Sweet Temptation (11 page)

I’d been distracted by the mention of the Star Bar – wasn’t that a kind of chocolate bar from years ago? – and only managed to get out an ‘Umm . . .’ while I tried to think. I had a feeling Charlie was going out with his mates tomorrow night, leaving me alone in front of the telly.

‘Go on,’ Phoebe coaxed, licking a blob of tuna off her thumb. ‘It’ll be a laugh, a load of us girls out on the town.’ She glanced around and lowered her voice. ‘And I haven’t asked Louisa – you’ll be quite safe.’

I thought quickly. Booze was dead calorific, but I could have slimline tonic water all evening, couldn’t I? I didn’t have to be pissed to enjoy myself. And Phoebe was really nice – being out with her would be much more fun than sitting in watching
Casualty
or
Big Brother
on my own.

‘Yeah, great,’ I said, smiling at her for real now. ‘Thanks, Pheebs. I’ll be there.’

Unfortunately, it didn’t turn out to be quite as easy as that. ‘You’re going where?’ Charlie asked that evening when I told him about it.

I repeated what Phoebe had said. ‘The Star Bar and the Slug and Lettuce. And some club too, but I won’t go to that, I haven’t—’

I was about to say I didn’t have anything to wear, but Charlie interrupted. ‘Too right you won’t go,’ he said softly. ‘Or them other places. Full of sluts on the pull, they are. I’m not having you there, being leered at all night.’

I tried to protest but could already feel my spirits sinking. ‘No one will be leering at me, Charlie, it’s just a few birthday drinks with Phoebe—’

‘Right,’ he said, in that same soft, deadly voice. I dreaded that voice. I’d rather he shouted and punched the wall than spoke in that awful calm, quiet way. ‘That’s what you say
now
. But I know what you’re like. After two drinks you’ll be giggling and flirting with all the blokes. And before you know it—’

‘I won’t!’ I cried, wounded by the accusation. ‘I’m not even going to drink!’

‘And before you know it,’ he repeated, as if I hadn’t spoken, ‘you’ll be on your back and opening your legs for one of them. So no, you’re not going.’

‘Charlie, please,’ I said. ‘I—’

But he got off the sofa and pushed past me, his face tight with hatred. ‘You disgust me,’ he said, and slammed the front door behind him.

I wrenched it open and ran out into the street in my bare feet. ‘Where are you going?’ I wailed. ‘Charlie, come back!’

But he was gone, arms swinging with annoyance as he stalked away. I hesitated, wondering whether to run after him, beg him to come back, promise I wouldn’t go to Phoebe’s do. Then I saw Mrs Stanley from number 87 watching me from her front window, and I slunk back into the house instead, all courage lost.

I was shaking as I closed the door. Shaking from head to toe and trying not to cry. My first thought was,
He’s left me and now I’m never going to get married.

My second thought was,
God, I really need something nice to eat.

A few years ago, back when I was living with the girls, everything would have been different. If any bloke had shouted at me or made me feel shit like that, I’d have immediately turned to my friends for hugs, comfort and long conversations about
Why are men such bastards?
and
Do you think I should phone him?
, swiftly followed by
Whose turn is it to go to the off-licence anyway?
before the usual conclusion:
Oh, let’s watch
Terms of Endearment
and have a good cry again.
I didn’t feel I could do that now. I was still friends with Gemma, Nat and Shelley, but I didn’t see them all that much any more. Charlie wasn’t keen on them, said they were a bad influence on me and that I shouldn’t waste my time hanging around with them now that I had him. I had the feeling they weren’t that keen on him either, the way they exchanged private glances whenever I mentioned his name. I’d never been the kind to dump my mates the second I got a new boyfriend, but he always kicked up such a fuss about me going to meet them that I’d let our friendship drift.

They didn’t know him like I did, that was the thing. Okay, so he had changed somewhat from the charmer he’d been when I first started seeing him, and yes, sometimes he could be bad-tempered, but what they didn’t know was that, at home, he could still be really lovely to me. Really soppy. He’d proposed, hadn’t he? Admittedly he’d been quite pissed, but he’d still collapsed onto one knee and said, ‘Will you marry me?’ before passing out on the living room carpet.

Anyway, I loved him, no matter what they thought of him.

One night, when I’d actually made it to the pub with Shelley (Charlie was off on a stag weekend), we’d got quite tipsy together, and Shelley suddenly had this worryingly earnest look in her eyes. ‘Jess . . . Do you really want to marry Charlie? Do you
really
?’ she’d asked, gazing up at me, a hand on my arm.

I’d spluttered at the question. ‘Of course I do!’ I told her. ‘Why are you asking?’

‘It’s just . . .’ She’d pressed her lips together. ‘It’s just . . . I don’t know. You seem different these days. Quieter.’

I was on my fourth white wine and soda, so I wasn’t totally together, but I do remember trying to laugh and it not coming out properly. ‘Oh, I’m just older and wiser, that’s all,’ I said, flapping a hand like I didn’t have a care in the world. ‘I guess it’s just growing up, isn’t it? Can’t stay mad party animals for ever.’

She hadn’t seemed convinced. ‘Okay. Well . . . good,’ she’d said. ‘If you’re sure. But remember, we’re always here for you if you ever want a chat.’ She’d popped a handful of peanuts in her mouth and crunched them. ‘And it would be great if you could come out with me and the girls more often. We should have a proper night out soon, shouldn’t we, for old times’ sake.’

‘Yeah,’ I’d agreed enthusiastically. ‘Definitely. Want another drink?’

The night out hadn’t happened yet, although I kept meaning to sort something out. And even though the rest of that evening had seemed something of a blur by the next morning, Shelley’s question about marrying Charlie had stuck there in my mind, clear as anything.

Do you really want to marry Charlie? Do you really?

It annoyed me, actually. In fact, I decided, it was a damn cheek. Of course I wanted to marry Charlie! I mean, why wouldn’t I? He was gorgeous! He might be a bit moody sometimes, but there was nothing wrong with that. Half the time it was my fault anyway, saying the wrong thing or annoying him with my bad habits.

Shelley was probably jealous, I decided, because she was still swinging from one date to the next, never staying with one bloke for more than a few months, always getting swoony crushes on a new man. And that sort of thing was all very well in your early twenties, but now that she was knocking on thirty . . . really, she should be thinking about settling down, like me.

Still, I couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that Shelley and the others were having a lot more fun than me. But then again, fun wasn’t everything, was it?

Charlie was gone all evening, and when he came back he was drunk and red-faced, and his eyes were cold.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said timidly as he walked into the living room. I’d been curled up on the sofa watching a Jennifer Aniston romcom, trying not to think about the emergency biscuits. Yes, all right, so I’d actually
eaten
a few, but I reckoned having your fiancé walk out on you was definitely an emergency. At least I hadn’t gone out to buy chocolate. I was proud of myself for that.
And
I’d managed to stop after four biscuits. That was pretty heroic too, in my opinion.

He leaned against the radiator and stared at me, really stared, like he hated me. ‘Who is he, then?’ he said at last.

I blinked, not sure what he meant. For a split second I thought he was asking about the smooth-faced actor in the film I’d been watching, but I managed not to blurt out anything stupid. ‘I . . . What do you mean?’ I asked carefully.

He drummed his fingers against the radiator, still staring at me. ‘I said, Who. Is. He?’ he repeated. ‘This bloke you want to meet tomorrow.’

I was confused by his belligerence, and starting to feel frightened too. ‘There isn’t any bloke,’ I stammered. ‘It’s Phoebe from work. Just her and some girlfriends. No blokes.’

‘Right,’ he said. The drumming stopped, and Jennifer Aniston giggled in the background.

I swallowed. ‘Charlie . . . I . . . I swear there isn’t any bloke. The only bloke I want is you.’

He came towards me then, and I held my breath, suddenly scared that he was going to clench a fist and hit me. But he sat down on the sofa, and his head drooped as if the fight had gone out of him.

‘I’ve been doing my nut,’ he said. ‘I just got it into my brain you were seeing someone else, that’s all. I couldn’t bear that.’

I bit my lip. ‘I’m not seeing anyone else,’ I said quietly. ‘I’m marrying
you
. I love
you
.’

He turned his head and looked at me, his eyes bloodshot and gritty-looking. ‘Good,’ he said.

He reached out and grabbed my breast, watching my face. He was squeezing me too tight and I flinched, wanting to cry out with pain. But then he was kissing me hard, his mouth stubbly and rough against mine, and he was pushing me back against the sofa, one hand up between my legs. ‘Good,’ he muttered again in my ear as he yanked at my knickers. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. ‘Because if I ever find out you’re cheating on me, I’ll kill you
and
him.’

I shut my eyes as he forced his way in, and I tried to kiss him back. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered again and again. ‘I’m sorry.’

The next day was Saturday, and I had work. Usually I loved Saturdays – they were our busiest day in the salon and time always sped by – but when the alarm went off that morning, I felt groggy from sleeping badly all night and wished I could have another few hours to doze. I turned the alarm off quickly and crept out of bed, worried that Charlie would want sex again. I was really sore inside and it was painful going to the loo. I stared at my reflection, pushing my hair out of my eyes. My skin was grey and creased-looking, and my face looked fatter than ever after those biscuits last night. No wonder Charlie had been so angry with me. I was a let-down to him, I knew it.

I showered, scrubbing violently at my body with the loofah, half wishing I could scrub myself away, make myself disappear altogether. Then I gulped down a coffee and a banana for breakfast. It wasn’t very much and my stomach felt miserably empty as I left the house, but I didn’t deserve any more. I’d been fat and disgusting for too long. I had to pull myself together. I had to get tough with myself.

Clients came and went in a blur. I had a good mix of regulars who I’d known for a few years now, as well as the occasional treaters, in to get their eyebrows done before a big night out, or to use up a pampering voucher someone had bought them. I felt slightly detached from them all day, not quite able to engage in proper conversation with anyone or care very much when they poured out their woes to me.

‘Is everything all right, Jess?’ asked Anna, one of my favourite clients. She was in her fifties, I guessed, but still in wonderful nick – she had the most beautiful skin for a lady of her age, with no hint of turkey neck whatsoever. She’d come in for a massage, and usually we chatted away for the whole session, but this time I hadn’t managed to keep the conversation flowing as I usually did. ‘You’re very quiet today.’

I paused, my hands working away at her left shoulder. ‘I’m fine,’ I said unconvincingly. Then, wanting to divert the subject away from me, added, ‘But how about you? Your back’s full of knots, you know. Have you been worrying about something?’

‘Oh, life, death and taxes, just the usual,’ she said lightly. ‘And men, of course.’

‘Of course,’ I added, trying not to sound too glum about it.

I avoided Phoebe all day, wanting to put off telling her I couldn’t go out for a drink that night for as long as possible. But then, on my afternoon break, I saw her, all bright-eyed and bubbly, and knew I had to get it over with.

‘Happy birthday,’ I said, giving her a card and a pretty bracelet I’d bought the day before. ‘Pheebs, I’m really sorry but I don’t think I can make it tonight after all. I’m not feeling too good.’ It wasn’t actually an out-and-out lie, as I did feel pretty grim, but even so, the words were hard to say.

‘Oh, mate, that’s a shame,’ Phoebe replied. ‘You do look a bit under the weather. Well, if you start feeling better and change your mind, we’ll be in the Star Bar from about eight, all right? Just turn up if you want to. You’ve got my mobile number, haven’t you?’

I nodded. ‘Will do,’ I said.

Phoebe opened the present and her eyes lit up. ‘Wow! Jess, that’s gorgeous!’ she said, draping the bracelet over her wrist to admire it. She gave me a hug. ‘You’re such a honey – I love it. Thank you!’

I really like giving people presents, but today I could feel myself welling up at her nice words and had to pretend I needed to nip out to Boots to buy something just to escape. What was wrong with me? I was all over the place, and the argument with Charlie kept spinning around in my mind. I hoped he’d be in a better mood today. Maybe I could do something to cheer him up?

The perfect thing popped into my head as I was on my way out of the complex, and I dialled his number. ‘Hiya,’ I said when he answered. ‘I was thinking maybe I could cook us something nice tonight – we could stay in and have a romantic dinner.’

‘I’m going out,’ he said.

My optimism was punctured, just like that. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Well . . . Maybe I could come along too?’

‘Lads’ night,’ he said. I could hear the telly on in the background.

‘Oh, right,’ I said.

‘What do you mean by that, “Oh, right”?’ he asked. ‘Have you got a problem with it?’

‘No,’ I said, feeling tearful again. I didn’t know why he kept getting so aggressive with me at the slightest thing. ‘I didn’t mean anything, I was just—’

‘Only you sounded a bit narky, like you don’t want me to go out or something,’ he went on. ‘When it’s none of your business what I do, all right?’