‘Yeah, he looked older.’
‘No offence, but you look older.’
‘Today I do.’
‘Every day darling. Listen, you’re going to be thirty soon, I was wondering what sort of a party you had planned.’
‘I don’t like parties, you know that.’
‘I wanted to have a roller disco for my thirtieth but the insurance premium was too high.’ Lisa lit a cigarette.
‘As I remember it your thirtieth was a drugs and disco party.’
‘That’s back in the days when I was on the drugs and disco diet.’
‘The what?’
‘Well, in order to stay thin I took a little coke and danced a lot.’
‘And now?’
‘Now I smoke a lot, but generally I don’t do much else.’
Not sure how we had got to this point, I decided to change the subject. ‘What are you doing for Christmas?’
‘Oh, Max has invited his family to come to us for Christmas Day. He tried to persuade me to invite mine too, but no way. What about you?’ Max was Lisa’s boyfriend, they’d been together for years and she adored him.
‘Well, I’m probably going to Devon, but I’d quite like to spend Christmas Day with Joe.’
‘If he’s still talking to you.’ We had come full circle.
Later, as I lay wrapped in my duvet, I realised that recently I had begun to hate sleeping alone. It had never bothered me before. Sure, I liked to spread out in bed, but I wanted Joe there. I chastised myself for sounding so sad. Instead, I looked forward to a new day, a new week, and I would concentrate on Joe, I wasn’t ready to let him get away.
*
‘Freddie, why didn’t you buy me coffee?’ I asked as I sat at my desk glancing enviously at Freddie’s overpriced cappuccino.
‘Because it’s bad for you and now you have a boyfriend you have to be careful.’
‘But I don’t even know if I have a boyfriend at the moment.’
‘Oh God, I wondered how long it would take you. Holly it’s ten o’clock on Monday morning and already you’re whingeing.’
‘I am not.’ What I didn’t tell Freddie was that I had already taken action on the Joe front. I decided not to be too proud and so sent him a text message on the way to work asking him to call me. I hated the idea I was coming across as desperate but felt that I didn’t have any choice.
‘Good weekend?’ I asked, changing the subject.
‘Yeah, yours?’
‘Yeah, it was lovely seeing George again,’ I lied.
‘So why do you look so ghastly?’ It was a good question. One which reaffirmed that I looked the way I felt.
‘Joe.’
‘Oh the whores,’ Freddie teased. I shot him a look. This was Freddie’s idea of lending a sympathetic ear.
‘No, I don’t think that’s it. I’m not a total moron. How do you get a man to fall in love with you?’
‘Red dress, no knickers,’ Freddie responded without appearing to think.
‘I didn’t ask how to get a man to shag me, I asked how to get a man to fall in love with me.’
‘Trust me that works. It’s not about sex, you don’t have to make any effort to make a man want to sleep with you. In fact you only need a hole in the right place.’ I knew before I had started that he wasn’t the right man to ask, but he was all I had.
‘Freddie, I’m serious.’
‘So am I. Red dress, no knickers; nice meal, nice wine. All any man wants. Trust me.’
I wondered if I had a red dress. I knew I could do no knickers.
Later, I was just drafting an e-mail to Jet, my household cleaning product client, about their New Year campaign—‘Clean Away Those January Blues’—when Dixie appeared at my desk carrying an enormous bunch of flowers. Everyone crowded around to exclaim how lucky I was, but still my hands shook as I opened the card. It just said, Sorry, Joe. My heart soared. He wasn’t going to finish with me and he cared enough to send flowers. My love life was on course again.
I called him straight away and arranged for him to come over to my flat that evening. He apologised for not calling but said he wanted to send flowers before we spoke. He said that he didn’t get my e-mail before he had left, and he’d spent the weekend worrying that I wasn’t speaking to him! So, I was going to cook dinner, and look nice (Freddie style), before addressing the subject of our relationship (My style). It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was the best plan I had.
I spent the rest of the day in a little bit of a flurry. I know that I am trying desperately hard to convey the fact I was an intelligent, sensible grown-up, but underneath there were some conflicting emotions that were hard to control. It wasn’t my fault, it certainly wasn’t my style. I actually felt a bit cross with myself about it.
Weighed down with the flowers, I had to get a cab home, giving me the feeling that my evening was starting off well. Joe was due round at eight, which gave me just over an hour to go to the shop, make myself look stunning and tidy up the flat. Joe didn’t stand a chance.
I cheated on the food and bought fresh pasta and sauce from the organic shop. I also bought a lipsmacking cheesecake. The wine was chilling and I was wearing a knee-length, tight black skirt (no red dress in my wardrobe), no knickers, high heels and a small strappy top. It wasn’t the most sensible outfit seeing as it was minus six degrees outside and my central heating was escaping through the cracks in the window, but the stiff nipples it produced were a genius addition. Freddie would have been proud.
Joe, or he who is normally late, was on time. I threw my arms around him and kissed him to within an inch of his life.
‘So I’m forgiven?’ he said.
‘I was being neurotic,’ I replied, leading him to the dining table. I decided beforehand that we would eat without talking about ourselves, have a nice normal dinner, then we would talk about us.
‘You look fucking sexy,’ he said. I giggled and kissed him again. The only problem was that if I wasn’t careful the plan would be abandoned and I would be in bed without sorting things out. I couldn’t let that happen.
‘I made your favourite,’ I said, disappearing into the kitchen. I was like a teenager on a first date. My adrenaline was pumping, a feeling that I liked because not only did it make me feel young, but it made me feel alive.
I returned with a dish of steaming pasta.
‘This looks fabulous,’ Joe said, although he was looking at me, not the food.
‘I know how much you love pasta,’ I replied. Actually, I had no idea if he loved pasta, but I wanted to be in control.
‘I like it a lot,’ Joe replied, slightly puzzled.
‘Good.’ Then I asked him about his stag weekend.
‘It was all right,’ he said cautiously.
‘Look, I don’t mind if you had a great time, in fact I hope you had a great time.’ After that we managed to have the natural conversation I had planned. We chatted about work, I even told him about seeing George (but not about going to his hotel suite). Everything was on track. Finally it was time for brandy.
‘What I love about dating a posh bird like you is that not only do you know about knives and forks, but you also give me proper drinks after dinner.’ I raised my eyebrows. Joe always played up his humble beginnings. He might have been from Essex but so what. He wasn’t poor, he hadn’t been brought up poor, he’d had an average childhood as far as I could gather: two parents who were still together, and a younger sister. Just because his father was a plasterer and mine was a suit didn’t mean anything, but I think he liked to play on the class differences between us.
He went to state school, I went to private school; his parents lived in a semi, mine live in a detached house with an acre of land. Anyway, I hadn’t met his parents and he hadn’t met mine. He called himself my ‘bit of rough’, but he worked for a top design consultancy, he spent most of his days in designer clothes, and he drove a beautiful 1960s Porsche.
‘How much do you like dating me?’ I asked.
&n
bsp; ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because of that silly row we had. I felt all vulnerable at the weekend and I hate to put pressure on you but I just need to know that what we have, what we’re doing is more than a bit of fun.’ I was quite proud of the succinct way I had voiced my feelings.
‘Has that been bothering you?’ I watched as a huge grin spread across his face.
‘Yes,’ I said, not smiling back.
‘Holly, I adore you, and yes what we have is much more than a bit of fun. I was worried too, thought about you all weekend, which wasn’t easy with all the whores there. Joke. The thing is that I’m not really good at the boyfriend thing.’
‘That’s a typical man-thing to say.’ My hackles were raised, despite my resolve to stay calm.
‘Let me finish. I’m just not used to it. I haven’t had a girlfriend for ages and I’m just a bit selfish. I don’t want to be, but I am. I want us to make a proper go of it, and I’m going to do that.’ He stood up, took my hands and pulled me up. He nuzzled my ear.
‘I’m not wearing any knickers,’ I whispered. He took me to bed to check and afterwards he told me that he loved me.
There followed a blissful few weeks. We were in love, head over heels in love and it was everything that I’d dreamed of. Life was wonderful, really wonderful. We spent more and more time together, until I had underwear and cosmetics firmly lodged in his flat and he had deposited his shaving gear and shirts in mine. It was nearly Christmas and Christmas was truly magical. I wasn’t going to write a letter to Santa that year, I had everything I wanted.
Chapter Six
I spent Christmas Day with Joe, and that made me feel grown-up. We woke up, had breakfast and champagne in bed where we exchanged our presents. We’d purchased a Christmas tree and put up a few tasteful decorations. We cooked turkey together, we drank a lot, we made love a lot. By the time we were ready to watch Christmas TV, Joe was drunk and singing Christmas carols and I was blissfully happy.
Then, on Boxing Day I borrowed Lisa’s car, and drove to see my parents and sister for a few days, while Joe went to visit his parents. I didn’t want us to be apart but it was the first Christmas where I hadn’t seen my family and I think it was the same for him so we went our separate ways.
Then the morning after Boxing Day, I got the call that was to change everything.
George’s mother rang. George had called in the middle of the night saying he was getting the first available flight back to England. She didn’t know why and was worried about him. When she asked me, I panicked, thinking it might have been to do with his recent visit, although I told her I had no idea. It couldn’t have been because of me. Could it?
When I put the phone down, I turned to my sister, Imogen, who was at my parents’ house with her husband Jack.
I haven’t spoken much about Imogen, mainly because I don’t really see her that much now. I adore her and she adores me, but in a sisterly sort of way. She’s four years older than me, but she got married when she was twenty-one. At first my parents thought she was making a terrible decision, her intended was a man she had been at university with and he came across as a bit of a hippy. Immi had no intention of a career (she had always maintained that), so my parents fretted about how they would survive. But they were so in love that we all accepted it, and they proved their devotion when Immi took a job in an office to support Jack while he wrote his first children’s book. The book was an instant success and he quickly became one of the most successful children’s authors in the country. Now he’s loaded, so Immi gave up her job. They live in Devon, near my parents and near where I grew up, which is why, in London, I see her rarely unless she comes up with Jack when he visits his publishers, and we have lunch. However, our meetings are always brief.
‘Can we go for a walk?’ I asked her.
‘You, walk?’ She raised an astonished eyebrow. ‘OK, we’ll take Bertie.’ Bertie was Jack’s highland terrier. We put him on the lead and headed out.
‘George’s mother called me,’ I said. ‘Seems he is getting a flight home and she asked me if I knew why.’
‘Do you?’ My sister is quite astute and I thought it would be pointless not to tell her the truth.
‘He kissed me.’ I told her what had happened. Then I told her about Julia.
‘There’s nothing in that story that would link his homecoming to you. I don’t mean to be rude, Holly, but he told you that you didn’t set him on fire.’
‘I know, but there’s this nagging thing. I mean if he asked her to marry him, why would he be coming back home so soon. I just hope he didn’t change his mind. I’m not being vain, I don’t think it’s to do with me, I’m just worried in case it might disrupt things.’
‘Joe?’
‘Yes, everything’s going so well, I really love him. I can’t think why George would come home, other than he’s changed his mind.’
‘I can. What if this woman turned him down.’
I looked at Imogen, and as much as I hoped that Julia hadn’t, it was almost a relief to think that that could be the case. I hated myself for thinking such an awful, selfish thought, but when George went back to New York, I was banking on the fact he would be staying there. For the first time ever, I didn’t want him around.
I stayed in Devon for two more days. The day before I was due to drive back to London he called me. He said he was at his parents’ house and asked if we could meet up. Actually he didn’t, he demanded we meet up. I arranged to meet him at the park we used to hang out in as children.
The park had changed. The swings were new and brightly painted. The climbing apparatus more complex. The gardens were neat and full of flower beds. It looked nothing like the way it did when we were younger. This was almost a comfort to me. I sat on a bench and, although it was freezing, I was feeling quite flushed. It was less than a month since I had seen George, and here we were again. I saw him pull up in what I presumed was a hire car. It was a small Ford and it seemed too small for him. Until I watched him get out that is. He seemed to have shrunk; diminished. With a heavy heart I watched him approach.
‘What’s happened?’ I asked as he sat down beside me. He had refused to tell me over the phone.
‘She said no, Holly. I couldn’t believe it. We’ve been together for three years, practically living together and she turned me down, said she wasn’t ready. We’re both thirty. Thirty for God’s sake. You should be getting married at that age; I should be getting married, to Julia.’ He broke down sobbing.
I saw a glimpse of the old George. The George that I had adored. The one who was kind, sensitive and caring. He was crushed.
‘So she didn’t want to get married, but why did you split up?’
‘It was her idea to break up. She said that if we both wanted such different things then maybe we should take a break from each other.’
‘A break maybe, but a total split?’
‘Obviously she doesn’t love me enough.’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘Holly, it’s obvious. Women want to get married, most women do. So the reason she turned me down is because she doesn’t love me enough.’ Just as I was about to protest he started crying again.
The first time I saw George cry was when Samantha left. I had cried too and he made me promise not to tell anyone. Our friendship was sealed on that promise. I don’t think I ever saw him cry after that. Until now.
Not knowing what to do with a blubbing grown man, I folded my arms, well I was frozen. My mobile beeped at me to announce a text message; it was from Joe. I was about to read it when George moved towards me, his arms extended for a comforting hug.
‘I missed you,’ he said.
‘I missed you too.’ It was true I had, at one time. I didn’t feel that in his current state he needed me to bring up the last time we met.
‘I’ve never had a friendship as good as ours.’
‘Me either.’ I wanted to ask him why he had been so willing to sacrifice it, but that wasn’t the appropr
iate moment.
‘Friends forever?’ he asked, looking at me the way he used to when he was a teenager.
‘Of course,’ I replied. Well, what else could I say? I looked at him. His manic eyes seemed to have taken on a life of their own. One minute they were full of tears, the next they were staring at me, the next they seemed to be crossed. I experienced a huge jolt of genuine concern, although I couldn’t pinpoint if it was for him or for me. Although why I should need concern when George had been dumped, I had no idea. I just felt I should.
‘I thought she loved me,’ George exclaimed, interrupting my thoughts. This time his eyes were boring into mine and he was incensed. I felt scared. ‘I was so sure she loved me. I loved her, she loved me. That’s the way it works isn’t it Holly?’ His eyes continued staring into mine and I wanted to cower, but I didn’t. Although this was a George I had never, ever seen before, I stayed put. ‘I did nothing to deserve this,’ he continued. His voice was rising, getting harsher, meaner. Then into a softer cadence, but not for long. ‘Everything...I did everything for her. And now the bitch has taken everything away from me. My job, my life; she took it all and she burned it and handed me back the ashes. I was wrong Holly, I must have been wrong.’
‘About what?’
‘About love of course. The only explanation for all this, the only thing that will ever make any sense is the fact that I got it all wrong. I got love wrong. I did it, not her. Me. Yes that’s it, I am the one who got it wrong.’ I had no idea what he was talking about, but he was scaring me now. ‘There was this fug in my brain. Thick fug and now I think it might be going. Yes, something is clearing the way so I can think again.’ He looked at me with those manic, stranger’s eyes. His mad rant had tapered off. He appeared to be deep in thought, although the edge of madness that had crept into him was still lingering.
‘I’m going back to London today,’ I said, for want of changing the subject. I knew it was totally inadequate, but this conversation had to be re-routed.
Deranged Marriage Page 5