Because no plan can succeed without the assistance of reliable wingmen, I
had drafted in my best friends, Emelie and Matthew. Unfortunately, by the
time we arrived at The Phoenix, Emelie was wasted. The queen of prepartying
had put away almost an entire bottle of red at my flat and was now
trying to convince us to join her in a round of shots. And, for whatever
reason, only known to himself, Matthew was encouraging her. Generally
speaking, I didn’t drink. Hangovers really didn’t sit well with my job: there
weren’t many models or celebs that wanted a make-up artist stinking of gin,
breathing on them for an hour at a time, and applying liquid eye liner half
cut is not something I’d recommend. That said, I was a pretty good drunk,
more happy than emotional and, nine times out of ten, I managed to keep
my kebab down. Emelie, however, was not blessed with that talent. Despite
knowing that she was incapable of drinking so much as a shandy without
vomming all over the night bus, she never gave up. Amazing tenacity, that
girl.
‘Come on, Ray, it’s Friday,’ she said, brandishing a shot glass, brimming
with thick, sticky-looking liquor. ‘And, you know, liquid courage.’
‘One shot,’ I warned, more an order for her than a promise to myself,
then knocked it back in one. My throat scorched with sambuca afterburn
and, by the time I’d prised my eyes open, she was ordering a second round.
Too bad tonight would not be a night spent holding back her hair while she
brought up half of Burger King.
‘If you leave me with her, I will destroy you,’ Matthew said, reading my
mind. I shrugged, trying not to smile. He loved her really. Matthew (never
Matt) and I had been friends ever since he walked out of a queer theory
lecture at uni, declaring it ‘a great big bag of wank’.
As his brand-new flatmate, I felt obliged to chase after him, and we spent
the afternoon, evening and much of the early morning in the union, drinking
pints and making up our own queer theories. Mine hung on the idea that
men were just greedy, Matthew’s on his belief that ‘touching a vagina
would make him vomit’. There was evidence to back both schools of
thought. After that, we were bonded for life. It was a win-win for me – I
never had to worry about him trying to get in my pants and he had a standin
girlfriend to keep his grandmother happy. His mother had known he was
gay from birth, by his account, but his grandparents weren’t quite so
accepting. Which was possibly why he wore a skintight, neon-pink T-shirt
to his grandfather’s funeral.
The poor lamb hadn’t had an easy time of it as a kid. His dad had
skidaddled before he was even born and only shown up again a year earlier,
shortly before shuffling off his mortal coil and leaving Matthew an absolute
ton of money, leading him to quit his air steward job and spend the last
twelve months generally fannying around London with absolutely no aim in
life. Even when he wasn’t rich, he was pretty much a catch, however you
looked at it. The boy was huge, well over six feet tall, and broad with it.
Handfuls of thick blond hair dropped into his dark blue eyes and his skin
was always tanned, despite my constant sun-bed warnings. Looks-wise, he
was somewhere between Hitler’s Aryan dream and Louis Walsh’s wet
dream. Personality-wise, definitely erred more on the side of fascist dictator
than Gary Barlow. Which was pretty much why I loved him. That and
because he came over and killed my spiders when Simon wasn’t around.
It was still early, only just after ten thirty, but the club was already busy.
Over in a dark corner of the small, sweaty basement, my brother and his
friends were cooing over some guest DJ’s vinyl collection and debating
which records to play. I raised a hand when he looked up. They ran this
night every month, mostly so they could hang around the DJ booth and look
cool to girls. The things boys did to get laid. Said the girl still trying to find
a way to get comfortable after her speculative Brazilian.
‘Have you said hello to Paul yet?’ Em asked, distributing the second
round and looking at my brother with puppy-dog eyes. ‘We really should.’
I threw back the shot and shuddered. ‘We really shouldn’t,’ I disagreed.
‘Actually, you really shouldn’t. Seriously, Em. No.’
‘I’m just saying we should say hello,’ Em said, absently licking a drop of
sambuca from her little finger, completely oblivious to the fact that every
man in the bar was waiting to offer to do that for her. ‘As if I fancy your
brother.’
Emelie Stevens and I knew everything about each other. We were each
other’s secret-keepers. She knew I hadn’t lost my virginity until I was 22.
She knew I couldn’t get to sleep at night unless I knew where my childhood
teddy bear was. She knew I accidentally ran over Matthew’s cat when I was
supposed to be looking after it. I knew she had spent several years of her
childhood starring on a Canadian children’s TV show. I knew she had got a
pregnancy test in the first year of uni after she let John Donovan touch her
up behind halls after the Halloween party. And I knew she’d had a crush on
my brother since he came to collect me for Christmas break in the second
year.
It was ridiculous, really – Emelie was beautiful. As in, I worked with
supermodels day in and day out and I still thought she was beautiful.
Medium height, medium build, slightly more than medium boobs, from the
back maybe you might think she was a regular girl, but then she would turn
around and you would literally stop in your tracks. She had the longest,
thickest auburn hair and offensively green eyes that were lined with the
thickest, flutteriest eyelashes this side of Bambi. Her outfits were always
faultless and she could make a bin-bag look sexy if she wanted to. If that
wasn’t enough, Em had grown up in Montreal and, even after ten years in
London, had an adorable lilting French-Canadian accent that slipped out
when she was stressed, or angry. Or on the pull. As a package, she was
unbelievable. Unfortunately for mankind, she was ridiculously unattainable.
While I hadn’t been single since I was 16, Em hadn’t been in a serious
relationship in, well, ever. It wasn’t for the want of offers, she went through
men like I went through pickled onion Monster Munch, but they never
lasted more than a couple of weeks. Either they liked her too much, they
didn’t like her enough, they were too rich and showy, they were too poor
and boring. No one stood a chance. She constantly rattled on about how she
was looking for ‘the one’, how she’d know him as soon as she saw him and
that there was no point wasting time on losers, but Matthew had another
theory: that she was so hopelessly in love with my slag of a brother, no one
else stood a chance. As pop psychology went, it wasn’t a bad call.
Unfortunately, my brother wouldn’t dare mess about with her. Paul’s
feckless womanizing was a badge he wore proudly and, while he’d made
his intentions towards Emelie quite clear over the years, I had intervened at
every opportunity. My best friend was not another notch on his bedpost.
Not that there could be a lot of bedpost left by now. Oh universe, why
would you surround me with so many manwhores?
‘Did you get the email from uni?’ I changed the subject while trying to
convince my hair to stay behind my ears. There was just So Much Of It.
‘About the ten-year reunion?’
‘Got it, read it, deleted it,’ Matthew nodded, pulling my hair loose again.
‘They just want money.’
‘I just can’t believe it’s been ten years since we started.’ Emelie was
trying to catch the bartender’s eye for some proper drinks. Luckily, the
bartender was a woman so it was taking longer than her usual three
seconds. Almost a whole thirty before a bottle of white wine was in front of
us. ‘It doesn’t feel like ten minutes ago.’
‘And look at you two now,’ Matthew replied, wrapping an arm around
Em to physically remove her from the bar. ‘Top make-up artist and supersuccessful
… what exactly is it that we call you?’
She made a face and wriggled out of his bear hug. ‘I’m a graphic artist.’
‘You’re a what?’
‘She drew a picture that someone put on loads of stuff and then lots of
little girls bought it,’ I clarified for Matthew. ‘A picture of a cat.’
‘Got it,’ he clicked and pointed, ignoring Em’s ‘I’m not amused’ face. As
always. ‘You’re the one that weasels kids out of their pocket money.’
‘You can both fuck off, I’m a graphic artist,’ she started defensively.
‘And Kitty Kitty isn’t a picture of a cat, it’s a brand. And it’s one of the
most successful tween brands in the UK.’
‘Tween,’ Matthew smirked. ‘Stop making up words.’
‘Em, we know.’ I pulled out my Kitty Kitty wallet and waved it in her
face to prove my point before she went for Matthew. ‘He’s jealous because
he’s unemployed.’
‘Taking a sabbatical,’ he corrected, spying an empty sofa and crossing
the dance floor in three strides to bag it before a group of girls could hurl
their handbags onto the table. ‘You’re only unemployed if you’re broke.’
‘Run that one past me again?’ Em asked with faux innocence.
Matthew closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. His ‘I’m
calm, really’ pose. ‘I’m taking time out until I work out what I want to do.’
‘For the last year,’ Em said, not quite quietly enough.
‘For the last year,’ he repeated pointedly, in her face. ‘Maybe I should
just draw a crappy cat and stick it on lunchboxes instead of doing
something worthwhile.’
‘Because serving people chicken or pasta at fifty thousand feet was
worthwhile?’ Em snapped back.
‘No, you knob, that’s why I’m taking a sabbatical!’
‘For the last year—’
‘Children,’ I said loudly. ‘Inside voices?’
Matthew narrowed his eyes while Em stuck out her tongue before they
both turned to look at me, argument forgotten. Really, I spent far too much
time feeling like a primary school teacher on a field trip than was healthy.
Which was one of the reasons I needed Simon back so badly. Perfect, adult,
sensible Simon. The one thing in my world that reminded me I was a
grown-up. Well, Simon and my tax return, but I really didn’t like to put the
two of them in the same category if I could help it.
‘So tonight’s the night?’ Em asked, inching down the hemline of her tiny
black Topshop dress. ‘With Simon?’
‘Yes,’ I confirmed, forcing my hair back behind my ears again. ‘Tonight
is the night.’
‘Is there a plan?’ Matthew asked, flicking my hair loose again. ‘Don’t put
it behind your ears, you look like a sad mouse. And no one wants to shag a
sad mouse.’
‘Thanks,’ I glared at the floor rather than at my friend and took a deep
breath. ‘And no, no plan. I’m just going to go over with a drink and say hi
to his friends because you know, his friends love me.’
Em and Matthew nodded encouragement. His friends did love me. I was
the cool girlfriend. The one that thought it was hilarious that they went to
Spearmint Rhino after their Christmas party. The one who made bacon
sandwiches the morning after when they passed out on our sofa. The one
who understood the offside rule. Or, at least, I was the one who tolerated the
strip clubs, made the bacon sandwiches to sober them up and pretended to
understand the offside rule. And elaboration on those facts was completely
unnecessary.
‘And then you’re going to pull him to one side and tell him he’s the love
of your life and this break stuff has only made you realize how badly you
need him and that you want to have his babies?’ It would be an
understatement to say that Emelie had something of a romantic nature.
‘Or pull him to one side and tell him that tonight’s the night he gets to go
where no one has ever gone before?’ Matthew’s sensibilities were not quite
so romantic.
‘Firstly, Matthew? Ew. And Emelie, your relationship advice is not
required.’ I started to brush my hair behind my ears but stopped myself just
in time, much to Matthew’s delight. ‘I’m just going to tell him that I think
that the break has been really valuable, I’ve had a lot of time to think about
what I want and that now I think we’re ready to move on to the next level.’
‘Babies?’
‘Anal?’
‘Oh my god.’ I pressed my hand to my eyes, hoping they’d have
disappeared when I opened them again. But no. Still there. ‘No. To both.
But especially Matthew. God.’
Matthew shrugged and took a deep swig of his drink. ‘I’m just saying, if
you really want to get his attention …’
‘I don’t think we need to pull out the big guns just yet,’ I said, checking
my watch for the millionth time that night. It was almost eleven. Why
wasn’t he here yet? He always came to The Phoenix on Paul’s nights. ‘I’m
just going to suggest we talk. We’ve been together for five years, we finish
each other’s sentences, we’re supposed to be together.’
‘Yeah, because blokes love talking on a Friday night,’ Matthew said to
Em, who nodded in agreement.
‘He’s right,’ she agreed. ‘I mean, not about the back-door proposition;
although, actually, he’s probably right about that too. Men are weird.’
‘This just makes more sense,’ I replied. ‘Simon isn’t good at planned
one-on-one situations. He thinks I’m trying to give him an appraisal. I don’t
want him to feel like I’m bullying him into a deep and meaningful, it’s just
going to be a “hey, how’s everything?” casual chat during which he will
remember how fabulous I am and how much he misses me, then it’s back
home for mind-blowing sex and we’re done.’
‘And then he’ll forget all about whatever underlying reasons there are for
this break bollocks and you’ll live happily ever after?’ Matthew stared at
me and shook his head. ‘Piece of piss, Rach.’
‘I appreciate your input, really,’ I stood up and calculated my route to the
bar. A drink would shut them up. It wouldn’t be my problem when Emelie
had to pay a fifty-quid taxi-cleaning bill again. ‘Despite one of you being
incredibly homosexual and the other not having had a boyfriend for more
than two weeks since you broke up with Adam Rothman in Pizza Express
three years ago because he finished your fudge sundae while you were in
the lav. More wine?’
‘Touchy,’ Matthew drained his glass. ‘And yes.’
‘Well, you look good,’ Em said. ‘I mean, you know, like you’ve tried.’
I tried not to punch her in the face. ‘I have tried.’
‘And you can tell.’ She gave me an encouraging smile, as though she
really did think she’d just paid me a compliment.
‘I think what our dear friend is trying to say, is that you look even more
amazing than usual,’ Matthew corrected. ‘Seriously, you look great.’
After turning my entire wardrobe out onto my bedroom floor, I’d settled
on skinny jeans and a low-cut black vest that were both just tight enough to
pass as sexy-tight and not too-many-pies-tight. I hoped.
‘I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now, but are you sure about
tonight?’ he asked. ‘About getting back with Simon and everything?’
Brilliant. We were going to have The Talk. Again. Matthew had been
ready to punch Simon in the face ever since the break was agreed upon. It
wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate his loyalty, but I really didn’t want it to be
weird when we got back together. It’s never fun to be the person that
bitched the ex out to high heavens and then the couple gets back together. I
should know; I’d been that person on several occasions.
‘We’re not getting back together because we’re not broken up,’ I
reminded him. ‘But yes, I am sure about tonight.’
‘We’re just worried about you,’ Emelie said, wearing her best concerned
face. ‘You’ve just been so miserable lately.’
I had?
‘And should you really have to be trying so hard?’ Matthew stared before
I could interrupt. ‘He should be begging you to take him back after this “on
a break” rubbish. Are you sure you wouldn’t be better off maybe making
the break a bit more permanent?’
‘I’m sure,’ I said quickly. ‘He’s my boyfriend. We own a flat. We’re
going to get married. We’re going to have babies. How many times do we
have to go over this?’
‘I just don’t think your soul mate should spend a month in the spare room
while he “works things out”.’ Matthew loved his air quotes. ‘I’m not saying
you weren’t happy before, but you’re not happy now. Things change, you
know, that’s not always bad.’
‘Please don’t start on about soul mates.’ This was my least favourite part
of the conversation and we’d had it enough times. Between them, Matthew
and Emelie were keeping Clinton’s Cards in business – hopeless romantics
the pair of them. ‘And it hasn’t been a month yet, so don’t exaggerate. I
don’t have a problem with it so you shouldn’t. He just needed a little bit of
time to … you know … just to work stuff out. Isn’t he better than the
others?’
‘Yes but honestly, love, the others weren’t up to much,’ Matthew
examined his fingernails to avoid looking at me. ‘You don’t have the best
taste in men, you know. But I don’t want you to throw yourself after this
just because it’s familiar.’
‘Seconded,’ Emelie piped up, clutching an empty wine glass. Going to
the bar was definitely going to be the easiest way out of this. ‘Too many
people stay with blokes that are past their sell-by date out of habit.’
‘It’s not that at all.’ I stood up and looked around again. No sign. ‘He’s
got a good job, he’ll be a great father, he’s not a wanker and I love him.
Now who wants what to drink?’
Emelie raised her hand.
Matthew folded his arms. ‘Glad you got to the most important part first.
Clearly he’s the one.’
‘If you’d had my parents, you wouldn’t believe in “the one” either,’ I
replied. ‘Now, disgusting house white all round?’
I turned on my heel to head for the bar, trying not to lose my temper.
There was a reason Matthew was being so unnecessarily emo so I had to let
this go. Aside from the fact he was just looking out for me, his ‘soul mate’,
Stephen, had left him six months ago for a 24-year-old underwear model
and he still wasn’t anywhere near over it. I’d never seen such a messy
break-up in my life and pretty much avoided mentioning Steven, models
and underwear at all times. Which sort of limited our conversation this
evening. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk about him, it was just that
whenever he did, he went sort of catatonic for a few hours and then I got a
phone call three days later to say he’d woken up in Mexico and needed me
to feed his cat. Well, that was when he’d had a cat. The joys of being a
former trolley dolly who was currently burning through a pretty hefty
inheritance. Most people I knew broke up with someone, went out, got
drunk and woke up on a night bus in Peckham. Matthew got drunk, went to
Heathrow, got on a plane and woke up in Rio. With someone called José.
We still didn’t know very much about José but they were Facebook friends,
so that was nice.
I twisted and turned through the growing number of bodies on the dance
floor and weaselled into position at the bar. I placed my order and turned to
look back at my best friends, now gesturing wildly at each other and
cackling like witches, harsh words forgotten. They left me exhausted. And I
wasn’t quite sure what I’d do without them.
‘All right, sis?’ Paul sidled up beside me, winked at the girl behind the
bar and started sipping his pint before I’d even opened my mouth. ‘Emelie’s
looking fit tonight.’
‘Don’t bother.’ I ordered the wine and gave him the sternest look I could
muster. ‘Aren’t there any other lucky candidates ready to catch whatever
you’re passing round this evening?’
‘Oh god, yeah, loads.’ He turned around and leaned against the bar. ‘But
none of those would piss you off quite so much, would they?’
‘You’re so funny.’ I grabbed the bottle and headed back to the table. With
Paul hot on my heels. Well, flats.
‘Matthew,’ he nodded, before slipping onto the seat closest to Emelie.
‘Em.’
I pretended not to see her blushing for the sake of my own sanity.
‘So, what are you doing sitting down?’ Paul asked. ‘This DJ’s amazing.’
‘We were just counselling your sister.’ Matthew took the wine from me
and topped up everyone’s glasses. Ahh, the great British Friday-night
tradition of binge-drinking. ‘That’s a serious job, you know.’
‘She won’t listen,’ he replied. ‘Don’t waste your breath.’
‘Rach.’ Emelie tore her eyes away from my little brother just long
enough to spy Simon arriving. I looked up to see him roll through the door
and straight up to the bar with a group of people I didn’t recognize.
Simon. My Simon.
I couldn’t believe it was four weeks since I’d laid eyes on him. Half of
me felt as though he’d kissed me on the head on his way out this morning,
and the other, like I was looking at a complete stranger. He was still in his
smart jeans-and-shirt ensemble that he wore to work on casual Fridays. If
he’d been stuck in the office late, he’d be wanting a drink. Probably a
whisky and Coke, even though I knew what he really wanted was Malibu
and lemonade. Given his sloped shoulders and slight stagger, it seemed as if
he’d had a couple of drinks already. He looked tired. It made my heart hurt
not to be able to go over to him and kiss him hello. But that wasn’t part of
the plan.
Sitting at a table, moping into a glass of wine wasn’t going to win him
back. I forced my face to put on a smile for the first time in what seemed
like forever and took hold of Emelie’s arm. ‘Come on, I want Simon to
think we’re having fun.’
‘Any chance we could actually just have fun?’ she asked. ‘Because that’s
probably more believable than pretending.’
‘Just dance with me,’ I slid my black leather clutch under my arm and
pulled her towards the floor. Matthew and Paul followed, Matthew never
one to miss an opportunity to get his dance on and Paul presumably sensing
an opportunity to touch Emelie up a little bit. As Smokey Robinson blared
out of the speakers, conversation was no longer an option, so I closed my
eyes and started to move, hoping that Simon was watching. After a decade
of dancing together, I could feel Matthew and Emelie without needing to
open my eyes. Em was leaning against my back, partly to try to look sexy
and partly because she was already too drunk to dance without support.
Matthew would have his hands thrown in the air at the side of me, singing
along, his fast footwork lost in the throb of bodies. I felt Em drift away and
a pair of man hands gripped me around my waist. I put my head down,
smiled to myself, not wanting anyone to see and leaned back into Simon’s
chest.
‘Hi.’
Of course it wasn’t Simon. It was a complete stranger. And not one you
would want touching you. I stopped suddenly, giving him just enough
opportunity to spin me around and dip me low on the dance floor. Emelie
and Matthew were too busy busting their own moves to notice, and my
brother had adopted the official ‘I can’t see this so it isn’t happening’ tactic,
as was the way when someone was having a crack at your sister.
‘Oh my god, get off.’ I tried to wriggle free but my suitor must have been
almost a foot taller than me. And five stone heavier. He simply picked me
up and held me in the air. I placed my hands on his shoulders to steady
myself as my shoes slipped off my feet. Which didn’t stop me landing what
could have been a very, very painful kick if it had hit two inches to the left.
‘I don’t think so.’ I pulled my hand back and cracked him right across the
face. Fair, given that I’d missed the kick to the balls. Another good reason
why I had no interest in breaking up with Simon.
Bending down to grab my shoes, I ignored the ‘oohs’ that echoed around
me and pushed my way towards the bar just in time to see Simon heading
up the stairs, towards the street.
‘Simon!’ I shouted, trying to get my shoes on before I got outside. ‘Wait,
Simon!’
‘Rachel?’
I whirled around to see Simon accepting a cigarette from a man I didn’t
recognize in the smokers’ corner on the side of the street. He looked
surprised to see me. And also a little bit like his form tutor had just caught
him out behind the bike sheds. Not the impact I was hoping for.
‘Simon,’ I said, staring at him trying to hide his cigarette behind his back.
‘You’re smoking.’
‘Uh, no, I just, well, one.’ He waved the Marlboro Light around as
though it was a magic wand. ‘I had a really shit day. Were you inside?’
‘You, you didn’t see?’ I asked, wrapping my arms around myself. It was
a little too cold to be outside without a coat. ‘You didn’t see us dancing?’
‘Dancing?’ Simon looked confused. ‘With who?’
‘No one, not with anyone,’ I said, taking a step towards him. ‘Matthew
and Emelie. And Paul.’
He took a step backwards. ‘Right. I didn’t know you’d be here.’
I stood and looked at him for a moment. This wasn’t how this was
supposed to go. This wasn’t why I’d worn my best underwear. This wasn’t
why I’d been through the agony of a bikini wax.
‘Simon, can we talk for a minute?’ I asked, taking another step towards
him.
‘Can we do it tomorrow?’ he countered. ‘I know we need to talk about
stuff, I’ve just had a really shit day and I’ve been so busy and-—’
‘I haven’t seen you in four weeks.’ I lowered my voice as subtly as
possible. ‘Can you give me five minutes?’
‘It’s just because, I think we’re leaving, Mark’s friends are at this other
place and we’re probably going to go there …’ He trailed off, looking back
towards someone named Mark who still wasn’t looking at me. Whoever
Mark was.
‘I just need a minute,’ I said, trying to remember my speech. ‘I wanted to
talk about the break thing. I’ve had enough.’
‘Oh.’ He dropped the cigarette and stamped it out. ‘’Oh, OK. Let’s just
get it over with then.’
Get it over with?
Before I could start on the next part, he walked over, put his arm over my
shoulder and led me over to the railings across the street.
‘I’m sorry I haven’t been around.’ He left his hand on my shoulder for a
moment before looking at it and pulling it away, jamming it deep into his
pocket. ‘I did want to talk but things have been mental. Work’s mad, I’m
training up this new assistant and he’s shit and then there was the stag do
and, sorry, I’ll shut up. Shoot.’
‘You wanted to talk?’ I asked, wishing I’d put on lip balm before I came
outside. From the corner of my eye, I saw Matthew stick his head out of the
door, then slide back in once he’d clocked me. ‘I’ve wanted to talk about it
too.’
‘Yeah?’ Simon didn’t look happy. ‘I thought having time away would
make this easier. Doesn’t though, does it?’
‘Doesn’t what?’ I rubbed my arms briskly. It really was cold and my bra
was not adequately padded enough for such temperatures. ‘Look, Si, like I
was saying, I’ve wanted to talk since you left. I think the whole break time
thing was totally OK and it’s been good to have some space but I’m done
with it. The whole break thing.’
‘OK. Good. OK.’ He fumbled around in a pocket for his cigarettes. ‘Is
there someone else?’
‘Is there what?’ I pushed my hair back again and tried to ignore Matthew
standing across the street, motioning for me to pull it forward. ‘Why would
there be …? Look, Simon, I’m over this whole break thing. I just want
things back to normal.’
Simon lit another cigarette and looked at the floor. ‘Sorry Rach, I’ve had
a couple of drinks, I’m not following. What are you saying?’
‘I don’t want to be on a break.’ I reached over and took the packet of
cigarettes out of his hand. ‘Will you look at me, please?’
He inhaled deeply and blew out a long stream of grey smoke, shaking his
head. I stepped closer until we were toe to toe and placed my empty hand
on his arm, pulling the cigarette away from his mouth.
‘Simon, you don’t smoke.’
‘I smoked before we started going out,’ he said quietly.
‘We’ve been going out for five years,’ I replied in a voice just as hushed
but, regardless of volume control, I could see a small audience with ears
pricked across the street.
Suddenly our private conversation felt very public.
‘Five years is a long time.’ Simon pulled his arm away from me, stepped
back and took another drag. ‘And I don’t want to be on a break either. So
we’re agreed that the break isn’t working.’
‘Simon, I’m really not following,’ I was totally lost. This was really,
really not how this was supposed to go. We were supposed to be halfway to
doing something indecent in the back of a taxi by now, not rambling in the
middle of the street while Matthew pretended not to be watching from the
doorway of the club. And, oh brilliant, Em was there as well. At least Paul
had stayed downstairs – oh, wait a minute, nope, there he was. Just what I
needed.
‘I know I haven’t dealt with the whole break-up very well, but I don’t
want to make it any harder than it is already.’ Simon shrugged. ‘It’s not
been easy for me either, you know.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I grabbed his arm tight and got as close to
his face as was humanly possible given his cigarette breath. This was
supposed to be seductive, not confusing and gross. ‘Can we please just go
home?’
‘I’m not coming home.’ He shook off my arm and stepped backwards.
‘This isn’t a break, Rachel.’
Simon looked pale and awkward and it didn’t really matter how cold it
was any more.
‘I don’t want to be on a break because I want to be with you,’ I said
softly, staring steadily at his shoes. ‘It’s just a break. We’re not, you know,
we’re not. Not on a break.’
For a few moments, he didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything. Across
the street, I could hear people talking, laughing, even some shouting a
couple of doors down, but it seemed as if it was miles away. I coughed, just
to check I could still make noise.
‘Simon, I love you.’
Nothing.
‘Simon?’
Still nothing.
I pressed my lips together to try and stop the tears that were tickling the
corners of my eyes, blurring the bright red postbox into a red slash to the
side of me.
‘Simon, please.’ I tried to keep my voice even but I was having enough
trouble getting the words out at all. ‘You’re my boyfriend.’
Simon took one last drag, dropped the cigarette butt and ground it into
the pavement with a brown leather shoe I didn’t recognize. Looking up at
the sky, he blew out his breath loudly.
‘You’re not the one.’
I folded my arms tightly, pressing my fingernails into my bare arms.
‘I’m sorry, Rachel,’ he said, looking quickly back down at the street.
Anywhere but at me. ‘I’m wasting your time. You’re not the one.’
‘I’m not …’ I cleared my throat and started again. ‘I’m not the one?’
‘No,’ Simon replied.
‘Is someone else the one?’ I asked, afraid to hear the answer. ‘Are you …
is there …?’
‘No,’ he said, finally looking somewhere just to the right of my nose.
Still not quite at my eyes. ‘Honest. It’s just, I thought about it and I care
about you, I do, you’re just not the one. We’re not going to work out in the
end.’
‘Any reason in particular?’ I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘What
did I do?’
‘You didn’t do anything,’ he shrugged. ‘I just woke up one day and I
knew. I thought the break would help but …’
‘You thought the break would be easier than out-and-out breaking up
with me,’ I revised for him. ‘And that I would get the hint or something?’
‘I’m sorry, I haven’t done this very well.’ He went back to his pocket for
the cigarettes but they were still in my hand. Impetuously, I threw them into
the road and under a car. ‘Rachel, I just don’t, I’m not, god this is shit. I’ll
always love you, I’m just not, you know.’
‘I don’t know actually.’ I shook my head and felt my hair fall around my
shoulders. ‘Because I love you.’
‘Jesus, Rach.’ Simon reached an arm out towards my bare shoulder and
laid his hand against my skin. It should have felt warm and reassuring but
instead it stung. ‘I’m sorry.’ He pulled his hand away and shoved it back
into his empty pocket.
I took a step backwards, blinking until the tears slipped over my eyelids
and ran down my cheeks. At least I wasn’t wearing any mascara. Nothing
like panda eyes to make a girl look utterly pathetic. I looked at him. His
short dark-blond hair was darker in the streetlight and his eyes were red and
tired. The strangest thing was looking at his lips. And letting the fact that I
wouldn’t be kissing them ever again settle in my mind. They were offlimits.
He was off-limits. No longer mine. Another step back and I took him
in completely. All five feet nine of ex-boyfriend. Ex. What a horrible sound.
This wasn’t my Simon; this was a stranger. I stepped back again, stumbling
off the kerb and into the road.
‘Rachel!’ Someone shouted sharply and I turned around just in time to
see a black cab whirr past me, beeping his horn, the driver shouting
something like ‘stupid cow’ out of the window. Even though I was still
standing in the road, I couldn’t seem to move. Instead, I sat down. Which
seemed like a sensible idea.
‘Rachel,’ another voice said, softer this time but closer. I felt several arms
wrap around me and pull me to my feet before hearing raised voices and
scuffling behind me.
‘Get her in a cab,’ Matthew’s voice commanded someone. ‘I’ll sort these
two out.’
I was more interested in my shoes. I loved these shoes. How long had
Simon had those brown shoes? How come I hadn’t seen them before? He’d
probably bought them earlier – only a boy would go out dancing on a
Friday night in new shoes without knowing whether or not they’d rub.
Which of course they would; all of his shoes rubbed.
‘Rachel, are you OK?’ Em’s voiced asked.
I nodded.
‘Me and Matthew are coming home with you.’ Her voice was coming
from somewhere above me but I couldn’t quite focus on it.
I shook my head.
‘Yes, we are.’
‘No,’ I said steadily. ‘I just want to go home and sleep. Really. Just come
over in the morning. I’ll need you in the morning.’
‘I really think we should come home with you, just me or just Matthew,
whoever you want. This is not open for discussion.’
I shook my head again and stretched my arm out to an approaching black
cab. ‘I’m fine.’
Before she could do anything, I shook Emelie off and opened the cab
door, slamming it shut behind me, hitting my leg in the process. I didn’t feel
it.
‘Amwell Street, Islington?’ I leaned forward until I saw the driver nod
and then slouched back while he did a U-turn. Out of the window, I saw
Emelie throwing her hands up at Matthew who was holding his own hands
over his face. Behind them, Paul was holding his nose but I couldn’t see
Simon. Until we stopped at a traffic light. Then I spotted him. On the floor
at Paul’s feet with Mark the Stranger at the side of him.
Well, would you look at that?
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