by Lotte Daley
Chapter 15
My eyes are refusing to open. I know I am in bed. Whose bed, I was unsure. With whom … God only knew. My head thumped. My mouth was dry. I stretched one leg out under the covers and was met by a hard, leg-shaped lump. I inhaled deeply and smelled the scent of my bedsheets. I was at home, phew, this was a good thing, but who was occupying my space?
‘Darling, you know I like kinky sex, but this is taking it too far. Please stop kicking me,’ Richard growled from beneath the Sonata bed throw, and thankfully not the duvet I was under. I opened my eyes.
‘What are? How did? Oomph!’ I said, slapping my hand on to my forehead.
‘You can’t remember?’ he said, still half snoozing beside me.
I sat up. I was still wearing my dress. A large glass of water and a packet of paracetamol sat next to me on the bedside table.
‘Swallow those and I’ll explain,’ he said, lifting himself up, still dressed. He went down to the kitchen and as I smudged my eyes open, wiped the crusty dribble from my mouth and surveyed the bedroom for any sex clues, I heard the kettle begin to boil. I pulled the door to and shed last night’s outfit, sliding it from my body. I pulled on my tartan pyjamas and walked downstairs into the kitchen.
Richard stood there with a pan, cracking eggs.
‘Ah, lovely, how are you feeling?’
‘Shit,’ I said and I actually really truly meant it. My eyes felt like sandpaper, red and raw. I sniffled.
‘Oh, please, not more crying …’ Richard lamented.
‘Sorry,’ I said, as my chest gave one of those little shudders that you get when you’ve been sobbing dramatically.
‘Well …’ Richard began, moving towards me, taking me by the shoulders, steering me into the living room, and plonking me on to the couch.
‘You called me last night, totally rat-arsed, sobbing incomprehensibly down the phone, said you were on some random person’s mobile, could I come and get you immediately, you’d lost your shoes, you were babbling about being seen doing something you hadn’t actually done, feeling rubbish, not being good enough to model Grattan’s granny pants let alone posh teeny-tiny, G-string-type pants such as, who was it you said, Carolina Fernando? Hmmm … I know her, Brazilian, legs up to her armpits, boobs like little mountain peaks.’
‘Not helping …’ I sighed, pulling a woolly throw around myself. I felt terrible. I couldn’t remember anything of the previous evening past seeing Fabio.
‘You said you were in love with someone who didn’t love you back because you were short without your heels, but then you said he wasn’t worth loving anyway because he had it off with Hanna’s sister and used her for money, sex and God knows what else.’
‘Eek!’ I squealed. ‘I told you all my secrets!’
‘Quite. You were a scene, I’ll give you that. But don’t worry, Bailey didn’t see you. Well, he saw the back of your head but I thought it best not to tell you at the time. Who knows what you would have done?’
‘He came after me?’ I whispered, suddenly remembering the intense disco dancefloor moment in which we once again had a love stand-off across a crowded room.
‘I’m sorry, Kate, but if you ask me, I did you a favour. You were in a horrendous state, you were emotional, incoherent and frighteningly drunk. Bailey would have run a mile. Seriously, he would have freaked.’
‘So now he thinks I am aloof and mysterious and hard to get instead of paranoid, needy and insecure?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that but yes, perhaps he does.’
‘God … and us, we didn’t … you know …’
‘No. Absolutely not.’ He winked.
‘Thank God!’ I cried.
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Richard huffed.
‘It means that I’ve already embarrassed myself enough lately and the very last thing I needed was to have an accidental shag with you.’
‘Sweetheart …’ Richard began in a philosophical tone, ‘I may not know anything about how to sustain a healthy long-term monogamous relationship, instead, preferring to sow my wild oats with blondes and models and the more in the bed the merrier, you know …’
‘Too much information …’ I groaned.
‘Shh,’ he said, sitting down next to me. He put his arms around me and pulled me in close, so close I could hear his heart beating. He sighed and kissed my mop of hairsprayed hair that stuck up in all directions on my head.
‘Life would be so much easier, darling, if all you girls stopped expecting men on white horses to rescue you, and realized that not all men come equipped with shining armour and the ability to read your mind. In turn, us boys would realize that we’re not all going to pull a Victoria’s Secret model and would happily ignore your wobbly bottoms and not ditch you for Hollywood megastars.’
‘I thought you pulled a Victoria’s Secret model last weekend?’
‘I said not all men … some of us can,’ he winked. I laughed and fell back into his chest for a hug.
‘And Jack … he, he, he pulled a megastar!’
‘Well, I didn’t say all men … Jack and I are clearly the exceptions.’
‘Oh, Richard,’ I sighed, ‘what am I going to do?’
‘Well, young lady,’ he said, ruffling my shoulders, ‘you’re going straight into the shower to wash your sins away.’
‘Cripes,’ I said, turning to face him, ‘I’ll be there all day!’
‘Take as long as you need, Kate, and when you get out, your fabulously low-carb protein-rich star breakfast will await you with a steaming cup of coffee.’
‘You’re letting me have coffee?’
‘You haven’t hit the gym yet, darling, therefore this coffee, although a total cellulite giver, won’t honestly make a difference to your derrière,’ he said with a little smirk. I shook my head and smirked back at him.
‘All right,’ I said and I padded on upstairs.
The hot water stung my tired skin. It sure felt good, though. I stood there, feeling pretty pathetic, wiping mascara down my cheeks, opening my mouth and allowing the water to bounce in, off my tongue and down my throat. I hummed a tune while running a flannel over my body. Bubbles trickled down my elbows on to my belly. When I was done, I stepped over the side of the bath and stood naked on the bath mat, shivering slightly. Refreshed and rejuvenated, I wrapped myself up in my posh towels and pulled the skin on my face taut. It made me look a lot younger. If only I could walk around like that all the time, I thought. I sat down on the loo seat and just thought about my life. After a few minutes I let out a big sigh, got up, opened the door and with a spritz of posh body mist, I felt more than ready to face the day. After all, I had only made a tit out of myself in front of Richard and he was kinda used to that by now. I was a disaster around men, this much was clear. Yet I had Brett/Brad model guy interested in me, well, he was more interested in himself, but he made the effort, a big effort considering the amount of time it took to tear himself away from reflective surfaces and towards my movie star made-up face – well, it was last night, thanks to the tribe of fashionistas in my living room all day – and let’s not forget Fabio Matravers, although I hadn’t actually forgiven him for taking me on a pity/let’s piss off Jessica Hilson date. I didn’t need a pity date, nor did I want to be used as a way to help Fabio gain Jessica’s attention. No, siree!
‘Coffee, darling,’ Richard said brightly. A little too brightly, actually. He looked dodgy.
‘Thanks,’ I said, nervously sitting at the breakfast bar. Richard’s mouth twitched. He tapped his foot. I looked up at him and caught him looking at the ceiling randomly. I sipped my coffee. He drummed his fingers.
‘OK,’ I said, looking him square in the eyes.
Richard said nothing.
‘What’s going on?’
He opened his mouth wide and began to say the word ‘Nothing’ when I cut him short.
‘Don’t lie to me!’ I shrieked.
Richard looked startled at the force of emotion behin
d my voice. I had the hangover from hell, a short temper, a zillion crazy thoughts in my head, flashbacks from the night before and, God forgive me, but I’m not Superwoman and I am still trying to digest that the love of my life has walked out on me for a celebrity. I had no headspace for more deception, even if the truth hurt more than stubbing your toe on a door.
‘Joel Farthing,’ Richard said, gulping down his coffee.
‘Oh God, I know him,’ I sighed. Joel Farthing, Jack’s agent, couldn’t stand him. Last seen schmoozing on This Morning, giving the insider’s scoop on my ex-boyfriend’s sex life.
‘Yes, well, Joel Farthing just called me to let me know, so that I can let you know, that Jack has given a scathing interview in Oh Yay! magazine that includes information about you. He’s saying you were cheating on him and he was driven into the arms of Jessica, a woman who apparently puts him first.’
I felt like I’d been hit by a sledgehammer.
‘Cheating?!’ I whispered, incredulously. ‘Who with?’ I said, confused as a confused person.
‘Uh …’
‘Cheating with who?!’ My voice grew louder.
Richard visibly stiffened.
‘How the fuck can him running off with tit-face Jessica be MY FAULT!’ I screamed. I needed Danielle, so so much right now. I ran around looking for my mobile and found it half under a cushion in the living room. I picked it up and marched back to the breakfast bar.
‘Who are you calling?’
‘JACK!’ I said, not meaning to. The whole point of getting the phone was to call Danielle, but now I had a burning urge to phone Jack Hunter and call him a massive arrogant horrible arsehole liar who was also, for the record, shit in bed, a total drain on my emotions and a complete twat!
‘NOOOOO!’ Richard says, dive-bombing me. I pull the phone closer to me as though it’s a small child that needs intense protection. Richard hits me like a heavyweight and I go down to the floor like a feather. If anyone saw us now, God knows what they’d think. There we were, on the floor, my robe open, the granny pants and comfort bra that I’d pulled on after my gloriously hot shower on display, wrestling over my BlackBerry.
‘Give me the phone, Katie!’ Richard growls.
‘FUCK OFF!’ I scream. ‘He needs to know,’ I finish quietly.
‘Know what?’ Richard shouts back at me.
‘He NEEDS TO KNOW GODDAMNIT!’ I squeal with such force my throat hurts.
‘Anything he needs to know we do through Hanna Frost and we do it with style, Katie, we don’t go calling him up, screaming and hissing like a banshee!’
‘WE DO, BECAUSE HE NEEDS TO FUCKING KNOW!’
‘KNOW WHAT!’ Richard screeches.
‘HOW MUCH HE’S …’ I sob, relinquishing the phone into Richard’s grasp. He releases his grip on me and I flop to the floor, defeated.
‘How much he’s hurt me! He’s broken my heart!’ I cry, tears streaming down my face. Richard just sits there for a second as I remain on the floor, flat on my back, crying.
‘Oh, darling …’ he says quickly and quietly.
‘And … he’s totally moved on within what, a fortnight, he’s been long gone before that I know, cheating, horrible, nasty, beautiful, gorgeous man, oh I love him sooooo much, I really dooooooo,’ I wail.
‘Nooooo, you don’t, poppet,’ Richard soothes. He gathers my wretched self up from the cold wooden floor of my kitchen and like a knight in shining armour (heh! they DO exist after all!) he carries me through to the living room as I lean into his chest and grasp the collar of his shirt. That manly scent, comforting, secure and exactly what I needed. All my pent-up anger came thrashing out on to the lapels of Richard’s Prada shirt. Mascara and all. Why is it, no matter how many eye make-up removing lotions I use, there is always some left over ready to smear on people when I cry, or to leave marks on my new bedsheets?
‘I’m sorry,’ I sniff.
‘It’s OK. This fresh make-up stain can join the long queue of last night’s make-up stains,’ he says gently.
‘You don’t love Jack Hunter, Katie, you really don’t. This isn’t love, what you’re feeling.’
‘Then what is it?’ I mean, I made a pros and cons list for going out with Jack and the one pro was that he was good looking but that was about it. The rest of the pointers on the list were in the cons bit and they were all things about how disrespectful he was and how unhappy he made me.
‘Why do I love someone like Jack, who doesn’t love me, or loves me with, with a list of conditions?’ I sniff.
‘It’s not love.’
‘Is too.’
‘Is not, darling. Love is wanting someone to be truly happy, with or without you.’
‘I want Jack to be eaten by someone really fat or to trip up and fall over into the path of a lorry carrying pig manure or something.’
‘Hmmm,’ Richard nods. ‘Me too.’
‘I just, I feel like what was the point in having a relationship with me if it was always going to be a bad idea? I look back at photographs of us together, and he has a smile in his eyes that stretches all the way out to the corners of his mouth, a real, honest, genuine smile, one that you can’t fake.’
‘And any recent photographs?’
‘Yeah, actually. And oh,’ I look up skywards and sigh, ‘he’s … he’s not smiling in any of them.’
‘So, darling,’ Richard says gently. ‘He’s broken your heart, but did it ever really belong to him to break? That is my question.’ Richard raises an eyebrow.
‘I loved him … still do. He’s on my mind all the time.’
‘But you don’t, darling, you think you do but you really honestly don’t. What you’re feeling is longing, it’s lust. You can’t tell me anything about Jack that made you love him that was about HIM. All you can say is that he’s hot. The rest is about meaningless stuff. None of those words or phrases equate with loving someone, no matter who they are or where they may be.’
‘God,’ I say.
‘Yes, my child,’ Richard gently jokes.
‘Shhh,’ I say, sitting up straight, pulling my dressing gown tight around my middle. ‘I’ve just had an epiphany!’
‘Go on?’
‘You’re right, I don’t love Jack Hunter – I loved the thought of him, the Jack Hunter I built up in my mind, and he was never ever it, because if he loved me even just a teeny-tiny bit he’d never have dumped me by text message, he’d have given me warning, sat me down, anything other than humiliate me across the national press and shove his new happy relationship in my face! He may as well have invited me around to watch them have sex, THAT’S how little he respected me and how much he shoved this whole to-do in my personal space.’
‘Eureka!’ Richard says, sparking up a fag. He offers me one, I take it.
‘Then, if I thought I loved Jack Hunter, does that mean I haven’t got a clue about love?’
‘No …’ Richard thinks. I puff furiously on my cigarette, I was on some kind of deep and meaningful roll here, I couldn’t stop.
‘What is love, Richard?’
‘Gosh, darling … love is, well, it’s being able to list a million reasons why you love someone that mean something … and you never running out of reasons why you love them.’
‘Hmmm.’
‘Like last night.’
‘Oh God, please don’t, last night, I talked rubbish, disregard anything I said, stupid talk …’
‘They do say the truth comes out when inebriated …’
‘Nooo, no, that’s simply not true and do you know how I know that? Because I once told my next-door neighbour’s husband he had a great sense of style when I was coming back from the Electricity Showrooms … and he’s an octogenarian!’ I giggled.
‘Last night …’ Richard said with a wry smile, ‘you said that you loved the way Bailey shuffled on his feet when he was nervous, how he lit his cigarettes in the side of his mouth, how he sighed and scrunched up his nose when he was frustrated, how he looked at you, how he felt, how
he touched you, how he made you feel like a zillion pounds, how you loved the way his white t-shirts clung to his body and how the brown in his eyes went hazel in the sunshine.’
‘I did?’ I said softly. I tilted my head to the side.
‘Yes,’ Richard said, tapping his cigarette into the ashtray.
I said nothing and listened intently.
‘You said that you loved the way he spoke, his accent, the way he ordered his coffee, the way he shoved his hand on the back of his neck and rubbed it whilst pulling a face whenever he was thinking about something. You said you loved how he always saluted magpies on the way to your house.’
‘Oh my God,’ I said slowly.
‘You know, Katie, what this means.’
‘I do.’
‘See,’ Richard said, shrugging his shoulders.