by Freya North
‘God, that was good,’ she’s purring, dragging her nails up and down his back, through his hair. ‘I needed that.’
But Oliver can’t reply because actually, he could weep. He could sob and howl. It’s always the same these days – as soon as his balls are empty he is subsumed with an all-encompassing hollowness, a dreadful terrifying emptiness that sex without love causes. It’s a hateful situation – to need to fuck so badly, to need human touch though he knows now the utter wretchedness its aftermath brings.
But Oliver is a good man, a lovely man. He has manners and innate kindness and a sense of decorum. So he won’t run to the bathroom, change and get the hell out of there as soon as he can. He could, but he won’t. He gives himself a moment, a long moment, then he slides out of her, lies on his back, lets her lie on his chest, lets her run her hands in that post-coital languor over his torso. But he can’t feel it. His spent body is numb now, there’s nothing left inside or outside. And he can hear her talking but he’s not really listening.
‘My husband had an accident at work. We don’t have sex. He has depression – impotence. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a lovely man. But I need sex, you know? I’m almost fifty. I love my husband – don’t get me wrong. But I don’t want to leave him and I don’t want to find myself drawn to having an affair. So that’s why I do the websites – because they’re discreet, aren’t they? People like me – like you – good people who have needs. It’s saved my marriage. Do you know that? It’s saved it.’ She pauses for breath. Oliver hopes she’ll start up again with, Well, anyway, I’d better go now. Thanks a lot and good luck!
But no.
‘So Pete – tell me. Shall we meet again? I work part-time. I could be here Wednesday.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Home? Wife?’
‘Something like that,’ he says.
‘You told me your wife isn’t around?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You just don’t want another relationship?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, nor do I. That suits me. I could do this time next week, then, if you can’t do Wednesday.’
‘I’ll check – and I’ll email you.’ He smiles at her. ‘I’ll email you if I can do this time next week.’
And he hates it that her eyes light up. She no longer looks or sounds like the horny vixen who’d screwed him senseless minutes ago. She looks, now, on the plain side of normal but her eyes don’t sparkle, they have a dullness, a sadness. Everything about her expression points to too much hope at the thought of being able to escape home again this time next week. Her make-up has smudged. Oliver wonders if at some point during sex, she’d wept silently too.
She’d paid for the room in advance. She won’t take any contribution from him.
‘You can pay next time – if you might be able to do this time next week,’ she says. ‘Email me, won’t you – either way.’
‘Of course.’
And he will. That was the beauty of these websites; that’s the etiquette – no embarrassment emailing to say, Actually, it was bloody great but I’m not into seeing the same person more than once. He could be as honest as that. It didn’t matter. There were plenty of other willing one-off bunk-ups online. A whole society. It wasn’t about relationships for any of them. For Louise it wasn’t about this Pete man at all – it was purely about being able to have good sex, fantasy sex, sex full stop, without cruising some dreadful bar on a Friday night and bullshitting her way through a loud evening of overpriced drinks and inane chatting-up in the hope that she might pull at the end. She’d never do that – what, with her husband at home? What kind of a Friday night would that be for him? She wouldn’t do that. Ever. But she could tell him she was off shopping on a Saturday afternoon, have someone clean, sober and like-minded fuck her brains out and restore her to the good wife she still really wanted to be.
Oliver Bourne. Forty-six. Lost his beautiful wife not quite three years ago in a tragic road accident. She was forty-three. No age. They’d been together since they were both twenty-one. And he’d loved her and she’d loved him. He’d been faithful to her and it had been easy. And now she was gone and he was mortal and every now and then his physical needs were overwhelming. And websites like the one which had brought him into contact with Louise today were the way forward for him to survive as a man on earth who had a wife once, but no more, and never wanted a relationship again. Louise and an alarming number of others just like her, able to replace something missing in their lives. For Oliver though, something was missing which he believed could never be replaced. Because it hadn’t been lost, it had gone. DeeDee had gone and life would go on; it just wouldn’t be the same and it could never, ever, be as good as it had been.
Suzie Vs Candy
‘How’s Vita, then?’ Suzie asked, trying to be casual by using a vague but light tone of voice while flipping through a magazine.
‘Vita?’
‘Yeah – you know. Just wondered, that’s all. You know – how things are. With – the shop? And stuff.’
‘Stuff?’
Suzie didn’t like it when Tim was like this. Unhelpful. Sharp. All she really needed – and surely he could fathom this – was an answer along the lines of, Oh, Vita’s fine, I think – haven’t had to speak to her much at all recently, thank God. But Tim wasn’t saying that. He wasn’t saying much and his tone was flat, guarded. Suzie couldn’t leave it at that, now. She needed more information but also to bring back his focus to the brilliant fun beauty that she spent so much effort hoping he’d see. She walked over to him, slipping her hand into the back pocket of his jeans and giving a squeeze. She took the plates from him and took over loading the dishwasher. He went and sat down at his kitchen table; she glanced over her shoulder hoping to catch his eye. He was reading the paper. Yesterday’s.
Breezy. Be breezy. ‘Because you were saying that it’s been – what did you say – stressy.’
Tim shrugged. ‘Only in terms of the business – it’s not making what we’d forecasted. It’s now practically July.’
‘Only in terms of the business.’ She needed that phrase to be repeated out loud, as if she was quoting his statement of intent. ‘So you’re getting on well outside of that?’
‘I hardly see or speak to her!’ Tim paused, irritated, and looked over to her. ‘You know all this – why do you ask? Nothing’s changed.’
‘I’m just interested.’ Smile. Sweet sweet smile. ‘I care. What I mean is, I care about you and I hope she’s not giving you a hard time or stressing you out. With texts and stuff.’
You’re paranoid, Tim thought to himself. You sound like Vita started to. Just then, to him, it seemed an annoying coincidence that the women he chose seemed to exhibit similar traits.
‘So you don’t speak to her socially then? Much? At all?’
Tim looked at Suzie as if he didn’t quite understand the question. She came and sat at the table, flipped through a magazine. Lingered a while and then started up again, as if momentarily she’d forgotten she was halfway through a conversation because it was so unimportant.
‘She doesn’t – you know – bother you with late-night texts? She leaves you alone now, does she?’
‘Jesus – I’m with you. Why would I socialize with her? If it wasn’t for the business, there’d probably be no contact. Texts bypass the need to talk.’
Suzie nodded slowly as if it was no issue and she understood completely, as if she was only half aware of the conversation because mostly she was engrossed in the magazine. But actually she was on the horoscope page and, as was her habit, she was reading her star sign. And Tim’s. But also Vita’s too. She was drawn to doing so in any magazine or newspaper no matter how trashy; to read and cross-reference the three star signs. Today, Vita’s and Tim’s reports – though different – had a worrying synergy. The astrologer was prophesying that communication could vanquish a difficult period, understanding could deepen and dreams which had seemed impossible could be wi
thin reach. A new, rejuvenated period of domestic happiness was forecast. Suzie shuddered. Hers simply said to trust her instincts and be prepared to relinquish foundering projects with dignity.
‘Actually, I’m seeing Vita today,’ Tim said and, though faint, there was a confrontational edge to his voice.
‘At the shop?’
‘Yes. There’s a trade show coming up – we need to discuss logistics.’
‘Why not just call her?’ Suzie eyed his phone, lying on the table just in front of him, as if it was a black box stuffed with secrets and information. ‘Does it need both of you to go? Who’ll look after the shop?’
‘Only one of us need go,’ Tim said, knowing he was going to Edinburgh for a meeting but deciding not to tell Suzie just yet.
‘Cool,’ said Suzie, but she wasn’t cool at all. She felt heated and tetchy, wishing she’d been born in July or November.
Tim was gathering his stuff together.
‘Tonight?’ Suzie said. ‘Shall we do something?’
‘Cool,’ said Tim, kissing her on the forehead in the perfunctory way Suzie had seen a hundred bored husbands kiss their annoying wives.
Suzie thought, I’m always instigating the plans. And then she thought, it seems to mostly be me initiating sex too, these days.
It was hard work, all of this and she was tired. She didn’t feel quite so effortlessly sassy these days. She had to turn it on. She did really, really want Tim to really, really want her, though. She’d set herself the challenge of being the one he desired more than any other he’d had. Especially Vita. Especially annoying old Vita. For Suzie, Vita actually stirred up more emotions in her than Tim and frequently she swung from triumph to insecurity, superiority to jealousy, from loathing to fear. She thought about her a lot and tried to be better at the things she knew Vita did well while trying not to do the things she knew had pissed Tim off about her. It was a constant guessing game and sneaking a look at texts and call logs assisted her. She’d spent much time analysing the photos in the box under Tim’s bed and many evenings with friends – on the phone, out in a bar – evaluating and dissecting Tim’s relationship with Vita and now hers with Tim. He’s with you, hon, not her, they all said. But he was with Vita for years and he loved her enough to want to marry her! she’d counter. If he loved her that much, why aren’t they still together? they’d bat back.
He’s. With. Me.
She had to keep remembering that. But sometimes it just didn’t feel that way. At those times it was easier for her to hate Vita rather than doubt Tim.
Vita was in deep discussion with a customer about the merits of the cream enamelware pitcher and tray, as opposed to the same items in white edged in blue.
‘The cream is more contemporary, modern Shaker you could say – perfect for the Farrow and Ball type interior,’ she was saying when Tim walked in. ‘Anyway, they’re the same price – whichever you choose.’
‘It’s for an American friend of mine.’
‘Oh,’ said Vita, as if solving a riddle, ‘well then, I’d definitely go for the white – it’s more traditional. More Englishy cottagey oldie worldie.’ Tim smiled. It was a very Vita thing to say. It was also a good sales tactic. The white set was bought. The customer looked thoughtful and all it took was a collusory prompt, sotto voce, from Vita.
‘You love the cream set,’ she said. ‘Why not treat yourself?’
The customer glanced back at it.
‘I’ll knock a little off, if you have both.’
‘Really?’
‘Five pounds.’
The customer paused and then grinned guiltily. ‘Go on then.’ And while Vita was wrapping and packing, the lady handed over four packets of quirky paper napkins that were displayed near the till. They cost more than the discount.
‘She’d have bought both without the discount,’ was Tim’s opening gambit when they had the shop to themselves.
‘She wouldn’t have bought the napkins though. It’s the feel-good factor. She’ll be back. She’ll always come here for gifts. And sometimes I’ll give her a discount and other times I won’t. And that means she’ll come back even more often.’
‘Whatever you say,’ Tim said. He’d never really figured out Vita’s business strategies.
Vita looked at him. They were standing next to each other, both of them with hands on hips, looking at the table with the little creatures made from teasels and pine cones, as if observing naughty children.
‘Are these popular?’
‘No, not really,’ Vita said. ‘The kids all want them, but the mums worry they’ll make a mess or have creepy crawlies hibernating in them.’
Creepy crawlies. A Vita-ism. Tim smiled.
‘How’s things?’ he asked. She looked good today. He’d stopped noticing. A long time ago.
She shrugged. ‘June’s not been a good month – but not a bad month either, all things considering. A little down on last year.’
‘And outside of the shop? Work and play?’
She shrugged again. ‘Not a good month, not a bad month. A little down on last year. All things considered.’ The allusion was lost on him. ‘And you?’
He shrugged too.
Tell me about Suzie, Tim. Own up. No, don’t.
An awkward silence during which, standing there, side by side, elbows almost touching, she could sense his body heat. They were close but too close for comfort. Vita stepped away. ‘So!’
‘So,’ said Tim, ‘about the trade fair.’
‘Yes,’ said Vita, ‘what do you think?’
‘I’m meant to be in Edinburgh,’ Tim said. ‘I can’t cancel it – they’re a new client for the consultancy.’
‘But what about the shop?’
‘Could Jodie come in? The show’s only at Alexandra Palace. You don’t need to stay over. One day would probably be enough anyway.’
‘I thought you said Jodie’s beyond useless?’
‘As a Saturday girl, yes,’ said Tim, ‘but midweek – she’ll probably be flattered, she may even rise to the challenge. She’s an impoverished student – she’ll probably relish the chance to skip some boring lecture.’
‘I’ll ask her. But what if she can’t?’
‘God, Vita, why don’t you just ask her first – and depending on her answer, then worry about a plan B?’
And Vita thought to herself, Remember that? The way he turns? The way you think you’re pals and suddenly you wonder if he really dislikes you?
‘I’ll do that,’ she said and she wanted him to leave.
‘Let me know,’ he said, on his way out. And then he paused. ‘Nice dress. By the way.’
It gave her a lift. And she was angry with herself for letting it.
Before she rang Jodie, Vita did the sensible thing and allowed herself a few minutes to think about Tim. To really think about him. Wondered why he didn’t use his relationship with Suzie against her when that really would be a very Tim thing to do. Shove it in her face, brandish it about. What meaning could Vita find in this? Was it that he didn’t want to hurt her? If so, did that then imply he had feelings for her still? Or did it mean Suzie meant nothing and wasn’t worth mentioning because in the course of his life she simply wasn’t important? If so, then she really wasn’t the new Vita, she was an opportune distraction. A bed warmer. A drinking buddy. An ego boost. Cheaper than a Porsche but with the same penis-extension factor.
I hope it’s that she simply doesn’t figure large enough in his life to be worth mentioning, Vita thought.
And then she thought, if that was the case, it was therefore rather pathetic that Suzie loomed larger for her than for Tim, that Suzie was in some ways a more real presence in her life than in his. What she thought it boiled down to was that she just really didn’t want the woman he left her for to be the true, profound love of his life.
I auditioned for that role, I put so much effort into it, I loved it. I’m not ready to let it go to someone else.
But you keep forgetting he didn’t leave y
ou, Vita – you left him.
And then she thought, is this a skewed version of Aesop’s dog in the manger? I don’t want Tim – but I don’t want him wanting anyone else?
And then she thought, For God’s sake, shut up! This is doing me no good at all. All this thinking and wondering that I do isn’t going to change him or the past. What a waste of quarter of an hour – sitting, staring into the middle distance, sifting through all that emotional junk. She knew there was nothing of value in it – she’d been through it with a fine toothcomb over and again.
Go to London! Go to the trade show! Do something different.
Vita phoned Jodie.
Tim was at the bar when his phone rang. Suzie heard it, reached into his jacket pocket for it, saw it was Vita and answered it before she really thought about the ramifications.
‘Hullo? Tim’s phone.’ Purr, she told herself, purr. ‘Who is this?’ Just let her think that Tim no longer puts a name to her number!
Vita felt the adrenalin rise in her throat and dry it out immediately. ‘It’s Vita.’
‘Well, this is Suzie.’
There was silence while Vita scurried through thoughts about what to do in this situation; the pressure of having just a few seconds to frantically sort through a mental filing cabinet for a missing page of instructions of what to do in an emergency.
‘Why do you phone?’ Suzie was suddenly asking. She was outside now. Tim would just think she’d gone out for a smoke. Say he came out? And if he didn’t, how would she return the phone to him without him knowing? It was dangerous, mad, exciting – to be on his phone to his annoying ex. But this opportunity was too good. She’d figure it out later. Seen my phone? No. Wonder where it is? I don’t know. Weird. Oh look, Tim, your phone’s in my bag – you must have put it in there on our way here. Later, later – all that could wait. In the here and now she had Vita, cornered.
‘Why do you phone in the evenings?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You heard. Could you not phone us in the evenings. Tim’s got a life, you know, outside of work. It gets on our nerves.’