Happier Than She's Ever Been... (11 page)

May glared at him, not knowing how to best defend herself from the accusation. ‘Well,' she snapped, ‘if that's the way you feel then maybe I won't come back after all.' Though, of course, she didn't mean it.

‘Good,' Ben said. ‘Maybe you shouldn't.' Though, of course, he didn't mean it either. But, once it was said, both of them felt so hurt and angry that neither wanted to be the first to take it back.

Ben sat at the far end of the bar. He hated bars. They were loud and lascivious and, while they no longer stank of smoke, he swore he could always smell the faintest whiff of desperation and despair hanging in the air whenever he was dragged into one. But this time Ben didn't care. The fight with May had been so bad that a black coffee at Alice's café just wouldn't cut it now. He'd ordered a scotch neat and was currently coughing his way through it.

Ben didn't notice her at first, the tall thin blonde sitting at the other end of the bar. He didn't notice anyone or anything, except the bottom of his glass. He was going to lose May; he knew it. It was over. She would go to England and she wouldn't come back. She'd probably meet some rich, successful author at an event and shack up with him. After all, why wouldn't she? Now she was rich and successful herself and clearly fed up with him, what was keeping her here?

Ben sighed, gulped down the last of his scotch and ordered another. The blonde smiled at him, trying to catch his eye. Ben nodded slightly, then returned to his drink. The blonde, interpreting the nod as an invitation instead a dismissal, stepped off her stool and strode across to him. She stuck her thin arm in front of Ben's glass so he had to look up, then flashed him a perfect set of bright white teeth and stroked his shoulder.

‘Is this seat taken?' she asked, sliding into it before he could say anything. ‘I'm Nina, by the way. It's lovely to meet ya.' She turned to the barman, slowly wrapping her long manicured fingers around the stem of her cocktail glass. ‘Raspberry cosmo again, Ryan, thank you, darlin'.'

‘I'm not looking for company, Mina,' Ben said without looking up. ‘I'm married. Well, actually I'm not, but I damn well should be.'

‘It's Nina,' she drawled, ‘and what on earth is that supposed to mean?'

Ben shrugged.

‘So you married or not?' Nina persisted. ‘'Cause you ain't wearing a ring.'

‘I am in my heart. But no, I'm not married,' Ben admitted, ‘not technically.'

Nina threw her head back and laughed, loud and long, as though he'd said something absolutely hilarious. ‘Well, if you ain't yanking my chain, 'cause that's the first time I ever heard a man say that. Usually it's the other way round.' She slid her hand onto Ben's thigh. ‘In which case y'all won't mind my doing this.'

‘Yes,' Ben said firmly and removing her hand, ‘I'm afraid I do. Only my… May can touch me like that.'

‘Aw, that's a shame. Now, what d'ya say your name was, sweetie?'

‘I didn't.' Ben downed his scotch in one gulp and then signalled for another.

‘No need fer names anyway,' Nina said, giving Ben a wink. ‘Always better that way.'

Ben sighed, ignored her and kept drinking. If only May was with him. If only she wasn't about to leave and take his heart with her. What had gone so wrong between them? He couldn't understand. What had he done? What had he not done? Why hadn't he been able to save their relationship? Ben put his head between his hands and groaned. His eyes were glazing over; his memory was beginning to fade, his senses starting to numb. That was good. He ordered another drink.

The next time Nina slipped her hand onto his thigh Ben didn't move it off. If he was honest, it felt good to experience a little affection, a little comfort after all he'd been through. He couldn't remember the last time he and May had made love. He couldn't remember the last time she'd looked at him the way she'd used to. He would give anything, absolutely anything, to have that back. But he knew he couldn't. So he'd have to make do with what he had right now. Compared to the love of his life, the woman sitting next to him was small compensation, but at least she soothed his broken spirit just a little bit. And, after all Ben had been through in the past year, his alcohol-addled brain decided he surely deserved that much.

He turned to Nina. ‘My girlfriend is leaving me.'

‘Aw, I'm sorry, darlin',' Nina purred, though she didn't seem sorry at all.

‘I don't know…' Ben's mind was starting to spin as he tried to find the right words. ‘I don't know what went wrong, what I did so wrong.'

‘Petal,' Nina said softly, sliding her hand further up his thigh, ‘love is like this: if someone wants ya, ya can't do it wrong enough to put 'em off, but if they don't, then ya can't do it right enough to convince 'em to stay. Trust me, I've tried it both ways, been through a
lot
of men in the process, but that's the truth of it, believe me.'

And as Ben caught the lost look in her eye, he did. It made sense. Here he was twisting himself into knots, hurting his brain and breaking his heart, to try to get May to love him again. But it was no use. He couldn't do it right enough. She didn't want him any more; that much was clear. And Ben could barely breathe from the pain of accepting it.

‘I know you're hurtin', sweetie.' Nina leant close to whisper into Ben's ear. The heat of her breath brushed his skin and he shivered. ‘But I know just how to take that pain away. It's my special gift, my magic…'

Ben let his gaze drop down to the V-neck of her low-cut dress, to the dip between her breasts. When Ben first met May he'd known that was it as far as he and other women were concerned. When they'd first made love, he knew he never wanted to see another woman naked. And that hadn't changed. Even now, he was so uninterested in this woman that he could barely be bothered to respond.

But the despair and desperation he'd felt in the air when he'd walked into the bar had now sunk deep into his skin and he'd do anything to shift it. This woman was like alcohol or cocaine. She was offering him a drug that would lift him up out of his pit. And, with five shots of whisky firing through his blood and a bad case of unrequited love weighing down his heart, Ben didn't see why he shouldn't take it.

When Ben crept back into his flat at half past three that morning, May was fast asleep and surrounded by suitcases. He switched on a table light and tiptoed over to watch while she slept for what he figured was probably the last time. He leant forward, intending to kiss May's forehead, to pretend that he'd get to spend the rest of his life loving her, to forget everything that had happened since he'd walked out. But then another wave of nausea passed through him, so he staggered towards the sofa, sat down and promptly passed out.

Ben woke early to May clattering around in the kitchen. He groaned, slowly opening his eyes and squinting in the sunshine. The bright light stung so he shut his eyes again. A few minutes later Ben tried to sit up, but his head throbbed and spun, and he was hit by another wave of nausea.

‘May,' he said weakly.

‘What?' she called, her voice still frosty, though she'd been loud on purpose, hoping to wake him so they might make up without her having to make the first move.

‘What time is it?'

‘Ten past six. I've got half an hour. The limo driver's already waiting outside with my stuff. I didn't know whether or not to wake you,' May lied, desperately hoping that Ben still loved her but too scared to ask, desperately hoping that they could reconcile before she left but too scared to beg. ‘You seemed pretty out of it.'

Ben's stomach twisted so tightly he thought he'd throw up right there. But he knew this time the sickness had nothing to do with alcohol. She was going to leave him without saying goodbye. She really didn't love him any more. With great difficulty Ben pulled himself off the sofa and walked into the kitchen. He slid onto a stool next to the coffee machine.

‘Want some?' May picked up a cup.

Ben shook his head.

‘I'll call you tonight, from the hotel, or whenever I can, okay?' Her tone was dismissive, and for Ben, having no idea how she really felt, it was as though each word cut into his skin. ‘But I don't know what they've got planned for me when I get there,' May continued.

When he looked at her Ben felt as though he was seeing May from a thousand miles away, from beneath the sea or through thick fog. Her voice was cold and crisp, her body stiff, her eyes empty, as though her soul had left ahead of her and was already halfway across the ocean.

‘You've already gone,' Ben said. ‘You left a long time ago.'

May bit her lip. Having forgotten what Rose had said, she still thought true love should be easy, but her heart was hurting as though it was about to crack open in her chest. She could hardly bear it. Suddenly May just wanted the pain to stop. She wanted to run away until it was all better and then she'd come back. She blinked back tears and glanced towards the door. Ben watched her, seeing in her eyes how much she wanted to leave. And so he decided to say the thing that would let her off the hook.

‘May,' Ben said, unable to look her in the eye. ‘Last night I… I slept with someone else.'

For several moments time slowed down as it had when her mother had died, and May just stared at him. She had no words. There were no words. She looked at Ben, waiting for him to take it back, to undo it, to say it wasn't true. But he said nothing. He gazed at her, tears in his eyes. She waited a moment longer. Then she ran. And Ben, his heart now broken in two, watched her go.

D
ENIAL

May didn't call Ben when she reached the hotel as she'd promised to do. Instead she sat on the bed and stared out of the window until, at some point in the early hours of the morning, she finally fell asleep. And when she woke up her head ached as though she hadn't slept at all. She glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. She'd been unconscious for twelve hours. Afternoon sunlight streamed in through the windows: floor-to-ceiling glass with long cream silk curtains still pulled back. May blinked up at the tasteful glass chandelier, then glanced around the rest of the room: plush, deep pile carpets, flowered silk-upholstered sofa, white dressing table and chairs, a writing desk that stood by another window that overlooked Hyde Park. The hotel was exquisite, expensive – swanky, that's what Ben would have called it.

May rubbed her temples. Slowly she got up and walked across the carpet to the bathroom: marble tiles, heated floors, a bathtub that would fit a family of four. She stood in front of the mirror, pulled her mess of tangled hair away from her face and gazed into her own shining eyes: the colour of moss after rain. She swallowed hard, trying to blink back tears and practise a fake smile, wide and bright, so no one would see that her heart was broken inside her chest.