Panic and excitement are things that shouldn’t be mixed, like drinks I guess. I suppose if I had to tell you how I felt that night, it would be the lethal combination of red wine and tequila.
There is little certainty in life unless you know someone inside out. How can you do that? George is how. He had always been a constant in my life, or at least he had until he left London. It was ironic really. I was uncertain about the man I loved, but I was seeing my best friend. Even if Joe never wanted to see me again, I knew that George would always be George and he’d always be my friend. I loved that certainty; it’s so rare.
I needed George that night, I needed to see him and to remember how he made me smile for most of our childhood. I needed to see him and know he still cared about me regardless of Joe’s feelings for me. I wasn’t sure if I was suffering from uncertainty or rejection, but because you’ve just admitted to your cynical self that you are in love with a man who you rowed with because you were behaving irrationally, then all you want is someone you are one hundred per cent sure of. Someone who won’t reject you or hurt you. Your best friend.
George had been there for every one of my heartbreaks. My first boyfriend was Andrew, aged fourteen. He took me to the local park where he shoved his tongue into my mouth and wiggled it about a bit—my first real kiss. I had never had a boyfriend before so I was just grateful, if not a little shocked at that kiss and a little scared of it happening again; so I still let him. Then when he dumped me for some girl from another school, who was a little more willing than me, George hit him. He hit him really hard in front of everyone. He was my hero.
All the men before Joe had been compared to George. He was my benchmark. That was why it took me so long to get over him when he moved to New York. George was my perfect man, and sex didn’t come into it.
Joe was the first man I didn’t compare with George. He was the first man who bowled me over; all that mattered was Joe. And now he wasn’t even talking to me.
*
When I saw George standing at the bar in his hotel, I studied him for a few moments before approaching. He was tall (of course he had been tall when he left, but he looked taller somehow), his dark hair was sprinkled with grey flecks, and he wore a shirt and trousers; he looked preppy. American, I suppose. Although I could see he was George, he wasn’t quite the same George that I remembered. He wasn’t a stranger exactly, but he wasn’t as familiar as I had expected. I took a deep breath, tried to banish my thoughts of Joe and told myself to enjoy the one night I had with my old friend. It could be another five years till the next time.
‘Hi,’ I said, grinning broadly.
‘My God, Hol, you look incredible.’ His smile was the same. An obvious grin, and an honest one. But he sounded different.
‘So do you, and you sound so American.’
‘Do not.’
‘Do too.’ Some things change, but others don’t, although cosmetically we were different, our friendship had been set in cement. Instantly teenagers again.
He ordered champagne, said we were celebrating. We drank a bottle before going to dinner in the hotel restaurant. It was obvious that George was doing very well. He was staying in one of London’s trendiest hotels, eating in one of the most expensive restaurants, wearing quality clothes, even his nails looked manicured. But I didn’t ask him about that. We didn’t talk about our lives as they stood, we talked only about the past.
The past. It’s amazing how strong your grip on it can be. George and I didn’t have a present in common. We both knew we were unlikely to have a future, so we looked to the past, which is where we would always be. We were nostalgic and sentimental as we recalled stories, experiences, our entire childhood from when we were twelve. If anyone could have heard us they would have been bored rigid.
I didn’t mention Joe, he didn’t tell me if there was anyone in his life. I didn’t find out about his job, he didn’t ask about mine. It wasn’t so much a conversation, we were reminiscing. The thing about that is that you talk and talk and talk and don’t realise how much you’ve drunk.
George paid the bill, he insisted. I watched him take his platinum American Express card out of his expensive-looking wallet and I felt proud of him. He had always been ambitious, always certain about where he was going; he appeared to have achieved his goals. He was still the serious, sensible boy I remembered and it had certainly paid off.
‘Do you want to come up to my room and drink the minibar?’ he asked. It sounded like a line; or it would have done coming from anyone else.
‘Of course I bloody do. I haven’t seen you for five years and probably won’t for another five. Let’s go.’ I took his hand and we walked to the lift. I was so comfortable with him that I didn’t even think about taking hold of his hand before I did it.
His suite was huge. I explored it with an enthusiasm I reserved for all hotel rooms. There is something about them that makes me feel decadent and special. I opened all the cupboards and drawers. I flicked all the channels on the television. I ransacked the bathroom, putting a number of the small bottles in my hand-bag, leaving George with just essentials. He was lining up the bottles from the minibar, getting out the ice tray and requesting a packet of cigarettes from room service all at the same time, and with an efficiency and confidence that I knew so well.
‘You never smoked,’ I said. It was true, he didn’t. I smoked. I smoked from the age of eighteen until I gave up.
‘I don’t really, but you know...sometimes, I just...Well when I’m drunk anyway. It’s just this thing, no big deal.’
‘I thought Americans hated smokers,’ I said.
‘Yeah well in the privacy of your own home it’s nobody else’s business. I’m hardly a full-time smoker, it relieves the stress.’ He shrugged.
It was the first thing he had told me that I didn’t already know. Although I was having a wonderful evening, I had to admit it was slightly bizarre.
George handed me a vodka, I gulped it down.
‘Don’t you think it’s weird that we have revisited the past but not talked about the here and now,’ he said, sipping his drink.
‘I was just thinking that.’ I smiled, amazed at how in tune we still were. I remembered that we always seemed to think the same things, and always thought we had some kind of weird psychic link. We didn’t, as the distance between us proved, or if we did it was a connection that only worked when we were in close proximity. Actually I think it was just a result of the amount of time we spent together. Nothing more.
‘Maybe we should start by being completely honest,’ he continued. I looked at him, bemused. I must have been more drunk than I thought. Before I had time to reply, there was a knock on the door. George came back with his cigarettes. As he filled our glasses with ice and alcohol (I think it was gin this time), I took and lit one of the cigarettes. I felt unsettled, I was drunk; I needed nicotine. The atmosphere now was slightly charged. I had no idea at that point what had happened, but I was sure I was going to find out.
‘I am honest with you,’ I said after an age. We were both smoking and drinking.
‘Kid’s stuff, Hol, that’s what it is. Remember when we were young and everyone said we would end up together?’ I nodded. ‘Well haven’t you ever thought about it?’
Now there was a question. Had I thought about it? Of course I had, I would be a liar if I said I hadn’t. But when I had thought about it, and that was an age ago, the answer had been no, categorically no. I loved George more than I’ve ever loved any other man but it was purely platonic. That was the one thing I had always been certain about.
‘George, I’m not sure where this is heading.’ I felt uneasy. He was knocking me off balance, pushing me over, trying to take our friendship into uncharted territory; no man’s land.
‘It’s leading to a kiss,’ he replied.
As soon as the words were out, he leaned in and kissed me. I wanted to run away, because within a few seconds I had gone from having one of my best nights in ages to having one
of the worst.
But I didn’t stop him.
I looked at him totally bewildered. I was trying to figure out my feelings, trying to discover why I didn’t put a stop to it. I felt sick, I was angry with myself, I was disappointed with both of us. Why did I let it happen?
It wasn’t a passionate kiss. It was just a kiss. The way he had looked at me told me that he felt the same. The mechanics were there; it worked as per kiss guidelines, but the magical ingredients which differentiate a kiss from a kiss were missing. Lips were functioning, tongues even made a brief appearance, teeth didn’t clash and saliva didn’t get out of hand. But there was no passion, no enjoyment, and certainly no pleasure.
I lit a cigarette. It was amazing how easily I was able to slip back into being a smoker. As the room began to spin slightly I realised just how drunk I was. I felt as if I had lost control of my faculties. Desperately I needed to regain them.
‘Why?’ I asked. I felt nauseous, but I had no intention of being sick.
‘Holly, don’t sound so angry, it was inevitable. Remember when we first met, we were sworn enemies, but we became so close. We grew up together, we travelled together, we even lived together. Hol, there was bound to be some point where we had a physical encounter.’
‘A physical encounter? Shit George what has happened to you? How can you refer to what just happened as a physical encounter?’ I had never been able to get angry with George, ever. Our friendship, which I cherished, had always been tranquil. I had never refused him anything, been angry with him or had his anger vented on me. But now, now I was looking at a stranger, and one whom I had experienced ‘a physical encounter’ with.
‘I’m sorry, Hol, but that was what it was. I know it was hardly romantic.’ I snorted my agreement, no it certainly wasn’t. He continued. ‘What I mean is that I haven’t been entirely honest with you. I think perhaps I should explain.’
I stared at him while he told me his story.
He was in love. He’d been dating a woman called Julia for three years. She was a fellow lawyer: American, tall, slim, gorgeous, athletic, oh, and she had a lot going for her. The thing was that their relationship was at a junction. (Believe me, along with physical encounters, George also talked about junctions). They both had their own apartments, but they split their time between the two. They were known among their ‘circle’ as a power couple. Successful, rich, good-looking, made for each other. George agreed with them. Nevertheless, and of course in the life of someone who talks ‘a corporate match made in heaven,’ there would be a but, I was an unresolved issue.
I became more incredulous by the second.
He had always expected us to cross the boundaries of friendship at some point in our lives. He knew, from the age of twelve that our hormones would get the better of us, but they never had. That didn’t matter to him until he thought about marrying Julia. He was ninety-nine per cent sure that she was the right woman for him, and he was planning on proposing, but there was a worrying one per cent chance that she wasn’t. I was the one per cent. It wasn’t terribly flattering.
I was the tiny little doubt in the back of his mind; a speck of uncertainty. What if he and I were made for each other after all? He couldn’t take the chance of not knowing. He sat there and told me this as if it made perfect sense. I blinked a few times in the hope that I would find myself dreaming.
George had said he was here on business but he wasn’t. He was here for the sole purpose of checking that I wasn’t the girl for him. So, he took me out to dinner, then he pounced on me, and having done what he came here to do, he was delighted because he realised that our ‘physical encounter’ wasn’t right. It didn’t—or rather I didn’t—do for him what Julia did for him. His exact words were: ‘Holly, there is no use pretending that that worked. No point in thinking that it was right. I don’t mean to be blunt and I’d never hurt you intentionally but you didn’t rock my world.’ He smiled as if it was all some sort of joke. I wasn’t laughing.
I was filled with fury. I was also incredibly drunk having managed to consume most of the minibar while George was relaying his tale.
‘George, I have a boyfriend. I love him, I really do. Then you swan back into my life, you get me drunk, you do this when I’m not prepared and then you tell me that you only did it because you wanted to propose to your superwoman girlfriend and you had to check that I was crap.’ I think I managed to sum it up succinctly. Even if I was doubting my status as a girlfriend at the time.
‘Hol, don’t be like that, you make it sound so crass. You must have thought about us in that way too, women and men can’t be platonic without it crossing their minds. Now, the good news is that you can carry on with your guy and I can marry Julia and we will know, for sure, that we weren’t meant to be together.’ He smiled. He actually smiled, as if he was pleased with the situation.
‘You’re a fucking nutter, George, I can’t believe you’d do this. For your information I wasn’t curious about us. I have never wanted to kiss you, and I don’t know why I did, but I suspect it has something to do with the gallons of alcohol you poured down my neck this evening.’ I could feel my head expanding as if it would pop off. I had another cigarette to try to calm myself. I knew it wasn’t all his fault, much as I wished it was, but he had lured me into his web with the sole intention of seducing me. I felt cheated, and I felt betrayed. I felt betrayed by the one person I never thought would do that to me, which was a zillion times worse.
‘Christ, Hol, you have certainly managed to develop your temper in later life. I remember when you were quiet as a lamb.’ He seemed to be mocking me. Where had my friend gone? Why was he doing that? I understood less than nothing.
‘I have never needed to raise my voice the way I need to now.’ I looked at him and realised that it was fruitless to carry on. He looked so smug, sitting there in his plush hotel room, like the cat who got the cream. Or the cat who had the cream waiting for him back in New York, and who had just sampled the skimmed milk. ‘I’m going now and I want you to know that I am incredibly pissed off with you.’ When it came down to it, the anger didn’t in any way manage to manifest itself. I couldn’t even do my feelings justice.
‘When you calm down you’ll realise that we did the right thing.’ With George’s words ringing in my ears I walked out of his hotel room and out of his life without even a backward glance.
My lifelong friendship was over.
Chapter Five
I woke on Sunday feeling suitably horrible. I know I deserved it. As soon as I was sober again, the anger and guilt set in. Joe didn’t deserve to have a loose woman for a girlfriend, especially since I was in love with him. Why on earth did I kiss George? I couldn’t figure it out, I had no answers. If it was lust, or something like that then I could almost understand. Even if it was just curiosity I would have known why I did it. But I didn’t have any of those reasons. I did it because he wanted me to and that was unforgivable.
I really loved Joe. So why would I jeopardise that with anyone? What sort of woman am I? A raging harlot, a slut, a whore? How could I have let anything happen when my true feelings for Joe had only just been recognised? I couldn’t forgive myself. I hated George, but I hated myself more. I couldn’t bear to think about what I’d done. I couldn’t bear to admit to what I’d done.
I crawled out of bed and into the shower. As soon as I dried myself and dressed I went out to buy the papers. I also bought food to make myself a fry-up. I cooked, ate, then dragged my duvet to the sofa where I lay, feeling miserable, reading the papers.
The phone didn’t ring all day. I thought Joe would have called and just let me know that he was still talking to me, but he didn’t. I wanted to send him a text message, but knew that wouldn’t be a cool thing to do so I hid my mobile phone in the laundry basket. I then tried to figure out what I was going to do.
Normally, at times like this, I would turn to friends for advice. But I couldn’t face talking to anyone, couldn’t bring myself to try to explain the sit
uation. I decided there and then that I would never tell anyone what had happened with George. By not telling anyone, then I could pretend it never happened. Like magic, I obliterated the previous night from my mind and concentrated on how I was going to make my relationship with Joe work. After all, George was now firmly relegated to my past, and I had a future to look forward to. I just had to ensure that Joe still wanted to be part of it.
Finally I pulled myself together that evening and called Lisa. Lisa is the best person to speak to when you feel a little bit down because she doesn’t believe in dwelling on problems. She is better at ignoring her own moods than anyone I have ever come across; she is also better at ignoring other people’s moods. Ever since I first moved in with her she was the one person who could always cheer me up. She was brilliant after George left for America all those years ago, she moved me straight back into her flat and nurtured me in an alcoholic sort of way until I was ready to move on and get my own place. Then she helped me find the little two-bedroomed flat in Clapham which is still my home.
We arranged to go for supper at our favourite Italian, conveniently located down the road from my flat. Because I was meeting Lisa, who was stunning, I put on a bit of make-up, and because she was tall, I put on my high heels. I looked at myself in the mirror, and I could still see the hangover. I smiled and tried my best to look human, then I left.
*
‘So, you and Joe aren’t talking,’ Lisa said when we were settled with a bottle of red. She was wearing jeans and a black long-sleeved T-shirt, but she still looked amazing.
‘I don’t know. We haven’t spoken since it happened, and I guess he’s pissed off with me, but I don’t know because all there’s been is silence.’
‘Call him?’ Lisa didn’t believe in game-playing.
‘I thought that it would be better if I didn’t.’
‘Holly, you’re a bloody idiot. Anyway did you say you saw George last night?’ This was my line: I met George, he told me that he was going to ask his girlfriend to marry him, we had dinner to celebrate and catch up.
Deranged Marriage Page 4