Chasing Charlie (20 page)

The cleanser made quick work of my recalcitrant make-up and I very quickly looked a lot less like Alice Cooper, though still a lot more like my mother than I was comfortable with. I sighed and looked at the woman again. Her hands were inside the folds of her kimono. She withdrew them, miraculously flourishing a Chanel compact, the exact shade that I used. I couldn't believe it. I took the compact from the woman, murmuring a heartfelt thanks. Strangely, I didn't feel the need to make idle chatter with her. There. I was finished. Now I could face John again. I gave the compact back to the woman, who smiled at me and opened the door.

John's face was full of concern as I crossed the room. His tender gaze was almost more than I could cope with. I didn't need pity right then – I was trying to hold it together. I held the menu up over my face and pretended to study it.

‘I ordered for us, I hope you don't mind. You were in there a while,' he said. ‘Are you OK?'

‘Oh, right. Thanks.' My eyes focussed on the writing in front of me. It appeared that I was holding the now redundant wine list. I set it down with as much dignity as I could muster. I cleared my throat. ‘There was a woman in there. We got . . . chatting,' I answered, aware of how unconvincing I sounded. I knew too that as patched together as my face was, my puffy eyes would be giving me away.

‘Claudia, I'm really sorry,' he started to say.

‘You're sorry?'

‘Yes, I am.'

He sounded so sincere but still I didn't dare look at him. I wanted to be able to talk about and really engage about the whole sorryness but thinking about it all was too hard. I felt so fragile, as if at any moment I would dissolve into a tragic, Claudia-sized puddle. Which would be a real shame for my lovely shoes, not to mention the upholstery. I was saved by the arrival of food. It was her, the woman from the bathroom, hovering next to the table with an array of tiny pieces of seafood. Very quietly she placed each dish onto the table, her head bent. As she turned to go, she caught my eye. Don't fret, she seemed to be saying. Just breathe.

‘Did you hear that?' I turned to John, suddenly feeling a little freaked out.

‘Hear what?'

‘That woman, the one that served us.'

‘Not a thing, she was as quiet as a mouse.'

‘Right.' I turned and looked across the restaurant uncertainly. No sign of her. I turned back to John and found myself inhaling a massive lungful of air and then letting it out slowly. Some of my tension left with it. I may have blown any chance of having a relationship with John but he still cared – you could tell by the look on his face. That kind woman in the kimono cared too. And of course the girls, the Queen's Park girls, and Jill at work, they all wanted me to be happy. I realised, with a pang, I'd been feeling wretchedly lonely through all of this. No one but John knew – not the girls, not my family.

Finally, the food in front of me could be ignored no longer. I crammed in rice, wasabi, tuna, salmon. All the crying and deep breathing had left a massive, hungry hole. As I ate I finally felt happy to be there. John grabbed two pieces of sashimi and stuffed them into his mouth, mimicking my squirrel cheeks, and I laughed so much I almost choked. It all felt so much easier after that. We giggled about people at work, talked more seriously about the direction of the company and dissected the Brussels meeting comprehensively. By the end of the meal I felt that perhaps we'd work out as friends, and be able to hang out like this from time to time. I'd like that.

I was chortling away about a particularly suave operator from the HR team when I burst out with, ‘Oh, that reminds me, I've been in touch with a couple of the men before you about this thing,' smiling away as if I didn't have a care in the world.

‘Speaking of Casanovas?'

‘Well yes, one of them is a darker version of Randy Steve in the office. His name is Marrrrco,' I giggled.

‘I was meaning you.' He raised his eyebrows at me.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Don't feign innocence at me, you slapper,' he said, grinning mischievously.

‘
Moi
? I don't know what you're talking about!'

‘It takes one to know one, Claudia,' he said, looking at me steadily.

I didn't reply, just leant back in my chair and stared back at him. I could do this talk, this easy flirting banter. I felt at home with it, leaning in my chair the same way I had leant a thousand times before, with dozens of men. Foreplay given with glinting eyes, falling lashes. I set my glass down in front of me.

‘I think Marco may have done this before. He was quite happy to go off and get tested. Straight old David was unimpressed and not relishing telling his fiancée either.'

‘Ouch.'

‘Indeed. He was such a bore about it I almost hope he's got it.'

‘I didn't take you to be vindictive, Claudia,' he said, laying his fingertips together. ‘You're many things but you're not a bitch.'

‘You're right.' I looked up at him and because I'd had two wines said, ‘You're quite perceptive, aren't you?'

‘I am?'

‘Definitely.' And before I could self-censor said, ‘I've been quite disarmed at times with how you seem to understand me.'

‘I think we're quite similar, you and me. We're ambitious with our work, without being grasping. We relish using our senses in our playtime – all of our senses,' he added.

‘You mean we're a couple of lushes who eat too much and sleep around?' I said.

John shrugged. ‘If you want to look at it that way. I was choosing words more fitting to this classy restaurant – and the company of course.'

‘He adds hastily.'

‘No, I mean it, you're a classy bird, Claudia.'

‘Not so classy I can't pick up an STI,' I said.

‘Bugs don't care how refined you are. They can't see how much you have in your bank account. They don't care if you wear Prada or Primark.'

I sipped my drink thoughtfully. We didn't speak for a moment or two. I looked around me and was surprised to see the restaurant almost empty.

‘We should get going and let these people go home,' I said.

But John didn't make any effort to move.

‘Why haven't you settled down with one man?' he said.

‘You're the perceptive one, you tell me.'

‘My mother has always said that about me.'

‘What, being a mind reader?'

‘Yes, she also said I wouldn't find someone to settle down with until quite late. Which is nice, because she's never bothered me about it. Do your parents bug you about your love life?'

I looked at my nails. ‘It's complicated. They don't bug me as such – at least Papa doesn't, because he's so proud of my career. But Mother, I think she'd like to see me with someone but she's too well mannered to pry into my private life. She prods for information indirectly, almost without me knowing she's doing it.'

‘Sounds like a clever woman.'

‘She is. They're both clever.'

‘I don't doubt it.' Again he was staring right inside me. Warmth bloomed inside my chest. I was kidding myself. We couldn't possibly be friends in the long term. There was no way I could be friends with someone who made me feel like this.

‘Mum was on the phone just last night actually. She was asking me about my love life.' He paused for a moment.

I waited for him to continue and hoped my chest wasn't flushed.

‘She was asking if I was seeing anyone.'

He looked like he was waiting for me to respond but what the hell was I meant to say to that? I panicked.

‘Really?' I said, my voice quavering feebly.

‘It was strange her asking. As I said earlier, she never does ask. It must have been something in my voice,' John said, pausing yet again for me to say something.

But what do you want me to say? I thought. I've ruined any chances of seeing you!

‘Am I seeing someone, Claudia?'

I found it difficult to meet his intense stare.

‘Erm, are you?'

‘I'm asking you,' John insisted.

I went to reach for my water but misjudged the distance and knocked it over, sending water all over the table and onto the floor.

Within a heartbeat, the woman from the bathroom was there, mopping it up while I apologised with small squawks.

John reached over and took my hand. ‘Don't worry,' he said, and I sat there, my heart thumping, until the woman had finished. She flashed me one more be-calm glance and we were left alone.

‘I think we should go, it's getting late,' I said.

‘We will when you've answered my question. I'm only going to ask it one more time – am I seeing anyone, Claudia?'

‘I . . . I don't know the answer to that, John. I didn't think you were. I . . . ah, with everything that's happened, I thought that meant that maybe you weren't, rather
we
weren't, but . . .' I stuttered.

‘But?'

‘But?'

‘But – could I be seeing someone? Could that be possible? Could you at least think about it and get back to me?'

I let out the air that seemed to have been trapped in my chest for a minute or more and nodded inanely, as if I had no control over my head.

‘I could . . . think about it,' I said.

SAM

On Friday morning I opened my curtains to find the sun streaming in gaily though my window and it made me want to sing. I was feeling excessively pleased with myself, having managed to get through the whole of the previous evening eating a total of thirty grapes. The day stretched ahead of me, hours and hours of uninterrupted preening. Finally, my two-week beautifying regime would be coming to a flurried conclusion. The list on my mirror had grown. I had a mud mask to apply, yet more exfoliating and a detailed analysis of my eyebrows to complete. Possible toenail painting – I thought I'd leave my fingernails until the following day. I thought I'd also pepper the day with toning yoga stretches and eat a suitably tiny amount of grapes. I patted my stomach happily. I was sure I was feeling lighter already.

I spied my oil burner almost buried on my desk and unearthed it. It had a thick layer of dust coating the bowl so I picked a pair of knickers off the floor and wiped as much off as I could. I poured a little water in from the glass next to my bed and, after rummaging in my drawer, I found a tealight and some lavender oil. As I dropped a couple of drops into the bowl, the clean, sharp scent filled my nostrils, lifting my virtuous little spirit further. Lovely. I smiled.

I found Ed reading the paper in the kitchen.

‘Morning! What a day!' I said.

‘Indeed.'

‘Can I borrow your lighter?'

‘What for?'

‘Just to light my oil burner.' I looked at him, hands on my hips, but I was smiling.

Ed gazed at me. ‘You're in a good mood today,' he finally commented.

I spread my arms wide. ‘The sun is shining!'

Ed looked out of the window.

‘So can I have your lighter?' I reminded him.

‘Oh, right. Of course.' And he leant back in his chair so he could fish the lighter out of the pocket of his skinny jeans, revealing a patch of taut olive-brown stomach, a jet black line of hair disappearing into his fly. I flicked my eyes to the floor, my belly suddenly fluttering with nerves. These grapes do make a girl feel a bit strange, I told myself.

I was finishing up my shower when I started feeling a bit odd. Sort of hungry-sick. Hungry. No, sick. No. Hungry? I couldn't decide. It was very silly to only eat grapes really. I knew that. Imagine what Dad would say if he knew how ridiculous I was being! Maybe I should eat something a bit more substantial. Some toast maybe. Yes. That'll be all right. Just some plain toast. No butter. Surely there can't be many calories in a piece of toast.

Ed was in the kitchen, making a cup of tea. He turned when he heard me come in.

‘Are you OK? You look really pale.'

I didn't answer straightaway and I suddenly felt like I needed to sit. Ed came over to me and sat down.

‘What's up?'

‘Oh,' I said, holding my forehead in my hands, ‘I don't feel that great. I was OK before my shower but now . . .' I placed one hand onto my stomach. ‘Maybe I should have some toast or something. I think those grapes might be making me feel a bit light-headed.'

Ed jumped up and set about making me toast immediately and I sat quietly, hoping that the good feeling from the start of the day would return. I didn't feel like I had the energy to stand up, let alone concentrate on beautifying myself. The smell of toast soon filled the kitchen.

‘You know, I'll never understand why girls do this to themselves,' Ed said.

‘Do what?' I croaked.

‘Starve themselves when they're not actually overweight.'

‘Well, I'm not exactly a skinny number.'

‘You are so.'

Ed came over and put a piece of dry toast under my nose.

‘Thanks.'

‘Not a problem.'

I withdrew my head from my cradling hands and looked at my toast. It didn't produce the rush of hungry saliva I was expecting – in fact, the opposite. My stomach creaked ominously. I took the toast to my mouth anyway and tried a tentative bite from one corner. Bloody dry, all right. But I ploughed on, taking several bites and forcing myself to swallow them, one by one. Ed placed a glass of water next to me too and I took a sip of water now and then. Halfway through the ordeal I put the toast down and resumed my head-in-hands position, and waited for the food to hit my stomach and for my energy to return.

‘So are you looking forward to the party tomorrow night then?' Ed asked.

‘Not right at this moment in time.'

‘You'll be OK by tomorrow though. You'll have a blast.'

‘If you say so.'

There was silence while we both sat in our own thoughts, the clock ticking quietly in the background, the fridge humming.

After a bit, Ed stirred and wandered back to the kitchen counter. ‘I'm sure you're going to look amazing,' he said to his coffee maker.

And even in my tragic state I buzzed quietly with pleasure. He really can be a nice guy, can Ed, I thought.

It wasn't long after this that I had to leg it to the bathroom to be sick, after which I went straight back to bed. Ed came in as I lay, buried in self-pity, on my side. He placed some water next to my bed.

‘Do you need anything else?'

‘No,' I groaned. ‘It must have been the Bombay mix.'

‘Sorry?'

‘The Bombay mix at Kate's. We shared some Bombay mix.'

Ed was quiet for a minute then said in a confused voice, ‘I've never had a problem with it myself.'

‘They had a bug,' I groaned again.

‘The Bombay mix?'

Oh my God, he was being so dense. ‘No, you twat, the kids. The kids have had a bug. A bug in the house. Kate had her hand in the bloody Bombay mix and so did I. Geddit?'

‘Oh.' Ed sounded hurt. ‘Can I get anything else for you? A bowl for beside your bed?'

‘I said no, Ed, just leave me alone.'

I lay there in misery. I hadn't meant to be so sharp with him. I could see he was only trying to help. But I felt so horrible. Why couldn't things just come together for me for once, like they were meant to? I had bumped into Charlie for a reason, to be in his life again, and this party was my opportunity to shine. I'd put so much bloody effort into it! I also wished I'd pulled the curtains; the sunshine seemed to make me feel worse rather than better. It was mocking me, streaming so generously in my window, as if I deserved it or something. Which of course I didn't. Oh fuck, here comes the bile.

I ran to the toilet again and after vomiting violently I sat on the cool floor for a bit, getting my breath back. I was vaguely aware of Ed talking on the phone in the kitchen and then I returned to bed.

‘Sam,' he whispered from the door.

‘Yes?' I croaked.

‘That was Kate, she said that the bug should only be twenty-four hours, forty-eight tops.'

‘Great.'

‘Right. Well, call me if you need anything. I'm around a lot today.'

‘Thanks, Ed.'