A Funny Thing About Love (11 page)

He pulled away and scrabbled in his pocket for his phone. Ah, that explained it. ‘The taxi's here. Are you coming?'

I practically just have
, Carmen did not reply. ‘I should say goodbye to everyone,' she said instead.

She and Will walked back into the living room. Music was still blasting out, this time ‘Let's Dance',
and Matthew and Penny were dancing with their kids. Everyone else was slumped on the sofas and chairs. Carmen went up to Matthew and shouted, ‘I'm off now.'

Matthew raised his eyebrows when he noticed Will standing behind her.

Carmen ignored the look. ‘I'll give you a ring next week. Let's have lunch – us writers should stick together.'

‘I'd love to,' Matthew replied, then reached for her hand and kissed it. ‘Look after her, Will,' he said in a decidedly cooler tone than he had used with Carmen.

In the taxi Carmen's inhibitions had long since left the building. No more was she too-cool-for-school Carmen; she was drunk-as-a-skunk Carmen. ‘Lovely Will,' she said, snuggling next to him. He really was lovely, why had she held back for so long?

‘Lovely Carmen,' Will replied, putting on her seat belt for her. And safety-conscious too. She laid her head on his shoulder. She'd just rest her eyes until they got to his place and then she'd feel refreshed and up for whatever Will was. Tea and paracetamol! Ha, she knew what his real agenda was! He really was lovely and smelt lovely too. She liked Jo Malone, they both loved comedy, liked coffee, they could share a packet of Wobbly Worms, they were a very good match, they were bound to be great in bed together. She just needed to conserve her energy for that bit.

‘You okay?' Will asked.

‘Hmm,' she murmured. ‘Lovely.'

*  *  *

‘Are you okay?' Will was speaking to her.

‘Hmm,' Carmen murmured back, snuggling deeper into the duvet. Hang on a minute, why was Will talking to her in bed? A montage of images flashed up in her mind: the party, the flirtation, the dancing cheek to cheek, the kiss, the – what the bloody hell happened next? Carmen had absolutely no recollection of how she had ended up in Will's bed. Naked, apparently, except for a pair of briefs. She cautiously opened her eyes. Will was up and dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked as fresh as a daisy. Carmen felt as fresh as a dung heap.

‘What am I doing here?' she croaked, sounding as if she'd spent the night chain-smoking unfiltered Gitanes.

‘You don't remember? Well, young lady, you wanted to ravish my body, every inch of it, apparently, to do the dirtiest, naughtiest things. Really, Miller, I was shocked. I always thought you were a nice girl, but then they're always the dirtiest, aren't they?'

‘We didn't, did we?' Carmen croaked tentatively.

Will rolled his eyes and left a pause before putting Carmen out of her misery. ‘I like to think I'm a little more memorable than that! Nothing happened because in the taxi you fell asleep, which is really the polite way of saying you passed out. You were still passed out when we arrived back at my flat and I couldn't wake you up. I had to carry you inside with the taxi driver, and do you know what floor we're on?'

Carmen shook her head, then winced as the hangover kicked in with a vengeance.

‘The second. My back may never be the same.'

‘Oh God!' Carmen exclaimed, mortified, pulling the duvet up so only her no-doubt bloodshot eyes were visible. ‘It's like a scene from a bad rom com. I'm so sorry.'

‘D'you mean about my back or about being a cliché?' Will sounded amused.

‘Both,' Carmen muttered.

‘Well, I know you'd had a pretty stressful week, so I'm not too offended. You're always going on about what a tough bastard I am, but as you can see, I'm a total gentleman.'

‘But why am I practically naked?' She fervently hoped that Will had not undressed her in her state of drunken stupor – talk about blowing her air of mystery!

‘Because in the night you suddenly sat up, declared that you were boiling hot and pulled everything off. But it was dark, I promise I didn't see anything. And yes, I slept in the same bed as you because my sofa bed is knackered and I really didn't want to sleep on the floor, and it
is
my bed. It was the least you could do after failing to carry out your threat to ravish me like a beast.'

‘I did not say that!' Carmen exclaimed. ‘However drunk I was, I would never say such a thing.'

Will looked at her then smiled. ‘You're right, but you did tell me I was lovely, which I take to mean that you wanted to ravish me like a beast. I learned something else about you last night – you are an appalling duvet hogger and at one point you were muttering to
yourself about having to have the duvet folded under your feet because of the foot monster.'

Carmen
was
an appalling duvet hogger, she had been told this on countless occasions by Nick and she did indeed have a thing about having the duvet folded under her feet because of the foot monster – a mythical creature from her childhood which she had never quite managed to shake off. But that hardly said sexy, independent woman, did it?

‘I don't know what you mean,' she replied.

Will clearly decided to be gentle with her. ‘Anyway, cup of tea, toast? Paracetamol?'

‘All of the above please,' Carmen said. As soon as Will walked out of the room she shot out of bed and headed for the ensuite bathroom, ignoring her pounding head. The reflection looking back at her in the mirror was a dishevelled study in the-morning-after-the-night-before. Her mascara had smudged, her hair was all over the place. She looked rough as an old boot. Oh God, Will was never going to fancy her again after this, unless he had a weird fetish thing going on for old boots.

Quickly she washed her face with some of Will's Clinique face wash.

That got him a tick. She liked a man to take care of himself; she definitely wasn't interested in a man who couldn't even bring himself to use moisturiser or face wash because he thought it was poofy. Her view was that she made the effort and she expected something in return. Face wash and moisturiser were the
minimum, she didn't mind a bit of tweezering round the eyebrows to avoid the Neanderthal mono-brow and maybe even a back wax. She cleaned her teeth by using the trusty late-night stop-out method of squeezing toothpaste on to her forefinger and rubbing hard. She just hated not flossing, but this would have to do. Then she dived into the shower. Even more brownie points for Will for the Jo Malone shower gel.

Five minutes later she emerged, cleaner in body but still mortified in spirits, and tracked down her clothes in Will's bedroom. Even in her hungover state she registered how tasteful the room was. One wall was taken up with a bookcase crammed with books; the other had a stylish cast-iron fireplace with art nouveau tiles round it, and a print of the Edward Hopper painting of a late-night diner which had always been one of her favourites. Her dress, red bra and tights were all neatly arranged on the black velvet armchair. Carmen blushed as she thought of Will picking up her clothes – it felt just the wrong side of intimate. Although she felt a bit of an idiot putting on her sexy red dress from the night before, she rallied enough to slap on some tinted moisturiser and mascara. By some miracle her hair didn't look too bad, apart from a slight kink to her fringe. She might have the hangover from hell, but she didn't want to look like hell.

Taking a deep breath, she exited the bedroom and headed along the corridor towards what she thought must be the kitchen judging by the aroma of toast. It was clear that Will had a lovely flat. She glanced in at
the living room, a large airy room, then went on to the kitchen, which was small but functional, with shiny red units. Will was reading the
Observer
, to the accompaniment of Frank Sinatra on his iPod station. He looked up.

‘Ah, the creature has emerged! How are you feeling, Miller?'

‘Okay,' Carmen muttered, sitting down on one of the stylish black Philippe Starck Ghost chairs that she had always wanted and never been able to afford.

‘Right, Dr Hunter to the rescue, take these,' he handed her a packet of ibuprofen, ‘and drink this.' He poured her a glass of orange juice. He was being so sweet. Carmen suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious.

‘So, what plans do you have today?' he asked, as he passed her a plate of toast already buttered and cut into triangles (another tick for the butter – Carmen loathed low-fat spread).

‘What day is it?' Carmen only half-joked.

‘Sunday, and I would suggest we did something . . .' he paused, ‘but I've actually got to work. I've got to prepare a presentation for Tiana and a group of potential investors. She just called me to say it had been brought forward to tomorrow.'

Oh no, take the shame! Will was trying to get rid of her by pretending he had to work! Carmen had thought she couldn't be any more mortified than she already was, but apparently not. ‘No worries, I think I'm supposed to be seeing my friend Marcus.' She quickly shoved a triangle of toast into her mouth,
determined to have one slice and then be on her way. She knew when she wasn't wanted.

‘Marcus Taylor? Say hi from me, I've met him a couple of times. I'd love to entice him back into the agency. I think Tiana made a real error of judgement letting him go.'

‘She certainly did,' Carmen replied through the toast.

‘And she made a mistake with you, too. I could have a word with her if you like, see if she'll reconsider.'

Carmen shook her head. ‘Thanks, but no, I really am going to give my writing a shot. Anyway, thanks for breakfast, I'm going to grab my stuff and head off.'

‘Hey, have some more toast?' Will called after her as she practically jogged back to the bedroom, her stockinged feet skidding on the shiny wooden floor.

‘No thanks,' Carmen shouted back as she quickly strapped herself into her heels, trying to ignore the pulsating blister on her baby toe, which was screaming please don't make me wear these again! She ineffectually shook out Will's duvet, and nearly had to lie down again from the effort, picked up her bag and clattered into the living room. Will had relocated there and was already sitting at his desk, typing away at his laptop. He didn't have to put on a pretence. She was going, for goodness' sake! She reached for her Alexander McQueen jacket.

He looked up. ‘Shall I book you a taxi?'

She shook her head. She couldn't bear to be in the flat another second. ‘I'll get the Tube.'

Will's mouth twitched. ‘Do you actually know where you are?'

Carmen reached into her pocket for her lip balm and dabbed some on her lips, as realisation dawned. ‘Nope.'

Will stood up. ‘I'll walk you to the Tube – we're at Ravenscourt Park.'

‘You don't have to do that if you've got work to do.' Carmen felt defensive now.

‘I can take ten minutes out.'

Outside the sky was a miserable grey, heavy with rain. ‘Kind of makes you want to go back to bed, doesn't it?' Will said cheekily as they turned out of his flat and walked through a small park.

‘Oh, I'll probably do an hour or two of writing before I meet up with Marcus,' Carmen said airily, thinking longingly of collapsing on her sofa and fretting that Will must think she was a complete lush.

‘I admire your self-discipline, Carmen,' Will replied. ‘I know I couldn't do what you are. But I'm sure it will pay off. Trish sent me the first episode and I loved it.'

‘Oh my God! I can't believe she did that! It was just a draft, it's rubbish.' Carmen felt even more exposed than she had lying in his bed. She moodily shoved her hands into her jacket pockets.

‘I made Trish do it. I threatened to stamp on one of her cacti and kidnap her favourite angelfish. Stop panicking, it was really good. And I wouldn't say that if I didn't mean it. You may need to rethink your pitching skills as I don't know if the expression “it's
rubbish” is going to cut it with producers. Seriously, Carmen, you should think about letting me represent you.'

‘Hah! I know how much Fox Nicholson screw their writers, remember!'

Will looked at her and gave her his naughtiest grin before lowering his voice and saying, ‘How much they like to screw their writers. But only the select few.' The butterflies did a loop-the-loop of lust, and despite wanting a career as a comedy writer, Carmen could not for the life of her come back with a witty riposte.

‘This is you,' Will said as they reached the Tube. ‘I'm really sorry that we can't spend the day together, but I've got to get this report done.' He paused and the flirtatious tone was gone. ‘The company's in a real mess at the moment. I'll call you to arrange that dinner, I don't want you starving in your garret.'

In my bedsit, more like
, Carmen thought as she click-clacked her way towards the ticket barrier after a PG-rated kiss with Will.

‘Day seven of unemployment for Carmen Miller of Crouch End slash Hornsey and Carmen is finding it tough,' intoned the morose Geordie voiceover in Carmen's head. ‘No, no, not unemployment! Day seven of being a writer! And it is more Crouch End than Hornsey,' piped up the more optimistic American voice, let's say in the manner of John Barrowman. Was there anyone more optimistic than him? Those dazzling teeth, those scrumptious cheekbones, that lovely jet-black hair . . . Hmm, why wasn't
he
her gay best friend? Why did she end up with cynical Marcus, who loathed musicals, probably as much as John adored them? And why was she wasting time having this debate when she should have been writing? Carmen looked over to where her MacBook sat on the desk by the window, waiting for her to get started. She couldn't help thinking that it had a slightly accusing air about it. Oh my God, she was ascribing feelings to inanimate objects, perhaps this working from home, pretending to be a writer (five scenes so far) was sending her crazy. No wonder so many writers drank. This was hard! The hardest thing she had ever done.