by Carla Blake
It occurred to her then that she might have accidentally set her mobile to ‘silent’ and inadvertently missed Kate’s frantic efforts to contact her, and panicked slightly by the thought, she discreetly fished in her handbag, convinced she would find a hundred ‘missed calls’ waiting her attention. But when she pressed the menu button, there was nothing.
Her mobile phone had been switched off.
Simon, she seethed, turning the mobile back on and watching as the welcome logo flashed across the screen, it must have been him. But how? How had he managed to get inside her handbag and press the ‘off’ button. Her handbag had been down by her feet all through lunch, right by her ankle in fact, but not, as far as she could remember, touching her ankle, so maybe Simon had somehow managed to slide the bag towards him, reach inside and switch it off? And come to think of it, hadn’t he complained of an itchy foot several times? And he’d bent down twice to supposedly retrieve his napkin.
White with fury Rachel stuffed the phone in her pocket and stood up to leave. They could stuff being polite, she scowled, dragging back her chair and flinging down her napkin. Simon was never going to change. He was always going to be a manipulative, lying sod, and Wendy, well, she was bloody welcome to him.
Wendy forestalled her. “You must have read my thoughts.” She smiled, patting Rachel on the arm and reaching for her own handbag. “I was just about to go to the ladies myself. Shall we pop along together?”
Rachel almost refused, but then she saw the look in Simon’s eyes and the way he was sitting back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest and his mouth pressed into a thin, bloodless line, and she thought why not? The days of Simon being able to intimidate her with a single look were over. She no longer cared what he thought or the crushing insults that could fall from his lips, and it would do him good to sweat for a change. Let him be the one to sit there and wonder what they were talking about.
Once in the toilets and out of earshot, she again picked up her mobile and listened to her messages whilst Wendy peed.
Kate, it appeared, was going quietly nuts. Unable to find the restaurant – Rachel’s directions were totally crap!- she went on explain that she’d given up and returned to the office and told everybody that Rachel was sick and had gone home. But where the hell was she? And why wasn’t she picking up her phone? She was imagining all sorts of horrible things here! Rachel had to ring back, like right now! Before she called the bloody police!
Rachel rang her the minute the messages finished to find Kate nearly in tears.
Thank God, she kept saying. Thank God you’re okay. Thank God Simon hasn’t hurt you. Thank God you’ve finally turned your phone back on. Why the hell had she turned it off in the first place? And when was she coming back?
Soon, Rachel replied, adding she couldn’t really speak now; she was with someone. No, not Simon. His new girlfriend. Yes, she knew it was weird, and yes, she did look like something out of a fashion mag, but she couldn’t stop to explain now. She had to go.
Hanging up, Rachel peered into the mirror and pretended to check her mascara, watching as Wendy emerged from the cubicle behind her and crossed the tiled floor to wash her hands. Her nails, she noticed were as immaculate as everything else and for a moment she wondered how Simon coped with them. Long nails, she recalled, were yet another of his pet hates and he’d made her cut hers fairly early in their relationship, insisting they were breeding grounds for germs and infection.
But Wendy’s were still long, which meant Simon had either changed his mind about them or it had just been her nails he’d had an issue with or Wendy had managed to stand up to him and win.
Wendy moved to the dryer and switched it on. Whooshing air filled the room.
Should she warn her, Rachel thought, studying her back. Or did she already know? She didn’t look as though she was suffering the same kind of anguish she’d been forced to endure, but maybe she was just too terrified to speak out in public for fear of what Simon might do. It was so difficult to tell. On the one hand she looked okay, but then, so had she. Only Polly had come close to knowing the whole truth and after that she’d done everything in her power to try and get her to leave him. But what if Wendy didn’t know what he was like, and she didn’t say anything. Would she be condemning her to an entire afternoon of Simon’s particular brand of torment, because by now it was almost certain he’d be fuming, desperate to know what they were talking about and already planning how best to punish Wendy, and it wouldn’t matter what Wendy said, even if she repeated their conversation word for word, Simon still wouldn’t believe her, and then he would make her pay.
Could she really live with that on her conscience?
Running a fingertip across her mascara, Rachel waited for Wendy to join her at the mirror, then quickly cleared her throat. “I know it’s none of my business.” She began, reaching for her lipstick. “But how well do you know Simon?”
Wendy looked at her, then slowly replacing the lid on her own lipstick, put it back in her handbag. “Let me guess.” She said, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a fingertip. “You want to tell me three things. One, how I should think twice before getting involved with Simon. Two, how I really don’t know what he’s like, and three, how he’s going to treat me like a queen in public and a total shit behind closed doors. Am I getting close?”
“Yes.” Rachel frowned, taken aback by Wendy’s openness. “That’s more or less what I was going to say. But, if you know all this, then why..?”
“Am I with him?” Wendy finished for her. “Let’s just say it’s an amicable arrangement. We get together every few weeks, he fucks me, I fuck him and then we part company. Suits me. Suits him.”
“I see. And do you mind if I ask how long has this been going on for?”
“Oh, about three years.”
“Three years!” Rachel exclaimed, shocked at the thought that Simon had been seeing someone else all the time he’d been with her. “The little shit! Well, that explains why he never wanted to touch me! He didn’t need to. Not if he had you on the side.”
Wendy looked unfazed. “Probably.” She said. “But don’t take it personally. He’s always done it. Thing is, Simon’s very particular about where… he puts it, and again, it’s nothing against you. I think out of all the girlfriends he’s had recently you are by far the nicest, but he’s so bloody fussy! He even makes me have regular check ups and he damn well knows I don’t sleep with anyone but him.”
“And you don’t mind!” Rachel asked incredulously. “ God, why do you put up with it?”
“Money.” Wendy said simply, applying blusher. “The bastard’s loaded and for what he pays, it’s more than worth it. I open my legs, he puffs and pants for a minute or two, then he coughs up an expensive present.”
“ And you don’t think that makes you sound just a little bit like a prostitute?” Rachel asked, excusing herself so she could use the toilet.
“Not at all.” Wendy said, raising her voice so Rachel could still hear. “The difference is I’m not at his beck and call and I can refuse if I’m not in the mood. Unless he lets himself into my house that is… I should never have given him that bloody key.. still it usually works out okay. By the way, did you meet his friends?”
“Yes.” Rachel replied, wondering where the conversation was going now. “Why?’
“What did you make of them?”
“Seemed alright. I only met them a couple of times.”
“And I bet you thought they were the nicest bunch of people you’ve ever met? Didn’t it ever cross your mind to wonder how they could possibly be friends of Simon’s?”
“Of course it did.” Rachel said, emerging from the cubicle to wash her hands. “ But then Simon never behaved badly when we were out in company. He was always so polite, so charming. He never said or did a single thing that would have made anyone think badly of him.”
“ I be
t he didn’t.” Wendy said, fishing in her handbag for a tissue. “But were you aware his friends were in on it too? Oh, don’t look so shocked, there was no way you could have known, but they were. The whole, sorry lot of them. They even used to take bets to see how long the latest girlfriend would last. And I think it was Pete’s idea to lock them in a cupboard and see how long it took them to cry. Unbelievable!”
Rachel stared at her. “You’re kiddin’!” She gasped. “Pete?”
“Yeap, Pete. You know, the sod with the stupid hair. What I’d like to do to his balls would fill..”
But Rachel wasn’t listening anymore. Gripping the edge of the sink she was too busy trying to sort her thoughts into coherent order to worry about what Wendy wanted to do with Pete’s nether regions. His friends had been in on it! How? Why? They’d all been so nice to her. Buying her drinks and laughing at her jokes. How could they possibly have been covertly waiting for her to crack! And this woman. This blonde, leggy, perfectly turned out piece of shit standing next to her. She had known! She had known and she hadn’t done a single thing about it! Instead she’d stood by and watched whilst they’d taken the piss out of her. And not just her but all the other poor cows Simon had been out with as well.
She felt sick.
“I think.” Rachel said at last. “That I’m going to leave now. You can tell Simon what you like, I don’t care, but I don’t ever want to see him or you again.”
“Me!?” Wendy cried. “What have I done?”
But Rachel was in no mood to explain and she turned on heel, determined that if this stupid, pea-brained excuse for a prostitute, because that’s what she was no matter which way she tried to dress it up, couldn’t work it out for herself, then she wasn’t going to he the one to enlighten her.
Simon stood up when Wendy joined him back at the table, seemingly unsurprised that Rachel was no longer with her. Instead, smiling and pouring wine, he waited for Wendy to accept the glass and take her first sip before asking if she’d got what they’d came for?
Twelve
On Friday, Polly cooked for all three of them and Rachel, relegated to the lounge after Polly caught her nicking cheesecake mixture direct from the bowl, was put to work lighting candles. She lit three, blew one out, lit two more and then forced herself to stop, recognizing as she paced up and down the lounge that she was starting to faff. She still fluffed up the cushions, though, and fiddled with the music before finally sitting down to impatiently tap her fingers until Kate arrived with a bottle of red and a note pad sticking out of her handbag.
Kissing in the hallway, they both eyed the stairs before Rachel broke away laughing and pushed Kate away. “We can’t!” She said, seeing the wanton look in Kate’s eyes. “ Polly’s cooking.”
“Then next time, tell her to do a salad. Mind you, you look good enough to eat.”
“And you look ready to take down the recipe. Why the notepad? Planning to write a review of your evening?”
“Hardly. I want to be experiencing it babe, not writing about it. No, this,” she said, holding up the notepad, “ is going to be our evidence. We are going to keep a written record of everything Simon says and everything he’s done since you split up with him, and then if he does decide to get nasty, we’ve got something concrete to present to the police. So. Where would you like to start?”
Rachel didn’t know, particularly as she thought Kate was being completely paranoid. Simon wasn’t going to do anything else. Why would he? Okay, he’d blown his top at first and he may or may not have been the one responsible for shoving dog poo through their letter box and scrawling on her car, but that didn’t mean he was going to do anything else, and what had the meeting at the restaurant been about if not an excuse to show her how much he didn’t care? Because it certainly hadn’t been an apology, it had been revenge. The ultimate ‘fuck you’ gesture, parading your new girlfriend in front of your ex.
Polly, however, agreed with Kate. “Where’s the harm in it?” She asked when Rachel expressed her doubts. “Chances are you’re right Rach, and once it’s up to date none of us will ever need to write in it again, but it doesn’t hurt to have some sort of record - just in case.”
“Just in case of what?” Rachel repeated. “You know, you amaze me Polly. I’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve told me to dump Simon, and now that I have, you seem hell bent on hanging onto him. Why? Let it go. He’s gone. It’s over. I ain’t going back.”
“And what about Phil?” Kate added. “You said yourself he was watching us, but we never did find out why? What if he is spying on us for Simon?”
“What if he is? He isn’t going to see anything, is he? And if Phil is watching us, then it’s probably only because he’s thought up some sick, little game to amuse himself with. As for being a mate of Simon’s, well that’s about as likely as pigs flying. All Simon’s mates are bloody ‘Hurrah- Henrys,’ not common little toe rays like Phil.”
The next few weeks were quiet. There was no further contact from Simon and nor were there any further flowers delivered to her desk or printed notes inviting her to lunch. It was quiet and it was busy and like everyone else, Phil kept his nose to the grindstone, desperate to get ahead before the company broke for Christmas.
Kate kept her head down, too, and surreptitiously waved to Rachel whenever she thought no one was looking. She also announced she was going on a pre-Christmas health kick, in which she insisted all her sandwiches were made from brown bread and washed down with large cartons of orange juice that she neglected to mention to anyone other than Rachel, were liberally dosed with vodka.
Watching her chug it down made Rachel feel quite queasy and she wondered how Kate was ever going to make it to the end of the day still capable of walking? She also wondered if Kate was bordering on alcoholism, but when she questioned her about it, Kate refuted the allegation with such ferocity, that eventually Rachel was forced to back down and accept that even if Kate wasn’t a hopeless drunk, she was a reckless cow who was undoubtedly going to put grey hairs on her head way before they were due.
Of course, Kate’s response to that was to suggest they sneak off for one of their secret rendezvous, just to prove how young and virile they still were. A practice they continued to relish despite their suspicions regarding Phil’s interest in them and Rachel’s gentle teasing of Kate that she only fancied her when there was the smell of disinfectant in the air. Still, Rachel had to agree that sex was more fun when they were supposed to be at their desks and to cover their backs even further they took to wearing the same colour lipstick, figuring there was no point in wasting time checking none of their own brand was smudged across the other’s cheeks, when they could both wear the same and spend more time snogging.
Then, two months after they first started going out together, Kate suggested Rachel move in with her.
Rachel, thrilled at the thought of having Kate by her side twenty four, seven, almost screamed with excitement, but then she thought of Polly and of leaving her saddled with a mortgage she couldn’t possibly afford on her own, and her excitement subsided a little.
Polly, however, had other ideas and chuffed to bits that Rachel was so happy and more than pleased at the thought of being able to spend her evenings slobbing around in her pyjamas and watching what she wanted on TV, she constantly urged her to go, assuring her that she’d have a new lodger in no time, providing Rachel stop faffying about, shift her crap and go! The house was lovely. The garden was lovely. What wasn’t there to like? She’d soon find someone to share the bills. Rachel should stop worrying and go be with Kate.
But Rachel couldn’t do it. The house she’d shared with Polly was her sanctuary. The place she’d always fled to when events with Simon had upset her again and she needed a place to hide. It was her security blanket, her haven, and the thought of severing all ties with it, no matter how wonderful the reason, filled her with a cold reluctance she found hard to dislodge.
But Polly was insistent and so was Kate and eventually, after two weeks of agonizing, Polly came up with the perfect plan. Rachel could move in with Kate she said, poking Rachel in the chest, providing, she came back at least once a week to collect her mail, share a bottle of wine and help her eat all the bloody vegetables she had growing in the garden. Because if she didn’t, she would hold her personally responsible for all the weight she was going to put on.
Christmas came and the town lit up.
Decorations festooned the High Street, advertising boards announced the massive savings to be had if only the discerning shopper would buy now!, and tiny stars twinkled amongst the bare branches of trees. Shop windows became winder wonderlands complete with mannequins dressed as Santa dipping into bulging sacks of presents.
The media announced this year’s ‘ must have’ gift and fights broke out over dwindling stock. Kate, out shopping for Rachel, inadvertently walked into the middle of a mad, frantic scramble for a new games console, the type that at any other time of year, sane and civilized people would probably not have looked twice at, but thanks to the media hype, now saw fit to shove and push and generally behave like a bunch of louts just to get their hands on it.
The elbow in the side didn’t help much either and together with the heated instruction that if she wasn’t there to get the latest X box ‘ gotta have it or die’ then she should get her fat arse out of the way and fuck off somewhere else, Kate saw red and flipping the fat, sweaty bloke in the grey suit the finger, she trotted over to the other side of the store and standing on a display stand, shouted at the top of her voice that there more games consoles to be had at the rear exit.
The ensuing stampede and the loss of a single shoe that no one ever did claim, made her day, as did the ensuing headline of the local newspaper.
The Christmas staff party, however, held three days later, did not, although Kate did try her best.