“No problem, I’ll keep you up to date with all the latest details. Don’t worry, as my world slowly turns to shit I’ll keep you completely informed. It will be better than CNN.”
“You’re such a drama queen, Andrew. You’re almost worse than Luke. Okay, I’ve got to go now. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”
“Have fun with Luke.”
“I’ll try. See you later.”
“Bye…”
Putting the phone down, I look at my watch and try to calculate when Sal will be at home. It’s five o’clock now. Guy’s flight leaves at six o’clock, and he would probably go through the departure-gate about ninety minutes earlier, so I guess that she would probably get back about seven o’clock.
For the next two hours I plan just what I am going to say to her when she answers her mobile. The first thing to do when she answers the phone is to establish that she is somewhere where she can talk without being interrupted, or at least to arrange to call her back later when she is. Or maybe I should meet with her face to face? Thankfully, it doesn’t take me long to dismiss this idea and I am then able to start planning the rest of my little speech. After choosing a few possible introductory sentences, I retrieve some computer paper and a pen from my bedroom and make myself comfortable at the kitchen table, deciding that it would be better to write my little speech down, so that I don’t mess it up when I finally get her on the phone. Unfortunately, when my initial ideas are converted to the written word, I realise just how stupid they sound, and I have to start again.
And then again. And again.
By seven o’clock, Guy’s special whisky reserve has materialised from the cupboard and I am slowly sipping a wee, sly dram, in search of inspiration and Dutch courage. Delicious as it is, by seven thirty I am beginning to run out of paper, and I have still been unable to put together anything that really seems adequate for what I need. Apparently, it would seem that William Shakespeare I am not.
At eight o’clock I realise that I am just putting it off and subconsciously trying to delay speaking to her, but the last thing I want is to have to go through another day of feeling as nervous and apprehensive as this. I have got to get this over and done with as soon as possible. So, breathing deeply three times, I reach across the kitchen table, pick up my mobile and find her number.
“Hello?” I say, as soon as Sal answers. “It’s Andrew…”
“Andrew, hi! Can you hear me okay?”
“Yes, I can. Where are you? Are you at home yet?” I ask, mentally crossing my fingers that she is back.
“No, I’m on the bus. I’m just going over to a friend’s house for dinner.”
“That sounds nice. Listen, when are you going to be back home this evening? I would really like to have a chat with you about something, but I don’t think it’s a good idea if you’re somewhere busy. It would be better if you were in your flat, or somewhere, so that you could concentrate.”
“Why? What’s it about?” Sal replies, a defensive edge quickly developing in her voice.
“Just about things. I’ll tell you later. Just let me know when you want to talk.”
“Actually, tonight is not good. I’m probably going to stay over at my friends afterwards. Can we talk during the week?”
I think for a second, immediately wondering who the person is she will be staying over with. The man from Friday night?
“If tonight’s out, how about tomorrow evening?”
“Possibly, but what’s it about? You sound dead serious.”
“It’s nothing. I just feel really guilty that you’ve been trying so hard to meet up with me so that we can talk about whatever it is you want to discuss, but I’m always so busy. Now Guy’s out of town, I think we should speak before he gets back.”
For a moment, there is silence on the other end of the phone.
“If that’s what it is about, then don’t worry. It’s too late. I wanted to talk to you about something to do with Guy, but now he’s proposed to me, it doesn’t really matter. Guy did tell you didn’t he? I was just guessing that he told you when you were having your little private chat in your bedroom?”
“Yes, he did. And he told me that you’ll be thinking about your answer whilst he is away, and will let him know your decision next Sunday.”
“That’s about the size of it…”
“Well, I still want to talk to you about something. So is tomorrow evening good with you, or would you prefer another night?”
“Actually, I’m meant to be meeting up with friends this week, so I’m pretty busy now…”, she answers evasively.
“It’s important that we speak. Especially if you’re meant to be giving Guy an answer on Sunday.”
“Okay. Okay. What about Thursday night? About 8 pm. Do you want to come round to my flat, or should we meet in town?”
“Let’s meet in town,” I reply, trying to think quickly where we can talk quietly, but where it won’t be too full on a weekday. There will probably be a bit of a scene when I give her my ultimatum and I want to be able to get in quick, say what I have to say, and then leave. I only want to be with her for as long as I have to. Not a second longer. “How about we meet in the pub on the corner of Covent Garden, just down the road from the entrance to the Opera House? I can’t remember it’s name, but it’s painted white on the outside, and if you stand with your back to the pub, the Opera House is on your right, and Covent Garden is directly in front of you.”
“Okay, I know the one. They play jazz there on a Monday night. I’ve been there a couple of times.”
“So, I’ll see you there on Thursday at 8pm.”
“Come on Andrew, give me a clue what it’s about.”
The temptation to shout at her down the phone is immense. Suddenly a picture of Kate pops into my head, and I am very angry. I start to experience a flash back to just how confused and upset and furious I was, standing at the entrance to our bedroom talking to Kate whilst she sat on our bed, confessing to having slept with the man she picked up somewhere: the man she SCREWED behind my back! As I start to reply to Sal, I feel my blood pulsing in my veins, and my hand begins to shake whilst holding the phone. Scared that I am just about to lose it, I use all the self-control I can muster to simply say, “…I’ll tell you when I see you. It can wait till then. Bye.” And then probably quite rudely, I hang up, not even listening properly to her reply. Whatever it was.
Chapter Nineteen
..
..
We are sitting in a café around the corner from the Euro.com offices, Gail listening intently to me as I fill her in on what was said between myself and Sal, repeating the conversation almost word for word. Her elbows are resting on the café table, her hand clasped underneath her chin, and her head cocked slightly to one side. She is looking at me intently, her eyes wide and attractive, and with her only centimetres away it is all I can do but prevent myself from leaning across and kissing her. I struggle to remember the rules of our platonic friendship.
When I have finished relaying everything to her, she asks me to repeat a few things, just so that she gets it all perfectly. And then she sits back, lifting up her coffee and taking a sip, mulling it all over in her mind.
She leans forward, looking into her coffee cup, as if considering a question that she wants to ask me, but hesitating.
“Go ahead,” I say, pre-empting her.
“How did you know I was going to ask something?” she looks up, genuinely surprised.
“The look in your eyes. I can see you thinking. What is it?”
“It’s just that the way you’re reacting to all this, there has got be something else behind it all. Yes, I know that your ex-girlfriend slept with another man, and that just as you’re getting over it, Sal might be doing the same, and that brings it all back. And I know that whilst you are angry with Sal, you’re probably actually really angry with Kate, and that Sal is partly just a focus for your anger…”
I shift uncomfortably in my chair, and try to interrupt her, but she fends it off.
“No, hear me out. I know I don’t know you all that well, but there is something I can sense about you that I can’t quite touch. What I wanted to ask you, is if there is anything else in your past that might be behind it all?”
I smile. I don’t know why, because happiness is not exactly what I am feeling inside. It’s just that, how am I meant to react to such a direct question? Is it so obvious that I am completely messed up, not just superficially, but so completely and utterly?
“What’s with the Freudian psycho-analysis? Where did this all come from?”
“Perhaps my mum. She’s a doctor in Birmingham. I grew up with mental psycho-babble in the house since I was a kid. Maybe some of it has rubbed off.”
“Not maybe. Definitely. You sound like my sister. Recently she keeps on going on about how little trust I have in women, and how I must learn to forget the past and not to let it affect the rest of my life; that I have to start afresh, and give women a chance, learn to trust them more, take more of a risk with my feelings whenever I meet someone nice, and not to be scared to fall in love.”
“Why? What happened?”
“It was a long time ago, and I don’t really remember any of it. My sister and I were just toddlers. Anyway, my dad brought us up because when I was about four years old my mum had an affair with some other man, my dad caught them together, and she ran off with the other bloke. We never saw her again.”
“I’m sorry,” Gail whispers.
“Don’t worry about it. We never missed her, because we never knew her. Dad brought us up, and he was great. He was pretty strict, but he was always there for us.”
“Did he remarry?”
“No. He had quite a few girlfriends, but after the thing with my mum, I just think that he never wanted to settle down again. He didn’t seem to stay with anyone for very long.”
“Were any of them serious or last for any period of time?”
“A couple. They were always coming and going. When I was very young I can remember one called Aunty Cathy, but she always made me cry and I didn’t like her. Then there was another one that stayed in our house for about a year when I was ten, and after her he was pretty serious about another one for about two years, but when she moved in, I could hear them rowing at night time, and then she left too. Probably only after a couple of months.”
“So you never really had a mother figure?”
“Nope.”
“That explains a lot. And what with all the fleeting relationships your dad had, you never ever got the chance to trust any women, did you?”
“Bingo. And after my mum, I don’t think my dad ever trusted another woman again, and maybe that’s rubbed off on me. My sister says that I don’t know how to trust, and she reckons that I’m always pushing women away from me as soon as I fall in love with them. She thinks I’m too scared to trust anyone properly just in case they do to me what my mum did to my dad. And she’s right. She broke his heart and ruined his life. He never got over it. And I don’t want the same thing to happen to me.”
“Except it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, and your girlfriends probably get fed up competing with the shadows from your past, and you end up losing them all? Am I right?”
“Bingo again. The stupid thing is that it’s probably only been in the past week or two that I have actually figured this all out for myself. How come you’ve managed to figure it out when you don’t even know me?”
“Actually, now I probably know you quite a lot.”
“Almost as much as I do.”
“So?”
“So what?” I ask, this time not knowing where she is going.
“So what are you going to do about it all, now that you’ve figured it all out?”
“Are you sure you haven’t met my sister? We had this exact same conversation last week, and I promised to try and learn to trust people more, especially women. Except the only problem with my newly made resolution was that the very next day after I made it, you stood me up at the concert, and then a few days later, I catch Sal snogging a complete stranger.”
“I’m sorry about that, but now at least you know that my one didn’t count.”
“I know. But it still made me angry at the time…”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. You were only doing the right thing for Luke.”
We sit for a moment, neither of us feeling the need to say anything, comfortable in each other’s silence. Eventually Gail speaks.
“So, you’re meeting Sal on Thursday night?”
“Yes. But not for long. Just long enough to give her the ultimatum then leave. Then it’s up to her.”
“I don’t envy you.”
“Neither do I. Do you want to do it for me?” I joke, looking at my watch and suddenly remembering that we both work for a living and have to get back to the office.
“Nope. No thanks. Anyway, I have my date with Ben that night,” she says, going a little red.
“So where are you going?” I ask, as we pick up our jackets and head back to the office.
“Don’t know yet. He’s the man. He can decide.”
..
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..
I spend the next couple of hours trying to work on writing a new datasheet to help arm the sales force with collateral for a new product Euro.com want to launch in September, once the dead sales months of the summer pass. Normally I’m quite good at this sort of stuff, but today I really struggle. The conversation Gail and I had at lunch keeps mulling around in my mind. It’s not just that she was bang on the mark about how a lot of how I am reacting to this is more deep seated than it appears, but I am amazed that I actually opened up to her and told her so much about my past.
Towards the end of the afternoon the phone rings. “Euro.com,” I start to reply formally, only to be interrupted by Guy’s voice, clear as a bell, and hard to imagine that he is actually calling from the other side of the Atlantic somewhere.
“Guy, where are you?”
“New York. We’re just about to go out for lunch, so I thought I’d give you a quick bell. Everything okay?”
“What with? Me or the flat?” I ask, hoping he’s not going to ask about Sal.
“Both. And I was wondering if you had heard from Sal at all?”
“Not yet,” I reply, pausing to take a breath. “Why, are you expecting anything?”
“No. Just nervous. I can’t wait to get back on Sunday and pop that ring on her finger.”
“Guy,…”
“What?” he asks.
“What happens if she says no?” I ask,
“She won’t. Why should she? Honestly, it’s going to be fine. Stop trying to talk yourself out of a job!”
“What job?”
“The Best Man!”
Shit.
“Anyway, listen, I have to run, because I’m calling from my mobile, and it’ll cost me a fortune. But can you do me a favour and just check up on Sal this week and make sure she’s alright for me? Or maybe, if you’re going out somewhere, invite her along. I don’t want her to be sitting at home all by herself. Okay, Best Man?”
“No problem. Maybe I’ll give her a call later.” I reply weakly.
“Good. Speak to you soon. Bye”
“Adios,” I reply, suddenly feeling like Judas Iscariot who has just made an appointment to meet the Romans.
When I put down the phone, any ability to concentrate on work finally vanishes. I push back in my chair, and turn to look out of the window, trying to lose myself in the tireless movement and excitement of the river Thames. After a few minutes, I stand up from my desk and stretch, and walk towards the kitchen, gathering requests for tea or coffee from my colleagues as I go. Picking up a tray from beside the coffee machine, I start to press the buttons one by one that automatically delivers up the orders of coffee with milk, coffee without but with sugar, a green tea, and a hot chocolate. Having collected the drinks, I am just about to walk back to my desk when Dianne
walks into the kitchen area, blocking the way out. Her face lights up as soon as she sees me, and I half-smile in return. This is the first time I have seen her since Gail’s revelation to me about Dianne last Friday night.
“Andrew, wow. It’s good to see you. How are you?” she asks, not moving from the entrance.
“I’m fine,” I reply.
“You look well,” she says.
“So do you.” I reply, not lying. She actually looks great. She is wearing a figure hugging blouse and a shapely business skirt, black tights and a pair of black leather boots. In spite of myself, I feel the same instant attraction to her that I felt the first time I saw her.
“It’s a shame you didn’t make it to the Road House last Friday night. I was kind-of-hoping you might come, so that we could maybe have a dance together?” she says, moving slowly into the kitchen and leaning backwards against the coffee machine, the exit now free to escape through.
“I went dancing somewhere else, with some friends from work,” I reply, still standing holding the tray.
“Anywhere nice?” she asks me.
“Well, let’s just say it was, until I found out that everyone in the office was laughing at me behind my back because you told them you had slept with me.”
“They’re not laughing, Andrew. They’re jealous,” she replies, not missing a beat.
“Why did you have to tell everyone?”
“I didn’t. Well, maybe I just told one person, and she told the rest. The Office Grapevine, faster than the speed of light. And anyway, I’m not ashamed of sleeping with you Andrew. I do what I want, with whom I want. When I want. And I enjoyed it. Very much,” she replies, cocking her head to one side and slightly raising her eyebrows: the body language of a confidant, sexual predator. “Did you?”
I can feel myself beginning to blush. I know that the right thing to do is just to turn and walk away, and not to take the bait. But before I control myself, my mouth opens by itself and replies, “I think that was obvious. But it won’t happen again.”
As I walk out of the kitchen, I hear her reply. “That’s a shame. I was hoping it would…”
The Sleeping Truth : A Romantic Thriller (Omnibus Edition containing both Book One and Book Two) Page 10