Who's That Girl (9 page)

I'm sitting here in the kitchen, sipping my tea and trying to remain very cool, but my jaw is nearly on the floor. For the last year I've been reassuring myself that all couples in their thirties are like Miles and me, having grown-up, comfortable sex in bed on a Saturday night, with the odd scented candle and some massage oil if I remember.

But now this discovery that my best friend - i.e. other people my age - were 'getting in quickies'

on a daily basis before their kids came along is a bit worrying. Especially as recently I've been consoling myself that it doesn't matter if me and Miles don't have this incredibly passionate sex life, because once you're married, you stop having sex - anyway.

'Well, you know, it's like they say, "It's quality, not quantity," ' I say hurriedly. 'And Miles and I have really good-quality sex.' As I say that, I realise I'm sounding a tad defensive.

'I'm glad someone is,' she quips, pulling out a stash of colouring books and felt-tip pens for Ruby, while jigging Sam on her hip.

'Do you want me to do anything?'

'No, no, I'm fine.' She smiles, stuffing loose strands of hair into her ponytail. For the first time I notice she's got roots, which is so not Vanessa. She's the kind of person who was getting them touched up the day before she gave birth to Sam, despite all those warnings about dyeing your hair when you're pregnant. 'Nonsense,' she pooh-poohed. 'I didn't see Gwen Stefani with regrowth.' Which I was kind of impressed by, as I didn't think Vanessa even knew who Gwen Stefani was.

'What about another cup of tea?' I offer.

'Actually, I might have a glass of Pinot Grigio and sit in the garden,' she says conspiratorially.

'Fancy one?'

About to say yes, I suddenly remember I have to go back to the office before I can go home and change my mind. Maybe alcohol isn't a good idea. Plus I'm driving. 'Better not.' I shake my head.

'I've been drinking a bit too much wine lately. In fact, I might go on this detox my client Melody keeps recommending.'

'Another one?' Vanessa looks at me, agog. 'But you just did one.'

'That was ages ago,' I refute hotly.

'It was last month. I remember because you came over for dinner but refused to eat anything.'

'Oh, right, yes. That was the Lemonade Diet,' I say, remembering.

'Is there a Coca-Cola Diet?' she quips dryly.

'It's not that kind of lemonade,' I retort, but I can't help smiling. 'It's this special liquid made of maple syrup and freshly squeezed lemons. Melody kept raving about it, and it's in her new book, so I thought I should try it. And anyway,' I add, 'that was a cleanse.'

Vanessa pulls a face. 'And there's a
difference?'
Glancing at the empty wine rack, she pads over to the fridge.

'A big difference.' I nod. 'I interviewed this nutritionist when I was writing Melody's press release and she told me that a detox is cutting all the things that are bad for you out of your diet. Like, for example, wine and coffee and sugar.'

Tugging open the door of her huge stainless-steel fridge, Vanessa pulls a face.

'And a cleanse means not eating at all. Though usually you supplement with juices,' I add, as an afterthought. 'Though not orange juice obviously, as that's full of sugar, but you can do all green vegetables, such as celery, and maybe some broccoli, and aubergine. Actually, no, that's purple.'

'Sounds yummy,' she says sarcastically. Tugging out an opened bottle of white, she pulls out the cork. 'Though I think I'll stick with grapes for now. They're green.' A few drops trickle out into her wine glass and she tuts. 'Damn. That was the last bottle.'

'I can pop out for you if you'd like,' I offer.

The door bangs and I hear footsteps approaching in the hallway. George, the cocker spaniel, who's spent the whole time asleep in his basket, suddenly starts wagging his tail.

'I have a better idea. Why don't we both pop out?' she suggests.

'But what about the—'

I'm about to say 'children', but there's screams of 'Daddy' and Julian walks into the kitchen. Tall and handsome with thick, light brown hair and carrying a briefcase, he walks straight over to their chair and high chair and scoops them both up, much to their delight. 'Why hello, you terrible twosome!' he whoops, smothering them in kisses and blowing raspberries into their necks.

I watch fondly. Julian is so good with them, I think, and then I catch Vanessa's face and instead of a glowing smile at this contented picture of a happy family, she's got a pinched expression.

'You're home early.'

Julian stops blowing raspberries to look up at Vanessa. It's almost like he's just noticed she's there. 'I'm afraid I'm not staying. I just popped back for a fresh shirt. I've got to have dinner with a client. Totally last minute.' He pulls an apologetic face.

'Well, in that case I'm going out for a few minutes,' replies Vanessa.

'Out?' He frowns.

'Yes, Charlotte and I are going for a drink.'

'We are?' I say in surprise.

Still holding a child in each arm, he turns round and sees me sitting on a kitchen stool. I wave weakly, suddenly feeling like I'm in the middle of a domestic and wishing I wasn't.

'Oh, hi, Charlotte,' he says, a little awkwardly. 'I didn't see you there.'

'Hi, Julian.' I smile. 'How's work?'

Julian is a big-shot lawyer and is always working on some case involving millions of pounds and high-profile clients. In fact, a couple of weeks ago I was on the elliptical machine at the gym and I saw him on one of the TV screens, being interviewed outside the Old Bailey for the evening news.

'Pretty hectic. We're in court at the moment and the jury—'

Before he can finish, he's interrupted by Vanessa. 'Ready, Charlotte?' She throws me a look. I have the feeling it's more a command than a question.

'Vee, please, I've only just walked in,' he says tersely. 'I've got to leave again in half an hour.'

'I won't be long,' she says, grabbing her handbag from the countertop.

'Can't I just have a few minutes to unwind a little?'

That's it. She pounces on him. '
You
want to unwind a little? What about me? Do you never think I want to unwind a little?'

Sliding off my kitchen stool, I start to back out of the kitchen.

'What am I? An unpaid babysitter?'

Julian's face sets hard. He looks as if he's about to say something, but then reconsiders. 'OK, fine, go ahead.' He sighs and turns back to jiggling Sam and Ruby on each arm. 'Right, who wants to watch
Sponge Bob
?'

There's squeals of excitement. Vanessa throws him a scowl before marching ahead of me out of the kitchen and through the front door.

Chapter Eight

Sponge Bob
bloody
Square Pants
!' she grumbles under her breath. 'Can you believe it?' Outside, she turns to me for support and I grapple around for the correct reaction, which isn't easy considering I have no idea what she's talking about. 'Can you bloody believe it!' she insists, her face tight with annoyance. Vanessa can look quite scary when she gets mad. She gets this big crease down the middle of her forehead, and her nostrils flare.

On second thoughts, perhaps I don't actually need to know what she's talking about. I just need to agree with her.

'Um, no… definitely not,' I say loyally, and then for good measure throw in a '
Square Bob
indeed!' Complete with a loud tut. See, I can do the loyal best-friend bit.

'You mean
Sponge Bob
,' she corrects, glancing sharply across at me. Shit.

'Er, yes… of course… that's exactly what I mean,' I say hastily, trying to brazen it out, but I needn't have worried as she's not listening.

'He knows I don't like them watching too much TV. The odd half an hour is fine. I mean, I'm not one of those women who won't let their children near a television till they're going to university…'

She continues ranting as she marches ahead down the street, bag bouncing on her shoulder, arms swinging by her sides. I scurry alongside her. Vanessa is six foot in bare feet and she takes giant strides. I can barely keep up.

'… But it's not fair. I never get any time to myself. OK, I know I agreed to stop working and be a stay-at-home mum, but it would be nice if he could take both of them to the park sometime. Give me a bit of me-time. You know he's never looked after the two of them together? Sam is nearly thirteen months old—'

'So is there a place to get a drink nearby?' I interject brightly. Vanessa stops ranting momentarily and pulls a face. 'You see, that's the thing. He knows we're not really going for a drink.'

'We're not?' I look at her, confused.

'No. I'm not going to leave him to cope with both Ruby
and
Sam. It'll kill him. Well, maybe for ten minutes.' She smiles wanly. 'There's a Tesco Metro on the corner. I'll get a bottle of wine and take it back home.'

As we enter the chilly, air-conditioned, neon-lit frontage of Tesco Metro, Vanessa makes a beeline for the wine cabinet and swiftly picks out a bottle of Pinot Grigio. I get the feeling this is not the first time she's made one of these wine runs. There's no meandering up and down aisles looking for the wine section, minutes spent looking at all the different varieties before making a choice. It's a professional, quick-in-and-out job, and now we're at the cash register and she's pulling out her credit card.

'Oh, and I'll take a couple of these.' She plucks two family-size bags of Maltesers and throws them down on the counter.

Oh-oh. This is really not good. Vanessa started Weight-Watchers last month and has been doing really well. The last few times I've seen her she's been all about points, points, points. I look at the bottle of wine and the Maltesers. She must have a whole week's quota there.

'And a packet of twenty Marlboro Lights.'

'I thought you'd given up,' I say, trying not to sound like the disapproving, health-conscious, antismoking friend and sounding exactly like the disapproving, health-conscious, anti-smoking friend.

'So did I,' she says grimly, tapping in her PIN and snatching her carrier bag from the checkout girl, who looks rather terrified at the sight of the angry, six-foot, wild-eyed woman who's already lighting up a cigarette despite the large 'no-smoking' signs.

OK. Perhaps this is not the time to give her a lecture on the dangers of smoking. Instead as we're walking through the automatic doors and on to the pavement, I'm wracking my brains for something to say. Something light. Something to distract her, like for example, 'Look at that lovely painting.' I pause in front of an antique shop. In the window is a large oil-covered canvas. Vanessa puffs agitatedly on her cigarette. 'What, the one of the bull-fighter goring the bull to death?' she says, puzzled. 'You think that's lovely?'

Oh, shit. I hadn't even looked to see what it was.

Now I look closer, I see his large red cape flung wide, the swords in the bull's back, blood gushing from its neck. Ugh. It's horrible.

'But you're a vegetarian. I thought you'd hate it.'

'I do hate it,' I say hastily, shuddering with disgust. 'But it's got some… um… interesting use of brushstroke…'

'It has?' she asks doubtfully. 'Where?'

Me and my big mouth.

'Um… yes, look here…' I step right up to the window and peer through the glass. Vanessa joins me. I gesture vaguely. 'See? OK, let's go now.' I link my arm through hers and turn to lead her away, but she holds firm.

'Where? I can't see,' she grumbles.

You know when you've started something you wish you hadn't?

'Over there,' I say breezily, and then tug a little harder, but she's unbudgeable.

'I really can't see what you're talking about,' she snaps, being all passive-aggressive. See. That's one of the phrases I learned from my self-help books.

'Oh, well, never mind, let's go,' I cajole, noticing a couple of figures inside, standing in the shadows. One of them is an old man with white hair and a tweed jacket. Probably the owner, I think distractedly, as he picks up something and shows it to the
barman from the pub
.

'Oh God, not him,' I groan out loud.

'Who?' pounces Vanessa. I swear she has the reflexes of a cat.

'No one,' I mutter, putting my head down and quickly turning away from the window.

'Where? Inside the shop?'

Vanessa is one of those people who if you say, 'Don't look now,' will look. And she'll make it obvious she's looking.

'Ooh, him?' she exclaims, practically pressing her nose against the glass. Shit, he's going to see me. He's going to turn round at any moment and see my friend pressed up against the glass like one of those stuffed Garfields you see suckered to car windows. And me standing next to her like a right lemon.

He looks over. And sees me standing there like a right lemon. Fuck. As our eyes lock, I feel a jolt of embarrassment.

'Ooh, he's nice-looking,' she's now cooing approvingly. And loudly.

'
Nessy
!' I hiss. Hastily pulling my eyes away, I scoot a few shops down along the pavement, out of his view. My heart is thumping. God, what's got into me?

'What?' she says innocently. Reluctantly she gives one last look before following me. 'So come on, who is he?' she asks, catching up.

'Oh, no one. Just some barman I met the other night who was really annoying.'

'Are you sure? He looked kind of familiar. Actually, I think he's the husband of one of the women at Ruby's playschool.'

'Really?' Unexpectedly, I feel a beat of dismay. Which is ridiculous. Like I care if he's married.

'Um, maybe not.' She shrugs. 'Oh, I don't know. I don't know anything any more.'

She looks really down and I give her arm a squeeze. 'Vanessa, are you OK?'

'Not really.' She shakes her head. 'I think Julian is having an affair with his secretary.'

Boom. Out of the blue. Just like that. I glance across at her sharply, almost expecting it to be one of her black-humoured jokes, but she's totally straight-faced. So
that's
what this is all about.

'No way,' I say, leaping to his defence. 'Julian would never do that.'