Love @ First Site (30 page)

In an uncharacteristic display of public affection, Richard and Lars are snogging in the corner near the CD player, now blaring out a medley of '70s disco hits. But no one's dancing.

Sighing, I pour myself a glass of water and start to think about heading home. I'm drunker than I've been in ages, but underneath the fog I recall my conversation with Ben with mortification. It's definitely time to call it a night. Tab has offered me her spare room, but if I can persuade Richard to take a slight detour, I might hitch a lift in his pre-booked cab.

"Hello, stranger."

I swivel round to find myself face-to-face with Kara, just walking through from the living room. Dan is a few paces behind and joins her at my side.

"We were just talking about you in there," she says, jerking her head towards the door. "Interesting . . . very interesting indeed."

My head is pounding now, the New Year hangover already settling in for a long stay and not a painkiller in sight. "Really?" is all I can muster.

"Yes." Her heavily made-up eyes are hooded with evil intent. "Dan was just telling me about your little tete-a-tete in the pub."

"What?" I'm genuinely baffled, assuming she can't be talking about
that
night as it was such a long time ago.

"Oh, come on, Jess, don't play Little Miss Innocent," she hisses under her breath. "The night you were supposed to be getting answers for me, remember? He's just told me
everything
that happened."

I glance at Dan, but he's staring at the floor, scraping his boot back and forth across a mock marble tile. The urge to shout "taxi!" and run down the corridor is overwhelming.

"Kara." I sigh wearily. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, then places her hands on her hips in an aggressive stance. "Then let me refresh your memory. You had too much to drink and came on to
my
boyfriend when you were supposed to be helping to get us back together."

"Sorry?" I say incredulously.

"You just couldn't bear it, could you?" she says shrilly. "That whilst you were grubbing around the Internet and shagging married men, I was enjoying a normal, happy relationship with a man who adored me. You just
had
to try and spoil it."

I laugh hollowly. "You
are
joking?" It suddenly strikes me that the music has stopped and the room has fallen into deathly silence.

"No, I'm deadly serious." Her tone is venomous.

I stand there mute for a few seconds, looking from one to the other. Dan has lifted his head now, but is still looking anywhere but at me.

"Dan?" I try to catch his eye. "Is this true? Is that what you said?"

He glances at me uncomfortably for a nanosecond, then looks away again. "Yep. I felt she had to know," he says into the distance.

And suddenly--flashback. I feel another pivotal moment taking hold, just like the one that finally sent me over the edge in Janice's office. Another gross injustice, not only in front of an audience, but this time in front of my friends. I feel the same surge of energy overtake me, rippling through my body at a five-alarm rate despite my champagne haze.

"You absolute, Grade A, duplicitous
wanker
!"
I shout, looking at him, then turning back to Kara. "
He
came on to
me,
not the other way round
."

Kara shakes her head slowly as if I'm a hopeless cause. "Pathetic. Quite, quite pathetic."

I take one step away from her, turning my back in irritation, then swivelling round again. "No, Kara, I'll tell you what's
pathetic
. You and him." I jerk my head from one to the other. "He came on to me and yes, we kissed, long and hard if you must know. But then I came to my senses and left. Alone." I glance to the other side of the room to see Richard, his jaw practically hitting the floor with what he is witnessing.

Turning back, I point at Dan. "Prior to that, he had spent the entire evening telling me what . . . and I quote . . . a fucking
cow
you were, and how you were pestering him to get married and how it had made him realize that he didn't love you."

I pause for breath. Kara is rooted to the spot, ashen faced with anger, whilst Dan is shaking his head at her, imploring her not to believe a word I'm saying.

"He also said you were constantly nagging him to get a proper job, something in the City if I remember rightly . . ."

Kara's facial expression doesn't change, but I notice a fleeting bolt of panic flash into her eyes.

"That's true, isn't it?" I demand. "And how would I know that if snake-boy here hadn't told me? I'm telling the
truth,
Kara, I have absolutely no reason to lie."

I stop and stare at her defiantly. One couple in the corner are valiantly pretending not to listen to this
Jerry Springer Show
unfolding before their eyes, but despite their low conversation, I know they're listening. Everyone else in the room is blatantly absorbing every word.

Kara takes a deep breath. "On the contrary, Jess, you have
every
reason to lie." The harsh shrieking has now been replaced by a wounded tone. "You've always been jealous of me. Jealous of my confidence and my looks, jealous of my relationships, and particularly this one. Yet I have always overlooked all that and strived to be a good friend to you, regardless. And this is how you repay me."

I feel another surge of anger rolling through me. "Brilliant. Just
brilliant.
Me
jealous of
you
?"
I scoff. "I don't think so . . . you're bitter, twisted, humorless, . . ." I hold up a finger for each adjective, ". . . desperately insecure, duplicitous, bitchy, and, quite frankly, just a little bit dull. Which all adds up to you being one giant pain in the arse."

I take a couple of steps to the right and reach for the back of the chair, where I've hooked my handbag, preparing to leave.

"And you know what else? You and I have been friends . . . whatever that means . . . for years and years now, and only the other day I was thinking '
why
?' I've never really liked you, yet for some reason I always put up with all your shit, hanging on in there in the vague hope that, one day, you might show
some
appreciation for my loyalty . . . that it might all turn out to be worthwhile in the end. But you never did. You just carried on browbeating me, ridiculing me whenever you got the chance . . . treading all over your little people-pleasing friend. Even that Internet ad was designed solely to try and humiliate me, to hammer home the suggestion that I couldn't meet anyone the
normal
way. You were mortified when you thought I'd met someone nice, then nakedly thrilled when he turned out to be married . . ."

I let out a long sigh and hook my handbag over my arm. "You're just a hard-faced old cow, Kara, plain and simple. Dan had that right. Our friendship is a false, abusive one and I want no further part in it. If I ever see you again, it will be too soon."

I stop speaking and turn to the rest of the room. "Apologies you had to hear all that," I say to no one in particular. "But it had to be said."

"On the contrary, hear fucking hear!" It's Richard, leaning against the kitchen sink. "Never darken my Dior again!" he adds, looking over at Kara, who's still eyeballing me defiantly.

Suddenly, Tab appears between us. "Kara, I think you and Dan had better leave," she says quietly.

I place a hand on her shoulder. "No, Tab, don't worry. I'm leaving now anyway. Sorry about all that, I hope it didn't ruin your party." I walk out of the kitchen door into the hallway, turning round for one last remark.

"Kara, you and Dan really should get married, you know. I can't think of a couple more deserving of each other."

I smile thinly at them, scan the room, and turn on my heel heading for the front door. My final image from the party is of Ben standing alone in a corner, a look of terrible sadness on his face.

Thirty Five

O
ooh, St. Charles Place with a hotel, that's $750, please!" I hold my hand out towards Michael. "Aunty Jess?"

"Yes, my darling Emily?"

"Why do you
always
win at Monopoly?"

"Because I always buy up the cheap properties and build on them as soon as I can," I say pompously. "Daddy may well scoff at my tactic, but it works every time . . . whilst he's still struggling to buy even
one
house for his ostentatious Boardwalk and Park Place."

Michael pokes his tongue out at me, whilst Matthew, sitting to my right, simply looks puzzled.

"Ostin . . . ostin-stay-shuss," he struggles, "is that anything to do with Austin Powers?"

Olivia and I share a small smile. "No, darling," I reply. "It means pretentious . . . you know, showing off."

Counting the money Michael has handed to me, I place it on top of my vast pile of cash and ruffle Emily's hair. "I think I've won, don't you?"

Olivia looks at her watch. "Yes, come on, I need the table cleared for lunch anyway. Jess wins . . .
again.
"

"The winner!" Hands raised aloft, I do a victory lap of the kitchen before running down the hallway to the living room, two delighted children squealing in my wake.

We fall into a bundle on the sofa, my arm round each of them. "Right! What film shall we watch?"

"What she means is, what film will
you two
watch while she falls asleep," says Michael, flopping into the armchair opposite.

One hour's time and one lunch later, I'm back at the kitchen table, my top pants button undone to accommodate my bloated stomach. "That was great, thanks." I hold up my glass of lemonade in a toast. "Here's to Olivia, and Happy New Year one and all."

"To my beautiful, charming, delightful wife," says Michael, leaning across and kissing her on the cheek.

Olivia raises her eyes heavenward. "Yes, you
can
go and watch the rugby," she laughs. "Creep!"

Michael needs no second bidding and hastily grabs his glass of lager. "I'll watch it in the bedroom so the kids can finish watching their film downstairs," he says. "See you later."

"Coffee?" Olivia looks at me inquiringly.

"I'll make it." I force myself to stand up and walk over to the kettle. "You've done quite enough for one day. How are you feeling?"

"Great, actually." She smiles. "I'm not usually a big fan of New Year's, but I feel very optimistic about this one."

"Good." I smile. "That's what I like to hear."

"I enjoyed Tab's party," she adds, flicking through an old copy of
OK
magazine. "Did we miss anything by leaving so soon after midnight?"

I widen my eyes, suddenly realizing she doesn't know about the showdown with Kara. "Yes, you missed your sister's finest moment. Let me make the coffee and I'll fill you in."

I
t's 6 p.m. and pitch black by the time I arrive back at my flat, exhausted but extremely mellow after a contented afternoon spent gossiping with Olivia at her kitchen table.

Having deliberately left my mobile phone at home to escape intrusive calls from the outside world, I rummage in the bottom of the fruit bowl to retrieve it. Six missed calls, three new messages.

"Richard will be one, Tab will be another," I say out loud. Sure enough, I'm right. The third is from Madeleine, with the distinct sound of a man's voice in the background and lots of giggling on her part. All are ringing for a postmortem on the gunfight at the OK Kara Corral.

Knowing Richard will be at home with his mobile switched off, I deliberately choose to call the latter and leave a message. I need to be in the right, energetic mood for a high-octane conversation with him, and I'm not.

Fake gas fire on full blast, telly on mute, and legs curled under me on the sofa, I pick up the hands-free phone and punch in Tab's home number.

"Hi there, it's me. I'm just calling to say that I know we've been friends for ages, but you really get on my tits and I don't want to clap eyes on you ever again."

Tab bursts out laughing on the other end. "I never liked you either," she retorts.

"Sorry about that." My voice is serious now. "I hope it didn't screw up your party."

"On the contrary, it rejuvenated it," she enthuses. "It was starting to wind down until the you and Kara moment, then after you'd gone it was really buzzy again with everyone talking about what had happened."

"What about Kara? Did she spontaneously combust into a small, steaming blob on the kitchen floor?"

"Not far off. After you'd walked out, she stood there motionless for about another minute, just staring at the ground. Then Dan tapped her on the arm and asked if she was OK, and she turned on him with all guns blazing."

"Really?" I say delightedly. I'm relishing the thought.

"Yes, she said . . . or should I say spat . . . something like 'I don't know who to
fucking
believe,' then marched out of the kitchen with him in hot pursuit behind her."

"And?"

"And then we heard the front door slam and they had both gone."

I purse my lips. "Bloody hell, I'll bet he's having a really shit New Year's Day."

Tab laughs. "You bet. Mind you, sounds like he deserves it if what you were saying was true."

"Of
course
it was true," I snap, annoyed she might even contemplate the thought that I'd made it all up. "You don't seriously think I'd invent something like that, do you?"

"No, no, not at all," she replies hastily. "I just thought you might have exaggerated slightly . . . you know, just to wind her up."

"Nope. It was pretty much verbatim what happened. He's such a slimeball. I couldn't believe it when she came to your birthday dinner and said they were back together."

"Well, as you said last night, they deserve each other. Did you enjoy the party otherwise?"

"I had a lovely time, thanks. And it was nice to catch up with Ben. I haven't seen him for ages." I feel slightly nauseous as I remember what was said.

"Yes, I saw you talking to him. Is he OK?"

I pause for a moment, mulling over whether to tell Tab the full, unexpurgated version of our conversation. I decide she's trustworthy enough. "Don't tell Will, but I asked Ben outright if he was gay."

She audibly gasps. "And what did he say?"

"Well, that's just it. He didn't."

"He must have done or said
something
," she says incredulously. "That's a pretty big question to have been asked."

"I know, but just as I had asked it, you came over and interrupted us. Do you remember? It was when you came to tell me about the pregnancy."

Tab groans. "What bloody great timing on my part. Didn't you speak to him again later?"

"No, I didn't get the chance. When I went back into the kitchen he was talking to someone else, then the whole Kara business happened and I left."

She's silent for a moment, then takes a deep breath. "You should call him tonight."

I shudder at the thought. "I can't, Tab, I feel so hideously awkward now for having mentioned it. I could kick myself, I really could. He's such a nice man, and I feel I've ruined our friendship by pushing such a sensitive subject on him in such an appallingly insensitive manner." I sigh and shift slightly, stretching my aching legs out in front of me. "It feels like it does the day after you've gotten really drunk and ended up shagging an old friend. You know, when you feel the whole axis of your relationship has shifted and will never be the same again."

"Shall I ring him and see if he mentions it?" says Tab.

"No, absolutely not," I splutter. "You wouldn't call him out of the blue at the best of times, and New Year's Day would seem
really
suspicious. He'd know I'd put you up to it." I let out a long, slow breath. "No, I think I'll use the coward's way out and e-mail him."

"Well, let me know what happens." She clears her throat. "Look, gotta go, Will has cooked dinner and, as it's a once-in-a-year occurrence, I'd better look appreciative and savor it. I'll call you tomorrow, OK?"

After she's put the phone down, I sit there for a few minutes, pondering what to do about Ben. I decide that an e-mail still is the best option. It offers a distance that's easier to cope with, and he can read it several times without pressure before deciding how to respond. Deep down, I'm also afraid of what a direct phone conversation might yield. I don't think I could bear it if he was ice cold or overtly hostile, though he certainly has every right to be. Along those lines, he might just delete my e-mail altogether. But at least I'll know I've tried.

Lifting my laptop onto my knees, I switch it on and wince slightly, the bright screen hurting my eyes. There are a few new e-mails, but a quick scan reveals that none of them are from Ben.

However, there is one from my new cyberbuddy, Seb Northam, dated today.

Dear Jess,

Happy New Year!!! I vaguely remember you saying you were going to a party, so hope you enjoyed it.

I also went to a party at a friend's house, but can't really remember much as I drank myself stupid, made a complete spectacle of myself doing a solo rendition of "Oops upside your head," and am deeply regretting it this morning. My mouth feels like the inside of a parrot cage.

I didn't get up until midday, and have just made myself a Cup-O-Soup and a mushroom toast topper. What a glamorous life, eh?

Do you realize it's now been just over two months since we started writing to each other? We've exchanged photographs and lots of very personal information--not least your feelings about your sister's breast cancer--and I feel we have got to know each other pretty well.

So all that remains is to actually meet! I have refrained from suggesting it before because I sensed that, maybe, with so much going on in your life, you weren't ready to do so.

But as we stand on the threshold of another new year, my hangover has numbed me enough to pluck up the courage to say that I would dearly like to actually clap eyes on you in the flesh.

No pressure, just two cyberfriends seeing if their relationship has a chance of crossing into the real world.

So I'm going to take a leap of faith here and book us a table for lunch on Saturday. Let's make it 1 p.m. at Rawnsleys' restaurant on Walton Street, SW1. If you turn up, fantastic. If you don't, then at least I'll know for sure that you're not interested in extending this relationship beyond the occasional e-mail, which I've enjoyed very much, by the way, don't get me wrong.

This may all sound very Sunday afternoon movie, but hey, wouldn't life be dull without a little bit of old-fashioned romance?

Yours,

Seb xx

I stare at the screen blankly for a few moments, absorbing what he's written. Over the past few weeks, we have indeed shared many hopes and thoughts that, normally, it would take me longer to impart to an actual boyfriend.

The reason for this, I muse, is twofold. With a new boyfriend you're trying to impress, you always present a rather false, permanently jolly side of yourself in the early stages, anxious not to show weakness until you both know each other a little better. Seb's not a boyfriend, so I've felt no reservations in sharing my every little up and down over my new job and, most of all, Olivia.

Secondly, as anyone familiar with e-mail knows, the barrier of the computer between you is almost like passing on information through a third party. It makes you more succinct in what you want to say, flirtier, and a hell of a lot braver. There are no immediate reactions to deal with, no facial expressions that suggest hurt, disappointment, or pity, no interruptions or contradictions, just a self-indulgent, unhindered flow. Consequently, it can be very cathartic, a form of cyber therapy.

The burning question is, would finally meeting him spoil it all? Would it burst the comforting bubble we have been happily conversing in for so long?

I'm not so sure, but as it's only Wednesday, I've got three days to think about it. Right now, I push it to the back of my mind, wanting to concentrate on my e-mail to Ben.

Dear Ben.

No, too formal. Delete.

Yo there.

Yo? Have I
completely
lost my marbles? I sound like a children's TV presenter. All that's missing is a thumbs-up sign.

Hi there.

That's better. Friendly and casual, that's the style I want.

It's New Year's Day and I'm suffering from quite a hangover. But then, you'd know that because you had to suffer the drunken creature that led up to it!

I haven't drunk so much since . . . ooh . . . last week, and my New Year resolution is to cut right back on the alcohol and lead a blameless life of abstemiousness. Well, for at least a month anyway.

Anyway, enough of my wittering. I wish I could say that I was so drunk last night that I don't remember a word that passed between us. But sadly I do, and I'm mortified that I could have been so insensitive to ask what I did in such circumstances. Hardly the right time or the place, was it?