Greatest Love Story of All Time (19 page)

When the cameras stopped rolling and Charlie shoved us into a taxi to the after-party in Knightsbridge, we were impressively drunk. There were six of us in a five-man taxi and Charlie put me on his knee. I beamed like a toddler until I realized that I was thinking rather rude, un-toddler-like thoughts about sitting on his lap. Of course, I regarded myself as being far too mad and tragic to be
considering
other men – but this was
fun
. Maybe some paparazzo would picture us and Michael would see it and beg me to come back …

Leonie watched disapprovingly and I wondered if
she was jealous. Charlie and his patent dirtiness were, after all, right up her street.

At the party I pushed the thought of Michael out of my head and concentrated on staring at the unhappy-but-pretending-not-to-be musos around me. It really was very nice and comforting to be in the company of people who were as mad as I was, I thought, as I watched a Best International Female contender honking up into a champagne bucket. But after half an hour I was bored: they were ignoring me as studiously now as they had this morning
and
Robbie Williams hadn’t shown up. I gave in and turned my attention to Charlie. His hand had been resting lightly on my waist since we’d arrived. I could feel his breath on my neck as he talked and – after several large gin and tonics – I was really rather enjoying it.

Trying to look sexy, I tried a little experimental move on the periphery of the dance-floor, which involved some reasonably unsubtle breast-jiggling in Charlie’s direction. After watching me for a few minutes he moved over and, really quite matter-of-factly, pressed himself tightly against me. Much encouraged, I expanded the dance move a little more.
Why not?
I thought drunkenly.
A hearty rogering would do me the power of good right now!
Clearly of the same opinion, Charlie suddenly leaned even closer and slid his tongue slowly down my ear, bringing about an almighty stirring in my knicker region. Smiling, I
turned round and, before I had a chance even to look at his face, he kissed me hard, pressing his hands into the small of my back. Bolts of desire shot through me, surprising me.

‘FRAN!’ It was Leonie in my other ear, grabbing my shoulder.

I shot her an I’m-otherwise-engaged face and turned back to Charlie. She ignored me and dragged me off to dance with her. ‘Leonie, I was busy!’ I shouted, but she put her hand over my mouth and wagged her finger in my face.

‘Too early! He’s dirt! You’ll get hurt!’ She started dancing with a tiny bloke from JLS.

I minced around for a minute or two, then staggered off to the loo.

When I got back, Leonie had ditched the JLS hobbit and was now dancing with Charlie. I watched suspiciously, unsure how much I liked this. She looked pretty damn hot in that red dress.

‘Can I talk to you outside?’ I shouted in her ear.

‘What’s up, Franny?’ she asked, as we emerged into the freezing air. The paparazzi jerked up but then calmed down, realizing we were Insignificant People.

‘Oh, just wondering if you’ve been shagging anyone recently,’ I improvised.

‘Eh? No, I haven’t. Why?’

That didn’t sound too good. Was Charlie next on her list?

‘Well, it’s unlike you not to be shagging anyone, that’s all … I was a bit worried.’

Leonie put her hands on her hips. ‘Are you calling me a slag, Fran?’

I put my hands on
my
hips, looking somewhat less commanding. ‘Are you flirting with Charlie?’ I teetered slightly on my heels.

‘What the fuck? You think I’m flirting with
Charlie?
Are you out of your mind?’

‘No, I’m not. You were dancing with him. You haven’t had a fling in at least three weeks. How do I know you’re not after him?’ I knew I was being a bell end but held my ground.

‘Oh, my God,’ she said slowly. ‘You do think I’m a slag, don’t you?’ She was disgusted and hurt.

No,
I thought. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, maybe I do.’

What thefuck was I saying?

Leonie inhaled slowly and stood up to her full height, which in heels was a fairly terrifying six feet. ‘Do you know what, Fran?’ she said, suddenly monotone and eerily still. ‘I’ve spent weeks looking after you. Weeks. I’ve forked out a small fortune keeping you alive and not once have you said, “Thank you”, or “Sorry”, or even fucking “How are you?” Not once have you offered to pay me back, even though you earn three times more than me. Fran, I didn’t try to get off with your fucking cheesy love interest tonight, but I damn well should have done, you ungrateful wanker.’

And with that she stomped off to a taxi, opened the door and shot off into the night. I watched it disappear up Knightsbridge and then fell off the pavement, much to the delight of the assembled paparazzi.

HEY!!! Thanks for replying! God you remind me soooooo much of my sister. Is that weird (legal)? Anyway totally hear you on Chelsea, it makes me want to wear a tracksuit with white socks and go and vandalize a car. I saw a kid in his teens wearing a fucking cravat there last week!!! WTF!!! Give me some cheap cava in Bar Soho anyway babe! So are we going out or what? Let’s go DANCING! Toni x

For a few seconds when I woke up, I didn’t remember the night before. But an angry miaow from the bottom of the bed reminded me. Duke Ellington was sitting staring at one of my shoes, which he had been forced to share the bed with. He looked comically outraged; a grey spiky cat next to a gold spiky heel.

I scanned back through the evening.

Going out looking like a prostitute: check.

Getting off with a well-known DJ in public: check.

Brawling publicly with best friend over said DJ: check.

Being photographed falling off kerb after doing all of the above: check.

On paper, I had to admit, it didn’t look good.

I got out of bed when Duke Ellington started trying to ambush my shoe. ‘You’re a scrote,’ I croaked, crashing into the door frame on my way to the kitchen. I was still a bit squiffy. ‘How am I going to get to work?’ I asked him. He walked over to his empty food bowl and miaowed at the top of his lungs.

Some nookie with Charlie would have helped no end, I thought sadly, as I leaned against the wall of my wet room, hot water streaming over my head and down my face. Nellie Daniels would
definitely
have sex with someone like Charlie. In fact, she probably already had.

I, on the other hand, had staggered off in search of a kebab and in so doing had somehow deserted both Charlie and my coat.

I put on some old jeans and a faded jersey top. Fuck fashion. Fuck glam Fran. She was dead to me.

As I tried to force down a slice of toast, my phone beeped. Are you alive? I have your coat and I’m only returning it if you agree to go on a date with me. Cx

I tried not to smile, but I couldn’t help it. Glam Fran was back! She was going to get a rogering from Charlie Swift! I tore off my bargain-bin outfit and crammed myself into a tight pencil skirt and heels.

OK. But only for the purposes of getting my coat back, you understand … I did a little squeak and karate-chopped the air.

Charlie replied straight away: Good. Hakkasan, Saturday night then. Cx

What the hell? He was very, very pretty. It was 17 February, fifty-six days since Michael had dumped me, and if I played my cards right I’d be waking up next to another man – who was very easy on the eye – by day sixty.
Ha! Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Michael!

But I didn’t really believe myself. I missed him more than ever.

‘I’m a cock. I’m a tyrant, a fannyface, a fool, a knobber and a dullard,’ I informed Leonie. ‘Please, please,
please
forgive me.’ I handed her a gin and tonic.

She regarded me sceptically. ‘Are you drunk?’

‘No! I’ve only just got here!’

‘You look drunk.’

Actually, I was. I’d had a horrid day missing Michael – in spite of the cheeky messages I’d been getting from Charlie since yesterday morning – so it had seemed perfectly reasonable that I should finish work early and start Gin Thursday at five o’clock.

‘Nope. Sober as a judge,’ I lied. ‘Anyway, Leonie, the point is that I’m truly sorry. I behaved like a stinking bastard and I can’t apologize enough. You’ve done so much for me, not just in the last few months but in life. I am really
,
truly sorry.’

She looked at me a few more seconds and then, eventually, her face softened into a smile. ‘OK. Well, I’m sorry for bringing money into it. It was vulgar of me –’

‘No, it wasn’t. It was fair enough. Please, take this,’ I said, trying to shove a couple of twenties into her pocket.

‘Fran! Don’t be a dick! No
way
,’ she said decisively, pushing the money back towards me. ‘I’m not your frigging stripper!’

‘Leonie, please take it. You were quite right – you earn hardly anything and I took advantage. I just want to pay you back. If you feel uncomfortable taking it then you can show me your tits so there’s a proper trade. OK?’

Leonie coloured. ‘Can we not talk about my financial situation?’ she said stiffly. ‘I’m working on it. I don’t need handouts.’

How had I fucked up
again
? I really was on a roll. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry. For everything. I don’t care how much you earn, I’m sorry to embarrass you, I’m sorry about Tuesday night – I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.’ I was close to tears.

Leonie put her hand on my arm and lowered her voice. ‘Hey. It’s OK. Forget about Tuesday night. We were both drunk. And Stefania’s just arrived. She looks like she’s about to eat you.’

She wasn’t wrong. ‘FRANCES!’ she yelled, as if I was on the other side of the Thames rather than on the other side of a bar stool. She was looking really quite foxy, it had to be said, in a pair of slinky jeans and an uncharacteristically restrained stripy top.

‘Hi, Stefania. Before you start on me, I’ve got
another date lined up.’ Stefania’s thin little face broke into a dazzling smile. ‘VAY TO GO!’ she shouted, high-fiving me and slapping my bottom at the same time.

I collapsed into laughter. ‘What the fuck was that? In this country we slap bums or hands – not both!’

Stefania grinned. ‘I am just pleased zat you are doing vhat I say. Vhere is Dave?’

Once Dave had arrived and we were all sitting round the table, Stefania called for silence by hitting the side of her glass with the fork from my basket of wedges. The glass cracked: she put it to one side and carried on talking without turning a hair. ‘Silence! It is time for a formal update from Frances O’Callaghan about her Eight Date Deal!’

Leonie whooped and clapped and Dave drummed the table.

‘Well, you all know about date one,’ I started.

‘Massive bottom like big pillow,’ Stefania hissed, just in case anyone hadn’t got that the first time round.

‘Date two was, well, pretty bad, too. He was insane, he wouldn’t let me kiss him hello but then he face-raped me all the way back to the tube.’

Dave sniggered.

‘Did he fondle your lady bits?’ Leonie asked interestedly.

‘He was seconds away from it. But I got robbed, remember? I’ve never been so grateful for the presence of a thief.’

‘So. Who is ze third date?’ Stefania asked.

I smiled coyly. ‘Well, I actually got a date in the real world.’

Leonie was surprised. ‘Charlie?’

I nodded.

‘Who’s Charlie?’ Dave asked. He hadn’t shaved in weeks.

‘Charlie is a DJ. I met him on Tuesday at the Brits,’ I replied.

Dave was appalled. ‘Charlie Swift? The fuckwit?’

‘Er, I’m not sure. Charlie who goes to Meditation.’

Stefania, too, blanched. ‘Vow …’ she said uncertainly.

I looked at them all. ‘What’s wrong?’

They looked at each other; at the floor.

Dave spoke first. ‘He’s dirtier than an alky’s carpet, Fran. Don’t go there, you’ll get fanny warts.’

Leonie smirked behind her hand. ‘To be honest, Fran, I’d agree. Even
I
wouldn’t touch him.’

I turned to Stefania. ‘And what’s your objection?’

‘Vell … I find him to be sexual in ze classes. He is always talking to ze ladies … I feel zat he lives his life guided by his penis,’ she said.

‘Anyone else?’ I asked, bitterly disappointed. Charlie was meant to be the answer to my problems!

Then, just to top things off, Alex arrived at our table. ‘Hi, guys,’ he said languidly. ‘Good to see Gin Thursday’s still alive. Mind if I join you? For old time’s sake,’ he added, glancing at me.

‘Of course not. The more the merrier,’ I said tightly, and got up to go to the bar.

I sat on a stool and worked myself up into a beastly funk, not even bothering to pretend I was queuing for a drink. ‘Charlie’s bad news, I promise,’ Dave said, as he came to sit down with me. ‘If I were you I’d stick to men from the Internet.’

‘But they grind their crotches into mine at Warwick Avenue tube station!’ I cried, dismayed. ‘They have bottoms as large as Australia! What’s the point?’

Dave ordered another pint. ‘How are you feeling about Michael?’

‘How do you think? Terrible. I miss him so much it hurts. And, no, I didn’t reply to his message. Can I have another G and T?’

Dave didn’t look happy but he ordered one anyway.

I took a long, grateful glug as Stefania came sidling up. ‘Vell? Are you going on a date viz Charlie?’

I nodded and nicked one of Dave’s pistachio nuts. ‘Yes. But if he’s as bad as you say then I’ll use a condom. OK?’

Stefania grimaced. ‘No, Frances, do not make ze sex viz zis man. I do not like him at all.’

Dave nodded. ‘Seconded. Don’t do it, Fannybaws,’ he said quietly. ‘Stick to the nice chaps from online, OK?’

I sighed. ‘Guys. This Eight Date thing is stupid and it hasn’t changed anything. I want Michael back and,
quite frankly, the longer you guilt-trip me into playing this stupid game, the more he’ll be getting into Nellie and the more impossible it’ll be for me to get him back.’

Stefania thumped my arm. ‘Zis is
not
a silly game,’ she said fiercely. ‘Zis is a plan for your recovery! Ve have it all vorked out!’