would you like to check an itemised list first?’
‘Could I see the print, please?’
It’s duly printed and handed to me, my eyes scanning the long list as my heart does a painful little two-step in my chest cavity. I knew it was going to be expensive. I just didn’t think it would be this kind of expensive as my eyes run down the list.
1 Moet & Chandon Piccolo.
Mine. And I had cause to celebrate. But, bloody hell. You can get a full bottle of the stuff for that price—probably vintage.
1 ½ bottle of French Chablis.
We’d needed wine for our impromptu bed-based cheese and wine party.
1 charcuterie board.
The cheese component of our cheese and wine party.
1 room service delivery charge.
See above.
1 Finlandia Vodka.
No idea, but I can guess.
1 Fever Tree tonic
The same again.
1 Couples Collection
Wait, what?
‘Excuse me. There seems to be one or two items on here that aren’t mine. Well, at least one.’ I swing the itemised bill around, pushing it across the desk as I point with my finger. ‘The vodka and tonic maybe, but the couple collection? I’m not sure what that is.’ But I can guess. ‘I didn’t even put the TV on the whole time I was here!’
‘Oh, that’s not a pay-of-view item. That’s from our minibar extras.’
‘I don’t know what it is but I can only tell you it’s not mine.’
‘It’s a, erm.’ The man’s gaze slides behind me to where Barney stands, but what is this? A blushing epidemic?
‘It’s a what?’
‘A couples intimate play kit,’ he says, leaning closer, though not really lowering his voice. ‘It’s available from the minibar. In a little silver box?’ he adds as though that’s supposed to help. ‘Labelled hubba-hubba.’
There really was no need for him to use that porn-y tone.
‘It still doesn’t ring a bell.’
The clerk cocks an eyebrow as though hearing something else in my words.
‘Condoms and lube, a vibrating ring, and a feather tickler. Perhaps the gentleman . . .’
I open my mouth and close it again, rolling my lips inward in a state of sudden mute shock. A couple behind me begin to snigger, and if they can hear, so can my childhood pal. I must look like I’ve been partying in my room alone. Or worse, maybe entertaining a passing rugby team.
‘No!’ I whisper-yell. ‘The gentleman did not.’
‘Do you think you might’ve picked up the play kit by accident and put it down?’
‘I didn’t pick anything up.’ This time, there’s less whispering in my shouting. ‘I didn’t even realise there was a—’ I lower my voice, pushing up on my tiptoes to get closer to the man on the other side of the desk as I manage to whisper this time, ‘play kit.’
Of course, as though summoned by my embarrassment, Archer appears next to me. As he slides his arm around my shoulders, he brings with him the scent of rain and fresh cut grass.
‘Where’ve you been all this time?’
‘Sorry, babe. There was a truck blocking me in. I had to track down the driver before I could move the car.’
‘Never mind that. There are a million charges on the bill, which is fine. But this one—’ I hammer my index finger on the offending—offensive?—item ‘—this one isn’t something we’ve used at all.’ Surely, I’d know.
‘Ah.’ He raises his gaze from the itemised bill, exchanging a look with the clerk. ‘We sort of did.’
‘Archer, I would’ve remembered.’
‘Not sure you would,’ he answers, his voice low.
‘I wasn’t that drunk!’
‘There are lots of kinds of drunk, sweetheart.’ And I shiver as he bends, brushing his lips against my ear. ‘And you were definitely fuck drunk at one or two points last night. Also, champagne makes you giggly.’
Funnily enough, his words are like cold water on my libido. I push him away. ‘That isn’t something we used—I’d know.’
But Archer already has his wallet out and is handing over his credit card.
‘I’ll explain on the way home.’ He signs the slip with a flourish, taking the itemised bill from the clerk’s hand which has been folded into a heavy stock envelope. ‘Promise.’ His hand returns to my shoulders, pulling me close.
‘Well, you’d better because that was the most embarrassing . . .’ In the commotion, I’d forgotten Barney who views the arms that Archer has around my arm with just a tiny hint of recrimination in his hazel gaze. ‘Oh, Barney, you waited.’ I find myself making a weird sort of magician’s reveal. Ta-daa!
‘I did say I would.’ Now he looks like a dog that’s been kicked. And I feel like I’m the person who kicked him as I paint on a smile and begin with the (awkward) introductions.
‘Archer, this is Barney. Barney and I grew up living next door to each other. He’s a doctor and works in Somalia with MSF. Barney, this is Archer. We work together.’ I look up into the face of Archer who stares back a little mutinously.
‘Yeah. We work well together.’ Our bodies already flush, Archer’s grip tightens across my shoulders, silently reminding me of all the ways we do work well.
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Barney sticks out his hand, ever the statesman. Even when he was an eight-year-old.
‘Same,’ Archer responds without conviction.
‘There was some trouble, I gather?’ Barney asks next, referring to the check-out desk.
‘Oh.’ My head swings that way briefly. ‘Nothing too bad. Right, Archer?’
‘Nothing bad at all. I’ll prove it to you later, if you like.’
My heart does the two-step again. Less painfully this time. Also, it appears to have relocated to my knickers.
‘So, you knew Heather when she was a girl?’
‘Yes. For a long time. The longest.’
‘But you guys haven’t kept in touch?’
‘It’s hard to keep in contact with anyone when you’re based in the middle of nowhere. But we’re catching up now, H, right?’
‘H?’ Archer peers down at me, the slight hitch in one of his brows.
‘Yes. It’s one of the more pleasant nicknames my brothers came up with.’
‘Oh.’ So much meaning in that little sound. ‘Barney here is a friend of your brothers?’
‘Yes, I suppose.’ He’s not jealous, is he? No. This is Archer, man of the ladies, by his own admission. So why does it look like he’s contemplating peeing up my leg? Could it be there’s an ascribed period between having sex with one man and getting within two feet of another? Or is there some kind of after-sex pheromone I’m throwing out?
‘Actually,’ Barney begins, his gaze dipping diffidently to the phone he now holds in his hand. ‘I’ve just spoken to Leif. And Sorrel. And your mum. Almost the whole family! And actually, I’ve been invited to Sunday lunch.�
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‘Where? At Mum’s?’ I’d had no plans to go today. A long soak in the bath, flannel pyjamas, and an afternoon of old films was in order, as far as I was concerned.
Or maybe an afternoon play of the highlights reel.
‘Yes. They’ll both be at your parents’ this afternoon. As I was driving back to London soon, I told them I’d bring you along, too. Should I call back and ask them to set a place for one more?’
19
Heather
‘Who was the hottie you were hanging off last weekend?’
‘Pardon?’ I ask, looking up quickly from my laptop, my mind lagging as my ears register something with potential for embarrassment.
‘At that wedding last week.’ Miranda, my cousin, picks up her phone from her polished concrete benchtop in her kitchen that was recently featured in an architectural magazine. Pale cabinetry with steel-coloured accents, including a row of lights like an uber hip art installation above the island bench we’re seated at.
‘Wedding?’ Oh, shit. ‘Yeah, I went to a wedding last week. You know I did.’ Despite my cool words, my heart does a little leap because Miranda knows very little detail of what went on last weekend. And when I say she knows very little detail, I pretty much mean she knows I went to a wedding. Miranda is my cousin and perhaps the person who knows me best in the world, but she knows nothing about Archer. Not a blessed thing, and I think that’s the way things should stay. It’s probably the way things will stay given the last time I saw him was last Sunday. My heart had plummeted, and he’d kissed me on my cheek, my stomach deciding to get in on the action, twisting with anguish as he’d disappeared through the hotel door.
He hadn’t come for lunch, and I don’t know which of us was more dismayed at Barney’s suggestion. Urgh, Barney. He’s such a good soul. And I think he might have a bit of a thing for me. Honestly, men must be like buses. You wait forever for one to turn up, only for two to come along at the same time. Not that I’m saying Archer and Barney are both interested in dating me. I’m almost certain Barney is. At least, he wants to take me to Inverness next time he’s home. As for Archer, who knows what he thinks? Not me, that’s for sure.