‘Maybe. My head won’t stop going round in circles about the two of you.’
‘Baby, I don’t want to be with Ruth.’
‘But you had all that amazing sex and she’s got a great figure. Why don’t you want to be with her?’
‘Because I love you.’
‘I love you too.’
‘Baby. You know the hard skin on your feet?’
‘Hmmm. Are you talking bollocks now?’
‘No. She’s not even the tiniest patch of that on you.’
I smiled.
‘Thanks.’
‘Oh God,’ he sighed. ‘I’m going to have to kiss you, aren’t I, stinky chops?’ He lifted up my top and kissed my belly. And because it was the nicest moment we’d had in a long time the phone had to ring. I reached behind me to pick it up.
‘Sarah’s Sex Pit?’ Silence. Not again. ‘Hellooooo, please talk to me.’
‘Hello?’ said a posh male voice I didn’t recognize.
‘Hello.’
‘I’m not sure if I have the right number. I’m trying to get hold of a Sarah Sargeant.’
‘Oh, that’s me.’
‘Hello, my name is Terence and, very embarrassingly, I seem to have picked up your carry-along case.’
‘No way!’
‘Yes. I don’t suppose you have mine?’
‘Oh, no, I’m sorry.’
‘Darn.’ I’d never heard anyone use the word ‘darn’. I reckoned he was a Tory.
‘Sorry.’
‘It must have been stolen in Caffè Nero. I should have kept an eye.’
‘Hmmm.’
‘Now then, I’m in Liverpool at the moment.’
‘Ah.’
‘But I’ll be back in London later today. Shall I drop it round to the address on the label?’
‘That would be amazing. Are you sure?’
‘No bother. I hope you’ll be wearing more clothes than in that photo!’ he exclaimed like it was a joke.
‘What?’ I said.
‘Oh, I do apologize, I don’t know what came over me.’
I had no idea what he was on about but Simon was smiling and all was good in the world.
thirty-seven
After that, Simon decided to go for a celebratory run. I didn’t doubt his motives. The boil had been lanced. The poison sucked out. The abscess drained. So I ran a bath. I love a bath. Time to clean and contemplate.
‘I’m off for a run now. Sare, will you let me in? I’m not taking a key, I’ll only be half an hour!’ Si shouted, banging on the bathroom door.
‘OK, baby. Oh! Si! Hang about. You know those BT ads they used to have that went “It’s good to talk”?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Who’s the actor that did them?’
‘Ah, yeah, short bloke, cockney. Whatsis chops. Fuck, dunno. Wait. John something. No, no, Bruce!’
‘No,’ I exclaimed. Then I thought for a moment. ‘Maybe. Is it? Bruce something?’
‘Ah, Sare, you’re killing me. I’ll see if it comes to me on my run.’
‘Bye, baby.’
‘Sare,’ he said sexily.
‘Hmmm.’
‘Have you got any plans for the afternoon?’
‘No.’
‘Good. Shall we hang out in the bedroom?’
‘Naked dancing?’
‘Hmmm. Ohhh! Better go! Getting a semi.’
‘Bye, gorge.’
I’m not actually with BT. I left them for someone cheaper. And I never liked those ads.
1 It was clear that BT didn’t give a toss about your familial relationships. All they cared about was that you stayed on the phone for hours so their board of directors got new, conservatory-sized bonuses
2 I always thought that they were cruel to people who couldn’t talk. Like going up to a blind person and saying, ‘Oooh, I love looking at things.’ Looking back, this was an over-sensitive reaction, I think caused by the fact that the ads started when my neighbour Robert was growing his own marijuana and making his own home brew
But as I lay there in bubbles I decided that they were on to something. Just that tiny little chat with Si and I felt different. Better, happier, freer, lighter. I lay back in the water and smiled. But I suddenly saw something. Something that shouldn’t have been in the bath.
‘ARRRRRRGGHHHHHH,’ I screamed. I wasn’t over-exaggerating.
‘ARRRRRRGGGGHHHH.’
I stepped out of the bath. I started pacing. How long had it been here? Did Simon know it was there? My breath caught in my throat. I needed to calm down. I needed to breathe. But I couldn’t. My heart was battering in my chest. I was panting. Tears were stabbing my eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Not then. I didn’t know what to do.
I bent over, lamenting the fact that I’d never got into yoga. I peered at it. It was a grey pubic hair. It didn’t even seem to be the same type of hair as the others. It was long, thick and stringy. It looked like it should be on Keith Richards’s head instead of my lady place.
‘Right, you little bastard. You have to go.’
I pulled at it.
‘Argh!’
It was still bloody there.
‘Stubborn are you, Keith?’
I reached for the shaver. Now I understood why people went for the full Duncan Goodhew down below. It’s because they were actually John Major grey down there. I started shaving. Keith went first. I couldn’t bring myself to take the whole lady lawn off though. And I didn’t want one of those little fanny goatees that look like you’ve got George Michael’s chin for a minge.
‘I know,’ I gasped.
I was obviously thinking creatively because I had the fun and romantic idea of shaving my pubic hair into a little heart. It proved not to be my brightest idea. It was very hard. Practically Krypton Factor. I did manage to complete it. However, I wasn’t convinced that it looked like a heart. I think if I’d asked someone what it was they might have guessed correctly, but only after the more obvious answers of ‘squirrel’ and ‘tractor’ had been exhausted. Still, it was these little things that kept love alive. I got out of the bath and was drying off when I noticed Simon’s football kit hanging over the radiator. I put on the football socks and nothing else and waited for him to get back from his run. He’d be all sweaty and panting. Goodie.
thirty-eight
True to his word and bang on time, Simon rang the front door buzzer half an hour later. I skipped to the intercom. I must say, I liked wearing the football socks. They made me feel playful and frisky, although they were quite acrylic and that probably wasn’t good for my fungus. I pressed the button to let him in and then ran to our front door and stood behind it.
I composed myself for a moment. When I heard the footsteps reach the top of the hall steps, I opened the door a little bit and pushed my football-socked calf through the gap. It occurred to me as my leg was waving outside the door that it could be Terence and the carry-along case. I did some quick arithmetic. I allayed my fears. I was absolutely sure it was Simon. It had to be impossible to travel from Liverpool to London in an hour and a half. With a new confidence I began to rub my leg up and down in a gesture that clearly wasn’t sexy but would probably make Simon laugh. Or so I thought. But I didn’t hear anything. And I had been so sure that dry humping the door would get a titter.
‘Helllloooo, sexy,’ I said sultrily in my American accent. I opened the door a little wider and squeezed half my body through. I was trying to be demure; first I showed him a whole leg and a tiny bit of my logo-ed lady place. But even that didn’t get a laugh. So I squeezed my tummy and breast round and finally I revealed my grinning face.
‘Oh, sorry, Sarah, I have a feeling that you were expecting someone else.’
‘Shitbags! Shitbags! Sorry, Ruth. I’m so embarrassed.’
It was Ruth. Simon’s ex-girlfriend! Yoga Woman! I closed the door quickly on her. I told the bad thoughts in my head to please bugger off. What was she doing here? I couldn’t believe she’d just seen me naked. She w
as a super-sorted high-flying City girl and I knew she’d always suspected that I was mad. Although she didn’t look as super-sorted as I remembered. She was wearing an anorak for a start, and Mum was right. She’d put on a bit of pudding. I grabbed a dressing gown and returned to let her in.
‘Ruth. Sorry about that. I hope I haven’t scarred you for life. Come on in.’
Ruth beat a slow path to the lounge. I followed her. She clocked the champagne glasses, well the one champagne glass, and one mug with ‘Hello big boy’ on the front.
‘You’ve got a man!’ She sounded amazed.
‘Hmmm.’
It was awkward. I’d seen Ruth as a sexually rapacious threat to me. But I realized then how stupid that was. She obviously hadn’t seen him for ages and had no idea that Simon and I were even going out together.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I asked, willing her to say no.
‘No. I was looking for Simon. Does he still live here?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Oh right, yeah, obviously,’ she said, gesturing towards the cock-related products being stored in the living room. She suddenly turned back to me. ‘Is he well?’ Her tone was too casual to be casual. It dawned on me. She was still in love with him. Of course. She’d spent the last few months eating her body weight in chocolate and pining. Now she was back and she wanted him and I’d got him. And he loved me.
‘Yes. Um. Yes, he’s good.’
‘Good. Right. I’d better go and come back another time.’
‘OK,’ I said, following her back to the front door. ‘Maybe give him a call,’ I suggested.
‘I have been trying to get hold of him on the phone, but he’s not responding. But it’s important. I really need to speak to him face to face.’
‘Well, he’ll be around this week.’
She looked at me and I had no idea what was going on in her head. But she didn’t look like the Ruth of old.
We both jumped, as there was a ferocious knock on the door. And Simon’s voice, his beautiful deep, sexy voice says, ‘Babe! Babe! It’s Bob Hoskins!’
Of course! It was Bob Hoskins.
He knocked again. ‘Let us in, babe, we’ve got to get on with that naked dancing. I want to practise some new moves!’
Ruth and I were standing behind the door. Neither of us made a move to open it. Ruth looked at me. Her eyes started to water. Then for some reason she looked at the football socks and said ever so quietly,
‘You and Simon.’
I let Simon in. I didn’t know what else to do. He looked gorgeous. He was sweating, smiling and carrying a Threshers bag.
‘Hey bab . . .’ he started, until I moved to one side so he could see Ruth. She’d started crying. But she wasn’t making a noise. It was silent sobbing. It was pretty terrible.
‘Ruth!’ exclaimed Simon, but he looked at me. I pulled one of those polite expressions that you do when you haven’t a clue what’s going on but you know it’s something major. Simon took a step towards Ruth but touched my hand in a reassuring way as he did.
Ruth raised her head from her hands and said some words that I misheard. It sounded like she said, ‘I’m having your baby,’ to Simon, to my boyfriend.
‘What?’ said Simon, so softly it was barely audible.
‘I’m having your baby.’ Ruth’s reply wasn’t soft and what she said was very audible. She undid her anorak. We all stared silently at her tummy. There was a bump. A very big bump with Simon’s baby in it. I was amazed by the size of it. It seemed massive. I half expected her to go into labour there in the hall.
thirty-nine
Some conversations stay with you for months after they’ve happened. You revisit them in early sleepless hours and wonder who that person was, talking all that bollocks. Then you realize, in a cold sweat, it was you. And you buggered everything up. The next conversation I had with Simon was one of those.
Ruth had gone downstairs and was waiting for Simon to take her to his mum’s house so they could discuss the situation. They couldn’t speak in the flat because the sight of me in Simon’s football socks was making Ruth hysterical. Really hysterical. I’d started to worry about the impact it was having on the baby. She closed the door behind her and Simon and I looked at each other.
If my life was a film, a refrain of violin music would have soared to indicate the magnitude of this moment and the actress playing me would have taken her man in her arms. She would have held him tenderly so he could quietly come to terms with the impending responsibility of fatherhood. But it wasn’t a film. It was my life. So there was no music or embracing. And I was unable to stop the colonic-irrigation amounts of crap coming out of my mouth.
‘Si!! How could this have happened?’ was my first utterance. An utterance impressive only in that it achieved more levels of ridiculousness than a Limahl hairdo.
Unsurprisingly, Simon raised his eyes as though I was stupid.
‘Ruth is the most sorted person I know. She keeps all her shoes in their boxes. She’s hardly likely to say, “Bugger it, I’m not on the pill. You just whip it out before you come!”’
‘Sare, keep your voice down,’ he snapped. ‘She’s downstairs.’
‘Sorry,’ I whispered.
‘She thought she couldn’t have kids!’ he spat at me.
I knew that but I’d forgotten it. And I’d just said ‘whip it out before you come’! My mind wasn’t even working at Monday-morning-just-after–the-alarm-went-off capacity, as I further demonstrated with my next question.
‘Why didn’t she tell you before? She can’t just turn up like this and drop this bombshell.’
‘Sare!’ His vehemence made me jump. ‘She’s been trying to get in touch with me! But you didn’t want me to talk to her and then you broke my phone!’
‘Sorry,’ I whispered and then we were both silent for some time.
Ruth’s news had come smashing through the windscreen of my world. But it was still a miracle.
‘Wow,’ I said.
Now, I realize that ‘wow’ was a ridiculous thing to say under the circumstances and I hate the way tense situations bring out my limited vocabulary. But I didn’t really know what else to say.
‘Just give me some space, Sare.’
I didn’t say anything. But I gasped. Everyone knows that if someone wants space, they want out. Simon wanted space. I stared at him.
‘You don’t mean that. Do you?’
‘I do,’ he shook his head. ‘I need space, Sare. Quite a bit of space. From you and me. So I can work this out properly.’
This weird nasal laugh flew out of me. He closed his eyes like there was something terrible in front of him and he’d rather not look. My mouth actually dropped open. I didn’t think that happened except in cartoons, but it does, apparently in response to something inconceivably awful.
‘Sare, course I need space. I’m going to be a dad. Ruth’s going to have my baby.’
As he said the word ‘baby’ I noticed a tiny, fleeting, ‘I’m not firing blanks’ smile at the corner of his mouth.
‘Ruth’s going to have my baby,’ he repeated.
I tried to think of the baby. But it’s hard to imagine a baby that is in a tummy. In my head it just looked like a twelve-week-scan printed photo, which looked a lot like a fingerprint smudge.
‘You hate Ruth, Sare . . .’
‘No, I don’t,’ I answered, surprised.
‘Sweetheart, you do.’
‘No.’
‘Sare, you do. I won’t be able to deal with all your jealous stuff at the moment. Not with this. It’s best if we just leave it for now.’
‘Leave it for now!’
He’d said ‘I need space’ and ‘leave it for now’. I didn’t know what was worse, the fact that he appeared to be dumping me or the fact that he seemed to have got the script from a trailing-behind fourth-year pupil.
‘Babe. Look, it’s not you. It’s me.’
There was a soft knock on the door. I walked wearily to open it.
The words ‘space’ and ‘leave it’ were throbbing in my head. A middle-aged man in a cravat stood before me. I’d never seen him before in my life.
‘Sarah?’
‘Hmmm.’
‘Terence. There was a lady in quite a state downstairs. She let me in.’
‘Oh.’
‘Your case.’ He picked up the carry-along case and handed it to me.
‘Thanks,’ I said quietly.
‘I’ll be off, then,’ he said with a smile, and then for some unknown reason he winked at me. I closed the door and took a deep breath before I began to speak.
‘Si, of course I don’t hate her. I don’t hate anyone. I may have said stuff, but that was when she was just your ex-girlfriend. Now she’s the future mother of your child. It’s all very different now.’
Oddly enough, that was exactly what I wanted to say and exactly what I should have said. But it came too late.
‘It’s really different now. I need to get my head around it. How will you feel when I’m in contact with Ruth all time? Think about it. You’d be a nightmare. It’s for the best.’
He looked like he was about to kiss me but then he changed his mind. And he just walked out of the flat.
forty
I gave him space. Days passed. I lay on the sofa next to the landline phone clutching my mobile and willing him to call. I didn’t cry. I didn’t want to fall apart like a self-assembly chest of drawers as soon as it was given something heavy to deal with. I lay and I thought of him. I knew exactly how he would be feeling. And I knew above all that he would want to do the right thing, by Ruth and by his unborn baby. But however I thought about the situation from Simon’s perspective I always came up with the same problem. And that problem was me.
He didn’t call. On the fourth day my agent called the house.
‘Hello,’ I said. Please be Si, I thought. ‘Sarah’s house of pain.’
The (Im)Perfect Girlfriend Page 14