He was trying; Grace had to give him that. ‘You just weren’t there, Gracie. Like, I never got to see the real you and it didn’t even seem like you were that into me until I broke it off. I really didn’t think you’d be this bothered.’
Grace felt as if Liam had stuck a pin in her and she was slowly deflating until there’d be nothing left but a little pile of skin and hair and one hundred per cent cotton. ‘Well, I thought I put some serious effort into our relationship,’ she said in surprise, and she must have been looking all kinds of hurt because Liam gave her knee a gentle pat.
‘Maybe relationships shouldn’t be such hard work,’ he mused. ‘Like, if you’re right for someone then shouldn’t everything fall into place really easily?’
‘Don’t ask me. I realise I don’t know a thing about making someone else happy. Like, I knew you were going off me but I was powerless to do anything about it.’ It was probably because she was drunk and her defences were down, but Grace was pleased that she and Liam could give their three months a proper goodbye. ‘I’m going to end up alone, I just know it.’
‘Don’t be such a drama queen,’ Liam drawled, giving her another sideways smirk, and Grace remembered how he could usually tease her out of her bad moods. ‘Yeah, we didn’t work out, but some other guy will come along and he’ll think you’re ace. And we should be friends, Gracie. I need to have someone to bitch to when Dan starts trying to make me plan stag weekends and write best man speeches.’
They sighed in tandem at the hell that awaited them as the wedding got nearer. ‘Well, I s’pose you can never have too many friends.’ Grace paused as she debated whether she should roadtest Liam’s declaration of friendship. ‘So, if we’re friends, then can I ask you something as a friend? Something guy-related so I can get a male perspective on it?’
‘What guy?’ Liam asked suspiciously, like he was suddenly having trouble letting go of the boyfriend mindset.
‘This rich, older guy who bought me a designer handbag.’
‘Lily told me about that perv who picked you up in Liberty’s,’ Liam snapped. ‘He’s only after one thing.’
His reaction wasn’t exactly encouraging but Grace wanted to tell somebody, even if it was Liam. Especially as it was Liam. ‘If I tell you this, then you have to promise you won’t blab to anyone. Which mostly means Lily and Dan.’
Maybe it was the conspiratorial, low voice Grace used or the hand on his leg but Liam nodded, his mouth hanging open.
So Grace hit him with the highlights, drawing a discreet veil over anything that might have happened in the back of a limousine, and concentrating on the moral implications of letting the rich, older, strangely attractive, art-dealer guy who owned successful businesses in London and New York pay for the pleasure of her company.
‘So, what do you think?’ she asked anxiously. ‘It’s kinda surreal, isn’t it?’
Liam looked like he’d just witnessed a ten-car pile-up, which was deeply satisfying because it would be a while before he became a friend rather than a former boyfriend. ‘I think it’s fucking degrading. You’re not going to take him up on it, are you?’
‘Well, no . . .’
‘You can’t fuck someone just because they’re going to buy you some expensive shoes!’
‘I fucked you and all you ever bought me were a couple of cans of Stella and the condoms if I really nagged.’
‘But . . . but . . . but at least I . . . respected you!’
‘Oh, come on, Liam! You never took me anywhere nice, you never paid for anything, you took a picture of my tits on your camera phone and showed it to all your mates - how was that respecting me? At least he’s being honest about it.’
‘So you are going to do it, then?’
‘No!’ Grace pulled her fingers through her hair and groaned. ‘I don’t know. I’m hammered and thinking is really hard right now.’
Liam stood up solely so he could look disapprovingly down at Grace. ‘I might not have been the best boyfriend in the world but that’s no reason to give up on relationships and get into something this shady. He’s treating you like a whore.’
‘No, he’s not!’ Grace snapped immediately, though hadn’t she been thinking exactly the same thing? ‘You’re making out that it’s sordid and all to do with sex, and it’s not like that at all. He happens to think that I’m talented and he’s giving me sort of like a . . . an Arts Council grant to develop myself.’
The champagne had made everything glitter. Now it was wearing off, leaving Grace as flat as the dregs in her glass. Liam stopped boxing her in and took a step backwards. ‘God, it’s a fuck of a lot of money though. Five grand a month?’
Grace nodded frantically. ‘Plus a clothing allowance. And it would be, like, maybe six months out of my entire life, which is nothing really. I could pay off all my debts and—’
‘You are not doing this, Grace,’ Liam growled. ‘C’mon, babes, you’re too good for a creep like that.’ He was looking at her like he used to during those few weeks when she was the centre of his world.
‘You’re right,’ Grace sighed. ‘I know you’re right. I was just saying, is all.’ She drained the last mouthful of champagne. ‘But it’s not that bad being a mistress. ’Cause half the women on the party pages in the ES Magazine are mistresses and they don’t seem like skanks. Or what about those girls who go out with fugly guys just ’cause they’re Premier League footballers? They get given newspaper columns and no one judges them for anything except their crappy dress sense. And it would have been cool in this Holly Golightly way - we’re not even talking about fifty dollars for the powder room but five grand! Hey, did you know that Marilyn Monroe was meant to be in that film instead of Audrey Hepburn, but then she died?’
He didn’t know and couldn’t have cared any less. ‘You’re totally rat-arsed,’ Liam stated, sounding pleased that it was the alcohol talking and that common sense would prevail once the hangover kicked in.
‘Whatever,’ Grace mumbled listlessly. ‘I’m starting to sober up and I feel like crap.’
He held out his hand. ‘Come on, let’s share a cab home.’
chapter ten
Grace wasn’t sure what woke her. It could have been the need to glug down three pints of icy cold water because it felt as if someone had emptied a slagheap into her mouth. Or the sun glaring in through the open curtains. Or Liam’s hard-on digging into the small of her back.
Actually it was all of the above, but mostly Liam’s hand dive-bombing between her legs.
Grace had very little recollection of events after she’d staggered out of the bar wrapped around Liam, who’d been the only thing between her and the pavement. But somehow he’d managed to put her in a taxi (Grace was pretty sure he’d rifled through her purse to pay for it), got her home, took off all her clothes, pulled out the sofabed and was now trying to have sex with her. To think she used to accuse him of not being goal orientated enough.
‘What are you doing?’ Grace’s voice was muffled by the pillow, as she tried to wriggle away from his fumbling hand.
His mouth latched on to the back of her neck in a hot-breathed, wet kiss that made her flinch. ‘C’mon, Gracie, for old times’ sake.’
‘Shut up and go back to sleep.’ Grace grabbed the edge of the bed and hauled with all her might because Liam was slobbering over her shoulder and it was too early for this. ‘I’m tired and I’m trying very hard not to throw up.’
Liam kept butting his dick against her like a dog with a wet nose that wanted stroking. ‘I’ve got condoms,’ he offered generously, because going bareback was a Grace deal-breaker. Considerate of him to remember.
‘Go back to sleep,’ Grace rasped, and now she was wide awake and wishing she wasn’t.
‘Grace . . .’ Liam was whining now and trying to find her clit, though he was a good few centimetres off. ‘Look, this was always good between us.’
Yeah, keep clinging to that illusion, Grace thought to herself, but she wriggled free of Liam’s hands so she c
ould roll over. ‘What happened to just being friends?’
Liam was already trying to fit their bodies together, entwining his legs with Grace’s. ‘Friends with benefits,’ he clarified, leaning in to try to kiss her, though Grace winced as the smell of morning breath assaulted her. She was pretty sure that her own didn’t smell much better.
‘Don’t “friends with benefits” me,’ she said, rubbing the back of his neck to take the sting out of her words. ‘Look, you go and brush your teeth, then I’ll brush my teeth and if you make me a cup of tea while I’m doing it, we can have a cuddle. But I’m putting my knickers back on.’
‘Cuddle with knickers off and I’ll make you toast too,’ Liam offered, clambering out of the sofabed, which creaked alarmingly.
‘It’s not a negotiation, Liam,’ Grace said, as she watched him pad across the room. He did have a nice arse - malleable yet firm, even though he lived on fried food and did absolutely no exercise. ‘And two sugars, please.’
They’d ended up having sex, because the cuddling just hadn’t worked out. Contrary to popular belief, sometimes Grace did like to hug and cuddle and just be held in someone’s arms for the sheer comfort of being held. But it hadn’t worked this time. Something had come between them - Liam’s penis, which had made its presence felt and Liam’s face contort like he was in pain until Grace had taken pity on both of them.
‘Go on,’ she’d sighed, pulling free of Liam’s embrace so she could slide her knickers off. ‘Just this once, but don’t think we’re going to make it a regular thing.’
Sex with Liam certainly wasn’t good enough to ever become a regular thing, and he’d given her a lovebite. Grace only noticed it once he’d left after a brief hug and a promise to call her.
Then she’d had to wait ages to get into the bathroom as Eileen from the ground-floor flat was doing her weekly scrub with her bucket of cleaning fluids, though Grace didn’t know why she bothered. When she finally heard Eileen trudge back to her own two lonely little rooms, Grace locked herself in the bathroom and as she waited the twenty minutes for the tub to fill up, there was nothing to do but either stare at the lovebite in the cracked mirror above the cracked sink or stare at the avocado tiles and stained grouting.
Once the bath was full of water that was a few degrees too hot for comfort, Grace carefully lowered herself into the tub and sat there, knees hugged to her chest and a slight ache between her legs. She knew she’d never be able to forgive Liam for this. Which was a strange but effective way to move forward.
And in some ways, a grudge fuck with Liam simpled things up. There was no way she should feel this dirty and used and have nothing to show for it but a dark, throbbing bruise in the wrong season for polo necks.
Vaughn had been right - she was worth so much more than this.
Once she was scrubbed clean, Grace dug out her emergency credit card, unsullied in its never-been-used splendour, from where she’d wedged it down the back of the fridge. Then she headed for Oxford Street.
Grace hadn’t shopped like this in months. She started at Liberty’s and worked her way down to Marble Arch, not even bothering to stop in Primark or New Look because ten-pound dresses couldn’t soothe the hurt inside. She didn’t look at the price tags or try anything on, just snatched up something satin in her favourite shade of emerald green, which slithered between her fingers. Grabbed a pair of shoes with that buttery leather smell that always made her feel high. A necklace here, a Balenciaga bag there.
Grace didn’t want to know how much she’d spent and actually she didn’t really care. She just wanted to fill up the gaping chasm inside her with pretty things. Grace always told herself that these occasional shopping binges, which only happened in the most dire of circumstances, didn’t matter too much in the grand scheme of all her many debts. She’d still owe thousands and thousands of pounds anyway just from not being able to live on what she earned at Skirt, so what difference did a few more thousand make to Mr Visa or Mr Mastercard? Though it was odd that she’d chosen an out-of-control shopping habit for her emotional disorder when her grandparents were the poster OAPs for frugality.
Seams were let out, hems were taken down, and when an item of clothing was deemed beyond repair, her grandmother would cut it up and find fifty different uses for it. The stale end of the loaf became bread and butter pudding. They saved on petrol and walked any distance that was less than three miles. These were lessons that had been drummed into Grace from the age of eight, but they obviously hadn’t stuck, she thought as she collapsed on to one of the stone benches outside Selfridges, the fancy ribbon handles on all the stiff cardboard bags cutting into her hands. She sat there for several minutes staring at the welts criss-crossing her palms, then pulled out her phone.
Vaughn answered just as Grace hoped it would roll over to voicemail.
‘It’s Grace,’ she said flatly.
‘Oh, I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever hear from you again.’ She could hear the caution carved into each syllable. ‘Is it yes or no?’
That was the only thing she liked about him right now. He wasn’t into bullshit; he just got straight to the point.
‘I need to ask you some stuff. About, like, this arrangement,’ she ground out and she could practically hear him arching an eyebrow.
‘Now? Over the phone?’
‘Yup.’ Flippancy seemed like the best way to go. As if this was the kind of conversation she’d had a million times and in her experience over the phone was just peachy, thanks for asking.
‘I don’t th—Where are you? You sound as if you’re at a football match.’
Grace paused as a bus vibrated noisily behind her. ‘Oxford Street,’ she admitted unwillingly because she knew, in a freakish sixth-sense sort of way, exactly what Vaughn was going to say next.
‘Perfect. I’m finishing some work at the office. Come straight over.’
Which was reasonable and made sense, if she didn’t have a skanky bruise on her neck and the net worth of several Third World nations in her bags. ‘Well, now’s really not a good time,’ she prevaricated. ‘I have stuff to do.’
‘What’s that? I can’t hear a word you’re saying.’ He so could. ‘Just be a good girl and come over.’
‘But I’m not a good girl,’ Grace said, bristling angrily. ‘Isn’t that the whole point?’
‘I’ll see you in the next half-hour,’ Vaughn said crisply, then he had the fucking nerve to hang up on her.
Half an hour and well, seven minutes later, Grace was standing in front of the gallery and looking down doubtfully at the black clam-diggers and sleeveless pin-tucked blouse, which had officially gone ‘missing’ on a shoot and never been returned to the press office. Then she adjusted the scarf she’d just bought and knotted round her neck, choker-style, to make sure it was still covering the bite.
She couldn’t put off pressing the door buzzer any longer. ‘It’s me, Grace,’ she said, when Vaughn’s disembodied voice floated through the speaker.
There was an awful ‘push me/pull me’ as she tried to open the door in the allotted time but there was no sign of Vaughn, so Grace stashed her bags behind the reception desk and took a few deep breaths.
‘There you are,’ said a voice behind her and Grace turned around, face flaring up as if she’d been caught stealing from the till rather than foofing up the limp strands of her hair. ‘I’d almost given up on you.’
Grace’s hand was already creeping up to make sure that the scarf was secure but she forced it down and feigned an indifferent shrug. ‘Slow-moving tourists,’ was all the explanation she could come up with. She hoped Vaughn would stay on the half-landing and she’d stay cowering behind the desk and launch into her speech but he was already tripping down the last flight of stairs.
He was wearing dark blue jeans and a faded green T-shirt with a disintegrating logo on it that Grace couldn’t identify but didn’t want to get caught staring. So she concentrated on his feet, even though the Camper shoes were another tiny mind fuck. Vau
ghn did casual Sundays? Who knew?
Not that it made him less intimidating but maybe Vaughn realised that Grace was seconds away from a major freak-out because he stood a few feet away and gestured at the stairs.
‘It’s almost as hot as New York. I’ve been working on the roof terrace - the view’s quite incredible.’ He was talking too much, giving Grace too much explanation - could he be as nervous as she was? ‘Shall we go up there?’
Grace nodded and followed Vaughn up the stairs. On the second floor he paused. ‘Does this merit a glass of champagne?’
‘God, no! I’m still recovering from last night,’ she amended at a less shrieky volume, fingers worrying at the edge of the scarf again. ‘Actually, I’ve given up alcohol. I’m taking the pledge tomorrow.’
And that was the right note because Vaughn smiled ever so slightly. ‘I’ve come to the same decision many times but it never lasts more than twenty-four hours. Do you want a cold drink?’
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