Strictly Love (11 page)

Chapter Twelve

 

‘What do you think I should do about that?’ Mark pointed out the article about Jasmine to Rob. It was late on Saturday afternoon, the girls had gone home (Gemma thankfully seemed to be at least speaking to him by the time she left), and he and Rob were about to sit down to watch the rugby. Mark had filled him in on the events of the previous evening, but it turned out he'd already gleaned most of it for himself from talking to Gemma.

Rob picked up the paper and glanced through it, guffawing loudly once or twice.

‘“
JASMINE GOOFS IT UP
–
Jasmine Symonds, the celebrity winner of last year's
Love Shack
, looked tonight to be on the verge of losing her lucrative deal with world-famous cosmetic-surgery company
Smile, Please!
It seems, thanks to the ministrations of her as yet unknown dentist, the girl with the golden smile turns out to have teeth of clay
.” God, who comes up with this crap?’

He read on to the end, then chucked it on the table.

‘I'd ignore it if I were you. I mean, it's hardly a big story. Some tarty celeb gets her name in the papers because it turns out she doesn't have a full set of gnashers. It's hardly headline, is it? It'll be forgotten tomorrow.’

‘I suppose at least it doesn't mention my name,’ said Mark, picking up the paper and scanning through it for the hundredth time. He was developing a morbid fascination with the story.

‘It's a storm in a teacup, I tell you,’ maintained Rob. ‘Some other bimbo will be front page tomorrow.’

‘I hope you're right,’ said Mark, cracking a can of beer open and settling down to watch the Six Nations, which at this moment in time held no interest for him whatsoever. He hadn't stopped thinking about Emily all day. But he hadn't rung her again. If she wanted to find him, she knew where he was. The ball was in her court now.

Callum was screeching loudly in Emily's ear that there was no limit, really none at all, as they sweated and jumped semi-rhythmically to a hip hop version of a song Emily associated with a brief period of attending all-night raves in wet muddy fields in her late teens. Callum was a much better dancer than Mark. Much better. It should have felt great being with him. And six months ago it would have.

Was there no limit to her stupidity? Callum had talked the talk so convincingly the previous night, she had succumbed and let her own body talk back. So much easier and less awkward than actually having a proper conversation. And he still pressed all the right buttons.

But now she was actually out with him again – and, more importantly, out with him when sober – the surge of attraction she had felt the previous night seemed to be wavering. Emily had hoped that this turning-a-new-leaf thing might actually involve Callum doing something civilised like taking her out for a meal or to the cinema. Instead, she had waited all day to hear from him, only for him to pitch up at eight, announce they were heading up to town, and drag her into a series of pubs before ending up at the Cave, the dive to end all dives in seedy New Cross Gate. It was now too late to get home, so she had resigned herself to spending the night with Callum again, who, despite his protestations about getting clean, seemed pretty wired to her.

Mark wouldn't do this to you
. The thought popped into her head. She ruthlessly shoved it down and, smiling with a confidence she didn't feel, started jiggling again with Callum. It was hot and humid and sweaty. Bodies heaved and pumped and thumped in and out of rhythm against a background of pulsating lights and loud music. Emily felt like she was in hell. Which is where, of course, the devil you knew took you …

‘Hey, Emily!’ A tap of the shoulder revealed Ffion beside her. It was weeks since they'd seen each other.

‘Fancy a drink?’ Ffion was mouthing over the music. Emily looked at Callum leaping about in a world of his own, fuelled by nostalgia and god knew what else.

‘Sure do,’ she said. She motioned to Callum, but he barely seemed to notice. ‘Missing me already?’ she muttered to herself, before following Ffion up to the poky bar.

It was a bit quieter at the bar, to Emily's relief, so she perched on a bar stool with Ffion and they caught up.

‘It's been ages since I saw you,’ Ffion said accusingly.

‘Yeah, well, I've been busy.’ Emily's tone was more defensive than she'd intended, but it didn't matter as Ffion barely noticed.

‘Yeah, work's been manic for me this week too,’ gushed Ffion. ‘Did you hear about Jasmine?’

‘Jasmine – who? Oh, Jasmine. What's she done now?’
Like do I really care?

‘Of course you care, Emily,’ said Ffion. Damn she'd spoken her thoughts aloud again. ‘Jasmine's teeth are as rotten as, apparently.’

‘So?’ Emily looked at Ffion blankly.

‘So, she's the face of
Smile, Please!
and her teeth are supposed to be perfect.’

‘And we know this how?’

‘Because her dentist had to take a tooth out only last month.
Smile, Please!
found out and are hopping mad, and it looks like her career's going down the pan. Isn't that great?’

Emily looked at her friend and wondered what they had ever had in common. It seemed to her that Ffion was talking another language.

‘I'm sorry. Run it by me again. How is that great?’

‘Because, dummy, we're getting so many column inches out of this story. Jerry is getting me really involved in this one, and we're working out a way to see if we can sue the dentist for breach of confidentiality or something. Even if she loses the
Smile, Please!
contract, this might be just what Jasmine needs to make it to the proper big-time. This could be a great opportunity for me to start going places with A-Listers.’

‘Oh.’ Emily didn't know quite what else to say. ‘Did the dentist breach confidentiality?’

‘Who knows,’ said Ffion with an airy wave of the hand. ‘And who cares? Point is,
someone
breached it, and they can be sued. Which means Jasmine's career could be about to go stellar, and so might mine on the back of it.’

Emily looked at Ffion with distaste. How could she possibly get off on all this stuff?

‘Well, I feel sorry for the dentist,’ she said. ‘It's not his fault Jasmine's got rotten teeth.’

‘You're way too soft,’ said Ffion. ‘He'll be insured or something. Who cares about him?’

Emily felt a headache coming on. The music was thumping louder than ever. In the distance she could see Callum jumping higher than before. What was she doing here? Over these last few weeks with Mark she had been feeling cleaner somehow, as if the cancer that had got into her soul had been somehow washed out; but back here, listening to Ffion's greedy and small-minded chat, she felt polluted again. And watching Callum throwing himself around the dance floor just made her think about Mark and dancing like no one was looking. This place was all about everyone looking at
everything
you did. What was the next line?
Love like you've never been hurt
. Callum or Mark.

That was the choice she faced. But which one would hurt her the most?

‘You saw the papers at the weekend.’ Diana greeted Mark as he came into the surgery on Monday morning. It was a statement, not a question.

‘Oh bugger. Was it in more than one? I only saw Friday's
Standard
.’

‘There was a smallish piece in the
Mail
, but the News of the Screws went for it hell for leather,’ said Diana. ‘Do you want to see it?’

‘Not particularly,’ said Mark.

‘Wise choice,’ said Diana. ‘Most of the article is taken up with pictures of Jasmine posing topless.’

Mark shuddered. ‘I think I'll give that a miss,’ he said with feeling. ‘Did they mention any names?’

‘Not so far, all they've said is “a dentist in South London”. So they didn't even get that right. Don't worry. It will probably all blow over.’

Mark made himself a cup of coffee and wandered into his surgery ready to start the day. He was just putting on his lab coat when he heard a commotion by the front desk. Whoever was out there was becoming very agitated. He could hear Diana making soothing, placating sounds.

‘You can't stop me seeing him!’

‘I'm sorry, Mr Davies is busy –’ he heard Diana say, before the door of his surgery was flung wide open and a red-faced and very angry-looking Jasmine marched right in. Snapping at her heels was the Rottweiler, and hovering apologetically behind her was Diana. ‘Sorry, I tried to stop them,’ she winced.

Jasmine thrust a copy of the
News of the World
in Mark's face. If he hadn't been so stressed, he might have laughed out loud.

‘You said this wouldn't get in the papers,’ she screeched. ‘You promised.’

‘And I have no idea how they got hold of it either,’ said Mark, ‘but coming in here being rude to my staff and upsetting the other patients doesn't help anyone. Why don't we all just calm down and talk about this sensibly.’

‘Calm down? Calm down?’ the Rottweiler screamed. ‘Thanks to you she's lost her contract. How can she calm down?’

‘I'm very sorry about that –’ Mark attempted to say, but his words were drowned out. Both Jasmine and her mother were speaking loudly and incomprehensibly at him.

‘You told the papers my teeth were rotten,’ said Jasmine. ‘Bastard.’

‘I most certainly did not,’ said Mark, ‘and if you can't talk about this rationally, I'd like you to leave.’

‘Liar!’ spat out Jasmine.

Mark held the door open for them pointedly. ‘Leave,’ he demanded. ‘Or I'm calling the police.’

‘I'm going to ‘ave you,’ said Jasmine as she flounced out.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Mark as the door slammed shut. ‘Now what am I going to do?’

‘No Emily tonight?’ Rob wandered over to Katie as Isabella, resplendent in shimmering turquoise, clapped to indicate the lesson was at an end and the social dancing had started. So far this evening he'd only partnered Katie once, much to her disappointment. He seemed to be all over Mandy Allwick instead. He couldn't be, could he? Katie shook her head. He probably could. She had the feeling that Rob wasn't all that fussy. But she was shocked by the twinge of jealousy she felt. She had got used to Rob partnering her, and hadn't enjoyed dancing the waltz with a very stiff fifty-something with sweaty palms and bad breath, who was clearly on the pull but lacked Rob's self-confidence. Katie would have felt sorry for him except he'd trodden on her toes three times and hadn't even noticed.

‘No, she's still in the office,’ said Katie, then kicked herself,
thinking how many teachers worked in an office? Luckily Rob didn't seem to have noticed. She looked around her. ‘No Mark either?’

‘I think he had a prior engagement.’

‘Yeah, right.’

They looked at each other and laughed.

‘So you know what happened on Friday, then, I take it?’ Katie said.

‘I gather things didn't go too well,’ said Rob.

‘That's the understatement of the century, I'd say,’ replied Katie. ‘I've never heard Emily so angry.’

Rob looked a little sheepish.

‘Look, could you tell her from me, it's not really Mark's fault. I told him when we first started coming here that he should pretend he didn't have kids. I thought it would cramp his style. I just wanted him to get his end away. I hadn't factored in that the stupid sod might actually want a
relationship
.’

Rob said this with an air of such puzzled bewilderment that Katie roared with laughter.

‘Thank God not all men are like you,’ she said. ‘Okay, I'll tell her. Though I don't know if it will make any difference.’

Katie wasn't at all sure that Emily would come to her senses, given that her latest emotional crisis seemed to have sent her straight back into the arms of Callum, but there didn't seem much point in telling Rob that.

The music had switched from waltz music to Latin American, and Katie was on the verge of suggesting they dance when Mandy chose that moment to swan up.

‘Ready to rumba, babe?’ she asked.

‘Just you try stopping me,’ Rob said. He winked at Katie, then whispered in her ear as he left, ‘She bores me rigid, but she goes like a train.’

‘What are you like?’ said Katie, giving him a shove. Honestly. He was appalling.

And yet there was something ridiculously appealing about him.

Katie tried to put Rob out of her thoughts, but when she got home and found Charlie locked away in the study showing no signs of coming down soon, she wistfully wondered if this was all life had to offer. Her dancing lessons seem to whisk her away into a world that was infinitely more glamorous than the real life awaiting her at home. To countenance her gloom, Katie found herself digging out a couple of dresses that had been her favourites before the children came along. To her delight she could just about squeeze back into them. Dancing had done her some good then, as she'd clearly managed to shed a few pounds. Not that Charlie had noticed. She wondered if Rob had.

Chapter Thirteen

 

‘Katie, what on earth are you doing?’ Charlie was standing in the kitchen holding a wailing Molly and looking bleary-eyed.

Katie looked up from scrubbing the kitchen floor.

‘Cleaning the floor. What does it look like?’

‘It's six o clock on Sunday morning,’ said Charlie. ‘Who the bloody hell cleans the floor at this time?’

‘I do,’ said Katie. ‘I couldn't sleep. It needed doing. And my mum's coming for lunch. You were fast asleep. Why on earth should it bother you so much?’

‘Because our daughter woke me up,’ said Charlie. ‘Didn't you hear her yelling?’

‘Not down here,’ shot back Katie. Her back was aching, and she felt dog-tired. ‘And it would be nice if you dealt with her for once.’

‘I do help out,’ said Charlie. ‘But I can't do anything when I'm not here.’

‘Well you're here now,’ said Katie, for once letting her anger get the better of her. ‘So you can help. I do everything for the kids. All the time. As well as keeping the house clean.’

Molly roared even louder at the sound of her mother's raised voice, and Katie guiltily chucked the sponge down, dried her hands and grabbed the baby from Charlie's arms. It was clear that he had no intention of doing anything useful like changing her nappy or giving her some milk.

‘Yeah, well, I never asked you to martyr yourself on the altar
of motherhood,’ said Charlie. ‘And you're the one obsessed with keeping the house clean.’

‘Oh come on,’ Katie protested. ‘You always moan when the house is untidy.’

‘I did,’ said Charlie, ‘until you started getting so nutty about it. I mean, look at you. Your mum is coming to lunch today, so that involves you getting up at some godforsaken hour to clean the floor, which, if I remember rightly, you cleaned two days ago.’

‘Yes, but I didn't do it properly,’ said Katie. ‘And Anthea always reckons you should get things out of the way so you can be ahead of the game.’

‘Just listen to yourself, Katie,’ said Charlie. ‘You're taking advice on housework from a woman on the TV. It isn't normal. Besides, it's not as if your mum is even going to notice how clean the house is.’

He had a point there, Katie thought. It was ridiculous the way she felt she had to constantly prove to her mother that she'd made the right choice in giving up her career for a family. She knew that, but she couldn't help herself. Katie was determined to show off her own happy home as a contrast to the discord she'd grown up with. Sometimes, she wished wistfully, it would be nice to put that pettiness aside and just relax with her mother and chat normally for once.

‘It matters to me,’ Katie said stubbornly. ‘So I'm cleaning it. It's not hurting you, so go back to bed why don't you?’

‘You do know you're bonkers, don't you?’ Charlie turned round and stumped upstairs, while Katie settled down with a bottle of milk and Molly in front of the TV. She was fuming. Why should Charlie care when she cleaned the house? It wasn't as if he was in it very much.

Emily woke up in Callum's arms with a start. Her head ached, her throat was dry and she had the hangover from hell. The
room was thumping as loudly as the music at the party he had dragged her to last night. It had been the same for pretty much most nights over the last few weeks, since she had foolishly let him back into her life.

She rolled over and looked at Callum lying peacefully asleep beside her. In repose he was the picture of innocence, his mop of fair curls topping a baby-looking face – Callum often joked that he was never safe in the men's toilets – making him appear much less cynical than he did when out and about on the town. That, along with his lopsided grin and a look he had that made it appear he only had eyes for Emily, gave him a vulnerability which had appealed to her when they first met – although if she was honest she knew that Callum used that vulnerability to keep her hooked. How else had she let herself go back out with him? Though it had to be said, at least this time he was making more of an effort. He hadn't quite got to the giving-her-flowers stage, but he had been assiduously turning up to meet her after work, and they had even managed a couple of meals out. She'd barely been home all week, and Katie had taken to leaving her pointed text messages, which Emily was guiltily ignoring.

She buried her head in the pillow. She'd been ignoring a lot of things recently. Going out with Callum was one long party, but she yearned for more, and Mark had shown her that she could have it.

It wasn't just that she had connected with Mark through their shared sense of humour and fun, there had also been so much more depth to their conversations. She had never really spent much time around people who talked politics – or at least not since her student days. The lads in her office were too busy making ribald remarks, while friends like Ffion were too infatuated with the latest celebrity gossip; and Callum, apart from some loose and casually thought out leftist notions like being against the Iraq war and owning property (which was rich coming from someone whose parents appeared to own half of Sussex),
barely had a conversation of any depth. The most profound she'd ever heard him be was the day after 7/7 when he'd admitted to being frightened when he found himself stuck in a tube train near Kings Cross.

Mark, on the other hand, always had something interesting to say. From the conversations they had had on the few occasions they had met alone, she had appreciated that his was a sharp intellect, which, coupled with a passionate sense of justice, she found incredibly attractive. In some ways Mark had reminded her of her dad, who had always been a champion of the little people and shared Mark's passion to stand up for what he believed was right. Mark genuinely seemed unfazed and unbothered by the razzmatazz and material things that were the stuff of Emily's daily life. It had made a refreshing change.
He
had made a refreshing change. Emily had persuaded herself that here was a person of great integrity, which had made it all the more galling to discover that he had lied to her about something so important.

Katie seemed to think Emily was overreacting the last time they had spoken about it. ‘I haven't exactly been straight with Rob. You certainly haven't been straight with Mark. Besides, I told you, Rob said it was all his fault anyway. Don't you think you're being a bit hard on him?’

She and Katie had rowed about it and Emily hadn't seen her since. But maybe she was right, Emily thought.

Callum stirred beside her. He snuggled up against her back and caressed her shoulders sleepily.

‘Hey, babe,’ he said. ‘I dreamed for a moment you weren't there. Come on, give me a cuddle.’

As she responded to his embrace, Emily wondered what Mark was doing, and why she was even thinking about him when she had Callum.

Mark sat on the edge of a very cold ice rink collapsed in hysterics. It seemed it wasn't just dating he was terrible at – he'd spent
most of the past hour flat on his back. Beth wasn't much better, spending the whole time clinging on to him for dear life. On their last round they had both taken a tumble and Beth had ended up sitting on his head.

‘You two are so
sad
.’ Gemma skated up with the superiority of one who looked as if she had been born on ice. She and the dreaded Shelly were regulars at the skating rink, though up until now Mark had assumed they were merely coming to ogle boys. Apparently they had learned how to skate at the same time.

‘Here, help us up,’ said Mark, putting up his hand. Gemma leaned down and he pulled her down on top of him.

‘I hate you!’ she said, evidently irritated that the cool poise she'd been adopting had been ruined, but to his relief she was laughing. Gemma had perfected the art of giving him the strong silent treatment for the past few weeks, but here was a welcome sign of a slight thaw.

‘Come on,’ Mark said, getting them both up properly, ‘why don't we go and have burgers?’

‘Ooh yes, please!’ Beth's eagerness as ever made up for Gemma's studied indifference. Mark wished he could break through that reserve but he didn't know how. It was at times like these that he missed having a woman around. Sam always knew the best way of getting through to Gemma, and he had relied on her heavily to communicate with his often problematic daughter. But now he was on his own. He sighed heavily. Mark had half hoped that Emily might have hung around long enough to get to know Gemma. But he hadn't heard from her at all, apart from receiving his
Green Wing
DVD back via Katie. There hadn't been a note attached. So that was that. Back to square one. A single dad spending lonely Sunday afternoons with his kids.

‘Are you going to see that woman again?’ Gemma shocked him into spilling his Coke with the directness of her question.

‘What woman?’ Beth piped up.

‘You know,’ said Gemma, ‘Dad's girlfriend. The one he forgot to tell us about. And the one he forgot to tell he had kids.’

‘Oh, that one,’ said Beth, who seemed more interested in the contents of her burger then her dad's love life.

‘I don't think so,’ said Mark.

‘I don't mind if you do,’ said Gemma with uncustomary softness.

‘Oh.’ Mark was totally taken aback. It was the last thing he was expecting. ‘What's brought this on?’

‘Shelly said I was being stupid,’ said Gemma. ‘She thought I was making a fuss about nothing. Apparently her mum and dad have both had loads of girlfriends and boyfriends since they split up. She says that you have needs and I should understand that.’

‘Oh does she indeed?’ Mark, thinking he was never going to look at Shelly in quite the same way again.

‘So, it's okay,’ said Gemma. ‘I don't mind if you want to see Emma.’

‘Emily,’ corrected Mark.

‘Whatever,’ said Gemma with an airy wave of her hand. ‘And I forgive you for lying about us. Uncle Rob explained that it was all his fault.’

Thank you, Uncle Rob, thought Mark.

‘So,’ Gemma seemed to be warming to her theme now, ‘are you going to see her again?’

‘I think it's more a question of will she see me again?’ said Mark. ‘She's pretty cross with me right now.’

‘If she fancies you, she'll get over that,’ said Gemma. ‘You just need to send her flowers or something.’

‘Oh, it's that simple, is it?’ Mark was amused now.

‘Yes,’ said Gemma. ‘I read all about it in Mum's
Cosmo
. All you need to woo a woman is flowers and chocolates, a few multiple orgasms and then she'll be anybody's.’

Mark nearly choked on his burger.

‘I'm not sure life is as simple as
Cosmo
makes it out to be,’ he
said. ‘In fact, I'm not even sure you should be reading
Cosmo
, but thanks for the advice.’

Rob was practising his Cuban motion in front of the computer. The phrase always made Rob laugh, but according to Carlo it was only the hip movement he needed to dance rumba properly, not something rude.

‘Remember,’ exhorted Carlo (whom Rob had decided resembled a Colombian drug dealer) from the YouTube clip Rob had downloaded, ‘it's
how
you move that matters. If you want to be sexy with your lady, you have to
move
her, baby. So let's get some hip action going.’

Getting sexy with his lady wasn't proving too easy at the moment. Things with Mandy seemed to have fizzled out. Not that he minded all that much. Apart from some sizzling sex, there hadn't been much else there.

It was funny, he thought, as he followed Carlo's instructions about bending and straightening alternate knees, when he'd started this dance-class malarkey it had been purely to meet women, but now (though he'd never admit it to anyone, least of all Mark) he was getting completely hooked. Since Mandy had lost interest there didn't appear to be a lot of other fish in the sea – Rob had by now managed to work his way round all the available attractive ones – but he was enjoying learning to dance so much, he didn't actually mind.

‘As you step forward, remember to let your hip drop,’ Carlo was saying, but when he started talking about contra-body action Rob lost him completely. He paused the clip and started it again.

There was always Katie, of course. Although it wasn't as though he
fancied
her or anything. She was way too plump for him, although he had noticed that in the last couple of weeks she did seem to be slimming out a little. But it did make a nice change to actually have an intelligent conversation with a woman.

After watching the bit about contra-body action for the third
time, Rob finally worked out that it meant that his right arm should move forward at the same time as his left leg, while his left arm should move forward in time with his right leg. He had a practice go, but the lounge was so small he found himself banging his shins on the coffee table, so he decided to skip that bit.

The phone rang. Mark was out with the girls, which meant Rob had the house to himself. He hated to admit it but Sundays gave him that doomed, about-to-be-executed feeling that he remembered so well from his own schooldays. Some time around lunchtime he always started feeling that the weekend was already over, any possibility of fun or enjoyment gone. Perhaps it would be better if he had someone to share the dullness of Sundays with. Someone like Katie, maybe …

Stop it, Rob, he said to himself as he went to pick up the phone.

‘Rob, hi, it's Jenny Masters, how are you doing?’ Jenny was an ex-colleague of Rob's from the days when he had worked at the school Gemma now attended. There had been a time when she had also been something more, but they had settled in the end for an easy casual friendship. Besides, she was now living with a six-foot rugby player, which was one complication too many for Rob.

‘Hi, Jen,’ said Rob, ‘to what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘Well, I need a favour actually,’ said Jen. ‘You know I organise team-building courses for the Year Nines?’

‘How could I forget?’ Rob had spent the best part of three years finding excuses for not helping out at them.

‘I've got one coming up in the autumn term,’ Jen said. ‘I can't get anyone to volunteer …’

‘I wonder why not,’ said Rob. He had a feeling he knew what was coming.