by Freya North
‘I understand,’ Alice assured her, ‘I do, truly. I know I tease you for being soppy but actually I've always admired your tenacious pursuit of romance.’ She dunked her croissant into her cappuccino. ‘Though I have always warned you against setting fairy-tale standards for matters of love and eternity.’
‘It's weird – because I've actually taken a leaf out of your book,’ Thea confessed. ‘I used to think that falling head over heels in love was the benchmark. But it wasn't head over heels, it was heart over head and actually, I like your idea that you should use your head so as not to lose your heart.’
‘Love and marriage, or longevity, or whatever you want to call it, do go hand in hand,’ Alice assured her, ‘but perhaps it takes a certain type of love to succeed.’
‘I'm not going out there armed with fixed criteria on what makes a Potentially Good Husband-Type!’ Thea objected.
‘I'm not saying you should,’ Alice stressed, ‘but don't hold it against a nice chap if you don't necessarily feel that elusive tingle of yours on day one.’
‘I know. I agree. But I still think a shared belief in fidelity, in the value of companionship, the notion of pairing for life, is a good starting point.’
‘Yes, but so is acknowledging practical issues,’ Alice said, ‘careers, money, long-and short-term goals. Respecting each other's lives independent of the union.’
‘I do still love the idea of being in love,’ Thea said.
‘You wouldn't be you if you didn't,’ Alice assured her warmly, ‘but be prepared now for knights in shining armour to come in many guises,’ she added knowingly. ‘Some of them aren't conventionally dashing – they don't suddenly sweep you off your feet and whisk you away on a gallant white charger. I should know. Believe me.’
‘You mean he might be wearing a suit and driving a nice Lexus,’ Thea said, ‘like Mark.’
‘I do,’ Alice agreed wholeheartedly.
‘I guess you've always thought that there are rules for love,’ Thea mused, ‘while I've simply believed that love just rules OK.’ The Starbucks in Belsize Park was starting to fill up but such is the quality of that branch's milk froth, Alice and Thea were still lingering over their first cups of coffee and had no intention of relinquishing their seats. ‘Oh Alice, bloody hell – of all our years, hasn't this one been the maddest for both of us?’ Thea proclaimed wistfully.
Alice cast her gaze out the window and nodded. Mad was only one word for the year they'd had. She still wasn't sure it was plain madness that drove her to Paul. In retrospect she acknowledged that the affair itself was madness but perhaps what drove her was insecurity. Or her sex drive. Or her own unrealistic expectations of love and marriage due to impracticable emphasis on sex and lust.
‘How are you?’ Thea asked her quietly, having skim-read her thoughts. ‘Have you heard from That Paul?’
‘No, I haven't,’ Alice answered truthfully. ‘It's so weird how I went from deifying him like he was Love God Number One to being really quite irritated by him. I was so impressed by his visible masculinity, I was so swept away by the physical roller-coaster thrill, it was bizarre to discover so suddenly that I didn't really like him all that much. In fact, he got on my nerves.’ She was just about to denounce his taste in trainers and mock his inability to navigate the London Underground system when she stopped. It shocked her to remember she never told Thea about Paul's impromptu final trip, though she'd spent her lifetime telling Thea everything; the mundane to the outrageous all in the most intimate detail. Yes, Thea was going through the vortex of suffering back then, but also Alice had known all along what she was doing was wrong and she was ashamed. She hadn't wanted to talk about it. She was doomed to have it as her guilty, gut-twist secret.
‘You look a bit sad,’ Thea said, ‘a little distracted.’
‘If I had an itch after two and a half years of marriage, what'll I feel like after seven?’ Alice admitted sheepishly. ‘Say I meet another Paul-type at some point,’ she said, ‘and I'm lured into another crazy shag fest.’
‘But you did the luring, Alice, didn't you? If you're honest.’
‘I did,’ Alice confessed, ‘but in a perverse way, that's the point and that's what unnerves me. Though I admit it was crazy and dangerous, it was fun too. Initially. I suppose I'd tucked that side of me – the flirt, the sexy minx – out of sight while I busied myself setting up home being a married woman. It's like the two can't coexist. But actually, it's a side of me that makes me sparkle. And that's what scares me. I must keep a lid on it for the sake of my marriage, but doesn't keeping it in check also sacrifice a little part of me? I don't know if that's a good thing.’
‘I think it is a difficult thing – but I don't think it's a bad thing. Look on it as being abstemious and, by definition, as being good for the soul,’ Thea said. ‘You and Mark are such a team – more so now than ever I've known. If you hadn't challenged it when you did – and with thankfully no fallout – perhaps you wouldn't be as content as you are now. I'd hope that Brad Pitt himself could accost you and you'd turn him down without a glance or falter. I suppose you'll have to train yourself not to let the thought cross your mind; train yourself to find the inclination unappetizing.’
‘I feel it's really insulting to Mark to say this,’ Alice confided, ‘but I can admit to you that the thought I'll never again have that rampant, urgent, animal sex makes me feel low. Isn't it wrong to cauterize one's passions? I love that sense of being ravished, being someone's fantasy incarnate, being fucked within an inch of my life.’ Alice shrugged. ‘Pure sex without the encumbrance of love is the most massive turn-on.’
She stopped abruptly. Simultaneously, she and Thea fell on the silent connection with Saul. Was it something to declare out loud? Was it something they could constructively discuss? No. It wasn't the same. Alice acknowledged how Mark didn't know about her fling into adultery whereas Thea knew way too much about Saul. And then Alice thought about how she and Mark had such a charmed life while Thea had been through hell. And the horrible knowledge that, if she'd been caught, Mark would have been as distraught as Thea. She wondered whether Thea ever wished she'd never come across Saul that ghastly day.
I suppose I'm wanting her to say yes, she wishes she hadn't. Ignorance being bliss, and all that. But actually, despite the anguish of it all – the loss, the trauma, the disbelief and the shock – I know Thea is relieved that she did. She's right to expect back the dedication and commitment she bestows. I was going to say ‘you get what you pay for’ but it seems a bit close to the bone though I suppose in some ways that is precisely what has happened to Saul. I suppose ‘what you settle for is what you get’ is more appropriate. And Thea shouldn't have settled for it. Nor should Mark have to either.
‘I guess I have come to see it's not about getting away with it,’ Alice declared, ‘it's about not fucking it up in the first place.’
Saul was looking forward to seeing Ian. It had been quite some time since they'd descended on the Swallow for an evening of pints and sausages. Over recent months, Saul had generally eschewed offers of company and declined invitations to socialize, using deadlines as an accurate though not entire excuse. The only thinking time he wanted was that devoted to articles and columns – life without Thea was so sterile, he needed to fill it with creativity. Since Thea had left him, Saul had immersed himself in his work, diversifying on the way. In addition to his regular columns and freelance features, he took on work for other magazines and also landed himself a weekly slot on Robert Elms's radio show, bantering on London legends, scruffing down his accent to deliver all manner of anecdotes. Most gratifying was the publishing deal he'd landed to collate a charity anthology of men's magazines columnists.
It wasn't that work was fantastically stimulating, Saul just needed as much of it as possible to fill his time. As chuffed as he was about his radio slot, as proud as he was about the book deal, the satisfaction was tempered by having no Thea to share it with. No excited girlfriend jumping up and down, hugging him w
ith congratulatory delight. Ian's interest, Richard's praise and his parents' pride didn't really amount to much in comparison. So Saul took on more commissions and touted for even more work to try and slake the void. If he didn't have time to notice he was on his own, he wouldn't have the time to feel lonely. So, when Ian phoned him on the off chance he was free that night, Saul didn't hesitate to suggest the Swallow.
‘How about Not the Top Shelf?’ Saul tried another possible title for the book.
‘It would probably put off half the readers you're trying to attract,’ said Ian.
‘True,’ said Saul, ‘perhaps a shout-line like we'd use on a mag – something like What a Bloke Wants.’
‘That sounds more like an article in Cosmo,’ Ian said. ‘Another pint?’
‘Thanks.’
‘I ordered food,’ Ian announced when returning with two pints. He regarded his increased girth forlornly. ‘Not that I need it. Call me Fat Bastard.’
‘How about Five-Bellies Ashford,’ Saul teased.
‘It's being married, mate,’ Ian rued with a not unhappy sigh. ‘My wife is such a good cook it would be rude to refuse and she takes it personally if I leave a scrap.’
Saul laughed. ‘How is Karen? When is the baby due? And shouldn't it be Karen eating for two, not you?’
‘I'm eating for three, mate,’ Ian bemoaned. ‘She's either feeling sick or else she has indigestion – she tells everyone “Ian's certainly pulling his overweight in this pregnancy”. She's funny, my wife. And God, pregnancy suits her. Her hormones have gone haywire – to my advantage, if you get my meaning!’
‘When's the baby due?’ Saul repeated. It was strange but since splitting with Thea he'd developed an interest in all topics nuptial or domestic. After squash with Richard, he really liked to hear about Sally, about Juliette, about the trials of sleepless nights, the stress of teething, the nightmare of flying with a baby, the all-consuming exhaustion of it all. It was affirming, not depressing, to hear of such things. For Saul, it was far more constructive than going on the rebound. Case histories of those he knew enabled him to hold on to his faith and believe that love could work.
‘Valentine's Day, would you believe it – blimey, four months today exactly,’ Ian was saying. ‘How are things with you?’
‘Busy,’ said Saul.
‘Seeing anyone?’
‘Christ, no,’ said Saul.
‘What – just lots of no-strings sex, then?’
‘Hardly,’ said Saul, ‘I'm so busy with work.’
‘Have you – can I ask about Thea?’ Ian asked. He'd be informing Karen that Saul looked wan, thinner, but he didn't think he'd make a point of it to Saul.
‘We don't really speak now,’ Saul told him, ‘at her instigation.’
Ian contemplated his pint. ‘It's a shame,’ he said, ‘I liked her. We all did.’
‘You're not the only one,’ Saul said glumly, looking at his pint and not fancying another sip. However, as a matter of habit, he raised the glass to his lips to mirror Ian.
‘Perhaps if you give her a little space,’ Ian suggested, not really knowing what else to say but knowing it was the sort of advice Karen would dispense.
‘It's not that simple, believe me. Even now, four months on, my head says let her go but my heart says fight for her,’ Saul said. ‘How's work?’
‘Manic,’ Ian said, hardly realizing they'd changed the subject, let alone left the previous one hanging. ‘They've made me a partner.’
‘Congratulations.’ Saul chinked Ian's glass and they drank a toast. The beer tasted fine now. And the sausages looked mouth-watering.
‘Look,’ said Ian, having wolfed down his portion, ‘just tell me to fuck off if I'm speaking out of line, but I don't know if you remember Karen's friend Jo?’
‘Jo?’ Saul said with no recognition.
‘We were trying to set you up with her at much the same time as you and Thea got together. Brunette. Quite busty. Attractive. Bubbly.’
‘Vaguely,’ Saul said. ‘Has Karen got you match-making?’
‘Not just Karen,’ Ian said cautiously, ‘we both reckon the two of you might have a laugh together. Nothing heavy – just some company. Sex, if you're lucky!’
Saul drained his pint. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘I'm not in the mood, really, if I'm honest with you. Perhaps in a little while. I don't know. But not just now.’
‘My round, mate,’ said Ian, rising to go to the bar. ‘Same again?’
It was the first time in a couple of months that Saul thrashed Richard with ease at squash. Richard was pleased to lose in such dramatic style, it could only mean that his friend's spirit was restored.
‘Time for a swift half or five?’ Saul asked.
‘I'll just phone Sal,’ said Richard.
‘So, how's the family?’ Saul asked, thinking there were few things as pleasurable as a long, thirst-quenching drink of lager when one had so earned it. He and Richard drank down half their pints in affable silence.
‘Really well,’ Richard replied with a friendly burp under his breath. ‘Juliette is just adorable – I reckon she'll be walking by her first birthday.’
‘How's Sally?’ Saul asked.
‘She's talking about going back to work part-time,’ Richard said. ‘She loves teaching – and I love it when she teaches because I don't bear the brunt of her bossiness.’
‘I don't think of her as bossy,’ Saul mused, ‘not on the Alice Sinclair Scale of Bossiness.’
‘She comes a close second, does Sal, I assure you,’ Richard said, finishing his drink and heading to the bar to buy the next round. ‘How's it going with you?’ he asked Saul on his return. ‘How's the book coming along?’
‘Good, great,’ said Saul, ‘though I'm struggling for a title.’
‘How about Between the Sheets?’ Richard suggested.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Saul, ‘that's not bad at all. Christ! Cheers! I'd got as far as Do You Like My Column?’
‘Sounds gay to me,’ said Richard.
‘You're right,’ Saul acquiesced.
‘Is it all work and no play?’ Richard asked. Saul shrugged. ‘Makes for a dull boy,’ Richard warned.
‘Life is dull,’ Saul admitted, ‘unless I fill it with work. I spend my weekends writing articles on “The Whys and Wherefores of Wi-Fi” – and the like. Mind you, I'd rather do that than mope or get bladdered for the sake of it.’
‘Do you hear from Thea?’
‘No. Not now.’
‘Do you miss her?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Sorry. I'm sorry. But what the fuck happened, mate?’ ‘Do you really want to know?’ Saul regarded Richard levelly. ‘I was seen. With my pants down. Literally.’
Richard was baffled. ‘You were playing around?’ It seemed inconceivable. ‘On Thea?’
‘No,’ Saul declared, ‘I wasn't. But I was paying around.’
Richard only gawped because suddenly he recalled that bizarre drive back to Thea's when she cross-examined him on the theories behind modern man and the oldest trade.
‘You seem surprised,’ Saul defined.
‘I guess I am a little,’ Richard admitted. It didn't seem right. It didn't seem right to tell Saul about his conversation with Thea. It didn't seem right at all.
‘You don't?’ Saul asked. ‘Not your thing?’
‘Nah,’ Richard confirmed. ‘Why pay for junk food when I have fillet steak at home?’
‘Because sometimes you crave the plastic ease of a Big Mac,’ Saul said, ‘even if you end up questioning your purchase when it repeats on you, quite unpleasantly, afterwards.’
‘I understand,’ Richard shrugged, ‘it's just never been my scene.’
‘Thea would never, ever have understood,’ Saul shrugged, ‘and I can't blame her – she's a girl, I understand the impossibility of her getting her head around the theory. There was no chance. Her sense of betrayal was complete. She could never trust me again and I'd never be able to override the hurt and
horror she feels.’
‘And since?’ Richard probed. ‘Have you been bingeing on junk food?’
Saul laughed bitterly. ‘Hardly. You could say I've become something of a health-food freak. I haven't been near a woman since.’
‘Are you ready to?’
‘I don't know – probably,’ Saul theorized, ‘but I can't muster much enthusiasm.’
‘You should,’ Richard encouraged. ‘I mean, in between junk food and home-cooked dinner, a nice wholesome snack might do you good.’
Sally was in bed when Richard returned. She was sitting up, engrossed in a book about taming toddlers.
‘Hullo!’ she said, as if she was pleasantly surprised to see him.
‘All quiet?’ Richard asked.
Sally nodded. She put down her book and held out her arms. Richard went over to her. ‘One day,’ Sally said coyly, ‘when you've played squash, don't have a shower – come home with your sweaty pheromones and ravish me.’
‘Strange request,’ Richard mused, ‘but one which I'll be happy to grant.’
‘How was Saul? What is his news? Did he say anything?’
‘He's fine. He's cool. He's still working like an obsessive.’ Richard paused. ‘He didn't really have any news.’
‘Did he say anything?’ Sally pressed. ‘You know – about Thea, or something?’
Richard thought for a moment and was careful to make it look as though he was racking his brains. ‘No,’ he concluded, ‘he didn't. You know us blokes, Sal – we don't talk on that heart-baring level you girls do.’
‘But he's all right, is he? Is he seeing anyone?’ Sally asked.
‘No,’ said Richard, ‘but I did ask.’ He kissed her shoulder. He felt uncomfortable about being economical with the whole truth. It felt odd not to tell his wife everything. But changing the subject in his head helped, and the sight of her silken skin, the glimpse of nipple half revealed by the bed linen was irresistible.