Still Thinking of You

by Adele Parks

  Many girls and women kept similar memento boxes. There might even be boys who did the same thing, but it seemed unlikely. These boxes housed tickets from particular cinema visits, where their date had been especially solicitous, invites to weddings, old diaries, even the occasional pressed flowers. It wasn’t just the Victorians that had a penchant for the sentimental. Jayne’s box housed fourteen old diaries, dating back from her sixteenth birthday, until last year. The diaries were all different, reflecting the tastes of a gauche teenage girl who had grown into a sophisticated woman; pink plastic covers were swapped for deep-brown buckskin. There were a handful of photos and numerous tube tickets, some as old as ten years. Jayne picked them up and carefully counted them. There were sixty-six – she knew that before she counted them. There were a couple of beer mats, three champagne corks and a dog-eared copy of The Catcher in the Rye. There was a torn envelope, addressed to her, and on the back, in a different handwriting, someone had written ‘Later X’. There was another scrap of paper on which the word ‘plumber’ and a telephone number were written. There was a small cardboard box inside which lay what looked suspiciously like toenail cuttings, curled and yellow, and two or three pubic hairs, curled and brown.

  She took this box with her wherever she went. Even on holidays, despite the fact that it took up so much space in her suitcase and seriously affected what else she could pack. If Jayne’s flat were ever to go up in flames, and she was only able to save one thing, she’d let her hamster burn and save the box.

  Looking through her treasure box always cheered her up. Here was evidence of their relationship. The diaries detailed how Rich had taken Jayne’s virginity on her sixteenth birthday and, while they hadn’t actually met for the next five years, hardly a day went by when his name didn’t appear in the diaries. None of the boys in her sixth form or at university could even come close. They were silly, inexperienced and, the biggest sin of all – as far as the teenage Jayne had been concerned – spotty. Most of them had those awful yellow spots that oozed or spurted gooey pus. Jayne couldn’t imagine giving herself to those bags of hormones. Rich was, by contrast, beautiful. He was tall and lean and rugged. The handful of photos proved that. He looked surprised in all the shots. He didn’t really like having his photo taken, and he’d always mess about covering his face with his hands or a magazine. As though she was a tabloid photographer and had caught him, a reluctant star. The only photo he looked peaceful in was the one that she had taken of him sleeping.

  It was Rich who had inspired Jayne to become a management consultant. Not that he actually recommended the career path to her, but he was very helpful when she left university and expressed an interest in becoming a consultant. He’d met her for coffee and laughed about the lousy hours and the lovely pay packets. It had been the obvious move for Jayne to apply to Peterson Windlooper because Rich seemed so inspired working there.

  Their relationship had begun in earnest pretty soon after that, as soon as Jayne moved to London from college. The sixty-six tube tickets were gathered over the next nine years, two tickets for every time Jayne made the journey to and from Rich’s flat in Islington.

  Jayne had examined the scraps of paper that Rich had written on, the note he’d left for her, ‘Later X’, and the telephone number of the plumber that she’d stolen from his flat. She’d fingered the book that he’d recommended that she read, and the corks saved from the bottles of champagne that she’d bought and they’d enjoyed together.

  A fourteen-year relationship.

  Clearly he’d confessed to dozens of scenarios to Tash, but not hers. Jayne couldn’t understand it. Was he so ashamed of her?

  Jayne reflected on this for a moment. Maybe there was another reason that Rich had never mentioned her to Tash, nothing to do with shame, indifference or neglect. Maybe he was protecting the sanctity of their relationship.

  Jayne instantly felt cheered. Yes, that seemed possible.

  That seemed probable.

  The relationship between Rich and Jayne was so precious to him that he’d refused to spill out the details to Tash just for her titillation. It was perfectly possible that Rich was being a gentleman. Because he cared.

  He cared for her.

  Jayne thought she might order some champagne right now. She went to the bar and bought a bottle, ignoring the odd look that the bargirl insisted on bestowing.

  He hadn’t pulled away from her kiss straight away, had he?

  In fact, it sort of felt as though he’d kissed her back, or at least wanted to. Jayne took a sip of champagne, then another. It was obvious. Rich had found himself drawn into this marriage thing, but he wasn’t serious about it. Not really.

  Jayne took a massive gulp of champagne and half emptied her glass. The crazy bubbles danced on her tongue, demanding she lose her senses, which, after all, she was already keen to fling away.

  If he was serious about marrying Tash, he would never have agreed to Jayne coming along on holiday. Clearly he wanted Tash to find out about them and to call off the wedding, so that he and Jayne could get back together.

  Of course. It was crystal. Jayne took another massive swig, and this time she hardly noticed the sharp, almost bitter taste as she began to float, happily intoxicated. Jayne had always found that champagne took away the world’s problems; luckily her lifestyle – scattered with expense accounts and devoted suitors – was such that she could drink lots of it without either appearing like a lush or breaking the bank.

  And he hadn’t yet called off the wedding himself because…?

  Because he was too kind-hearted. Yes, that was it! He didn’t want to hurt Tash. And, fair enough, Tash was a sufficiently nice girl. Jayne could admit this much now she was cocooned in the happiness that is champagne. Not a very special girl. Not good enough for Rich. But he was so kind that he didn’t like to hurt anyone.

  Jayne had already forgotten how Rich had hurt her for many, many years by denying and ignoring her, by breaking dates and failing to call. The tears that had threatened to overwhelm her as she walked into the bar receded. How could he not want her? Every man she’d ever met wanted her, and she wasn’t even half decent to most of those. She was very sweet to Rich. Besides, she was clever and pretty, she supported his football team, played the same sports as him, read the same books, laughed at his lousy jokes.

  Jayne was blind with passion, and so had never seen the disinterest in Rich’s face as he flipped her over in the sack, preferring to take her from behind rather than risk acknowledging any intensity of emotion – love or need – that her face may have inadvertently betrayed. Jayne was blind to his rejections. She had always excused the fact that he would never meet up with her until after the pubs kicked out. She had never noticed that he’d never once said anything that remotely hinted towards a commitment or a future. He’d never said anything that would indicate that they were in a relationship. She never acknowledged that they saw each other on average once every four months. The facts that he’d stopped sleeping with her once he met Tash and that he’d proposed to Tash, that he openly, frequently and happily declared his love for Tash – all seemed irrelevant to Jayne.

  She wanted him so much. More than she’d ever wanted a puppy or a Raleigh bike. More than she’d ever wanted anything else in her life. And for longer than she’d ever wanted anything else.

  Jayne always got what she wanted.

  The university place she wanted. The exam results she wanted. The job she wanted. The figure she wanted. The pay rise she wanted. She even got the shoes she wanted that just matched so perfectly with her handbag bought for that very special occasion. Not getting what she wanted was not an option! Rich had made a terrible error of judgement, an error she could correct, which he needed her to correct. He needed her help. She was the girl for him, not Natasha. She would stop this wedding, she had to.

  But how?

  At that moment Jase walked into the bar. Like Jayne, he had immediately scoped the room to hunt out any potential totty. After all, he w
as on holiday and scoring was de rigueur. He was delighted to spot Jayne huddled in the corner with no company other than a bottle of champagne. He grinned to himself – that girl had a serious sense of style.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’ he asked. He was already holding a champagne flute.

  Jayne looked startled, but immediately recovered her aplomb and then looked delighted. ‘Of course not, it would be lovely.’

  ‘Are you celebrating?’ asked Jase, nodding towards the champagne bottle.

  ‘I am now,’ smiled Jayne, patting the space on the bench next to her. As she leant over to fill Jason’s glass, she took care to let her breast brush against his arm. She was cold and her nipples were standing at attention. Jayne noticed Jase blush and was pleased. There was no way he’d ever brush off her kisses.

  27. Another Night in Paradise

  ‘Wow, Mia, you look amazing,’ said Kate, looking up from her magazine.

  Kate, Tash and Jayne were settled on the sofas in front of the open fire in the hotel foyer. The scene was cosy. Kate was reading a magazine and enjoying a G & T. Jayne was dozing, stretched out on one of the sofas. Her magazine lay discarded and open across her chest. An empty glass of what had been red wine sat on the table. After finishing the bottle of champagne with Jason she’d decided it was best to carry on drinking, rather than stop and risk the onset of a hangover. She was resting her head on Tash’s lap. Tash did not seem freaked by this, although Mia would have been horrified if Jayne, or any woman for that matter, had curled up with her so intimately. Tash was also reading a magazine, and she held it high and to one side so as not to disturb the sleepy Jayne. Despite their über-trendy gear, they put Mia in mind of Roman empresses, lolling on perfumed beds waiting for the return of their conquering heroes.

  Kate and Mia sat a little distance from Tash and Jayne, excusing themselves by explaining that they wanted to chat and did not want to disturb Jayne. Kate was worried that Mia wasn’t happy about Jayne joining the party. She couldn’t quite understand why it would upset Mia as much as it clearly did, but she was sorry to have caused her best friend any disquiet. She did her utmost to make amends through flattery.

  ‘Yes, those jeans really suit you, and your skin looks radiant. It must be all the fresh air.’

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ said Mia. She had made an effort. She’d spent the afternoon in the hotel’s spa. She’d had a manicure and pedicure, and spent an hour in the Jacuzzi. In her room she’d tried on several outfits, only to discover just how hard it was to look fabulously sexy and keep warm at the same time. She didn’t quite know how Jayne and Tash pulled it off, but she’d rather rip out her own eyeballs than ask either of them for sartorial advice. After considerable effort and numerous combinations, Mia had settled on a pair of Earl jeans and a black, polo-neck cashmere jumper. The jeans flattered her bottom and thighs, and the jumper clung to her full, round breasts. Unusually for Mia, she’d taken the time to apply full make-up, including a red slash of lipstick on her plump lips. The overall effect was good. Only she knew that she was wearing Marks and Spencer minimizing knickers and a thermal vest. She wasn’t too worried about her underwear, as she didn’t really believe that they would make their debut tonight.

  Her plan tonight was to keep in the running, not to get knocked out in the early heats, so to speak. And while she thought that the proposition of competing with Jayne for Scaley Jase’s affections was a little demeaning, she comforted herself with the fact that she wasn’t really competing for a man’s affections or even his attention, just a sperm donation. She told herself that this was scientific, practical, nothing to do with emotions. Still, she was grateful for Kate’s compliment. Although she was determined not to acknowledge the fact, she was as nervous as hell.

  ‘Goodness, I feel so drab in comparison to you three,’ added Kate.

  Mia felt the marvellous effect of the compliment vanish, believing that it wasn’t so much rooted in a genuine respect for Mia’s own carefully chosen ensemble as in Kate’s deep-seated lack of confidence. Good manners now demanded that Mia reassure Kate. She ought to say that Kate’s new haircut was flattering. Which, indeed, it was. Or she could say that her shoes were fantastic – it was rare to see Kate in heels. Mia stayed silent. And grumpy.

  Kate wondered if Mia had noticed her new haircut, perhaps it wasn’t radical enough. What a shame if it wasn’t noticeable. It had cost nearly £400 for the cut and colour, and Kate had had to wait several months on a list to get an appointment with the award-winning stylist who, rumour had it, also cut Madonna’s hair. She fingered the ends around the nape of her neck and sighed. In truth, she’d suspected that the cut was a little ordinary, but felt that for all the hype around the stylist and all that cash she’d paid, she had to be mistaken.

  ‘How are you getting on with the boarding?’ asked Kate.

  ‘I’m not,’ Mia whispered, turning away from Jayne and Tash. ‘I can’t get the hang of it.’

  ‘Well, you have only been trying for half a day.’

  ‘There might only ever be half a day,’ said Mia grimly. She shifted on the chair. She never thought she’d see the time when she bemoaned a lack of padding on her bum. ‘Scaley Jase is being depressingly impressive. He mastered his toe and heel edge; he can already traverse at some speed. I’m sure by the end of the week he’ll be speeding down black runs brilliantly,’ spat Mia without doing much to hide her envy or irritation.

  ‘Oh, come on, Mia. You knew he’d be marvellous. He’s a great sportsman and totally fearless, almost bordering on the insane. That’s what you love about him.’

  ‘I don’t love anything about him,’ hissed Mia, further infuriated by Kate’s choice of words. ‘Why would I love his insanity? I’m a very measured person, extremely considered.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Kate, with a sigh. She didn’t bother to expand. Mia would understand her if she wanted to. She paused before tentatively adding, ‘I’m not sure if I’ll ski tomorrow.’

  Suddenly, Tash piped up, ‘Do you fancy an alternative buzz?’

  ‘Quite,’ said Kate, who wasn’t actually sure what Tash had offered. Mia glared. She hoped that Tash hadn’t heard the entire conversation. It was private.

  ‘Boarding?’ asked Tash.

  ‘Not boarding,’ said Kate with a definite tone that no one questioned. Tash thought for a second. ‘There’s quad bike riding, snowmobiles and climbing. I could take a day off the slopes, too, and join you if you’d like some company.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, but I was more thinking a walk, perhaps with a guide.’ In fact, Kate was thinking of a walk as far as the next crêperie, but didn’t want to say.

  ‘Well, just let me know if you fancy some company,’ said Tash, turning back to her magazine and fiddling with Jayne’s hair.

  ‘It looks like you guys cleared out the magazine rack,’ said Mia, as she idly picked up a couple of the mags that the women were reading, then dropped them again. She couldn’t help but wonder at their shiny insincerity. None of them related to her. Not the titles that were aimed at the bimbo, the chatterbox, the bride or even the thinking woman. She wasn’t interested in interior design or gardening and, while she did enjoy cooking, she didn’t need a magazine to tell her how to do it.

  There had been a period in her life when she had subscribed to FitLife. It was at that time that she had employed a personal trainer. It had been a successful ruse and for a while Mia’s thighs were brought under control, for a monthly cost that was greater than her mortgage repayments. She tried to remember why she stopped seeing her trainer. She had the feeling that it was because she decided that she could do without him. The way, in the end, she always decided she could do without everyone. Mia was a fast learner and had soon learnt his routine. Five laps around the common. One hundred sit-ups. Eighty press-ups. Sixty lunges on each leg. Forty bench presses – against a felled tree, for God’s sake. Twenty squats, and then cool down. La, la, la. It soon became very predictable. As it happened, she couldn’t do without him,
or rather, didn’t do it without him. She never ran around the common and couldn’t remember the last time she attempted a lunge. Instead she resorted to wearing flared skirts that camouflaged her growing thighs. She cancelled her subscription to FitLife.

  Mia noticed that Jayne and Tash had each purchased a clutch of beauty and gossip magazines – how predictable– and Kate was looking at the posh parenting one called Junior.

  ‘Why do you waste your time and money on magazines that think highbrow is a new way to wear your hair and the deep articles are about how to guarantee multiple orgasms?’

  ‘Is there more to life?’ commented Tash dryly. She glared at Mia. The gloves had come off in the pizzeria this afternoon and Tash felt liberated. Mia was an intellectual snob. She was cold and disapproving. Tash couldn’t understand why Rich numbered her amongst his best friends and she knew she would never feel the same.

  ‘We’re just killing time waiting for the guys,’ said Kate apologetically and diplomatically. In truth, she loved a good magazine. They were a mix between a best friend, a mother, a counsellor and a personal shopper. Kate looked for another topic of conversation, and chose badly. ‘Jayne looks better every year, doesn’t she?’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes,’ admitted Mia. Jayne’s chestnut hair tumbled across Tash’s thighs, catching the light thrown from the open fire and shimmering. Her skin was peachy smooth, and Mia wondered what it felt like. Velvet, she supposed. No doubt Scaley would be in a position to tell her exactly what it felt like, very soon. She sighed, depressed.

  Jayne was, without doubt, dazzling. Mia liked to think that, as a feminist, she always looked beyond the superficial. She hated the way women were continually judged on their looks. And yet she found that she judged that way all the time.

  ‘It just goes to show what money can do. I bet she spends every Saturday in the beautician’s,’ whispered Mia, which was in fact what she did herself. Kate didn’t – her beautician came to the house. Neither girl confided this to the other.