What She Wants (28 page)

‘He’s good for her,’ Catrina said. ‘You should have seen them in Lanzarote. I’ve never seen Jay so happy. She spent ages …’ Sam didn’t hear the rest because she was so shocked. They’d all gone to Lanzarote and nobody had thought to mention it to her. Her best friends, people she’d seen over Christmas, dammit, had been planning this and never said a word. Sam stared at the big bowl of rocket salad sitting in the fridge and felt betrayed. And why had Jay lied and said that Hugh and Catrina had met Greg at an exhibition? Probably because she knew Sam would feel left out if she heard about the holiday. ‘You’re not upset, are you?’ Catrina asked shrewdly. ‘The holiday really was a last minute thing. We were all sitting round freezing in Brighton after you’d gone back to London and Hugh suggested we take a week in the sun. You know you hate sun holidays, Sam. Ever since that week in Crete when you said you’d go insane if you had to lie on the beach for one more minute!’ Sam nodded, doing her best to look as if it didn’t matter in the slightest that she hadn’t been asked on the holiday. Not that she’d have wanted to go or anything but, oh, to have been asked. In the dining room (Sahara colours) Andy was the only other one of the college gang there apart from Jay and Sam. He was thinner than ever since his divorce the year before; Sam could feel his ribs through his baggy jumper when he gave her a hug. ‘That’s some diet you’re on, Andy,’ she said reprovingly, looking at the slight frame and the serious eyes behind the tortoiseshell glasses that Andy had started wearing when he first became a teacher. ‘Right back at you, Ms Smith,’ he said. ‘You’ve lost a few pounds yourself.’ ‘It’s the Stress Diet,’ Sam said bitterly. Hugh introduced everyone. There were two other couples: Maya and Tom, who were Catrina’s guests because she

worked with Maya, and Dennis and Emily, who were Hugh’s invitees because he worked in the same chambers as Dennis. Sam was polite but couldn’t summon up too much enthusiasm for the evening. For a start, she was still smarting from being left out of the Lanzarote holiday plan. Secondly, she wasn’t in the mood for a business party where Hugh and Catrina had invited colleagues for duty meals. She’d expected a gang-only night where they could all let their hair down. Now she had to be charming to the boring Dennis who wanted to talk all evening about the music industry and was ‘it true that you just manufacture bands these days?’ Luckily, Andy, who was sitting on her other side, came to Sam’s rescue before she could stab Dennis in the eye with her soup spoon. ‘Is it true that barristers make behind the scenes bets on who’ll win the case?’ he asked innocently. Dennis choked. ‘Rubbish,’ he spluttered. ‘That’s an offensive suggestion and I might add …’ Andy grinned. ‘Gotcha!’ he said pleasantly. ‘What you said to Sam was just as bad.’ Dennis got the point. ‘Sorry,’ he said weakly to Sam. ‘Didn’t mean to be offensive but you hear such stories …’ ‘Yeah, you do,’ Sam said and turned to talk to Andy. ‘Everything all right?’ asked Catrina nervously, seeing her fabulous dinner party in danger of collapsing. ‘Fine,’ said Andy. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked Sam gently. ‘You don’t look in the best of form and normally, you relish the chance to put people like Dennis firmly in their place.’ ‘You mean I’m Queen Bitch and it’s rare for me to pass up an opportunity to savage someone?’ she said harshly. ‘Hey, relax,’ he said. ‘It’s me, your friend, remember? The one who held your hand on the Journey of Fear roller coaster.’ They both laughed. ‘It was your bloody fault I went on it in the first place,’ Sam pointed out, giving Andy a poke in the shoulder. ‘I’m terrified of heights as a result.’

‘Do you still avoid the glass lift in the office?’ Andy asked slyly. Sam shuddered. ‘Now that was scary. No, that was my old office and I’m in a new job now.’ ‘Sorry, I forgot. It’s hard to keep up, isn’t it? You get so involved in your own problems.’ Andy gazed down at his half-full soup bowl. Sam felt like a total bitch. Here she was getting all tantrumish over the fact that she hadn’t gone to Lanzarote with the others, while Andy’s problems were much more serious. His divorce had been acrimonious and still was, with vicious rows over access to his two children. The last time Sam had met him, he’d been living in a shabby bedsit - all he could afford on his teacher’s salary after paying out maintenance - and his ex was insisting that she wouldn’t let the kids visit him there. It was Catch-22 time. ‘I can’t manage to live anywhere better,’ he’d told Sam then, looking for all the world like a broken man. At the age of thirty-nine, Andy looked fifty. That had been six months ago, she realized guiltily. She hadn’t been a very good friend to Andy, had she? He could have done with someone to drag him out to the pub for a drink, someone to listen to his problems when he was in the depths of depression, someone to be a friendly voice on the other end of the phone. But she’d been too busy, right? At least Catrina and Hugh were kind and thoughtful and invited him to dinners and parties. Sam took a deep gulp of mineral water - she wasn’t really in the mood for wine, strangely enough, even though she knew it would be superb because Hugh was a bit of a wine buff. She had to stop being selfish and try and enjoy herself for everyone else’s sake.

The food was sublime and the music wasn’t bad either. Sam didn’t really go for the sort of middle of the road stuff that Catrina and Hugh adored but she wouldn’t dream of saying so. For fun, she’d once given them a batch of garage

rock CDs for Christmas but had never heard any of it played. Tonight, the music was very much in the background as the ten people around the dinner table laughed, joked and discussed life, the universe and everything. Well, eight of them joked and laughed: Jay and Greg, seated beside each other, stared deep into each other’s eyes most of the time and laughed at the jokes a good two minutes after everyone else. Sam was sure they were playing footsie under the table judging by their giggles. She did her best not to stare but somehow couldn’t help it. There was something so utterly tender about the way Greg fed Jay some of his chocolate pudding because she’d chosen Catrina’s fruit salad instead. Sam watched under her lashes and wondered bleakly if anyone would ever feed her with such love ever again. ‘Gosh, this Stilton is good,’ said Dennis, hoovering up the contents of his plate. Sam looked at the elaborate cheese board and remembered when the gang’s idea of a dinner party had been something with minced beef and rice and when the wine had come in litre sized screw top bottles because they were all broke and couldn’t afford the expensive stuff with corks. Everything had changed so much for all of them. She did her best to remember what she’d hoped for in those far off college days. Had she assumed she’d be utterly happy with a superb career or had she ever dreamed of anything else? She couldn’t remember. It was no good, she couldn’t enjoy herself. She felt out of synch with everyone. Catrina and Hugh were exchanging loving glances down the table all the time, Jay and Greg were in lover land and everyone else, bar herself, was well on their way to being drunk. At eleven, Sam decided it was time to go home. She finished her coffee and wondered how rude it would be if she were the first to leave. She’d hoped that she and Jay could have gone home together because she really wanted

to discuss her bouts of exhaustion and illness with her friend, but she couldn’t now. Getting Jay on her own would be impossible as she’d doubtless be glued to Greg in the taxi home too. ‘We’ve got an announcement,’ Catrina said suddenly, her eyes glittering with pride. Hugh beamed up the table at her. ‘You’ve been made partner!’ gasped Sam delightedly. ‘Oh Catrina, that’s wonderful.’ Both Hugh and Catrina laughed. ‘No Sam, you are such a workaholic!’ said Hugh fondly. ‘Catrina’s pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.’ Immediately, the table erupted with squeals of delight and congratulations. Everyone got up and hugged the happy couple. ‘That’s wonderful,’ Sam said genuinely as she held Catrina tightly. ‘I’m so happy for you.’ ‘Thank you,’ Catrina said. The more she looked at her, the more Sam was astonished she hadn’t copped on earlier. Catrina was blooming, so it wasn’t just a pregnancy myth. Her face glowed with joy and pride and her slim figure had the gentle swelling of the fourth month. Sam smiled wryly to herself. Trust her to come up with the career-orientated answer to Catrina’s announcement that she had something to reveal. People with real lives would probably have worked out what the news was instantly. Only career spinsters thought exciting news meant a promotion. After several bottles of champagne had been consumed to toast the baby, Sam finally said her goodbyes. ‘I’m sorry to be such a party pooper but I’ve a half seven meeting in the morning,’ she lied. It didn’t make her feel any better that nobody begged her to stay. She was now officially so boring that rooms lit up when she left rather than when she entered them. At the front door, Catrina and Hugh kissed her goodbye. ‘It’s such wonderful news,’ Sam said, standing on the

front step and holding Catrina’s hands. Her eyes misted over with the emotion of it all. ‘I’m so happy for you.’ Misreading the signs, Catrina gave her hands a squeeze. ‘Don’t worry, Sam, it’ll happen to you,’ she said comfortingly. ‘It’s not too late. We thought we’d left it a bit late but we were wrong.’ Sam’s heart missed a beat. Then it hit her: traumatized and divorced Andy wasn’t the only person they all felt sorry for. They felt sorry for her too. Everyone else was doubled up, secure in happy partnership and she was the cautionary tale, the woman who’d been too busy for a man and family, the lonely working woman with nothing but a lifetime of meals for one and cosy nights in with the remote control to look forward to. For pride’s sake, she laughed heartily. ‘Me?’ she gasped. ‘Oh Catrina, you’ll be a wonderful mum but that particular path’s not for me. Bye,’ she said with added cheeriness. She waved exuberantly as she walked to the taxi, keeping up the bubbly facade. ‘I’ll phone soon. We must go shopping for maternity clothes!’ And she was gone, into the taxi and finally able to wipe the rictus of a smile from her face. The taxi driver pulled up outside the wrong house on Sam’s road and, as he was a bit deaf and it had taken several goes to explain where she wanted to go in the first place, Sam didn’t bother to correct him. ‘Great, thanks,’ she said tiredly, handing him the fare through the side window. She walked slowly up her road, too weary to even look into the lit-up houses of her neighbours. Hearing footsteps behind her, Sam felt momentarily nervous. She whisked round but the person running behind her wasn’t a mugger: it was a girl with long dark hair, wearing a big fleecy coat and high heeled sandals that weren’t much use for running in. She fled past Sam and as she did so Sam realized that the girl was the doe-eyed beauty she’d seen with the man next door, leaving his house after the party. And that she was crying.

Honestly, Sam thought, it was like having a soap opera next door. One minute, stunning girls in silver dresses left the house, the next, they ran back in sobbing their hearts out. The girl was banging on the front door by now and Sam watched with interest as it opened and he appeared. At least he had his shirt on now, Sam noticed tartly, as she passed by and opened her own gate. ‘Maggie?’ he said as the girl collapsed into his arms. ‘My poor girl, what happened?’ Sam banged the gate loudly. The neighbourhood was really going down. No other residents lived their lives in public. At the sound of the gate banging, he glanced up and saw Sam. His brows narrowed at the disapproving expression on her face. Sam sniffed, stuck her nose in the air and ignored him as she got her keys out of her handbag. As if she cared what age his girlfriends were. She opened the door quietly. ‘Stop making noise,’ roared Mad Malcolm from the top floor. ‘Oh shut up,’ roared Sam back. If he dared come out while she was going up to her apartment, she’d kill him! At home, she slopped some soluble painkillers in a glass with water. What a crap evening. She’d discovered that her best friends had gone on holiday without even mentioning it to her. She’d had to witness love’s young dream in Catrina’s house and more love’s young dream next door. Well, love’s young dream and Mr Ageing Playboy. It was enough to make you sick and it was so unfair. Men could be lotharios at any age, dating women zillions of years younger than them if they wanted, but women were supposed never to get any older than thirty. It was all downhill afterwards. Sam thought grimly about the articles she’d read claiming that women’s sexual peak was in their thirties and forties.

So bloody what if it was? There was no one who wanted to have sex with them then. She knocked back her painkillers as if they were a shot of tequila, took a sleeping tablet for good measure and went to bed.

The next morning was Saturday. Sam was up early and had her morning coffee sitting on the window seat that faced the street. Half-leafing through the paper, she spotted people walking down the next door path. Him. And the girl, although this time she was wearing baggy jeans that were way too big for her and had been turned up at the bottom. His jeans. How cute, Sam thought sourly. How bloody cute. She’d bet a tenner the girl had wandered round all morning in one of his shirts and nothing else, long tanned legs appearing endless under the shirt tails. If he owned a proper shirt, that was. Wasters like that didn’t. They owned expensive Tshirts they bought with money from their trust funds and they never had shirts because shirts meant jobs and idle rich layabouts thought that jobs, like taxes, were for the little people. Sam was pretty sure he was a waster. All the signs were there: wild parties, no visible means of support, girls coming out his ears. She hated people like that. After breakfast, she unearthed her running shoes, her sweat pants and a double-layered fleece that was perfect for running in when the weather was cold. She hadn’t had any exercise for so long, she was sure her legs would seize up before they’d even warmed up. Doing a bit of mental arithmetic, Sam figured it was nearly three months since she’d had a run, although at least she hadn’t put on any weight. Outside, the January air was icily fresh. The streets were filling up with people meandering off to leisurely Saturday lunches or doing their shopping. Sam breathed deeply and ran, trying to remember the rhythm she ran best at. It wouldn’t come. Running felt wrong and her body felt tired, clumsy. She persisted for a mile, refusing to turn back because she just couldn’t wimp out. But finally the weariness