Bella Summer Takes a Chance (17 page)

She was making an impulse purchase that she couldn’t return. Worse, it could destroy everything she loved. She hadn’t even talked to James yet and was already cashing her alimony cheque and trading the kids around on alternate weekends. Sure, the realization hit Mattias and me in an instant, and surprised us both. But then we spent weeks and weeks making sure we were doing the right thing by splitting up.

Kat and James knew they weren’t in love when they got married. Best friendship was enough. They signed those terms and conditions on the dotted line. ‘I just think you need to look carefully at your marriage,’ I said. ‘If it’s not what you want, and it can’t be fixed, that’s one thing. Just abandoning it because you’ve met someone else isn’t right. I know I’m being moralistic but really, Kat, you’ve at least got to give James a chance to discuss this.’

‘But I’m not in love with him, B. No amount of talking is going to change that. And that’s not because of Rupert. I have never been in love with him. I told you that. And he’s not in love with me.’

‘But you’re changing the rules now in the middle of the game. You were happy with friendship and love. That was enough, remember? You didn’t need the “in love”. It was a biological reaction. That’s what you said. And it wears off. You also said that. What happens when this wears off?’

‘Then I guess Rupert will be my best friend.’

‘Are you absolutely sure about this?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Okay. We’ll figure this out together, all right?’ I took her hands. ‘I support you. I love you. We’ll figure this out.’

She squeezed my hands, her smile wobbly with tears.

Chapter 14

Maybe Kat and James would end up having one of those oh-so-civilized arrangements, where they shared holidays with The Hairy Biker and Pockface, frolicking in the waves with well-adjusted boys who had two mommies and two daddies. Fine for them, but I was all out of sorts. I didn’t want extra mommies or daddies.

It was confusing enough having an ex-boyfriend for a flatmate.

Mattias had been characteristically sensible about my request. ‘Of course,’ he’d said. ‘I told you I would do anything for you.’ Even as I asked, I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Unfortunately, circumstances left me with little choice. ‘Do you need help moving back?’

‘I’ll need to get a bed first, for the second bedroom.’ Just to reiterate that I was his flatmate, not his girlfriend.

‘Sure. We should have got rid of those boxes years ago anyway. We can take the car to IKEA at the weekend if you want, and drop the boxes off for recycling on the way.’

‘Thanks for making this so easy, Mattias. I’ll pay half the mortgage, of course.’

‘Will you have enough money to live on until you find another job?’

‘Yes, if I’m careful, I’ll be fine for eight or nine months. This is just to give me some breathing room, so I don’t have to use up all my savings. And hopefully it’s only for a few months, till I get another assignment. Or maybe one of the bookers will call back and I’ll get a regular gig. That’s really what I want to do anyway.’

That was really, really what I wanted to do. Every time I applied for another consultancy assignment, my belly lurched at the notion of doing the same thing again. How ironic for a change management consultant.

He laughed. ‘Stick to the consultancy applications. That’s a better bet, don’t you think?’

‘Erm, I suppose so. Anyway, I’ll be out of your hair soon.’

‘You’re not in my hair, B., and I’m glad you’re coming back.’

I bought two pints of ice cream and a bottle of red to cushion the news when I told Frederick. He still acted like I was moving to the International Space Station, and insisted on spending every evening we had left together doing all our favourite things. I moved back into my old flat with misgivings, and the cleanest pores of my life.

How did I feel as I carried my boxes back into the home I’d shared with Mattias for seven years, the place I’d left with such a sense of purpose more than six months earlier? It was a strange mixture of homecoming and feeling that I’d stepped backwards. Hadn’t I already made the decision to leave?

Mattias was clearly happy to have me around again. He started cooking dinner for us, despite my protests.

‘It’s nothing,’ he said, expertly flipping the steaks one night about a week after I arrived. ‘I’m near the shops anyway at work. So, tell me about your day.’

I sat at the kitchen table enjoying the evening sun streaming through the window to warm my arms. The flat’s south-facing windows were the first things I fell in love with at the viewing.

There wasn’t much to tell Mattias about my days. My thoughts revolved around finding someone who’d pay me for my services. My mornings did too: Internet job searches until my eyes crossed, and daily phone calls to pester the band bookers into listening to my demo. Most of those CDs had probably been binned by now, or were being used to prop up wonky table legs.

In reality, I spent most of my time dragging my laptop between the sofa and the kitchen table to keep from developing bedsores. My room was as cramped as I feared, too small for a wardrobe or drawers. I had to use Mattias’ room as my dressing room after he went to work. It was weirdly comfortable, if déjà vu-ey, padding from the shower to the bedroom in my dressing gown, then standing in front of the wardrobe in my knickers deciding what to wear. ‘I applied for another ten jobs today.’

‘You should hear something soon.’ He topped up our wine glasses. ‘It’s just a matter of time.’

‘I hope so. The problem is, everyone’s cutting back. There are a lot of freelance consultants out there looking for the same job.’ I sighed.

‘Don’t worry.’ He took the steak pan off the heat. ‘Come here.’ He held my shoulders and made me look him in the eye. ‘You’ll find another assignment. You’ve got a lot of experience and you’re good at what you do. You can stay here as long as you want. You don’t have to worry about money as long as you’re here. I won’t let you starve.’ He smiled, drawing me to him and hugging me close.

I exhaled against him. ‘I can see that,’ I said into his shoulder. ‘Actually, I can smell it. And it won’t be for too long.’ The assurance popped out before I could stop it. I owned half the flat, I had to remind myself. I had the right to live there.

‘I’m not in any hurry for you to leave. It’s nice having you here.’

I stepped back from his embrace and the moment was broken. But it was nice. I couldn’t deny that.

Even so, it didn’t take long to realise that my living arrangement wasn’t ideal. In the months we’d lived apart, I’d grown used to coming and going as I pleased. Fred didn’t monitor where I was or how late I’d be. His interest in my social life had been largely for entertainment purposes. We were, after all, just flatmates. And even though the same was true of Mattias, he always asked. And I wasn’t comfortable sharing too much with him. I wouldn’t say I lied, exactly. I just tended to keep the details to myself. And then felt guilty about going out at all. No, my living arrangement wasn’t ideal.

The week after steak-and-hugs night, as I’d come to think of it, Faith and Clare took me out. Mattias knew this. He just didn’t know what we were doing. It seemed more humane that way.

At the bar’s dim entrance, Faith snapped, ‘B., you agreed to come. Now, do you want to do this or not?’

‘Do I want to? No! I thought we were clear on that.’

‘Too bad, honeysuckle,’ said Clare. ‘It’s for your own good, and you said you would.’ She gestured to the doorway. ‘After you.’

The bar was in a rather dead part of the City, hemmed in by sleek glass offices. Not somewhere you’d choose to go without a purpose. She shepherded me toward the girl manning the name badge table.

‘Here’s your lock!’ Said the girl, handing me the cheap trinket along with my badge. ‘You can look for the man who has the key that fits!’ Her grin implied great potential in this discovery.

‘Er, thanks, but I don’t think this is really…’ I grimaced to convey my feelings about being caught up in what sounded like a 1970s swingers scenario.

My friends steered me into the middle of the room (All the better to see you, My Dear). Everyone else had gathered inconspicuously at the bar’s edges. Faith grabbed my arm as I tried inching back to safety. ‘Just be grateful we’re not eye-gazing. Oh yes, it’s as bad as it sounds. You stare into your date’s eyes for three minutes without speaking. They’re doing it in New York. It’s like speed-dating for the mute.’

‘Thank you for not taking me eye-gazing. But a lock and key party is nearly as bad. Why is the hardware necessary? If they’re trying to be ironically post-feminist or something, it’s not working. It’s just too cheesy. Surely even for you.’

‘Agreed,’ she said, unfazed by my jibe. ‘It’s pure Camembert. But you know how socially inept men can be. This gives them a reason to talk to us. God knows, if we didn’t give them a head start, we’d never go out with them. You’ve forgotten what it’s like. Look.’ She gestured back towards the bar. ‘They’re looking at you.’

‘Well, of course they are,’ I said through my smile. ‘We’re standing alone in the middle of the room.’

‘They’re looking at you because you look great, B.’

I accepted the compliment. The wrap jersey miracle was a recent discovery. It was the fabric equivalent of scaffolding, supportively obscuring the parts that needed renovation. My façade needed some shoring up.

I noticed that the men in question were trying to make eye contact with my nipples. I should have been flattered, considering that most of the women in the room had a decade more elasticity than I. Clare said I mustn’t worry about that. She would. I already had grey hairs the year she lost her virginity.

Maybe having lied (by omission) to Mattias gave the evening an extra air of importance. Maybe being ‘in the market’ made me too eager to buy. God, that made me sound like I was shopping for an Audi (Did he come with a sun roof?). Whatever the cause, I didn’t have the same nonchalance that the pert youngsters did. What if I’d become one of those women who radiated desperation like summertime commuters effused body odour? I might have been awash in my own singles pong. ‘You know what?’ I said. ‘I think I’d feel more comfortable over by the bar. Why don’t you two talk to those guys and I’ll see if there’s someone else I like.’

‘B., you’re missing the point of our being here,’ Clare said, sensing my intention to flee. ‘I’m not exactly looking for a date now, am I? We’re here for you. So I’m sorry, sweetheart. You’re not getting off that easily. You need the practice. Think of them as stabilizers. Practise enough on them and you can ride a big girl’s bicycle one day.’

‘Maybe I don’t want to ride a big girl’s bicycle. Maybe I’m happy walking on my own.’

Faith shook her head. ‘Walking on your own is never as satisfying as riding the bicycle. Clare’s right, think of it as practice. Clare, you’d best keep his friend occupied. He’s too young for me.’

‘And I’m too pregnant for him,’ she said, smiling. ‘Luckily, I just look like I’ve had a few too many takeaways. Another month and I’d be an embarrassment. As it is I’m farting like a buffalo.’

‘Try not to trumpet in front of them, will you please?’ I said. Not many women in her condition would come with their friends to meet men. And even fewer would be able to draw them from across the room with a look like she did. Faith mouthed good luck as she headed to the bar.

Deep breath. ‘Hi, I’m B.,’ I said to the older one as Clare introduced herself to his friend. He stared at my chest before flashing me the oddest smile. One second it was there, the next it was gone, like a rock exposed for just a second before the next wave covered it over.

‘Pleasure,’ he said. ‘May I put my key in your lock?’

He tried. Predictably, it didn’t fit. ‘Shame,’ he said. ‘But let’s not take it as a sign. Other things may be a perfect fit. Heh heh.’ He continued to gurn, making him look like someone who’d one day be the subject of a police investigation.

I should have stayed home with Mattias. When I left he was just pouring the extra wine into his beef stew. I imagined its aroma filling the flat while we relaxed on the sofa with the remains of the bottle, later watching
Who Do You Think You Are?
reruns instead of…

Banish the thought. Banish, banish, banish. Mattias was at home doing whatever. He wasn’t part of my night. This, em, gentleman was. I wracked my brain trying to think of something to say. ‘So, what do you do?’

As I redoubled my effort to pay attention to him I noticed that he looked a bit dirty. His fingernails needed a good soak. There was a slim chance that his profession involved manual labour, but I suspected a hygiene issue.

‘I’m going to be a film director,’ he pronounced, holding grimy rolled fingers to his eye and cranking his hand beside his head.

Ah, charades. Maybe if I pointed to my wrist, he’d get the clue and leave. ‘Splendid,’ I managed.

‘Look, we all know why we’re here,’ he said. ‘Your friend called us over so you obviously saw something you like. What do you say you let me take you somewhere after this?’

‘Are you also a taxi driver?’

‘No.’

‘Then no. Actually, I’ve got to, em, go now.’

Clare heard me, thanked her date for two minutes of scintillating conversation, and we fled to the other side of the bar.

‘I’m so sorry about that,’ she said when we were safely out of earshot. ‘Bit forward. And what was wrong with his mouth? Was that a tic?’

‘I think he was just trying to mimic the facial expressions that us real humans make.’ I spotted Faith chatting half-heartedly with an aging Don Johnson lookalike, complete with rolled-up jacket sleeves. He wasn’t pulling off the look very well. More vice than Miami. She noticed us looking her way and smiled, no doubt causing Don to tumesce a bit. ‘God, he was creepy. Can we go now please?’

The men were just a bit too game, predatory even, and not just because I’d seen cuddlier hyenas. It seemed that while I was sharing Friday night takeaways with my boyfriend, the natural order of things had shifted. Dating had turned clinical. Sure, we might go out intending to flirt with men, but wasn’t it important to be coy anymore? An air of nonchalance (denial) was crucial. Otherwise it was just a meat market. Or a lock and key party.