by Amy Bratley
Maggie gestured to the crisps so I handed her the bowl. I felt weirdly at home in her flat, like I’d known Maggie for ages.
‘Insecurity,’ Maggie said. ‘It’s why everyone behaves like that, isn’t it? You should have seen me after I found Sal. I turned into a complete psycho, but it was like I could see myself from the ceiling and I was appalled at what I’d become. I didn’t want to be that mad woman who was screeching at her boyfriend, begging him to stay. And there was no way I could forgive him. So I had to change. But what’s it like with Joe?’
I gulped down the last of my cocktail, registering that I would very soon need my bed.
‘Different,’ I said. ‘I’m very relaxed with Joe, but I’ve known him my whole life and don’t get myself so twisted up about him. But he doesn’t go out like Ethan did, not on massive benders. And the balance of power is more equal between us.’
I yawned now and put my glass down, lifting my legs up onto the chaise longue and closing my eyes.
‘I’m tired now,’ I said. ‘It’s suddenly hit me.’
‘Hmm,’ Maggie said. ‘Do you think Ethan has a problem with alcohol?’
I’d never even had that thought before and I dismissed it outright.
‘No,’ I said. ‘He likes to drink, but he’s not dependent on the stuff. Joe’s dad is an alcoholic and there’s a big, big difference.’
Maggie pulled herself into a sitting position, raking her curls back up into a ponytail. She looked tired now, her skin pale and eyeliner slightly smudged.
‘Joe’s dad’s an alcoholic?’ she asked. ‘What’s his mum like? Because these people will be your in-laws, you realize?’
I screwed up my nose, thinking of Joe’s mum, who seemed continually defeated by life.
‘Oh, she’s OK,’ I said. ‘Depressed about anything and everything, so not much fun. I can’t blame her, because she’s married to his dad, who’s a total pain in the arse. But she could have got away from him years ago and made her life and Joe’s life better. Actually – and this is a bad thing to say – it pisses me off that his mum is alive and mine is dead, when mine was so much nicer. Horrible, aren’t I?’
Maggie let her hair fall across her shoulders. She grinned at me kindly and I smiled back.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I think you’re great.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, lifting my glass towards her. ‘Cheers. Here’s to the Saturday Supper Club.’
‘Cheers,’ she said. ‘Hey, you know now that Ethan has come between us we’ll be fighting over his attention.’
I looked up at her and she winked at me mischievously.
‘May the best girl win?’ she said.
‘What?’ I said crossly. ‘I’m not interested in Ethan, you’re welcome to—’
‘I’m joking,’ she said. ‘Ethan is off the menu. Maybe Andrew might be worth a one-night stand.’
‘You’re joking, right?’ I said. ‘He’s about to have twins. Doesn’t that count as baggage?’
Maggie stood up, stretched and picked up my glass. I lifted my hand to gesture that I’d had enough to drink.
‘Of course I am,’ she said, laughing. ‘I’m not that bad! You must really think I’m a bitch.’
‘Not remotely,’ I said. ‘You’re quite fabulous, actually. My friend Isabel would love you, as long as you didn’t try to seduce her husband—’
‘Give me a break,’ Maggie said, with a laugh.
Just then my phone rang. Joe? I almost fell over trying to get to my bag in time before the voicemail clicked in. I pulled it out of my bag and registered that I’d got two missed calls from Joe and that it was Daisy calling. I frowned. It was the middle of the night.
‘What’s she doing ringing this late?’ I muttered, as I lifted the phone to my ear. A tremor of fear ran up my spine. I prayed that nothing was wrong with Dad.
‘Are you OK, Daisy?’ I said. ‘What’s up?’
In the background I could hear Benji whimpering. She must have been holding him, or cuddling him in bed.
‘Benji can’t sleep,’ she said. ‘I think he heard us talking about Iain in the garden the other day and now he thinks I’m about to take him to Canada and leave him there.’
I put my hand to my mouth.
‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘Poor Benji. That’s my fault. Sorry, Daisy. Why didn’t I think he’d understand?’
‘Don’t worry, it’s not your fault,’ she said. ‘I’m actually calling because Joe’s been on the phone asking if you’d come over to me. He’s worrying about you. He said he’d tried you a few times but you haven’t answered. I said you might be with Isabel.’
I swallowed hard.
‘Oh God,’ I said, glancing at a clock on the wall. It was two-thirty a.m. ‘I didn’t realize the time. I didn’t hear the phone.’
Daisy moved away from the phone while she spoke to Benji, then she was back, her voice clearer.
‘You’re not at that Supper Club, are you?’ she said. ‘With Ethan? Oh, Eve.’
‘I’m . . .’ I stuttered. ‘Ethan’s not—’
Daisy tutted and sighed.
‘What’s he had to say for himself this time?’ she said coldly. ‘Put him on the phone and I’ll tell him exactly what—’
‘He’s gone,’ I said. ‘Ages ago. He went ages ago and I’ve been talking to Maggie. Look, I’m going home now. I’ll send Joe a text to let him know. I’ll see you tomorrow, Daisy.’
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Just get home safely. Joe’s worried.’
I hung up and held the phone in my hand, looking down at it. I suddenly felt weighed down with guilt. Joe was at home, probably waiting to propose, and I was drunk, talking about Ethan, who had kissed me hours earlier. I was the one acting like a total bitch.
‘Are you OK?’ Maggie asked, picking up a blanket from the sofa and wrapping it around her shoulders. ‘Ooh, I’m cold. Do you want another tequila sunrise?’
I shook my head, feeling more than anything that I wanted to be with Joe.
‘I’m going to get a cab home,’ I told her. ‘I need to go home. I need to talk to Joe.’
Chapter Eleven
I woke up with what felt like a tractor ploughing my brain, overturning acres of muddy thoughts. I immediately remembered the kiss with Ethan and panicked. Had I ruined everything with Joe? Blinking in the sunlight that poured through the gaps around the blinds, I groaned and turned onto my side, tucking my hands under my head. Banjo jumped up onto the bed and, purring like a drill, clawed the duvet near my feet.
‘Be still, Banjo,’ I croaked. ‘I feel sick.’
I opened my eyes wider and saw Joe watching me from his sun-dappled pillow, an amused smile on his face. I sighed quietly in relief and smiled tentatively as he put his hand out and touched my waist. I was home. I was safe. Joe didn’t look angry.
‘I must have been asleep when you got in,’ he said. ‘You realize you’re still wearing your clothes?’
I looked down at myself and sighed, remembering, in a dream-like sequence, coming home. Yes, Joe had been asleep. No, I hadn’t told him anything about Ethan.
‘Oh God,’ I said, realizing I still had to.
My stomach tied itself in knots. Food. I needed food before anything else.
‘I need a bacon sandwich,’ I said. ‘With really, really crispy bacon and thick white sliced bread and lashings of tomato sauce. And maybe a fried egg and just one slice of crispy black pudding. I know it’s wrong, but—’
‘It’s very wrong,’ Joe said. ‘Does your head hurt? Let me get you some painkillers and a glass of orange juice. Do you want to get those clothes off?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I should have a shower.’
He kissed my forehead and I breathed in his comforting smell, warm and earthy from sleep. I rubbed my temples and, after trying to sit up, slumped back down into the horizontal position. Why was I still not telling Joe the truth? Why was I jeopardizing everything I had with him? I’d let the lie run for too long now. In my head I was screaming at mysel
f to tell Joe about Ethan, just blurt it out then deal with the consequences. It was going to be in the bloody newspaper in two weeks’ time.
‘Oh God,’ I said again, with a weak smile. ‘What have I done?’
‘I’ve been asking myself the same thing,’ Joe laughed darkly.
‘What do you mean?’ I said.
‘Oh, nothing,’ he said, pushing the duvet back. He sat up, stretched and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He switched the radio on and Johnny Vaughn’s voice filled the room.
‘Looks like you had a good night,’ Joe said. ‘Who are those people you were drinking with? They must be hardcore. I think I could set fire to your breath. I thought you were just going out for a refined dinner party!’
I raised a smile. Now. I should just tell him now, I thought. Perhaps he wouldn’t really care. But I knew he would. Joe was watching me carefully. I knew he was waiting for details. He could sense I was holding something back. I tried not to look guilty. I fumbled for the best way to tell him, then cowardly changed tack.
‘Maggie gave me a tequila sunrise,’ I said slowly. ‘It tipped me over the edge. The food, though, was fantastic. I think she’ll win the cash.’
I couldn’t believe myself. All this would be in the paper, Joe’s paper. Maybe Dominique had already told him about the coincidence. Moving into a sitting position, I reached for the glass of water by the bed and took a sip. I put my hand to my pounding head.
‘Joe,’ I began.
‘Yes?’ he said, looking, I thought, slightly fearful. Perhaps he knew I had something big to tell him. ‘Let me get you those painkillers.’
‘No, Joe,’ I said. ‘I’ll be OK. I want to—’
‘It won’t take a minute,’ he said. ‘You look green. Hang on.’
Joe left the room. I closed my eyes and listened to him banging cupboard doors open and shut, much more loudly than was necessary. I clicked off the radio.
‘Joe!’ I called through to him haplessly. ‘Sssshhh.’
‘WHAT’S THAT?’ he shouted through the wall. ‘YOU OK?’
‘Urrrggghhh!’ I growled.
I put the pillow over my head, blocking out Joe’s noise, and groaned. In the hot darkness, I tried to put Ethan out of my mind. I was probably still drunk, so there was no point trying to make sense of my feelings, or what I was thinking of when he kissed me. I touched my lips as I remembered the feeling of Ethan’s lips on mine. Nothing had changed there. I still melted on his touch and, though I’d pushed him away, part of me had wanted it to go on and on. God! I blew out angrily into the pillow. This had to stop.
‘Here you go,’ came Joe’s voice from outside the pillow zone. I peered out and smiled gratefully. ‘On the bedside table. I’ve got to jump in the shower. I’m going to be late if I don’t get my arse into gear. What about you?’
I thought about the day I had planned for myself, yet another Sunday sorting out the cafe. I had arranged to paint today, with Isabel, but the thought of doing anything that involved movement made me feel sick. I wanted to stay in bed and stare at the ceiling and work out how I felt.
‘Cafe again,’ I mumbled, as Joe went into the bathroom. ‘But, Joe, I—’
Before I could finish, Joe picked up a towel and went into the bathroom. He wasn’t making it easy. I heard him switch on the water and start his morning ritual of singing in the shower, really loudly. When, a few minutes later, he came back into the bedroom to change, I watched him self-consciously wrap a towel round his skinny middle, then roll deodorant under his arms. I sat up in bed, propped up by pillows.
‘Joe, be still for a minute, will you?’ I said. ‘I need to speak to you. I’m trying to tell you something.’
He was halfway through pulling on a green T-shirt and paused to look at me, a worried expression on his face.
‘That sounds serious,’ he said. ‘You’re not going to dump me, are you? Am I too much of a skinny rake? Look at this body!’
He stretched out his slender arms and curled them into a muscle-man pose, to make me laugh.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I said, pushing a hand out from under the duvet to reach for the painkillers, resting on a stash of cookery books I kept by the bed. ‘You’re perfect.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Because there’s something I want to talk to you about, too. It’s a surprise, really. So, shall we do all our talking tonight, over a bottle of wine?’
Surprise. Marriage. It had to be.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘I think I should—’
‘I can’t wait to see your face,’ he interrupted, with a grin. ‘We can look forward to it all day.’
Deflated, I gave up trying to talk to him. Joe was completely preoccupied. I imagined engagement rings pinging into his eyes, like dollar signs on a fruit machine. I felt momentarily annoyed. Joe knew I wasn’t ready for marriage, that we were fine as we were. Why was he so persistent? Wasn’t our relationship good enough for him? He walked out of the bedroom to pick up his bag and earphones from the hallway table.
‘For God’s sake, Joe,’ I muttered to myself. ‘Why complicate life even more?’
While he rustled around in the hallway, with an enormous effort, I ventured out of bed, my head pounding with the after-effects of alcohol. I staggered to the blind, which I pulled up. I peered out to the street – my eyes narrow in the light – and watched a couple of cars whoosh by, one with its music blaring loud enough to make the windows vibrate. I stepped away from the window when I saw a man, delivering leaflets, dressed in shorts and T-shirt and flip-flops, whistling up the path past the daffodils and into the wisteria. Then I suddenly noticed a big empty space where Joe’s car was normally parked. I scanned the street and panicked. Had it been stolen?
‘Joe?’ I said, moving out into the hallway, where Joe was kneeling to pick up the leaflet advertising pizza that had landed on the mat. ‘Where’s the Spider? Did you have to park up the road?’
Joe stood, twisted the catch and, with the door ajar, he smiled over at me.
‘Sold it,’ he said, lifting his hand up into a goodbye salute. ‘Got to go.’
‘Sold it?’ I said, gobsmacked. He loved that car.
‘Yep,’ he said, with a curious grin. ‘See you later.’
When I finally dragged myself into the cafe, I made my phone call to Dominique to give her a rundown of Maggie’s dinner party. I graded her with a nine out of ten and talked about the delicious grilled baby artichoke salad for an unhealthy amount of time.
‘Say hi to Joe for me,’ Dominique said when I’d finished speaking. ‘Tell him we miss his coffee run and want him to come in for more shifts.’
‘Right,’ I said, rolling my eyes. ‘I will.’
After I’d hung up, I sat on a chair and looked around the cafe. There was still so much to do, but, most pressingly, I needed to get on with preparation for the decoration. I wanted people to come here for the coffee, tea and homemade cakes and biscuits, but also for the atmosphere. I’d dreamt of lavender walls, pale mint-green painted tables, colourful glass vases filled with fresh flowers, lace tablecloths, mirrors on the walls, wooden chairs, scratched and scarred with life, cake stands made from chintzy plates. I had it all planned. But as I stood looking at the hideous wallpaper half stripped off the walls, I felt overwhelmed with the enormity of it all. How could I get it done alone? Just then, Isabel burst through the door.
‘Sorry,’ she panted. ‘I’m so late. Sorry. I’ve been trying to sort out a problem with the couple renting our flat. One of their references was slightly dodgy.’
I smiled, relieved at the sight of her.
‘Oh God,’ I said. ‘Well, you don’t want them, then, do you? I’m so pleased you’re here. I was just about to lie down and die.’
Isabel squeezed my arm and nodded.
‘I think it was just a disgruntled landlord from when they were students,’ she said. ‘He said they’d broken a window catch or something. Christ, I don’t care about window catches, but I had to follow it up. Anywa
y, so, how are you this morning, apart from wanting to die? How did last night go?’
I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt and breathed out noisily.
‘Hungover,’ I said. ‘Terribly, horribly, miserably hungover. I have no one to blame but myself. Last night was, well, it was a bit of a nightmare. Ethan kissed me.’
Isabel, dressed in a black vest top and polka-dot skirt, rolled her eyes and shook her head. I frowned. I was expecting sympathy. She moved into the kitchen and started noisily pulling things out of boxes.
‘Isabel?’ I said, following her in. ‘Are you OK?’
Isabel turned round and looked at me for a long moment, rubbed her forehead and sighed.
‘You know you’re my best friend and I love you, don’t you?’ she said. ‘You know that I support everything you do in life, even if it’s really bizarre, like buying those hideous platforms last summer.’
A smile flicked across her lips and I laughed, remembering the offensive shoes I’d bought on a whim.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I admit those platforms were a mistake, but what’s this about?’
‘Look,’ she said, giving me a sad smile. ‘I’m worried about you. You obviously still have strong feelings for Ethan, but I think you need to think about what you’re doing really, really carefully. You’re treading on dangerous ground and I think you’re really close to ruining everything with Joe.’
I blushed, wanting to come to my own defence but suddenly lost for words. I felt like Isabel was telling me off – she never normally said anything so critical.
‘I don’t know how I feel,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘I was just a bit drunk and now I’m hungover. Ethan kissed me, but nothing’s really changed.’
Reaching for a mug on the drying rack, I moved to the sink and poured myself some cold water and drank it down to try and get rid of the nausea I felt. Was Isabel right? Had I really been that close to being unfaithful to Joe?
‘Everything’s changed,’ Isabel said. ‘Since Ethan turned up, you’ve been in a daze. You say nothing’s changed, but I think you are being disloyal to Joe by not telling him about all this. I don’t want you losing yourself over Ethan all over again. And I don’t want you to lose Joe, just because you’re too scared to commit to someone who genuinely loves you and will stick around forever.’