Meet Clara Andrews: A totally vacuous girl with a hangover... (12 page)

We are sat in Subway finishing off our lunches, when Oliver springs the impromptu invite on me.

‘So, what do you say?’ Looking at me hopefully, he waits for an answer.

The first thing that comes to my mind, is what the hell will I wear? I usually need a good few hours to settle on an outfit, so it is understandable that I am more than a little concerned.

‘It’s just a couple of drinks, that’s all. No biggie.’

I look down at my boring, black trousers and plain, cowl neck jumper dubiously. More funeral than party. Remembering that I have a teeny can of hairspray and an old red lipstick in my handbag, I put down my sandwich. It might not be a little, black dress and sky scraper heels but it’s the best I’ve got to work with.

‘OK. I’ll go.’ I succumb to his puppy dog eyes and reach for my coffee.

‘That’s my girl.’ He gives my arm a squeeze and turns his attention back to his foot long baguette.

As I sip my tepid coffee, I wonder what Oliver’s friends will be like. He hasn’t said much about his previous visit to the UK. Apart from him being barely out of his teens at the time, I don’t really know anything more about it. Putting down my paper cup, I return to my sandwich, picking up the hundreds of bacon pieces that fall out into the paper wrapper. Who doesn’t love a bit of bacon?

Dragging a brush through my curls at 5.30 that afternoon, I stare myself down in the mirror. In all honesty, I don’t look too bad. The quick slick of matt red has managed to brighten my face up an iota and my hair still has some bounce from the last minute blow dry a few days ago. Satisfied that my appearance is acceptable I make my way outside, where Oliver is waiting with a cab.

‘Ready to rock?’ He asks, holding open the door.

‘Rock? I thought you said it was just a few drinks?’ I exclaim, immediately panicking at the thought of being thrown into a nightclub with just red lips for confidence.

‘Relax! It’s an expression. Geez.’ He ushers me into the back of the car with a cheeky tap on the bum.

For the duration of the taxi ride, Oliver fills me in on the people we are going to meet and I start to relax about the whole thing. It’s just some old friends he met whilst on his travels that he has kept in touch with over the years. We are going to have a couple of drinks and then go back to his place for dinner. In and out. Quick and easy. Telling myself to stop being so uptight, I rest my hand on Oliver’s knee as the taxi comes to a halt.

After insisting on paying for the ride, I dive out onto the cold street and slip my hand under Oliver’s arm. We are outside an apartment block, well several apartment blocks actually. I wait patiently as Oliver checks his phone for the address.

‘It’s this one.’ He nods in the direction of a tall, red bricked building and pulls me along beside him.

Glad to be inside away from the horrible cold air and relatively strong winds, I pull my swallow printed scarf from my neck and wander down the lobby after Oliver. Stopping at apartment thirteen, he knocks firmly at the door and smiles down encouragingly at me.

‘Oh my goodness! Hi! How are you?’ I try not to be put out as a stunningly pretty, little blonde woman throws her arms around Oliver’s neck and plants a hot pink kiss on his cheek.

‘Lori! Look at you!’ He points to her teeny baby bump and laughs happily.

She laughs along and looks at me expectantly, as though waiting for me to perform a jig.

‘And this is?’

Oliver puts his arm around my shoulders and ushers me towards her.

‘This is Clara. My girlfriend.’

Almost bursting with pride, I hold out my hand for a shake but she bats it away and hugs me tightly.

‘Clara! So you’re the lucky girl who has managed to tie this one down? It’s lovely to meet you, come on in.’

Her high pitched, distinctly American voice is sickly and sweet. Think Paris Hilton crossed with Californian Pomeranian. She has cheek bones like razor blades and loose, blonde curls cascading down the back of a black, tea dress. We follow her into the apartment and I can’t help being taken aback by the minimalist surroundings. Everything is white and glass, with the odd touch of pink dotted around. Hardly looks like the place of a couple who are expecting a baby. One by one, people jump up as they notice who has arrived. For the next ten minutes, I am past from pillar to post, getting kisses, cuddles and the odd handshake.

Once I am handed an ironic, Long Island iced tea and seated in a very comfy armchair, I finally start to enjoy myself. Lori and her extremely tall friend Sarah have been filling me in on Oliver’s travels and all the things they got up to. I have laughed so much that my sides are beginning to throb.

‘So, how long have you been together?’ Lori and Sarah are huddled around my chair, questioning me about my relationship with Oliver. I glance over at him, talking animatedly to a group of men who are watching him in fascination.

‘Not too long, but things are going really well.’ I can’t help but smile and try to hide it with my cocktail glass.

‘Well, you two are adorable together.’ Lori puts her hand under my chin and winks.

‘We used to call him Peter Pan. The little boy who never wanted to grow up. It seems time catches up with us all. It’s nice seeing Oliver so happy.’ She smiles fondly.

‘Refill ladies?’ Sarah’s husband, David holds out his hand for our glasses.

‘Lori’s on virgin cocktails,’ Sarah follows him into the kitchen just as there’s a knock at the door.

‘I really need to pee. Could you be a doll and just get that for me? ’ Lori totter’s off holding her teeny bump as she goes.

I squeeze my way through the clusters of merry people and swing open the door. Feeling momentarily paralyzed with panic, my jaw hits the floor. Holy Shit. It’s George.

What the hell is he doing here? I suddenly feel sick to my stomach and have a vision of Long Island iced tea projectile vomit. Oh God! What do I say? What do I do?

‘Clara?’ George is staring at me with a look of astonishment and confusion.

I am about to step out into the lobby when a high pitched squeal over my shoulder almost makes my ears bleed.

‘G! Where have you been? You should have been here hours ago!’ Lori is back, frosty cocktail in hand.

She pushes her way past me and wraps her lithe arms around George’s neck. Sensing my opportunity, I slink away into the apartment and scan the room for Oliver. My breaths are coming short and fast and I really think I might pass out. I turn around at the sound of George’s voice and feel the blood run from my already pale face. Frantically looking around for an escape route, I half run, half wobble over to the bathroom and slam the door shut with a bang. Fiddling with the lock with trembling hands, I sit down on the edge of the bath and try to stop my legs from shaking.

OK. I just need a plan. A plan. A plan. A plan. Think, Clara! Think!

‘Clara, hurry up in there! I’ve got more people for you to meet!’ Lori knocks on the door repeatedly until I give in and undo the latch.

‘You OK?’ She looks me up and down before bursting into hysterical, hyena style laughter.

‘Oh girl! Go easy on those Long Island’s! They kick like a mule.’ Obviously mistaking my horror at George being here for me being a total lightweight.

I manage a wry smile and begrudgingly allow her to pull me out of the bathroom and back into the minefield that is her living room. I can’t see George, or Oliver for that matter. I have however, noticed a herd of new faces huddled around the ivory kitchen island.

‘Everyone, this is Clara.’ Lori pushes me into the centre of the circle like a homeless busker and I wave helplessly.

‘Hi, it’s lovely to meet you all.’

‘I think it is about time we crack this bad boy open. Who’s up for a glass of champagne?’ Lori’s husband, Harry interrupts with a smile.

Glad to have the attention taken away, I join the others in eyeballing Harry as he pours the bubbles and hold out my hand to accept the first glass. I don’t think I have ever needed Dutch courage more. Downing half the glass in one swift gulp, I pick up my handbag and sidle over to Lori.

‘Lori, have you seen Oliver?’

‘He went out back to see G’s new car. Don’t worry, he’ll be back in a minute.’ She smiles reassuringly but I couldn’t be more appalled.

‘With George?’ My voice is suddenly so high, it makes Lori sound like a Barry White impersonator.

She nods enthusiastically and pulls out a couple of bar stools from the breakfast bar and motions for me to sit down.

‘G and Oliver go way back. Oliver used to say he was a brother from another mother. You couldn’t prise them apart. When Oliver went back home they kind of drifted, but they still keep in touch. You know what men are like! They don’t see each other for years yet when they do, it’s like they were never apart.’

Oh. Dear. God. I have been speechless before, but never thoughtless. It is as though my mind has been wiped and I have been left numb, without any ability to form a notion. Lori carries on, unaware of my shocked state.

‘We had some fun times, let me tell ya. I’ll introduce you as soon as they get back. They can’t be out there much longer, they’ll freeze to death. Although, I’m sure Oliver is going to want to show you off himself.’ She winks and beckons over Sarah.

I’m about to sneak out of the door, when I spot George and Oliver coming back into the apartment. Without anywhere to run and hide, I sink down in my seat and glug away at the champagne. Looking down at the floor and willing it to swallow me up, I hear Oliver’s voice edging closer. This is it. This is how I am going to die. I am going to die of mortification. I feel a hand placed on my shoulder and flinch at the touch.

‘Clara, there is someone I want you to meet.’ I glance up at Oliver who is beaming down at me and pointing at George. ‘This is one of my old travelling buddies, G.’

Not daring to look directly at him, I desperately try to find something to say, when George jumps in.

‘Actually, Clara and I already know each other. Quite well in fact.’

‘Really?’ Oliver looks at me questioningly, understandably puzzled.

Not knowing what on Earth to say for the best, I choose to say nothing. Praying that this goes as well as possible.

‘Does someone want to elaborate on how you two know each other?’ Oliver laughs nervously and slips his arm around my waist.

I catch George’s eye and he raises his eyebrows, visibly shocked.

‘Wow. So, you two are an item?’ George shakes his head and widens his eyes.

‘Does someone want to explain what’s going on here?’ Oliver’s voice is now not so light hearted.

‘You know the girl I just told you about outside? The girl that I had been seeing and thought it could to lead to something special?’

Oliver just stares at him, gradually putting two and two together. He folds his arms and a frown slowly appears on his face. The room suddenly falls silent. Everyone’s attention is on the three of us.

‘Come on, George. It was two dates! Three max! I didn’t know you were friends.’ I am trying to defend myself, but I know just how bad this is sounding. There are gasps from our audience and I suddenly feel like I am on the Jerry Springer show.

‘What is going on?’ Lori comes into the kitchen and eyes the situation up anxiously.

‘Clara’s been cheating on Oliver with George!’ Sarah shouts from the back of room.

‘No I have not!’ I retort, jumping to my feet.

I turn to Oliver but he backs away. I watch in silence as he picks up his coat and walks out of the room, leaving me to face the already decided jury. How the hell am I going to get out of this one?

The room is eerily silent. I stare at the open doorway, not really knowing what to do. My head tells me to run after him, but my legs have turned to lead. My stomach churns as the realisation of the situation hits me. What the hell just happened here?

‘Clara, I think you should leave.’ Lori is holding my handbag at arm’s length, as though it has an ugly STD.

Taking the bag, making sure I don’t step close enough to get a right hook, I look around the room and take in the many, many glaring faces. George has collapsed into an armchair and is being consoled by a couple of Lori’s friends. Oh please. Pull yourself together. I bite my tongue to stop myself from saying this out loud. I really don’t fancy a kicking from a room full of pro George campaigners.

Turning on my very high heels, I flounce out of the apartment and stomp down the hall. I get as far as the car park before I realise that I don’t have a clue where I am. Rummaging through my bag, I dial Oliver’s number. It rings twice before being diverted to voicemail. Ending the call, I slip my phone into my coat pocket. Has he actually left me here? We can’t leave things like this. The whole thing is a ridiculous misunderstanding. I haven’t technically done anything wrong. Granted I should have told George sooner that I couldn’t see him anymore, but since I took things up a notch with Oliver and he told me how he felt, I haven’t had any intention of seeing George again. I was even doing the courteous thing of telling him in person. I should have just sent a bloody text.

Looking around for clues as to my location, I wander down the street until I come to a newsagent next to a fish and chip shop. I unzip my purse and dig out a crisp ten pound note. Pushing open the door, I am immediately drawn to the delicious scent of battered cod and vinegar soaked chips. Feeling my bruised ego being soothed by the steamy room, I order some food and hover in a corner to phone Oliver again. This time it goes straight to voicemail. You have got to be kidding me. I just need to speak to him and I can straighten all this out.

‘Excuse me, your order is ready.’ A very cute lady with a sharp black bob is holding out an overstuffed plastic bag.

‘Thank you. I don’t suppose you could phone me a taxi could you?’ I take the bag and place it down beside me.

‘Where are you going?’ She lifts the receiver of a vintage turn dial and smiles genuinely.

For a moment, I consider giving Oliver’s details, but not being able to contact him isn’t a sign he is ready to talk. Sighing, I give her my address instead and type a message to Oliver.

This really is a big misunderstanding. Just give me a chance to explain. We will laugh about this in the morning. Call me xxx

I hit send as a cab pulls up outside. Hugging the warm bag to my chest, I wave at the nice Chinese lady and make my way out to the taxi. This is not how I pictured my night ending.

Dropping my fork down onto my plate with a clatter, I check my phone for the millionth time. Still nothing from Oliver. Nothing from anyone for that matter. Since I got back, I have text Lianna, Marc and even my mother. I am beginning to thinking my phone line is down. Telling myself that things will all seem better in the morning, I gather my plate and dump it in the dishwasher.

After a quick shower, I marginally manage to escape freezing to death as I dry and slip under the covers, feeling rather deflated. I am about to flick on the soaps when my phone chirps from under my pillow. Please be Oliver. I open the message and feel my heart sink.

There isn’t anything to explain. George has told me everything. You slept with my friend. What is there to misunderstand about that?

My sadness is quickly replaced with anger and I sit bolt upright. What? I most definitely did not sleep with George. I slept at George’s house, in his spare room. There is a world of difference. At least, I hope there is. If not, my magic number is much higher than I have been led to believe. I begin to tap out an infuriated reply when a thought suddenly hits me. George said that I slept with him? Why the hell would he do that? I am about to phone him and give him a piece of my mind, when I realise that if he has lied about our sleeping arrangements then he will probably turn a seething slanging match into a late night booty call.

Feeling utterly defeated, I throw my phone across the room and flick off the bedroom light. Trying to sleep when you are beyond livid has the same effect as downing multiple espressos with a couple of ProPlus. As I toss and turn, the fury slowly seeps away and I am left with an intense sadness in the pit of my stomach. I knew this newly found happiness was too good to be true. No one falls in love with a beautiful, genuine man and lives happily ever after. Unless they are on a movie set that is. And after tonight, I am pretty sure someone has swapped my frothy rom com script for that of a bad psychological horror and right now, no one can promise a fairy tale ending.