Breaking Leila (33 page)

I squared my
shoulders. “What’s wrong with being single?”

“Nothing,
love–”

“I’m going up
to get a bath.”

“Do you want
some dinner?” Mum asked.

“I’m not very
hungry.”

“Oh, okay.
It’ll be in the microwave if you change your mind.”

As if I was
eight years old again, I lingered on the stairs to hear them
talking.

“It’s not
right,” Mum hissed. “They seemed so happy on Sunday.”

“Nothing you
can do, Bridge.”

A pause.

“You don’t
think…”

“What, it’s to do with
 
him
?
What do you suggest I do about it?”

I clapped a
hand over my mouth.

“You should
have cornered him when he still lived around here,” she said.
“Everyone would have supported us.”

“We have to let
her be,” Dad cut in. “Besides–he’s paying for what he did, isn’t
he?”

Something
achingly sad stirred in their voices–worry, frustration.
Regret.

Who the fuck
were they talking about? There wasn’t a man who’d wronged me and
even if there was, what would he have to do with Matt?

I missed having
baths. My teeny flat only afforded the space for a shower and while
it was nice, pearly tiles and all, nothing quite beats a soak in
hot water and blossom-scented oil. I doused my hair in one of Mum’s
many conditioners and lay in the near-dark, trying to switch
off.

It would have
helped if I’d done the same to my phone.

The first time
Joseph rang, I swore under my breath and ignored it. The second
time, the temptation to answer was eclipsed–only just–by the
shadowy guilt over Matt. The third time, I panicked that it might
be important after all, and flicked open the receiver.

“Is everything
okay?” I asked, hesitant.

“What’s going
on?” he demanded.

“Um…I don’t
know?”

“I’ve had Matt
on the phone, telling me he’s not going to New York. Something
about a family illness. What the fuck?”

I shifted
uncomfortably, bubbles coating my skin. “What did you tell
him?”

“I told him
that unless anyone dies, he’s getting on that fucking plane. And
nobody is actually ill, are they?”

I don’t know
whether he sounded annoyed, frustrated or just a little amused. It
was a strange little cocktail of all three.

“Possibly.”

“Leila.”

I shivered when
he said my name, despite the surrounding warmth. “We broke up,” I
muttered.

“That was my
first thought, but I didn’t think he was such a pussy.”

“Don’t say that. It was awful.” Just discussing this was
disloyal. Not that I was obliged to be loyal anymore.
“It
 
is
 
awful.”

“He needs to
suck it up and get on. And you…well.” I imagined his eyes glazing,
could practically hear it. “Similar.”

Blood rushed to
my cheeks and I went dizzy in the steam. I splashed about a bit to
wake myself up.

“Are you in the
bath, Leila?”

“Yes.” I almost
purred, couldn’t help it. Something about his tone always turned me
syrupy and coy. “Why?”

“It’s a pretty
picture.” His voice dropped low, conspiratorial. “I’d like to watch
you.”

“Mmm?”

“I’ll put it on
my list for next week.”

“You have a
list?” I laughed.

“A
spreadsheet.”

“No, you
don’t.”

“No. But I like
listening to that sharp little breath you take when I say it, and I
like thinking about my hands under the water.”

I bit my lip,
eyelids sinking down. There are sobering ideas and there are toxic
ones.

“Are you
there?” he said.

“Yes…sorry.”

“I’ll leave you
to wash up. Good night, Leila.” He swallowed. “Sleep tight.”

Did he really
just say that?

Oh.

I tried to
behave appropriately after that. I lounged in my room, waxed–how
was that ever a good idea?–painted my nails in French pink. I
watched my phone for the flicker of Matt’s name. I wanted to talk
to him, to hear that he was okay.

That, of
course, would not happen. He must have been worse than I thought if
bailing on Joseph seemed a better option than spending a week in my
company. Ugh.

I considered
calling Clemmie or Aidan to moan, but I didn’t feel justified. I’d
done that thing Aidan described with the badger and the pit, or
whatever.

I hadn’t
expected Matt to fall in love. How could I? He adored me one second
and hated me the next. It was said so desperately, too, as if love
was never unrequited–just unobserved.

At least I’d
taken Matt out to the cottages instead of my room. The memory would
have been a little too hard to bear tonight.

The only boy who had been in this bed–and
he
 
was
 
a
boy, really–was Elliot. I lost my virginity to him on my
seventeenth birthday right beneath the throw. He was my
first
 
serious
 
boyfriend, but by no means the first attempt. I had blindly
fawned over his best friend for months. When I’d been rejected,
Eliot drove me home and told me awful jokes, told me what a tosser
his friend was to turn down such a gorgeous girl. He blatantly took
advantage–but no, I didn’t mind. He did it well.

He found
himself in my bed a few weeks later and he didn’t do that too
badly, either.

I closed my
eyes, my fingers drifting beneath the throw to sticky, swollen
flesh that was all the more sensitive for being smooth. I shoved
Matt and the carnage of the day from my mind, and dove into
memories of Eliot: the weekends his parents went away when we tried
to make the headboard dent the wall, the hours spent kissing and
petting, slick and moaning just from his eager mouth on my nipples,
the way I’d taught him to make me come, and tasting myself on the
cupid’s bow of his upper lip.

I panted
through my orgasm, trying to stay quiet. That voice–the voice in my
dreams–permeated each peak and every wordless contraction. My hips
bucked as if I fucked a ghost, as if I offered myself up to the
cool air.

Afterward, I
lay trembling, unsure that I was alone. Unsure that I wanted to
be.

Elliot, if
you’re reading this: I’m sorry for dumping you in the Nemesis queue
at Alton Towers.

I’m also sorry
that I got seduced by my boss behind your back. He–

Fuck.
 
Fuck
.

My parents had
been talking about Charlie.

* * * *

Mum made a fuss
of me at breakfast, a huge stack of pancakes offered in
reconciliation. I did my best with them, but soon muttered an
excuse about New York nerves.

“You know we
just want to see you happy,” she said, her eyes crinkling. “We’re
worried, that’s all.”

I wondered how
much of that worry stemmed from the guilt of having only one child.
It wasn’t something they’d have chosen, if they could–I knew that
much. Still, all they had to worry over these days was me, and all
because of my hard, er...work.

God, I wished
sometimes that they’d fucked up. Hurt me. That they were the excuse
for the strange use of flesh I’d become. I needed the money for
them, yes...but there were other ways to get money. Ways that broke
wallets and not hearts.

“Mum, I’ll get
over it. I’ve got enough on my plate the next week as it is. I’ll
call you as soon as I get there, okay?”

“You
better.”

Dad was unusually quiet on the drive to Heathrow. Last
night’s realization coiled and hissed inside.
 
They knew about
Charlie
. They’d always known. It was meant
to be a secret; how the hell had they found out and why didn’t they
say something? How much did they know? They evidently thought I
still saw him. Like
 
that
.

Christ…imagine
if they knew he was Matt’s stepfather.

“This thing
with Matt,” Dad said finally. “Not anything to do with your other
job?”

I blinked at
him absently–I hoped.

“That
secretarial thing you took on. You know. For us,” he added,
clearing his throat in discomfort.

Oh, thank God
for that. Just another lie I’d all but forgotten–the evening work.
“What do you mean?”

“Well…between
that and everything else, maybe it didn’t leave you a lot of
time.”

I gave a slow
nod. “It didn’t. Doesn’t, I mean. But seriously, Dad–it’s nothing
to do with it.”

“We wouldn’t
mind if you stopped, you know. You’ve done enough already.”
Something mellowed his stoic features. Shame?

“I’ll stop when
it’s all paid off,” I said firmly. “Seems silly to bail now.”

He smiled.
“We’re having your name put on the deeds, you know. Seemed
right.”

“Oh.” Something
wrenched in my belly, partly because I now owned a chunk of
gorgeousness, and partly because I wished they hadn’t spent the
money. “Dad, you didn’t need to–”

“Stop beating
yourself up, Leila. You’ve worked harder than we could ever have
asked.” He paused to change gear. “You two might make it up this
week, spending all that time together.”

“Maybe.”

“Just don’t go
bringing any Yanks home. I have some standards, you know,” he
grumbled.

I poked him in
the belly and he rolled his eyes at me.

“I’m going to
find a nice Democrat husband now, just to spite you.” I
giggled.

Dad waved me
off in the parking bay and I dragged my suitcase into the massive
foyer. I scanned the screens for a clock, loudspeaker ringing in my
ears. Ugh, it was too early for all of this.

“Leila!” Poppy
waved at me from a nest of sofas.

The sun poured
through the glass wall and I squinted as I made my way over.

“Our desk
hasn’t opened yet,” she said, gesturing behind to Upper Class,
where Sadie already chatted to an assistant. “Gorgeous morning for
it, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I said,
blinking. “Right.” The new bag was heavy in my lap.

“Have you
finished your pitch?”

“I’ve barely
started it, to be honest. You?”

“Almost. Just
need to sort out how I’m presenting it, really.” She gestured to a
chunk of files on the coffee table and inadequacy pointed at me
with a lewd little snigger.

“Get you,
huh?”

There was a
thick pause.

“We’re all
right, aren’t we, Leila?” Her tone wavered as she spoke.

“Of course we
are, Pops.”

“It’s just that
you seem a little…off.” She leaned around to look me in the eye and
I pretended to ignore her.

“It’s not you.”
I chewed my bottom lip. “Matt and I broke up yesterday. It’s all a
bit awkward.”

“Oh.
 
Oh
. I’m so sorry.” She wanted to ask
what had happened; it pulled at the edges of her mouth. “Is there
anything I can do?”

“Actually…would
you mind terribly if we swap seats on the plane?”

“No, that’d be
fine.” She brushed my arm. “I’m sure you’re better off without
him.”

“I was the one
who ended it.”

“Oh. Right.” A
frown made her glasses bob. “Well, at least he hasn’t got to worry
about impressing anyone this week. Since he’s not staying on.”

“True.”

If he even
turned up.

“Good morning,
children.” Joseph stood over us, his shadow potent as ever in the
sunshine. It was the first time I’d seen him in something other
than formal clothes–besides no clothes, of course. The fine-knit
jumper and chinos didn’t lessen his authority. They suited him,
too. He looked young.

Yves appeared
at his side, clutching the FT and a laptop bag. The hangover turned
his skin a sallow shade of grey.

“Morning.”
Poppy smiled, edging up the sofa a little. “Are you…”

“No, not
joining you. But thanks for the offer.” Joseph eyed me over Poppy’s
shoulder, his mouth twitching in a faint smile.

I found myself
wishing I’d worn something a little more elegant than flat
boots.

“The desk just
opened–I’ll see you in the lounge.” He glanced about. “No sign of
Gordon yet?”

“No,” I
mumbled.

“He’d better
show up sharpish.”

I waited for
Poppy to gather her copious–and pretty–paperwork, and we followed
them to the check-in desk. More sofas beckoned in the departure
lounge. We spread ourselves over them, bags tossed wantonly and
files splayed like lovers.

“Can we get
away with drinking, do you think?” I asked hopefully.

“Leila.” Poppy
peered down her nose. “It’s ten in the morning.”

“Bah.” God, I
could kill a gin and tonic. What had happened to the days when I
could so easily turn down alcohol?

I sloped off to
the Duty Free and called Aidan.

“Is it even
daylight yet?” he grunted.

“Have you heard
from Matt?”

“He’s right
beside me,” he said smugly.

What? “No, he
isn’t. Is he…?”

“Well….no.” He
yawned. “But it’d be nice, wouldn’t it? Isn’t he at the
airport?”

I heaped
Clinique products into a basket. “No. Neither are you, actually. I
thought you were coming?”

“I am. Couldn’t
get on your flight. I’m going later tonight. New York–oh my God!”
Bed clothes rustled as he bounced. “Why are you panicking about
Matt-Matt, anyway? You don’t leave for a while yet.”

“Because I did
that thing with the badger.” I sighed.

“Eh?”

“I dumped him,
Aid,” I wailed.

A woman in a
red suit nearly knocked over a Dior display as she glared over in
horror.

“Already?
Jesus, Lei-Lei. You’re going to be so made of stone soon that I’ll
be able to chisel you a hard-on.”