Straight Talking (10 page)

They don’t feel your pain when yet another man, another potential soulmate, turns around and says he doesn’t want you anymore. When he echoes your mother telling you you’re not good enough.

Once Freya turned around to me, Freya, my oldest friend who is so perceptive and so wise and so married, and she said, “You always make it sound wonderful. But sometimes I think it must be so awful for you. That you do a great job of hiding the pain, that sometimes you must feel so lonely.”

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t in fact say anything, because my throat closed up and I thought I was going to cry. Because of course I do a great job of hiding the inner turmoil, and people only see the cool, tough, exciting life of a single woman. They see what they want to see, and very few people will bother to look deeper.

When our meal is finished Andrew reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and draws out a cigar. A big, fat, Havana cigar, and slowly, sensually, he rolls it in his fingers before cutting off the end and lighting it.

I love watching men smoke cigars, and Andrew looks up to find me watching him in rapture.

“Do you smoke?” he says.

“Not cigars, but I’d like to.”

“You have to learn, you have to be taught by a connoisseur,” he says. “Look, I’ll show you.” And he offers me his index finger across the table.

“Show me how you’d do it.” And as I guide his finger to my mouth Adam, the restaurant, the past and the present recede, and it is just me and Andrew, here and now. I slowly take his finger into my mouth, and I’m not imagining it’s a cigar, I’m imagining it’s his cock, and I’m looking into his eyes as I take his finger deep within my mouth.

“
Very
good,” he says, looking into my eyes, “but not quite. Give me your hand, I’ll show you.” And he takes my finger and does the same to me and my hands being as erogenous as they are, I sit there feeling so turned on I think I’m going to faint.

And then he hands me his cigar and watches me through narrowed eyes as I suck slowly on it, knowing how phallic it is, knowing what he’s thinking, knowing what Adam’s thinking and not giving a damn.

“My God you do that well,” he says. “I love watching women smoke big fat cigars. Do you have any idea how sexy you look?” Of course I do, otherwise I wouldn’t be doing it. Cigars make me feel ever so slightly sick, but this is the best flirtation I have had in years, and I am relishing every bitter taste, every smoke-filled mouthful.

“No wonder you’re so successful with men, it’s a great technique,” he says, and I wonder what he’s talking about.

“What do you mean? I’m not successful with men, I’m single, for God’s sake,” I laugh.

“Yes, but you’re not short of admirers. Or sex, I would imagine. When was the last time you had sex?”

“What are you trying to say? Do you think I’m easy?” I’m absolutely horrified, the last thing in the world I want Andrew to think is that I’m a slut.

“No, I don’t think you’re easy. I think, if you want me to be perfectly honest, I think that you’re the sort of woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to pursue it. I think that if you met a man who you were attracted to, you would enjoy him just for the sake of enjoyment.

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s a huge compliment, I wish there were more women like you.”

And of course I take the compliment and cherish it, because he sees me as a sexual, sexually mature woman, but there is an insult hidden in there too, he has just said the words I had dreaded hearing. He has said that I am the kind of woman you shag, not the kind of woman you fall in love with.

God, how I wish it were different, how I wish I were different. How, at times like these, I wish I were like Mel, or Emma, or anyone, my friends who have long relationships, my friends who might know the pain of being in a relationship that isn’t going where they want it to go, but who have no idea what the pain of being single is like.

We finish and Adam and Andrew insist on paying for me. Adam gives me a big hug good-bye and says he’ll call me tomorrow, and Andrew and I walk together up the road to our cars.

But the funny thing is he’s different now. I’m walking up the road thinking, this is it, now he’ll kiss me, now it will happen, and he’s distanced himself. Like so many men, at the crucial moment he’s backing off.

We reach the car and I turn to him, face raised expectantly, and he puts his hand to my cheek, leans down and gives me a long, soft, kiss on the lips. My eyes are closed waiting for more, until he says, “Take care, I’ll see you soon,” and the look of disappointment is so obvious he stops, takes another step closer to me and puts his hand back to my chin, pulling it toward him.

His mouth meets mine again, and this time he kisses me properly, and I’m so nervous that my legs practically buckle. We stand there, tongues intertwined, and he pulls away and says, “Jesus, you are unbelievable. I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Are you serious? It wasn’t me. You kissed me!”

“I couldn’t help it, your lips looked so kissable. You live near here don’t you?” I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

“Shall I come back for a coffee?” And he’s smiling, and all of a sudden I’m not sure. I’m not sure.

I’m not sure because I have seriously fallen for him and I’m not sure whether I can deal with the consequences.

“I don’t know. What do you think?” I’m praying he’ll say he can’t stop thinking about me, that this will be the beginning of something big, that perhaps we could start slowly and see where it goes.

But of course this isn’t a film, this is real life and he says, “I think I’d like to take you to bed, I’d like to make love to you.”

“That’s all, though, we wouldn’t be having a relationship.” I make it sound like a statement, but in fact it’s a question, and Andrew knows this.

“No, we wouldn’t be having a relationship, but that doesn’t have to stop us enjoying each other just for tonight.”

There it is, in black and white, dear reader, and you know what? I can’t do this. I can’t deal with tomorrow morning, if he’s kind enough to stay the night, that is.

“No.” I shake my head firmly, almost in disbelief at the word that just came out of my mouth. “It’s better if you go.”

I must be bloody crazy, but a part of me whispers that perhaps if I play a bit hard to get, even though I know it would just be a fling, perhaps I might make him fall for me after all.

So I kiss him one more time on the lips, and walk off to my car. But you might be proud of me because I didn’t turn around to look at him. Not once.

11

What can I tell you about my life after Simon left? That I woke up each morning with tear-stained cheeks, when I was lucky enough to sleep at all, that is.

That most nights I drifted off to sleep like a baby, and dreamed about Simon, yes, actually dreamed about him, until I woke up crying at three o’clock in the morning and then spent the rest of the night wandering aimlessly around my flat, reliving every minute of our relationship.

That if it hadn’t been for Mel, and then Adam, I don’t think I would have made it. That up until that point I had never ever understood what it was like to lose someone you really loved. That up until that night Simon left, I never really understood what pain was like.

The day after he left I tried to go into work and I got the bus. I walked up to the bus stop, climbed onto the bus and leaned my head against the window as huge sobs took over, and I didn’t care. I knew that everyone on the bus was staring at me, but I couldn’t stop.

A middle-aged woman came and sat down next to me and took my hand. “What’s the matter?” she demanded. “Why are you crying?”

In between the sobs, and the huge deep breaths that seemed to take all my strength I told her. “I’ve split . . . my . . . boyfriend.”

“Bastards. They’re all bastards,” she said. “Was it another woman? It’s always another woman.” I nodded as a fresh wave of sobbing took over. The other passengers had stopped looking at me but, Christ, were they listening. It was probably the most exciting bus journey most of them had ever had.

“My husband left me for another woman. Slung him out, I did, you’re much better off without them.” She was talking so loudly, so passionately, it was almost funny.

“Came home one day and caught him in bed with some tart from the shops down the road, and now it’s just me and the kids and we’re all happier without the sod.”

I couldn’t help myself, I smiled through my tears. She kept talking at me, all the way to work, and in the end, just as I was getting off the bus, she squeezed my hand. “You’ll be all right, love, you’ll see. Pretty girl like you? Won’t be long before you find another one. Like bloody buses they are.”

But I don’t want another one, I remember thinking as I stepped off. I want Simon, and boom, another fresh round of tears.

Three weeks later I slept with Jeff. He was a friend of Simon’s who had always had a crush on me, although he never said as much. I bumped into him in my lunch break. Tall, good-looking but absolutely not my type, he took me for lunch.

Jeff had always fancied me, had always gone along with the flirt, but his smooth, suave good looks, his penchant for the theater and the ballet were a world apart from mine, and I knew quite categorically that we would never make a good team.

“How
are
you?” he said, which is what everyone said in those early days. “Have you spoken to Simon?”

“No. Have you?”

“I saw him last weekend, we were at the same party. Adam was there too.”

“Who was Simon with?” I couldn’t help myself, I had to know.

“Some blonde. Pretty but thick. Not a patch on you.”

I felt physically sick. It was Tanya, and that was when I made up my mind. Forcing a flirtatious smile when it really was the last thing on my mind I said, “Do you mean that? What have I got that she hasn’t?”

“Well, for starters you’re stunning. Plus you’ve got a brain, and you’re good fun. What more could a bloke ask for?” I remembered going out in a group when Jeff was there, when I was enjoying the attention and being the life and soul of the party.

When I didn’t care whether or not blokes fancied me because I loved Simon and Simon loved me, and I could flirt because it didn’t mean anything. That was what Jeff meant by good fun. He meant a good flirt.

“You wouldn’t go out with someone like me though, would you?”

Jeff smiled. “Tasha, I spent nine months feeling jealous as hell that Simon had gotten you.”

“So what about now, then?”

Jeff stopped smiling. “What about now?”

“Would you go out with me now?” Talk about self-destruct but I didn’t care, and Jeff was as close as I was going to get to Simon. I could hurt Simon through Jeff. Even if he never found out it wouldn’t matter because I would know, and in my own way I would be getting my own back.

Jeff’s eyes were wide. “Are you serious? Would you seriously go out with me?”

Now it was my turn to smile. “Maybe it’s a bit early to tell. Maybe we should just have an affair.”

Jesus Christ. Anyone would have thought someone had told Jeff it was Christmas every day for the rest of his life. “When?” he said slowly.

“Why don’t you come over tonight?”

“I’m going to the theater, but it won’t finish late. Why don’t I come over afterward?”

“OK.” Even as I said it it didn’t feel real. It felt as if this was happening to someone else so I didn’t think about it for the rest of the day, I just carried on as if everything were normal.

And I got home and sat there watching the clock, not really thinking about anything, my mind a complete blank.

At ten o’clock I got up and poured myself a very large vodka. I didn’t fancy Jeff, I never had, but this was something I had to do. I phoned Mel.

“Mel, I know you’re going to think I’m a complete slut but I think I’m going to have an affair with Jeff.”

“Oh Tasha, that’s not the answer. You’re just trying to hurt Simon more. Just let it go and get on with your life.”

“I can’t. He’s on his way and I’m going to do it. I have to.”

“Why, so Simon can feel better about Tanya because you’re sleeping with his friends?”

“No, because I need to feel someone other than Simon. Because I need to know that Simon isn’t the only man in the world. Because I’ve been feeling like shit and I know Jeff fancies me and I need to still feel that there are other possibilities.”

Mel sighed deeply. “I know you’re going to do it, Tash, but be careful. This really isn’t what you need right now.”

I put the phone down and poured another drink. Dutch courage, and at 10:15 I put on a silk dressing gown and that was all. At 10:30, on the dot, just at the time Jeff said he’d arrive, the doorbell rang.

“Hi,” he said, “I didn’t think I’d make it on . . .” and he stopped, because I had already wrapped my arms and legs around him like an octopus and I started to kiss him passionately, forcing his mouth open with my tongue, stopping him from saying anything else.

I wish I could tell you the kiss was worth it, but it wasn’t, it was pure performance on my part. I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing, but I had to go through with it, had to prove something to myself and to Simon.
In absentia
.

“Wow,” Jeff said eventually, hooking his arms round my waist, “you are hot stuff.” I didn’t want to hear his voice, didn’t even want to look at him so I just pulled him by the hand and led him to the bedroom.

Talk about aggressive. I pushed him back on the bed and he lay there, arms behind his head grinning at me as I undid the belt on my dressing gown and let it slip to the floor.

“Jesus, you are beautiful,” he said, reaching up to stroke my breasts, and then he didn’t say any more because I climbed on top of him and furiously unbuttoned his shirt, unzipped his trousers, pulled his clothes off.

“Slow down,” he whispered, “there’s no hurry.” I moved down his body, down to where his cock stood erect and I knew I had to take him in my mouth. As I closed my mouth over his straining cock, I heard him gasp, and I knelt there, crouched over his body, head bobbing up and down as I swirled my tongue round the tip and took him all the way to the back of my throat.

I felt nothing. He moved his hand between my legs and started stroking me, and I felt nothing. I lay back and he climbed on top of me, gently pushing my legs apart and I expertly rolled a condom on and guided him inside me. He was kissing me all the time, kissing my eyes, my lips, my cheeks, my neck. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed about this?” he whispered. And I felt nothing. Numb, numb, numb.

And then, as he was moving inside me, faster and faster, getting closer and closer, I felt a huge wave move up from my stomach, up through the tightness in my chest and I started sobbing. Like a fucking child. There I was, lying underneath this man who was practically a stranger and I was crying like a baby. Talk about passion-killer.
Coitus interruptus
by tears. All I kept thinking was, It’s not Simon. I want Simon.

But Jeff, and I have to say I was surprised, Jeff was absolutely amazing. He moved out of me, lay beside me and put his arms around me. I kept on sobbing and he didn’t say anything, he just cradled me in his arms, gently rubbing my back, and I carried on crying for the best part of an hour.

Eventually, when I had finished crying, and just lay there sniffing, Jeff got up, went to the bathroom and came back with a tissue. He held it under my nose like a child and said, “OK, blow.” And I blew and I smiled because although the sex was a complete waste of time, something in me had shifted. I can’t tell you everything was OK after that night, but everything started to get a little bit better.

You make slow progress when you come out of a relationship with a man you love. Every day is another step, and in the beginning there are so many setbacks you feel as if you won’t make it. But slowly you realize that every step backward is preceded by three steps forward, and one day they’re not just steps, you’re making huge bounds.

My first setback, not counting Jeff, was when Adam called me a week later.

“Hi, baby. I wanted to check you’re OK.”

I sighed. “I’m OK, Ad. Not much better than that, though. Have you spoken to Simon?”

“I spoke to him last night, he’s in a terrible state.”

My heart turned over, maybe it’s true what they say, give them some space and they realize what they’re missing, they realize they’ve made a huge mistake.

“Why, how?”

“Well, I shouldn’t tell you this, Tash, but he does miss you. He said he keeps wondering if he’s made a terrible mistake.”

“So he’s not with Tanya then?”

There was a silence. “Yes,” he said finally. “He is with Tanya but I think he’s confused. Tanya has somehow gotten under his skin, and he can’t let her go, but he also realizes what he’s lost in you. To tell you the truth, Tash, I don’t think he’s ever going to find another woman like you.” I wanted to put down the phone, grab my coat and go running into Simon’s arms. To put my arms around him and say, It’s OK, I’m here now, everything’s going to be OK.

But of course I couldn’t do that because everything was not going to be OK because right at that moment, while I was talking to Adam, Simon was probably sitting there with Tanya’s arms around him, and she was probably telling him that everything was going to be OK.

“Tash? Are you there, Tash? I’m sorry, have I made a mistake in telling you? I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, it’s OK, Ad. I’m fine, it just hurts to hear he’s hurting. Bastard.” I smile and I hear Adam laugh down the phone.

“That’s more like it, there’s the Tash we all know and love.”

“
Do
you love me, Ad?”

“Of course I do, Tash. You’ve become one of my closest friends, and I hate to hear you in such pain. I shouldn’t say this because Simon’s such a good friend, but you know you really do deserve better, and you will find it.”

“I know,” I say, even though I don’t know at all, but it sounds better than thank you.

Jeff was my first step back to life after Simon, but he wasn’t the last, not by a long shot. It was almost as if I had to prove I was still lovable, still sexual, still human by sleeping with everyone who asked me.

I’m not proud of that time, although while I was going through it I stuck a big smile on my face and kept everyone amused with my latest stories.

There was Jamie, who was so good-looking and so crap in bed. Who wouldn’t stop until I faked five orgasms, and even then, even when I told him he had to stop because I was exhausted, even then asked, “Do you want to go to sleep or do you want some more cock?”

There was Tony, who I met at a party, who phoned and who I seduced, just for the hell of it. Yes, I fancied him, inasmuch as I could fancy anyone who wasn’t Simon, but the sex was rubbish. Not just with him, the sex was always crap because I didn’t care about them and they didn’t care about me.

Sure I made all the right noises, I pretended to be this wild, abandoned woman while feeling completely dead inside. But I knew that eventually I would stop, when I started to come back to life I would stop.

No one ever judged me, although I never heard what they said when I wasn’t around, but Mel used to try to talk me through it, try to explain that sex wasn’t love, and I didn’t have to do this, and that was when she recommended me going to see Louise.

The last time it happened was just after I started seeing Louise. I went to a party with Adam, Adam who knew all about it, Adam who didn’t judge, merely laughed with me as I regaled him with my ridiculous tales.

Adam who occasionally glimpsed through the pain, who would put his arms around me and give me a great big hug, while I buried my head in his shoulder and tried hard not to cry.

Adam saw me come back to life again, and he was there the night I said no. The night I realized that a stranger’s arms held nothing for me any longer.

The party was at a house in Fulham. A friend of a friend of a friend, and it was like the parties of my youth. A student party in a professional’s house, one of those terraced houses with a double reception room, a kitchen at the back and French doors opening onto the garden.

It was a french bread and pâté party, a cheap wine and trash can filled with ice and beer kind of party. As soon as we walked in it became clear that it was full of old friends Adam hadn’t seen in years.

“Ad,” shrieked pretty much everyone there, rushing up to slap him on the back and wrap their arms around him. “This is Tasha,” he tried to say, but they weren’t interested in me, only in their old friend.

Except for one bloke in the corner, just my type. Tall, short brown hair and big green eyes. He was wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt and he was watching everyone greet Adam with a look of intense amusement in his eyes. Finally he sauntered over. “Jesus,” said Adam, “I thought you were living in America.”