by Lisa Jewell
He knew he was nothing special to Cheri, but then he didn’t suppose that anyone would be anything special to Cheri. It was, had been, purely and simply, fucking as an extension of dancing, a natural conclusion in a way to a traditionally sexual art form. They danced so well together that it stood to reason they would fuck well together.
It had been much easier than Karl could have imagined, lying to Siobhan, facing her fresh from the Sol y Sombra, coital sweat still drying on the back of his neck, the tang of rubber still perceptible in his boxer shorts. Funny how he didn’t blush now, now that he actually had something to feel guilty about. He’d spent his entire life blushing at inopportune moments, his face reddening for no reason whatsoever, and now, he could walk into his flat, face his faithful and trusting girlfriend of fifteen years, his dick smeared with the vaginal secretions of the blonde bimbo from upstairs, and remain perfectly alabaster white. Ironic.
It hadn’t occurred to him that girls like Cheri got pregnant. She was just so utterly soulless, so cold, so vacant and devoid of emotion, so different to how he expected a real woman to be that he hadn’t thought for a moment that she even possessed a womb. Cheri was a dancer, a looker, not a mother. The thought of a baby suckling at those perfect rose-coloured nipples was ludicrous, the idea of Cheri pushing a pram, of Cheri changing a nappy, was laughable.
Siobhan was what Karl imagined a mother to be like. Siobhan was real, she was alive, she had a heart so big she could have mothered the entire country and still had room for the rest of the world. Karl had never been loved by anyone the way he’d been loved by Siobhan, such clean, easy, honest love, not the possessive, clingy insecure love so many people mistook for the real thing. She had never tried to change him, to alter him in any way. She loved him just the way he was, and Karl didn’t think you could ask for much more than that. Except, for some reason, passionate sex with unsuitable, unpleasant women.
Karl was feeling incredibly uncomfortable now, with Cheri and Siobhan in the same room. And Cheri had a look about her, like she was here for a reason, had a hidden agenda. She turned away from Joe Thomas for a moment and caught Karl’s eye – she smiled widely at him and, to Joe’s obvious disappointment, started to make her way over towards Karl and Siobhan.
‘Hi!’ she beamed, ‘Hi! It’s Siobhan, isn’t it? I haven’t seen you around for ages. Haven’t you been getting out much lately?’ she held out her tanned hand for Siobhan to shake. Karl felt sick as the two women’s flesh touched. ‘I’m going to miss your boyfriend so much.’
‘Oh, really?’ Siobhan replied amiably.
‘Yes, Tuesday nights will never be the same again,’ she said, looking at Karl.
Karl found himself almost glued to the spot, his bottle of lager frozen half-way between his mouth and the table, watching the scene unfold before his eyes.
‘You must be so proud. When do you go on the air, Karl?’
He collected himself, conscious of a small stream of sweat wriggling down his temples. ‘Erm, Monday week, isn’t it, Shuv?’ he said, handing the conversation back to the women.
‘Yes, that’s right. He’s at the station all next week, though, to learn the ropes, you know, learning how to put those jingle cartridges in the jingle machine, all that technical stuff,’ Siobhan replied with a little laugh.
‘Well, Karl, good luck and everything. I’d have to have stopped coming to the lessons anyway soon. Look’ – she held out her left hand, palm down – ‘I’m getting married.’
‘Oh, what a beautiful ring.’ Siobhan held Cheri’s fingertips gently in hers while she examined it, turning it to catch the light.
‘Yes, it belonged to my fiancé’s mother. She was one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen.’
‘Your fiancé – is that the tall guy with the blond hair?’ Siobhan asked.
‘Oh, no, that’s Martin. Oh, God, I wouldn’t marry him. No, it’s Giles. I’ve known him since I was nineteen. He’s very wealthy, very important in the City. He’s got a house in Wiltshire and one in Australia and a flat in Docklands.’
‘Where will you live? Are you going to move out of Almanac Road?’
‘No, I think I’ll keep it as a pied-à-terre.’ She sounded uncomfortable using the expression. ‘You’ve got to have a bit of space, haven’t you?’ She tossed her hair over her shoulder and laughed. ‘Anyway, you two, I hope you don’t mind but I’m leaving now. I’ve got a big day tomorrow looking at dresses, and I’ve got to find a venue for the reception.’
Karl and Siobhan both murmured their lack of disappointment.
‘Karl, my coat’s in the office. Would you mind opening it up for me?’ Cheri placed her hand on his bare arm and he jumped slightly, the first time he’d moved since Cheri had approached them.
‘Erm, why don’t I just give you the key?’ he said, fumbling in his pockets.
‘Oh, you know how awkward that lock is – I can never get the hang of it. Do you mind?’ She was wearing a sickly smile, one of her eyebrows raised slightly higher than the other.
Karl gripped Siobhan’s hand. ‘I won’t be a second. Will you be all right?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ she replied weakly, wondering why she was feeling so uncomfortable about Cheri and Karl going to the office together.
He returned a few minutes later, looking red faced and flustered. ‘Do you mind if we go?’
Siobhan was secretly relieved. ‘No, of course not. What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing. I’ve just had enough, that’s all,’ he said distractedly, surreptitiously trying to wipe away the now solid stream of sweat rolling down the sides of his face.
He was so angry he could hardly breathe. That little bitch, casually moving from man to man, taking things as she went, holidays in Antigua, engagement rings, flats, babies, honesty, decency. What was she going to do to this poor Giles character?
Everyone seemed to let her get away with it, just carried on giving her things and giving her things and never expecting anything in return. Well, he was different. He expected things. He wasn’t going to let her walk away just like that, into some cosy life with a rich man who’d give her anything she wanted for the rest of her life. Especially when she’d come here tonight to show him she was in control, to flaunt herself at him, to prove to him that she could fuck him, finish with him, abort his baby and still get a decent man to marry her.
That was why he’d done that to her in the office just now, forced his hand down the front of her dress, squeezed those perfect breasts hard with his sweaty fingers until she’d yelped with pain and then kissed her hard, ignoring the clash of his teeth against hers, sucking hard on her tongue and grabbing her crotch with the other hand, kneading the hot flesh inside her knickers while she struggled against him. He’d thrown her coat at her then and held the door open. He wasn’t scared of her any more.
‘Go home, you slut,’ he’d said. ‘If you ever come anywhere near Siobhan again … ‘He was shaking, and the anger inside him filled out the whole of his six-foot frame.
She was a whore, a slut – it didn’t matter whose engagement ring she was wearing – and he wanted her to feel it, wanted her to leave the Sol y Sombra cheap and dirty, not the righteous, virtuous wife-to-be she’d convinced herself she was tonight. She’d looked frightened when she left, clutching her coat, her lipstick smudged around her mouth, her dress dishevelled. He’d ruined it for her, her little wedding fantasy. Good.
‘Shuv,’ he said later on when they’d got home and he’d regained his composure, ‘let’s have a baby.’ He hadn’t planned to say it, it just came out. But the moment he said it he realized it was right. It was what he wanted, more than anything.
‘Oh, Karl, you know … ‘Siobhan began sadly.
‘Yes, yes, I know. It’s going to be difficult, it’s going to be hard. Especially for you. But let’s try. Properly. We’ll be able to afford it now – you know, different treatments and stuff. Shuv, please. I really want us to have a baby.’
He was on his knees
now, holding Siobhan’s hand. ‘Please … ‘He laid his head on her lap.
Siobhan was still feeling unsettled by the incident in the club, and this was the last thing she’d expected. She thought they’d written it off years ago, after the doctor had told her that the infection in her ovaries had made her infertile. That’s why they’d got Rosanne. She hadn’t thought the subject would arise again; it had been philosophically dealt with and it was closed.
‘But what if it doesn’t work, you know? It could take years and years, and I’m thirty-six now. Maybe I’m too old – they don’t like dealing with older mothers, more risks, it would take up all our time. I’ve seen the documentaries – it might tear us apart, and you and I are more important to me than a baby. I couldn’t bear it, all the disappointments and the waiting …’
‘Please, Shuv, please.’
Siobhan looked down at the mop of black glossy curls on her lap, the solid neck and the curve of his wide shoulders, the bright design of his Hawaiian shirt. His legs were bent up under him, his whole being prostrate and vulnerable. God, she loved him. All she wanted in the whole world was for Karl to be happy. That was all she’d ever wanted, from the day she’d met him.
‘OΚ – we’ll see.’
Karl grasped her tightly and buried his head further into her warm flesh. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ she heard him breathe. ‘Thank you.’
She stroked his hair, ignoring the slick gel, and felt quietly scared.
Chapter Ten
Ralph should have gone out, he realized that now. He shouldn’t have sat in on his own all night. Claudia had invited him out to some press party for the launch of a new perfume her agency was handling. It would have been a nightmare, but there would have been free food and booze and lots of PR babes to admire and he could have just got totally pissed and spent the night at Claudia’s and let the two of them have the flat to themselves. But instead he’d decided to be selfish and interfering and hang around to see what happened next with the red-hot lovers. He’d been expecting to hear the key in the lock all night and was positioned ready for the entrance of either one of them, feet up on the coffee table, spliff on the go, lager in one hand, remote control in the other.
At about nine o’clock he’d got bored of maintaining this pose even though it was a fairly natural one, and had decided that a reading-the-paper-in-the-kitchen pose would be more suitable. By ten o’clock he’d read the obituaries and the gardening column, had tried and failed to get even one word on the cryptic crossword and had thoroughly depressed himself by reading the executive job pages. Was he ever, ever, going to be in a position to earn £120,000 p.a. plus car plus healthcare plus bonus? No, he wasn’t, and the thought made him miserable.
By half-past ten he had concluded resentfully that Smith and Jem must be together somewhere and he’d made toast and experimented with a lying-on-the sofa-making-a-phone-call-and-eating-toast pose but couldn’t think of anyone he wanted to speak to.
By the time Jem and Smith finally got home he was back in his original sofa, spliff, beer and telly pose. They were glowing horribly and the noise of their playful chatter in the hall had preceded them upsettingly.
They stood in the doorway, all teeth and smiles and breathless hilarity.
‘All right, mate. Had a heavy night?’ Smith enquired sarcastically. Sarcasm was not something Ralph was in the mood for.
‘Yeah, well, I was going to go to one of Claudia’s poncey press things but I couldn’t face it. I didn’t fancy another heavy night after last night, so I thought I’d have a quiet one. Where’ve you two been, then?’ He was trying to be pleasant. He really didn’t want to know where they’d been, he didn’t give a shit where they’d been.
‘Just for a drink with a couple of Jem’s friends and out for a meal.’ Smith placed his hand on Jem’s shoulder as he spoke; Ralph felt dejected.
‘You missed a great programme on Discovery,’ he countered, ‘about killer sharks. They cut this one shark open on the beach and found the partially consumed remains of four men inside it, including their oxygen tanks.’
‘Aw, fuck, what a way to go,’ Smith said. Ralph could tell that he was feigning interest; he was looking at Jem and playing with her hair.
‘Does anyone need to use the bathroom? I’m going to get ready for bed,’ she said, taking Smith’s hand from her hair and holding it at her side. Ralph watched her gently.
I know about you, he wanted to say. I’ve been inside your head all day long and I know everything. I know every thought you’ve had for the last ten months, every place you’ve been, every meal you’ve eaten, I know more than Smith. I know you haven’t had a single date all year, that you’ve been starved of sex but resisted the temptation to go to bed with your friend Paul.
I know you eat curry at least twice a week.
I know that you’re not as confident as you make out and that you hate yourself sometimes. I know you worry what people think of you, that you’re sensitive, that you can be paranoid sometimes, that when you’re being chirpy you think you’re getting on people’s nerves.
I know that you haven’t spoken to your mother for two years and how unhappy that makes you.
I know you get terrible PMT. I know your periods are as regular as clockwork (thirty-one-day cycle, first thing in the morning) and that you worry obsessively about your bowel movements and that’s why you eat two pounds of All-Bran every morning.
I know you had chronic piles in June.
I know you think you’re two-faced because you think dreadful things about people you’re nice to in the flesh.
I know you chose Smith because he bought you your favourite flowers. I know about your dream and I can see why you thought that Smith was the one. I should have made more of an effort, I should have put some decent clothes on and offered to help, I shouldn’t have been so offhand and I shouldn’t have gone to bed. And I know you’re wrong, Jem – it’s not Smith, that was just a coincidence: buying flowers is a cheerful thing to do. It was me sitting on the sofa when you looked through the window and it’s me you should be with.
But how could he say it, when it would mean admitting that he was a sneak of the lowest sort, the kind of person who reads other people’s diaries? He looked at Jem now and realized that she was a different person to the stranger he heard leave the house that morning. He’d been inside her head all day, inside her thoughts. He knew more about her than Smith did, Smith who’d spent the evening with her and met her friends and had sex with her last night. He knew her secrets and insecurities. He desperately wanted to be close to her.
‘Na, na, go ahead. I’m going to be up for a while,’ he replied.
‘You go first,’ Smith said, pulling Jem back towards him with both arms around her waist.
‘OΚ. Night night, Ralph, see you tomorrow.’
‘Don’t I get a kiss?’ he said, getting up from the sofa. He suddenly wanted to touch her, too.
‘Why not?’ Jem smiled. ‘Night night, Ralph,’ she said again and gave him a peck on the cheek.
‘Sleep tight, Jemima.’
‘So, what do you think, then?’ Smith whispered excitedly, as the door closed behind her.
‘About what?’ muttered Ralph. He really didn’t want to discuss Smith’s revolting good luck with him.
‘Jem, of course. What do you think of Jem? Of me and Jem? Oh, come on – you must have worked out what’s going on.’
‘Oh, right, very nice. Yes, very nice.’ Then, seeing from the look on Smith’s face that something further was required, ‘Lovely hair, very pretty, very nice. I’m very pleased for you, Smithie, really I am.’
Glancing at Smith, he could sense that this line of new-girlfriend flattery still wasn’t sufficient.
‘I’m not talking about what she looks like, I’m not asking you to fancy the girl, I just want to know what you think of her – of us.’
‘Look, what the fuck do you want me to say? The girl’s only been here five minutes. She’s very nice �
� I like her. I just hope you know what you’re doing, you know, after the last few girls. You’ve got a bit of a track record for rushing things … remember Greta? You asked her to marry you after two weeks and then couldn’t understand it when she ran a million miles in the opposite direction. And then that fuck-awful Dawn girl, the one you told you loved on the first night you met her and then she turned up the next day with all her stuff, expecting to move in. And I had to get rid of her for you. And that Polish girl you took home to meet your parents after less than a week, who made off with their Camcorder and your dad’s laptop to support her boyfriend’s crack addiction. And …’
‘Ok, OK,’ Smith conceded, ‘I know what you’re saying, but this is different. Jem’s different. I feel different. That’s what’s so great. I’m not going to fall in love with her, it’s all under control! I was going to tell her tonight, tell her that I didn’t want to take this any further, tell her about Cheri and everything. And then I thought, why? Why the hell shouldn’t I have a bit of fun for a change, a bit of sex? I forgot how much I enjoyed it and I think I deserve it, don’t you? Jem’s a really lovely girl, I really like her. But for once, I’ve got the upper hand, I’m in control. I’m older and wiser and I won’t make the same mistakes again. It’s just a bit of fun. Really,’ he stressed, noticing the look of scepticism on Ralph’s face.
‘So you haven’t told her about Cheri – about your deeply unhealthy five-year obsession with an unattainable woman.’
‘Of course I haven’t! You’ve got to be kidding, haven’t you? I’m not going to mess it up before it’s even started. She thinks I’m great, she thinks I’m the man of her dreams – really! She told me last night. She – now get this – she thinks that this flat has appeared in her dreams and that I’m her destiny. Isn’t that hysterical! Anyway, Cheri’s a different thing entirely. Cheri’s a dream-woman. I’ve waited long enough. It’s time to get on with my life. And maybe if she sees me getting on with my life, you know, without her, with a pretty girlfriend who worships the ground I walk on, she’ll see me in a different light, come round a bit. It might make me more attractive to her.’ Smith’s face brightened at the thought.