The Plus One

by Sophia Money-Coutts

  ‘Have you texted him?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I can’t. I have to wait for him.’

  ‘Says who?’

  ‘Those are the rules!’

  Anthony shook his head.

  ‘I promise you. I can’t text him. He’ll think that means I want to marry him. All men think that if you text them.’

  ‘And you don’t want to marry him?’

  I burst out laughing. ‘Anthony, this is crazy. This is one of those conversations that if he overheard, I’d have to kill myself. This is why women get a bad name.’

  ‘I just don’t understand why you don’t text him. You know he likes you. What’s the problem?’

  ‘It’s just not how it works. Let’s have another drink and stop talking about it.’

  ‘But you’re going to carry on checking your phone every two and a half seconds?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Twenty minutes later my phone vibrated. It was him.

  I realize this is probably too keen, but you’re not around tonight are you? I find myself free and I’d like to see you. J

  ‘He sounds dead posh,’ said Anthony, reading the message over my shoulder.

  ‘What shall I say?’ I asked them.

  ‘Go home and shave,’ Joe insisted. ‘Quick.’

  Which is how I found myself in an Uber heading home, having texted Jasper back saying I was free and did he want to come to my flat ‘for a drink’.

  I had an hour so I shaved, then covered myself with my Tom Ford moisturizer again. Shins, arms, stomach, smudge between the thighs. Boobs? No. Quite weird to moisturise your actual nipples.

  My underwear drawer looked sadder than a charity clothes bank. Black knickers from M&S, size sixteen because I liked pants to be roomy; greying knickers from M&S, size sixteen, which were white for approximately five minutes when I bought them several years ago; ‘fun knickers’ with stripes and spots on which I occasionally bought from Topshop in an effort to jazz things up. Anything ‘sexy’ was right at the back of the drawer, buried beneath old tights.

  I retrieved a black, lacy pair of French knickers and held them up to my hips. They looked tiny. When had I ever squeezed my bottom into these? I put one foot through and fell over. God, I was a bit pissed. Must brush teeth, I told myself. So, I did that and then went back through the underwear drawer again, looking for my ‘sexy’ bra. I knew there was a black lacy one somewhere. My party bra. It was hidden under a pair of old sports socks.

  Underwear on, I squinted in the mirror and poked my stomach with an index finger. Not great. My knickers were digging into my hips. But it would have to do. You wouldn’t be able to see with a pair of jeans over the top. Black jeans. Black low-cut t-shirt. Bare feet because it seemed relaxed and maybe even a bit come-hither. I looked at my toenails, painted dark red approximately some weeks ago. If you squinted, they hardly looked chipped at all.

  I rubbed some tinted moisturizer into my face, added a couple of coats of mascara and dabbed some blusher over my cheeks. Then stood back to scrutinize myself. It was fine. Casual. Relaxed.

  The doorbell went. OK, Polly, I told myself as I went downstairs, be calm. Be cool. Be… I tripped on the penultimate stair and fell into the back of the door with a thud.

  ‘Polly?’ came Jasper’s voice from the other side of the door.

  ‘Fuck me,’ I said, through gritted teeth. My ankle felt like it had exploded.

  ‘Not the most ladylike invitation I’ve ever had.’ He paused. ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yup, fine,’ I said, trying to uncurl myself in the tight space between the bottom step and the front door. ‘Shit, my ankle hurts.’

  ‘Let me in and I’ll have a look. I did a First Aid course once. You may need mouth-to-mouth.’

  I stood carefully on my left leg, gripping the banister with my right hand, and reached for the door. ‘Hi,’ I said, opening it while still on one leg. ‘Sorry, it really hurts.’

  ‘Why are you apologizing? Come on,’ he replied, bending down and picking me up.

  ‘Don’t, Jasper, put me down, I’m too heavy, you can’t possibly get upstairs carrying me. Honestly, I can hop, just put me down and…’

  ‘Be quiet,’ he said, climbing the stairs. ‘I carry farm animals. I can manage you.’

  Upstairs, he put me down on Joe’s sofa and rolled up my jeans. ‘It’s pretty swollen. Can you move it?’

  I slowly rotated my ankle. ‘Yup.’

  ‘Then it’s not broken. You just need some ice.’ He looked over his shoulder and went to rummage in the freezer. He brought back a bag of diced carrots and gently laid it over my ankle. I winced.

  ‘OK?’ he asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Now, that drink.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘bottle of wine on the table. Bottle opener in the drawer next to the sink. Glasses on the shelf.’

  He uncorked it, reached for two wine glasses and came back to the sofa holding them. He held one out for me, then scooped underneath my knees with one arm and sat down, my legs over his lap.

  ‘Well,’ said Jasper, ‘you’re clearly one for dramatic entrances.’

  I laughed and then winced as my ankle throbbed. ‘Ow, don’t make me laugh.’

  He looked at me, then put his wine back down and lifted my legs again.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he knelt on the floor, removed the diced carrots and kissed my ankle.

  ‘Better?’

  I nodded.

  He kissed it again. Then kissed above it, then higher and higher, working his way up my leg. He reached the top of my thigh and looked up at me. ‘I’m glad you were free.’

  ‘Me too. Although I was actually in a bar, but then you messaged so I…’

  Jasper put his hand behind my head, pulling it gently towards him. ‘That’s enough talking.’ He ran his hand through my hair and pulled it gently. ‘Where’s your room?’

  I nodded towards the door beside the bathroom.

  He stood and picked me up again, carried me into the bedroom, then laid me down on my bed. I laughed nervously.

  ‘What’s funny?’ he said.

  ‘Nothing, I’ve just never been picked up like that. It seems quite… erm… it seems like something you’d see in a film. Because I’m quite tall, so I’m always worried that I’m too heavy for boys to…’

  ‘Are you going to talk throughout this?’

  ‘No, no, sorry.’ I pinched my lips together.

  ‘Good,’ he said, kneeling over me. ‘Arms up.’

  ‘Did your nanny teach you to undress women?’

  ‘What did I just say?’ he said.

  I put my arms up and he pulled my t-shirt off then tossed it on the floor behind me.

  Then he pulled his own shirt off, before leaning down to kiss me. ‘How soundproof are your walls?’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why do you think? I want to make you groan. But I don’t want anyone else to hear.’ He reached underneath my bra and circled my nipple with his forefinger.

  ‘Groan? How do you know I groan?’ He pinched my nipple harder while kissing my neck. ‘Aaaaaah.’

  ‘I suspected.’

  ‘Oh, you’re one of those, are you? Into noise?’

  What should I do, I worried. I was just lying there. Run my fingers down his back?

  ‘I’m into people enjoying themselves,’ he said, arching his back as I lightly ran my nails down it.

  ‘People?’

  Jasper leant back and rolled his eyes. ‘Right, tell you what, we’re going to have a moratorium on talking. Not one more word. The only noise I want to hear from you is inaudible expressions of pleasure. Deal?’

  I smiled. ‘Deal.’

  I did make quite a few inaudible expressions of pleasure, as it happens. Three fairly loud expressions of pleasure as the night went on. Firstly, when he pulled my knickers off and put his head between my
legs. Secondly, when I slid down on top of him, rocking slowly, then faster, while he used his hands to make me come again. And thirdly, finally, when he made me kneel facing my headboard, put my hands on the wall and pushed into me from behind, reaching around with one hand to pinch my nipples. Three times. A personal best. Like having a starter, a main course and a pudding. No man had ever made me come three times in one night before because, well, sex can start to chafe a bit, can’t it? I was so pleased I didn’t even mind that it was 4 a.m. by the time we fell asleep. And I’d totally forgotten about my ankle.

  The problem the next morning was that I woke up needing to pee. And my stomach was bubbling and making alarming noises. I looked across at Jasper, still apparently asleep, lying on his front, facing away from me. I had to go to the loo before he woke up. But what if he woke up while I got up and heard me in the loo? Or, worse, what if I got up and made a smell in the loo and then he wanted to pee straight after me? He’d probably leave immediately if that happened. If he went into the bathroom and realized what I’d done. And then I’d never hear from him again. So, I decided just to lie there, stomach growling, bladder full. It was deeply uncomfortable. I rotated my ankle under the duvet. At least that felt all right.

  Minutes ticked by. Maybe I should just go and then light a match? But then he still might wake up and realize what I’d done and be repulsed. Before Hamish, Lex always took an Imodium if she knew she’d be staying overnight with someone. Which I always thought would make you bloated. But she insisted that it was better than any sort of embarrassing bathroom incident.

  More minutes went by. I looked at my phone: 6.41 a.m. Early. What if I went to the loo and ran all the taps to disguise the noise? Would that work? But then he still might wake up and want to go after me.

  Had anyone ever been this pathetic about anything in their whole life?

  More minutes. I decided I’d have to go. Just have to. I’d creep out as quietly as a thief, run the taps, open the window, go to the loo, light a match and then sort of fan the air a bit with a towel. Then I’d feel better. Much better. Go to the loo, brush teeth. Creep back into bed. I inched one leg out from under the duvet and put a toe on the floor.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said Jasper, turning his face towards me. My plan was foiled.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said, retracting my leg and putting it back underneath the duvet. ‘Just stretching.’

  He ran a hand up my stomach and across my left nipple, which instantly hardened. Then he lifted his head, pulled the duvet back and started slowly sucking it. God. I really, really needed the loo. But I’d just have to try to hold it. I ran a finger back and forwards across my teeth quickly to try to de-fuzz them while Jasper turned his attention to my right nipple. He didn’t seem that worried about morning breath.

  6

  MUM WAS THRILLED TO see Bill, who’d always politely shown far more interest in curtain patterns than I ever had. ‘Bill, my darling boy,’ she said, throwing her arms around him outside St Saviour’s. Her head came to roughly the height of Bill’s chest, which made for a sweetly biblical sight. A small, grey-haired woman in a duffle coat clasping her arms around a tall man in jeans and Converse.

  ‘Polly, did you have to wear trainers?’ she asked, turning to kiss me.

  ‘They’re not trainers, they’re Superga. And anyway, Bill’s wearing them too.’

  ‘Don’t tell tales, Polly love, it’s not nice,’ Mum said as we walked into the church. ‘What will the vicar think, you being so untidy?’

  ‘I would imagine he’d be pretty thrilled even if we were all naked, Mum, we’ll probably double his congregation.’ There were two rows of pews either side of the aisle, and precisely two people sitting separately at the front. They turned around to look as we walked in.

  ‘Shhh, Polly. You mustn’t be vulgar in church.’

  ‘Yes, Pols, come on. Please try and maintain a bit of decorum in the house of God,’ said Bill, sticking a finger into my back.

  ‘Ow! Can you not? I’m feeling a bit delicate this morning,’ I said.

  ‘Why, what did you do last night?’ he said.

  ‘Shhhh, you two,’ said Mum, holding a hand up in the air to silence us. ‘Look, shall we sit in this one?’ She gestured at a pew four rows from the front.

  ‘It doesn’t look like there’s going to be a sudden rush of punters,’ I said, shuffling my way down the pew between prayer cushions.

  ‘Sit quietly please. I’m going to have a little pray.’ Mum knelt on a cushion and rested her forehead on her hands in front of her.

  I sat back and scrutinized our two fellow worshippers. One was a small Chinese lady; the other was a middle-aged man sitting hunched in his overcoat, reading the sports section of the Sunday Times.

  ‘Look,’ I whispered to Bill, nodding in the man’s direction. ‘Not very godly, is it, reading the paper in church?’

  ‘I think God has to be grateful for whoever he can get these days. Put your phone away.’

  ‘All right, Dad.’ I put it on silent mode and dropped it into my bag.

  From behind us came the sound of footsteps. I turned around to see a family coming down the aisle. A weary-looking man in chinos and loafers clasping a small blond boy by the hand, followed by a woman with a scarlet coat and mass of dark frizzy hair holding hands with a smaller girl, who was clutching a doll.

  ‘Andrew darling, let’s sit there,’ ordered the woman, pointing at the pew behind us. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she asked.

  ‘No, no, not at all,’ said Bill, ‘the more the merrier.’

  ‘Andrew, you go along first, then Demetrius, there’s a good boy. Then Mummy will go between you and Persephone. Persephone, please don’t pick your nose in church. Right, are we all in?’

  ‘I’ve left my colouring book at home,’ said the boy.

  ‘Demetrius, you don’t need your colouring book. We’re going to do lots of lovely singing about Jesus,’ replied the woman. ‘Persephone, WILL you stop picking your nose?’

  I looked sideways at Bill. He was clenching his jaw and had closed his eyes in an effort not to laugh. Mum was still kneeling, head in hands.

  Then someone else bowled down the aisle. A woman in a floral coat and a beret. She bustled her way to the front, and busied herself behind a pew to the right of the altar, taking off her coat and laying out sheet music. She waved at the Chinese lady, and then pulled out a tape recorder from her bag. She ceremoniously laid it on the ledge of the pew, before pressing play. Tinny, organ music floated down the aisle. ‘All rise!’ she instructed, standing up.

  We stood as a figure in white walked down the aisle. The vicar had long dark hair.

  ‘It’s a woman!’ hissed Mum in a stage whisper.

  ‘Mmm,’ I murmured as quietly as I could.

  ‘No one told me that. It just says “Reverend E. W. Housely” on the sign outside. It doesn’t say anything about it being a woman.’

  ‘Shhh, Mums, she’ll hear you. Everyone will hear you.’

  ‘I suppose I don’t mind that it’s a woman,’ she went on, ignoring me. ‘It’s just very modern.’

  ‘We live in modern times, Susan,’ whispered Bill.

  ‘I suppose we do,’ said Mum, keeping her eyes on Reverend Housely as she came to a halt in front of the altar and nodded at the woman in the beret, who stopped the tape recorder.

  ‘Good morning, everyone,’ said the vicar, beaming. ‘How lovely it is to see some new faces among us. You are all very welcome to this, the Eucharist service at St Saviour’s. To kick things off, let’s sing one of my favourites, “Lead Us Heavenly Father, Lead Us”.’

  ‘A traditional one,’ said Mum, nodding in approval.

  The woman in the beret pressed play again, and the organ recording began. Bill, who’d sung in the choir at his school, immediately launched into the hymn, his low voice rumbling out across the pews towards the stained-glass window at the front. Behind me came the high-pitched tone of the frizzy-haired mother. ‘O’er the world’s
tempestuous sea… Andrew, tell Demetrius to stand up properly!’

  There was coffee after the service in a small, cold room to the left-hand side of the church decorated with abysmal children’s paintings.

  ‘Hello… Vicar,’ said Mum, shaking her hand. ‘I’m Susan.’

  ‘Welcome, Susan!’ said the vicar back, beaming in a manner that suggested she’d never been so excited to meet anyone in all her life. ‘And who have you got with you?’

  ‘This is my daughter, Polly,’ said Mum, so I stepped forward, shook the vicar’s hand and was also rewarded with a beatific smile. ‘And this is Bill,’ she continued.

  ‘Bill, hello, wonderful to meet you. Did you enjoy the service?’ asked the vicar.

  ‘Well, it was enthusiastic, wasn’t it?’ Bill replied. ‘And that’s the main thing.’

  ‘Quite!’ The vicar beamed at us all, thrilled with her new flock. At the same moment, the frizzy-haired woman hurried over, holding a child’s hand in each of hers.

  ‘Vicar! What a service that was. Demetrius enjoyed it very much, didn’t you?’

  Demetrius looked at his shoes.

  ‘And Persephone loved the hymns, didn’t you, darling? Tell Vicar which one was your favourite?’

  ‘I didn’t love them. I hated them,’ said Persephone.

  ‘Oh dear, we’ll have to do better next week, won’t we?’ said the vicar, smiling at Persephone, who was holding her doll upside down with one hand and picking her nose with the other.

  ‘She’s only joking,’ said the frizzy-haired woman. ‘Got her father’s sense of humour. Where is he? Andrew? Andrew?’ She scanned the room, her hair bouncing on her shoulders. ‘We should go and find him, but thank you so much again, Vicar, and see you next week.’

  ‘Same time as always!’ said the vicar, still smiling, until they’d all safely left the room when her face fell and she sighed. ‘They only come because they need to get into the local school.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Mum.

  ‘Sidney, hello, how are you? Come and meet these nice people,’ said the vicar, gesturing at the man who had been reading the Sunday Times, and who was now loitering over the biscuit tray in the corner.