Still Thinking of You

by Adele Parks

  ‘Where are Rich and Jayne?’ asked Kate as soon as the credits began to roll. She wanted to start up a conversation immediately because she didn’t want to be drawn into a critical appraisal of the film. She had nothing to say about it because she never used expletives.

  ‘Jayne’s waiting for us at Bar de la Galerie, and I think Rich has decided to have an early night,’ Mia knew half of this was likely to be true.

  ‘Very sensible,’ said Kate, yawning. ‘I’m going to hit the hay, too. I wonder if Ted will still be awake.’ Kate kissed the other two and said her goodnights, congratulating herself that for two out of three nights she had avoided the bar. Jason and Mia zipped up their jackets and headed for Bar de la Galerie.

  Jason pulled open the huge bar door and a cloud of noise, smoke and good-time vibe almost knocked them over. He grinned at Mia, and stepped forward confidently. Jason liked to be inside noisy, funky bars where conversation was often replaced by meaningful, loaded looks, slow drags on cigarettes and long slurps of cold beer. He considered himself a simple man.

  Mia followed Scaley. She felt the beat of the current track bounce through her boots and rebound up her body. She swore her lungs, kidneys and heart were all internally dancing; only her ribcage stopped them escaping altogether. She was almost surprised to recognize the feelings of excitement and anticipation that came with having a good time. She’d forgotten how much fun could be had at a noisy, funky bar. It wasn’t her recent scene. You were much more likely to find Mia enjoying a private supper or visiting an art gallery with a girlfriend. Kate said it was defeatist and repeatedly argued that Mia would never meet anyone like that.

  Which was a bloody cheek.

  Mia did not need to take romantic advice from Ms Monopoly, thank you very much. Just because Ms Monopoly was happily ensconced in yaya lala land, with the lovely, cuddly (and wealthy) Big Ted and their three perfect children. Just because Ms Monopoly had everything Mia wanted, and more, was no reason for Mia suddenly to take advice from her on her love life. Everyone knew Ms Monopoly was naive beyond belief. She’d just got lucky with Big Ted. They’d both moved quickly before they, or anyone else, knew any better, and happily it had turned out OK. It was a bit of luck – it did not make Kate the grand master of all matters amorous.

  Besides, in the not so distant past, Mia had visited more bars than Kate could begin to conceive. The bars she used to frequent in London were smarter than this one, the music was more obscure, the cocktail lists were longer, yet she never seemed to have much of a giggle no matter how many squashy leather chairs there were to lose yourself in, and no matter how many enormous vases of lilies were placed on the shiny, mahogany coffee tables. Although, she did find those rainforest-sized flower displays useful to hide behind if she didn’t like the look of her date. Because, yes, she’d had blind dates.

  After she’d dated every single male of her acquaintance and of her friends’ acquaintance, after she’d followed up on every chance encounter and said yes to those guys that were nice enough but in fact not enough, after all of that – when she still hadn’t found anyone who made her sides split with laughter, her knickers leap with expectancy and her heart pound with the unknown (or, indeed, even one of the three) – she’d tried Internet dating, blind dates and, as Tash had accurately pointed out, even an ad in Time Out.

  It wasn’t that she couldn’t find dates without resorting to these means, more that she couldn’t meet anyone who ‘got’ her, and she reasoned that she was looking in the wrong places. At least with an Internet profile she had the chance of meeting someone who knew their Claude Monet from their Édouard Manet. But they all looked like her uncles. Or someone else’s uncle. Or maybe they looked OK and they knew their wines, but they didn’t laugh much. Or they laughed too much, too loudly, too desperately. Or… well, whatever. There was always a reason that they weren’t right, whether she met them in bars, at clubs or on line.

  So what did Ms Monopoly know?

  No matter now.

  She had her plan.

  It was a shame she couldn’t have met someone like Scaley. In her extensive search she had never found that type of a man who knew when to say ‘sorry’, ‘excuse me’ and ‘pardon’. They always got that wrong. She had never met a man who was so entirely Colin Firth in front of the parents and Colin Farrell in bed. Scaley was. She liked the fact that even in bars without floral arrangements, but with damp walls instead, she still felt excited, alive, if she was with him. He was a man who took her seriously, but not too much so. Not as seriously as she took herself. He was a man who knew more than she did about Impressionist painters. He was the man who had made her feel genuinely relaxed this holiday, more so than yoga classes, aromatherapy massages or even a stiff gin and tonic.

  A man that was currently craning his neck to look for another woman.

  Mia pulled herself up short. She wasn’t even drinking, why on earth was she indulging in this line of thought? Why was she viewing Scaley through rose-tinted glasses? It had to be her hormones. Definitely something to do with the time of the month. She remembered that time she flirted outrageously with the butcher on the deli counter in Harvey Nicks because he had strong hands. She temporarily forgot that, while in possession of ten big, manly digits, that was probably the amount of brain cells he had, too. He was totally unsuitable. And yet she had fancied him madly for five days and fantasized about the way he confidently picked up raw cuts of pork. She was mesmerized as he slapped the pieces on the scales and cheekily informed her that it was ‘A little bit over, but every girl likes a bit extra’. She’d never eaten so much meat in her life as she did that week. She had been quite ill with indigestion. But then her obsession abruptly stopped as suddenly as it had started, coinciding exactly with her cycle. It was Mother Nature’s way of trying to chivvy her along, telling her to get out there and reproduce.

  Scaley was just as unsuitable as the fat-fingered butcher, or the toyboy banker-wankers, or the countless other five-day infatuations Mia had enjoyed. He was deeply unsuitable. He was a desperate, womanizing commitment phobe. He was old ground. She never travelled backwards. They had nothing in common. He was exactly like the butcher.

  Only brighter.

  Stop it! Mia yelled at herself, almost frightening herself, she was formidable. OK, so she was on a high – the plan was back on track. But that was no excuse to get confused. Scaley Jase was exactly like the butcher only brighter, which made him the ideal sperm bank and nothing more.

  ‘I wonder where Jayne’s got to?’

  Jase didn’t want to appear keen in front of Mia, but on the other hand all he could think about was whether Jayne would show up and he’d get to see her tiny, lithe body writhing on the dance floor. Better yet that he might get to writhe with her both on the floor and in bed.

  Mia sighed, and pulled her face into an expression that was supposed to convey sympathy. It was tricky when she wanted to give the air a euphoric punch of victory.

  ‘You quite fancy Jayne, don’t you?’ she asked Jason. She had to yell very loudly to be heard above the music.

  ‘No more than any other man,’ he lied. Not wanting to confess to fancying a woman who was possibly a no-show, despite the fact he’d been all but undressing her in public for the past forty-eight hours.

  ‘Jayne, she’s a regular package holiday, isn’t she?’ grinned Mia.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Until Mia had made that comment, she had managed to secure only about 10 per cent of Jason’s attention. She was sharing it with his attempt to catch the bartender’s eye (and it did annoy her that even though he had a beer in his hand he was already trying to order his next one), his particular search for Jayne and a more general exploration of the dance floor as he eyed up any remotely attractive girl. It was habit. Mia’s intriguing opener had guaranteed 100 per cent of his interest, as she had known it would. She’d thrown him the line; he’d bitten. Now all she had to do was reel him in very, very carefully.

  ‘Well, you get all the thrills
and fun of a cheap, convenient deal. The only problem is you are off enjoying the holiday and the baggage arrives late. Late enough to ruin the whole shebang.’ Mia used the loud music as an excuse to lean in very close to Scaley Jase. Her breath was warm on his neck and her breast nudged his elbow.

  ‘What are you talking about? Stop talking in clever metaphors. Just say what you want to say.’ Sometimes Mia’s contrived cleverness really got on Jase’s nerves, usually when he didn’t know what she was being contriving and clever about.

  ‘I don’t know if I should say anything,’ said Mia cautiously. She knew that she had to appear reluctant. Elation was not a suitable response to uncovering a friend’s infidelity.

  ‘What baggage?’

  ‘Look, I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d thought you were interested in Jayne for yourself, but as you’re not…’ Mia paused for effect. She deserved an Oscar or at least a Grammy. ‘Well, I do need a bit of advice, and I have to tell someone.’ More warm breath, more breast brushing up against elbow.

  ‘Tell someone what?’

  ‘You probably know anyway, being so close to Rich and everything. I’m sure he’s already confided in you, so I’m not gossiping.’ Mia’s whisper was deep and husky, she sounded as though she smoked twenty a day – which indeed she had until she’d decided she wanted to conceive.

  ‘What?’ Jase almost shouted with barely contained excitement.

  ‘About Rich and Jayne.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Jason, usually the epitome of cool, spluttered into his beer and pulled away from Mia.

  ‘I’d thought something was going on. They seemed to know each other beyond casual acquaintances, and they are always touching each other.’

  The penny dropped, nearly knocking Jason out cold. ‘They’re having an affair, right?’ He wanted to be wrong.

  ‘Right,’ confirmed Mia.

  Jason took another swig of his beer and concentrated on not moving his face so much as a fraction. First, he needed to decide which expression to settle into. What was appropriate? Raised eyebrows to show shock? Open mouth to show horror? Or a lewd wink that suggested his best friend playing away on his prenuptial holiday was entirely acceptable? Jase remembered that he was with Mia and so decided he didn’t need to act. His face twisted with hurt.

  ‘He’s never said anything to me.’

  And oddly that was why Jason was feeling hurt. Not the fact that his latest would-be conquest had been conquered by someone else. All thoughts of Jayne’s fantastic blow job and the promise of as yet undiscovered delights in the sack vanished. The fantasy of Jayne making a great steady girlfriend disappeared instantly, even faster than its admittedly rapid appearance. After all, there were always other fish in the sea. But the fact that Rich had kept something so mammoth a secret from him – that betrayal stung.

  ‘I saw them kissing in the foyer of the cinema this evening.’

  Jason tried to compute this information.

  ‘That’s not necessarily an affair. Neither of them has confided in you, have they?’

  ‘Neither of them bothered to deny it,’ said Mia. ‘They do work together, so it’s possible. They’ve spent a lot of time together this hol. They clearly get along. Thinking about it, Jayne suits Rich better than Tash does.’

  Mia needed Jason to believe that Rich and Jayne were something of an item. If they were simply having a meaningless fling (his last and her rebound), then Jason would not move on from wanting Jayne. In fact, he would probably see her willingness to be a slut as a definite turn-on. Mia knew that neither Jase nor Rich was squeamish about sloppy seconds and had a number of past conquests in common. Herself included.

  ‘Poor Tash,’ muttered Jase.

  This startled Mia. She was so wrapped up in her own scheme that she had failed to consider how the consequences of this liaison would affect anyone but her.

  ‘Suppose,’ she admitted grumpily. Mia rarely spared sympathy for women who had been cheated on. There were too many of them; it would be an endless and exhausting mission. Jase finally managed to catch the bartender’s attention. He ordered two double whiskys. He pushed one towards Mia and downed the other himself. He immediately repeated the order.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked Mia.

  ‘Do?’ She was confused.

  ‘Are you going to tell Tash?’

  ‘Hell, no.’

  ‘Don’t you think you should?’

  ‘It’s not my business.’

  ‘Well, it sort of is, now that you know.’

  ‘You know, too. What are you going to do?’ asked Mia, lobbying the ball of moral responsibility firmly back over the net towards Jason.

  ‘Right now, I’m going to get very drunk and then…’ Scaley Jase paused and looked around the dance floor. His eyes rested on a girl of about twenty years old who was wildly circling around her friend as though her friend was a pole in a Spearmint Rhino lap-dancing bar. Clearly very drunk already, she was strutting her not particularly funky stuff in a clumsy but amusing way. She wore a short denim skirt and a white boob tube. She was amply endowed and so she repeatedly had to hike it up because her enthusiastic dance movements were in danger of leaving her exposed. She wore too much make-up, even by Jase’s standards.

  ‘And, then, I am going to sleep with her, if she wants to,’ said Jason.

  Tuesday

  41. The Morning After

  Jason woke up next to the busty bottle-blonde. He gently shook her awake and asked if she wanted him to order her a room-service breakfast, before she left. They both knew that he was extending a courtesy by offering breakfast, but also making it clear that was all he was offering. The bottle-blonde was young and resilient. She didn’t want breakfast, but she did ask if she could take the toiletries from the bathroom before she headed back to the apartment that she was sharing with five other, similarly uncomplicated girls.

  ‘Sure, and, look, maybe we can hook up again. Maybe tonight?’ offered Jason. He didn’t intend doing so, but, on the other hand, he didn’t intend not to do so.

  ‘Maybe,’ shrugged the girl.

  Jason had been good at the oral stuff. She had enjoyed sex with him. She’d noticed before that tequila slammers made her particularly horny. But in the daylight, and now she was sober, he looked very old. He had wrinkles around his eyes that last night looked distinguished, but this morning they were just sad. And he had grey pubes – it was horrifying. She wasn’t sure she’d want her friends seeing her with him again. Besides, she didn’t really believe that stuff he’d spouted last night about him owning a penthouse pad in Soho and a Porsche Boxster. This meant that he was a prick for making it up.

  ‘I’m going to bloody freeze getting back to my apartment,’ she moaned, as she wriggled into her minuscule skirt and boob tube. Jase gave her a Ralph Lauren jumper and the money to call a horse and sleigh. He knew he’d never see his jumper again, but he wanted to feel like a gentleman.

  He gave the girl a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and, as the door closed behind her, he wandered into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He felt crap, and it wasn’t the one-night stand. He was male and incapable of understanding why anyone would feel anything other than marvellous about achieving a one-night stand. It wasn’t even his hangover.

  It was Rich.

  Last night, after the farce in the cinema, Rich had rushed out of the foyer and fled to the hotel. He hadn’t looked back. He didn’t know where Jayne had gone, whether she’d returned to watch the rest of the film or not, and he didn’t care. For all he cared she could have flung herself off the side of a mountain. In fact, that was the only favour she could do him.

  Rich hadn’t given any thought to what the others would think if he disappeared. He just wanted to be with Tash and only Tash. He had decided that he would tell her.

  He’d tell her everything.

  He’d tell her that he hadn’t included Jayne in his accounts of his exploits. And he was sorry about that. That he’d shagged her on and off for an age
. And that he wasn’t exactly proud of that. And he’d tell her that Jayne was trying to… what? Seduce him? And that he didn’t want that. It sounded ludicrous. Why would any man be affronted by Jayne trying to seduce them? It sounded like a lie, a cover-up. What if Tash didn’t believe him?

  When he’d got back to their room Tash was already asleep. She’d fallen to sleep still grasping her novel, and she was sort of smiling. She looked so peaceful and relaxed.

  Rich felt lonely.

  For the first time since he had met Tash, Rich felt that they were operating in entirely different worlds. When they’d arrived at Avoriaz, they were so in sync with one another. Their lives were moving along in harmony, but now Tash slept soundly and he was full of despair. He resented her ignorance, and yet he had no one to blame for the new status quo except himself.

  And, bloody Jayne.

  He convinced himself that if Tash had been awake he would have followed his plan and told her all about Jayne, but he decided not to wake her to do so. If he did, he’d be lending the incident yet more import than it deserved. It would be better if he told her in the morning. Things were always better in the morning.

  While Tash’s sleep had been deep, Rich’s had been fitful. He’d been plagued with nightmares of being gobbled up by a giant caterpillar. In his dream he’d called to Tash to rescue him, but she’d ignored him. It didn’t take Freud to interpret that one.

  Despite his fitful sleep, when he woke up Rich did feel a little better than he had the night before. The sun was shining into their room and, as he looked out of the window on to the slopes, the view calmed and soothed. Like yesterday, the slopes were beautifully groomed and as new. He wished that everything could be wiped clean so simply.

  Rich decided to dress in silence and get on to the slopes before Tash woke. It wasn’t that he was avoiding her – it was just that boarding would clear his mind. He was sure that out there, on the immaculate slopes, he’d find the correct words to explain his situation to Tash. Words that would at once absolve him and help to maintain her confidence and love. He couldn’t find those words in their hot bed.