by Lotte Daley
‘No, nothing like that, it wasn’t Jack,’ I said, as I felt my cheeks flush red. I was totally going to have to ’fess up.
‘And he must have just left … judging by your state of undress plus the fact the door hadn’t been properly closed …’ She plonked herself down on my bed as I reached across to my drawers and pulled out a silky dressing gown. Her face looked relieved. Typical, I can pull out sexy slinky garments in front of someone who doesn’t give a toss what I wear, yet hang around the house in tartan pyjamas and very nearly have stand-up hallway sex whilst wearing them.
‘It was nothing,’ I said, still confused as to why Bailey flew out of here quick as you like. My brow furrowed as I bit on the nail of my thumb.
‘Oh, sweetie,’ Danielle said, putting her arm around me and drawing me close. I shrugged her off. I’m sure Bailey’s call was something mega important and nothing at all to do with me, just unfortunate timing, that’s all.
‘Forget about me, what was it you had to tell me?’ I queried.
‘Ah nothing, it’s nothing,’ she said, looking perplexed and doing one of those ‘Everything’s OK’ smiles that people do when they’re clearly hiding something.
‘Are you sure about that?’ I probe further. Her eyes turn to the plastic bag which she then picks up and heads to the kitchen.
On the way down she calls out, ‘Honestly, Katie, it wasn’t anything, silly really.’
‘Silly sits well with me, Danielle, you know that …’ I follow her downstairs.
‘I just thought we could go to dinner this week, that’s all, get some, you know, reality back. We could go to Carluccio’s, I know how much you love the focaccia bread!’
‘Mmmm, yes I do, God, stop it, food, yum …’
‘Well,’ she begins, ‘it’s just as well I brought some, isn’t it!’ Danielle takes the food out and waves it around the kitchen. I’m standing beside the breakfast bar, away from the scene of my wanton sexual crimes. The crime being, he left me before I’d even knotted the condom and slung it in the bin. Should have slung it at him on second thoughts, although I’m sure there is a valid excuse for his night-time sloping.
‘Well, as luck would have it, I have two tickets to the most amazing spa plus a five-grand Harrods voucher!’ I sing. ‘And guess who I’m taking with me?’
‘Ooooh, let me guess … your mum?’
‘You’re insane, clearly,’ I say with a wry smile. Danielle looks blank.
‘It’s you, you daft brush!’
‘Oh my God, are you kidding me?’ she says, open-mouthed.
‘Yup, it’s true, and nope, I ain’t kidding ya,’ I grin back at her. ‘Tom Theodore handed them to me, that’s why I was making kissy-eyes at the camera and acting as though I’d won the lottery on the photo shoot this afternoon.’
‘Ah,’ she says, ‘I see. Well, it certainly worked because, no offence, you didn’t look too impressed this morning. Not that you have much to be excited about lately, though … apart from your mystery man!’
‘There’s no mystery,’ I wink, ‘when I know who he is.’ We continue to talk about sex. We talk about Stewart-small-penis and the things he does to make-up for the fact that not only does he have a small penis, but he also arrives at the finishing line before the starting pistol has fired.
‘However do you cope?’ I ask. I would simply die if Bailey had been a two pumps and a squirt kind of guy.
‘I, you know,’ she says, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together, ‘I basically make a really big fuss about how great he is in bed, what a stallion he is, how much he satisfies me, I make all the appropriate sex noises, a bit of “Oooh baby” here and a bit of, ahem, don’t laugh,’ she says, eyeing me up.
‘I won’t laugh!’ I say, stifling a laugh. Must keep composure.
‘You’re so going to laugh!’ she says, laughing herself.
‘Come on, come on, it’s OK, shhh, just tell me!’
‘OK, when Stewart gets really excited, he likes it when I say “Oooh, come on big boy, show me what ya got, big boy!” ’
‘Bahahahaha!’ I laugh until wine shoots out of my nose. ‘That’s the funniest thing I have ever heard!’ I wail. Tears begin to stream from my eyes. ‘I need a tissue!’ I say, dabbing at my nose and eyes and the mess I’ve made on the counter.
‘See,’ she says, ‘I knew you’d laugh at me!’
‘I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing with you!’ I say, still reeling from her shock confession. ‘Remind me again why you stick with him?’ I say, as she turns and flicks her curls over her shoulder.
‘I love him. Simple as that. Don’t know why, I just do. So, spill,’ she says, sitting down on one of the breakfast bar chairs with her chin in her hands.
‘You won’t believe this but …’
And I filled her in on this evening’s developments, including the exceptionally good bedroom skills Bailey displayed, the earth-moving orgasm and emitting the bit about knocking my teeth against the button of his jeans and wincing in pain.
‘Oh my God!’ Danielle said with a look of surprise on her face. ‘I can’t believe you actually fucked Bailey!’
‘Danielle!’ I squealed. ‘We didn’t fuck as you so elegantly put it, we made lurrrve!’ I purred, before we both erupted into giggles.
‘Bravo,’ she said, raising her glass. ‘To the unobtainable.’
‘To my sex life,’ I clinked glasses with her.
‘So, where is he now?’ Danielle said.
‘Um, well, he had to go, emergency of some sort, will find out tomorrow, I guess …’ I said, looking into my glass and picking at the focaccia.
‘What do you mean, he had to go? Not even an awkward “Do you want a coffee before you go” moment?’
‘Not even enough time to make a cross-legged dash to the bathroom.’
‘Cripes.’
‘What could it mean, Danielle? Does it mean he’s not interested? I mean, every girl knows that when a man has sex with a woman he either stays or he goes and the latter means he’s had his fun and it’s offskis for him, off for a pint or to kill a wild bear or something, never to be seen again.’
‘Or he could really actually have a genuine emergency and will call you later …’
‘But that’s breaking the rules,’ I said solemnly.
‘What rules?’
She tilts her head at me whilst grabbing some bread. She’s brought a lovely jar of olives, too, which are now swimming in a side dish of olive oil. Mmm, they taste so good and are a fine accompaniment to the story.
‘The love rules according to Richard Dewberry,’ I say, squashing an olive in my gob.
‘God, Katie, you’ve not been listening to more of Richard’s tripe about how to get a boyfriend, have you? The man’s a heathen! He’s got as many morals as an alley cat. Who’s he stepping out with this week, then? Paris Hilton?’
‘No, but another lookalike. She goes by the name of Annabelle.’
‘Blonde and slim?’ Danielle questions before adding, ‘And just as dim …’
‘Oi!’ I poke her in the elbow. ‘I’m blonde!’
Danielle rolls her eyes. ‘My point exactly,’ she says, before moving out of the way of another playful finger jab.
‘Richard says that you need to leave it three days between meeting someone, dating them or accidentally-on-purpose having sex with them, before either of you call. Anytime before that and the one who makes contact looks desperate.’
‘Are you serious?’ Danielle says, eyes wide.
‘Yup. So Bailey has left today, which is Friday, this means that he can’t talk to me until, um, let’s see, Monday. At the earliest. And I must not text him or anything because then I will look desperate and no one likes a desperate girl.’
‘Well, Stewart didn’t play those stupid games, Katie, no offence.’
‘No, he just lied,’ I say, a little too bluntly.
Danielle’s smile fades as she pours some more wine.
‘I’m just saying,’ she say
s, ‘that, you know, these games are pointless. If you like him, tell him …’
‘But I did,’ I say defensively. ‘Several times. It was only when I practically told him to get stuffed that he dawdled in his car, plucking up the courage to seduce me.’
‘Romantic,’ Danielle says, with a hint of sarcasm.
All of a sudden, the atmosphere felt really uncomfortable. I knew I’d offended her with my Stewart quip, but she’d offended me looking down her nose at Richard’s dating tips. So what if we had to play games to get the men we liked? At least Bailey wasn’t married. As far as I knew.
‘Listen, babe,’ Danielle begins, ‘I’m really tired, I’ve had a tough day in the office, you know how it goes …’ She begins to gather her belongings.
‘Sure, OK,’ I say, too tired and consumed with Bailey thoughts to care. God, does that make me a bad friend? All I wanted to do right now, though, was snuggle down in my bed and watch Will & Grace. I was feeling rather woozy from the wine we’d been drinking and really, I had just had enough. Too much adrenaline post-row, postsex and I was feeling rather edgy.
‘Listen,’ she says, face softening, ‘I’m sorry, I’m just tired and a bit stressed and, well, we’ll talk another time, yeah?’
‘Yes, cool, speak tomorrow.’
‘I’ll see myself out, yeah.’ She smiles and walks out of the kitchen and into the hallway. I put my phone in the oven so I don’t accidently wake up and text Bailey, or worse, Jack. At least if it’s in a kitchen appliance I will have to physically get up and think about my actions.
I fed the cat and jumped into bed, pulling the sheets up close. I switched on the telly in my bedroom. Ahh, this was bliss!
Before I knew it, I was in a very deep sleep.
Chapter 9
I woke up gently to the sound of a bird chirruping outside my window. I could feel the sunlight streaming through the glass, the curtains swaying gently in the breeze. I knew the floorboards in my bedroom would feel deliciously clean and cool against the soles of my toasty feet. I wanted to reach out and touch the man next to me, feel his soft skin against mine, kiss him gently, feel him rise in my hand and then roll on top of me, silently pulling my legs up around his waist and moving deep inside me. I wanted his dark hair to fall over his eyes, for his touch to command a zillion and one different thoughts and reactions from my body. Once we had romped for hours, I wanted to snuggle up with the weekend papers against his manly chest, I wanted to smell fresh coffee from the grinder, and have an organic grill-up. And then maybe I wanted to have a picnic on Primrose Hill and do some star-spotting. Later that evening, we’d head to Angel, to see Danielle and the girls from her work. We liked to sit around in Danielle’s garden drinking fruity wine and giggling about men. Our boyfriends would guffaw at our girly ineptness and complete inability to read a man’s mind. We thought we knew what it was all about, ah yes, we had them sussed out, men, you just have to train them like dogs, you see. I stirred gently in the covers of my bed. I felt a thump on my foot, and a pad pad pad along the side of the bed, followed by a purrrr in my ear and a wet sandpapery tongue on my face. ‘Urggh,’ I said, with my eyes still closed. I wanted to remain in this lucid dream for a while longer. Things felt peachy. I was in love and I was loved back. I gingerly crept my hand out across to Jack’s side of the bed, searching for him. He wasn’t there. All of a sudden, the reality of this past week crashed down upon my weary, hungover, migrained self and I wanted to weep. I opened my eyes, and despite the heavenly morning that said hello to me, the only kiss worth having was Jack’s. Where did that put Bailey on my romance chart? I wasn’t sure. When I thought of Bailey, I thought about Sudoku, an impossible yet strangely fascinating puzzle. I wanted to learn how to crack it, him, I wanted to be a champion. I got up and made my way into the kitchen, put the kettle on to boil and popped the telly on. Children’s TV blasted my ears, seemingly from all directions. The sheer size of the television meant you had to stand six feet away from it to get a decent view. I recalled the cheesy, tear-jerking love songs of last night. What was I thinking, torturing myself with songs of woe, heartbreak and unrequited love? I felt like I was living in a soap opera right now – the full force of every single feeling I possessed seemed to be magnified. I didn’t just feel heartbroken, my whole world had fallen apart. I wasn’t just interested in Bailey, he was the glue that would piece me back together again. I didn’t just dislike Hanna, I wanted to catch her in Primark of a weekend, I wanted her to trip over her massive ego and break her ankles on her Gladiator heels. Better still, I wanted her to fall over Frenella and snap her in half. I felt like shit. There was an entire building site knocking down walls in my head. I reached for the Nurofen and flipped the channel to Channel 4, searching for a good episode of Friends to cheer me up.
‘Fuck …’ I said, wearily. My chest became tight, my breathing slowed. There on T4’s Celebrity Bits was Jessica Hilson, looking resplendent opposite the gorgeous Welsh muscle-bound hunk Steve Jones. Bitch! I thought, as I grabbed my cigarettes. My strong black coffee slurped over the edges of the cup as I legged it to the living room. I sat there and listened to her gush and simper in front of Steve.
‘Yah, I like totally know he’s “The One” ’ she giggles, twirling a platinum-blonde strand of hair round her fingers.
‘Well, that’s great!’ Steve smiles back.
‘Yah,’ Jessica continues in her stupid sing-song accent, ‘like, totally, unexpected, sometimes, you just know when your Prince Charming presents himself.’ She gives an all-American porcelain smile.
‘And did you always know he was going to propose?’ Steve enthuses.
‘Yah, like, I totally knew, my mom’s psychic, yah, and like, she said, I’d meet someone who was going to see the real me, like, and totally be whacked by that, and yah, Jack Hunter is it.’
‘It really sounds like a fairytale. So, how did he propose?’
‘How did he propose? Yah, well he like, did it on a giant turtle in Mimi Sparkles Jungle Garden. My ring is like, made of jello.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘He like, didn’t have a ring right now, it was like, so outta the blue for him, and he just acted on instinct, on his magnificent true love for me, yah, so, he had one of those jello cent candy rings, and we used that to symbolize our engagement, which I think is like, really deep and meaningful because like, it represents us in sooooo many ways, like, I’m really sweet, and Jack, he’s sweet too, hmm.’ She looks vacantly at Steve, licking her lips and applying a fresh coat of neon pink lipgloss.
‘Some would say,’ Steve continues, ‘that it’s all a bit fast. I mean, you’ve only known him a short while …’
‘No, you see, I’ve know him my whole entire life, like, this is where people have us SO wrong, like, we are soulmates. We knew each other in a past life, we’re like twins almost, he always knows what I’m thinking, we’re like, destined, yah?’
‘So, have you set a date?’ Steve queries.
‘Yah, like, no, maybe, you’ll have to wait and see!’ she purrs back at him, I swear she’s flirting. I check out her body language. Her feet point towards him, she’s touching her hair, she’s giggling at him even though he’s not really said much. Hmm … wonder if I should call Richard for some help, after all, he knows about things like this? Thank heavens for Virgin on Demand, I can rewind this and play it back to him and Danielle. The next shots are trailers for Cowgirls.
‘A woman in peril …’ the deep-voiced American movie man says before adding, ‘One obstacle she must face in her quest for true love …’
Oh God, I thought, this is over-the-top cheesy.
‘Can Gina Winters defeat rival Cowgirl Tiffany Summers in the quest to save the western town of Mount Dustville?’ Cue some dramatic trumpets.
‘Only time will tell …’ A high-pitched string quartet takes over before … ‘Thrills, spills and action as horses ride over mountain tops searching for the saviour to Mount Dustville before disaster strikes!’ There is lots of ‘y
ee-hah’-type banjo music, guns shooting dust in the air and men in cowboy hats line dancing and as the dust clears, we see a quick shot of the bar area where Jack Hunter smoulders as he wipes down glasses with a dishcloth. The music stalls and we then see Jessica Hilson in teeny-tiny shorts with a gun to her lips, blowing the smoke towards rival Tiffany Summers, who stands opposite her, a good twelve feet apart, glaring like a menace.
‘Battle of the babes,’ the voice concludes.
‘Battle of the bimbos,’ I add to the cat, who is purring happily on my knee.
‘Film looks mega,’ Steve trills, as Jessica grins back at him.
Mega shite, I think, gnawing on my fingernails.
‘Yah, I love the UK!’ she squeals, randomly. ‘Go see my movie!’ she adds.
‘She said it,’ Steve says, pointing to the camera before turning back to Jessica.
‘Thanks for coming to tell us all about your new film, it looks great and I for one can’t wait to see it. Remind us again when it’s out?’
‘July first!’ she twitters. ‘And, like, you can join my MySpace page for more information about my next movie, and, like, my other movies too!’
‘Goodbye, Jessica, great to have met you,’ Steve envelops her for a kiss, before settling himself back down and directing us to the T4 website to catch Jessica on a podcast, her MySpace, her Facebook, blah blah blah. I tune him out and mentally block out any internet details about Bimbo Hilson, do not, repeat, do not stalk her.
‘Gah!’ I said out loud, sparking up another cigarette.
I settled back with my coffee and my nicotine to watch another bumbling appearance of Matt LeBlanc playing Joey on Friends, sharing a laugh about the word boobies. I simply didn’t quite know what to do with myself. I mean, normally I would try to do what I dreamt about, which is pretty normal by any couple’s standards, isn’t it? No work, plenty of sex, lazy brunch, wandering around looking at museums and parks and stuff before going out to a bar. You didn’t do clubs when you were with a boyfriend. Too many opportunities to lose them amongst mini-skirted pouty hussies. Mind you, it was rare that I got to have lazy sex with Jack on a Saturday. We normally did the romantic sex stuff on a Sunday morning. He was always, as mentioned previously, seeing to his geriatric criêped-décolletage women from Emmerdale or whatever soap it was they came from. Who knows, he never told me. And then it hit me … could that have been a cover too? Was he doing it with Jessica Hilson in secret locations under the guise of meeting dames for brunch? Oh, it doesn’t bear thinking about. Although, once again, the timing was right. Oh God, I groaned into my hands. The realizations of Jack Hunter’s loose ways were coming in thick and fast. Too much to handle with a headache like this. The only thing I could think of that would take the sting outta my tail was some therapy. Intense therapy. Of the retail kind. I jumped off the sofa and raced to the phone. Danielle simply had to come shopping with me to Harrods so I could outbuy Jack’s electric mouth-moulding, gentle-vibrate toothbrush and get some gold-plated tea bags. And if Danielle’s head was as thick as mine, she’d appreciate the spa retreat afterwards – how about the intense hot stone body massage with special essences? Now where did I put my phone?