Monday to Friday Man Page 19

  ‘I know men like him though. Young guys, they lead women on and . . .’

  ‘That’s not fair. You know nothing about Jack and he is not leading me on!’ I tell him that Jack’s taking me away before Christmas to a five-star hotel with a luxury spa. I hate myself for sounding so superficial but equally I hate Guy for pouring doom and gloom on my relationship. It’s between Jack and me.

  ‘Five stars,’ he says, but he’s not impressed.

  ‘I think Mari’s right. You’re jealous,’ I say, my heart beating fast.

  ‘Jealous?’ he splutters. ‘I’m not jealous!’

  Mari looks over at us again, knowing something is going on.

  ‘Finally I’ve met someone,’ I say, lowering my voice, ‘and I’m changing my life, I’m doing new things, and you can’t handle it, can you?’

  Guy grabs my arm and pulls me away from the shop. We walk briskly down the street. ‘Of course I can, it’s just I can’t see you two . . .’

  ‘What about you?’ I rise angrily. ‘Is your relationship going anywhere?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Here you are, criticizing Jack and me, but look at Flora and you! What’s right about her taking off the moment you propose?’

  ‘That’s not the same!’ But I can tell from his wounded expression that I’ve hit a nerve. ‘It’s none of your business, Gilly.’

  ‘Exactly. I don’t interfere in your relationship, do I, so what right have you got to interfere with mine?’

  I turn and run back towards the shop.

  ‘Gilly?’

  ‘I need to go back to work! Leave me alone!’ I push past Bob, who is heading out, and retreat back inside.

  Guy returns only minutes later. Mari senses the awkward atmosphere between us when Guy asks her if he can have a word with me in private.

  ‘Can we start again?’ He proposes calmly, taking me to one side of the room. ‘Besides, I left Trouble in the garden. Oh, and Mari, I have a confession. It was my fault. I broke the vase,’ Guy says.

  ‘No he didn’t,’ I tell Mari. ‘It was me. He’s lying.’

  ‘It was me, Mari, I distracted Gilly.’

  ‘No you didn’t!’ I tell him. ‘I take full responsibility Mari. I lost my balance on the ladder and . . .’

  ‘Yes, but you wouldn’t have done if . . .’

  ‘Quiet!’ Mari shouts at us.

  Shocked, we all take a deep breath. Mari shakes her head. ‘Take the afternoon off, Gilly.’ She stares at both of us. ‘Whatever’s going on between you two, sort it out,’ she finishes.

  Guy and I walk the dogs along Pimlico Road, heading for the tube, both of us quiet. My mobile rings, breaking the silence.

  ‘Can you talk?’ Jack asks down the line.

  ‘Go on.’

  On the telephone Jack insists that this party tonight will be fun. ‘Oh God, I’m quite tired . . . after last night,’ I offer as an excuse.

  Guy glances my way.

  ‘I feel like a night in,’ I say, realizing I haven’t had one in weeks. ‘Listen, you go.’

  Jack doesn’t like that idea.

  ‘I’ve got nothing to wear,’ I go on.

  ‘That’s perfect,’ Jack says. ‘Look, how about we ask Nancy too, it might be nicer for you to turn up with a friend?’

  I frown. ‘It’s too last-minute for Nancy . . .’

  ‘She can.’

  ‘What? You’ve asked her already? How come you had her number?’

  ‘You gave it to me,’ he says, not liking my tone. ‘Last night, in case I was running late or got lost,’ he reminds me. ‘Look, I tried to call you first but you were engaged, so I rang to thank her for last night, then thought she might like to come along too . . . it was a spur of the moment thing. In a way I felt sorry for her, after what that idiot did and I thought she might need cheering up.’

  I glance over to Guy. ‘Why didn’t you mention the party this morning?’

  ‘We were too busy arguing. Think about it,’ he beseeches. ‘Last night was pretty intense. I think we need to let our hair down, don’t you?’ he suggests.

  I look at my watch. It’s three in the afternoon. Nancy said yes. I don’t know why it irritates me so much that she’s going. I guess I have time to find an outfit. I think about the glossy magazine I was reading the other day, telling its readers how important it is to try out new things, that routines can be the death of us. ‘OK,’ I say determinedly. ‘Where is it?’

  When my telephone call has finished, I tell Guy that Jack has asked me to this party.

  ‘Sounds fun.’ He waits for me to say more.

  ‘The theme’s Playboy mansion,’ I mutter.

  ‘Sorry? It’s what?’

  Do something that surprises those around you, the article advises. ‘He’s asked me to a Playboy party,’ I declare as we stop at a pedestrian crossing.

  Guy breaks into a smile.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ I challenge him.

  ‘Nothing.’

  I laugh. ‘I don’t want to go.’ I come clean now.

  ‘Yes you do.’

  ‘I don’t.’ We cross the road. ‘I’m not sure about anything any more,’ I say, against the noise of the traffic and running on ahead.

  ‘Go, Gilly, you’ll enjoy it.’ He catches me up, slows me down and puts an arm around my shoulder as we approach the tube station. ‘Wait!’ he says, as I walk on ahead. ‘I’m sorry about earlier, the things I said about Jack.’

  ‘It’s OK. I’m sorry about what I said to you too, about Flora.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Why don’t I help you?’

  ‘Help me?’

  ‘Well, what are you going to wear tonight?’

  Practically nothing, Jack had said. I laugh. ‘I have no idea! God, I wish Jack had told me about this party earlier. I hate not having time to prepare! I’m no good at doing things spontaneously, Guy. I can’t even post a letter without checking it a million times before I shove it into the box,’ I say, standing in the middle of the pavement, Ruskin and I getting in everyone’s way. Guy takes me to one side.

  ‘You’ve lost me,’ he smiles.

  ‘I’m not going.’

  ‘Yes you are.’

  ‘I haven’t got anything to wear.’

  ‘Well, as it happens, I know just the place,’ Guy says in a tone that suggests he’s my new fairy godmother. ‘Come on, let’s go. This will be fun.’

  Guy has brought me to a smart fancy-dress shop in west London and I’m in the dressing room which is lavishly decorated with a rich velvet curtain, fur-lined stool and fancy mirror with cupids all over it. I squeeze myself into a minuscule scarlet halter-neck dress, pull up white fishnet stockings and slip on matching killer heels. Looking at myself in the mirror, I smile, wondering how Guy knows about this hidden place. I try to walk. Oh my God! How do people move in these? I love heels, but these are in another league.

  ‘I can’t come out.’ I call through the changing-room cubicle. ‘I look like a tart!’

  ‘That’s the whole idea,’ Guy says, Trouble perched on his lap, Ruskin at his feet. ‘Come on. The dogs and I are here to give you an honest opinion.’

  I open the curtain and tentatively reveal myself. Guy surveys me. ‘Six out of ten,’ he states.

  I look in the mirror. ‘Is that all?’

  He nods. ‘You need to own the outfit, not just be in it,’ he advises. ‘You look in pain.’

  ‘Right, Guy. I’m going to find something that blows you away.’

  ‘I look forward to it.’

  Soon I am trying on every single outfit in the shop. I greet Guy in a classic French maid outfit with sexy white suspenders and my modest cleavage bursting out of the tight black corset. I can hardly breathe as I pose provocatively in front of him. ‘Bonjour, monsieur.’ He laughs as I tickle him under the cheek with my pink feather duster. I tickle Ruskin too and he tries to eat it.

  Next I’m putting on a baby-pink fairy outfit. One of the assistants helps me with the wings
.

  ‘Getting hotter,’ Guy says, as I blow a fairy kiss at him. ‘Seven out of ten.’

  ‘I bet you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’ I call out, on the next costume.

  ‘Haven’t had so much fun in years,’ is his reply, as I rush out shaking Playboy cheerleader pom-poms. ‘I didn’t tell you. Nancy’s coming tonight.’

  ‘Nancy? Oh God. Why?’

  ‘Jack thought it’d be less frightening if I had someone to turn up with.’

  ‘You’re braver than I thought.’

  ‘How did you know Nancy hadn’t made the cake,’ I ask, poking my head round the curtain.

  ‘You know when I went to the loo?’

  ‘You were ages.’

  ‘I went out for a cigarette,’ he admits, ‘and saw the Gourmet Company boxes hidden in the garden. The paella wasn’t homemade either.’ I confess to Guy how Nancy’s always prided herself on her cooking. I wonder if Nicholas has known about the Gourmet Company all this time too. As I replay the cake episode in my head, I find myself smiling.

  ‘She’s always seemed so perfect, but there’s a chink in her armour,’ I conclude as I face him dressed in a satin waistcoat, bow tie, white satin gloves and a magician’s hat.

  ‘I’d say there were several chinks,’ Guy says as I put the hat on him and he shakes it off with a laugh. ‘I loved the hat you gave me, by the way,’ I add.

  ‘I’ll have to go back to Prague, buy myself another. But it suits you more than me,’ he concludes.

  I smile, wishing I understood why I am so drawn to Guy.

  ‘Breathe in,’ the assistant is urging me as I try on the last outfit.

  ‘I am!’ I giggle. This is ridiculous. I can’t pass myself off as a playgirl.

  ‘Fabulous,’ she says, ‘just don’t eat or drink anything. Or sit down. Or breathe.’

  ‘Come on,’ Guy demands. ‘I’m waiting.’

  ‘Patience!’ I shout.

  Finally I parade out in a silver dress with a fake fur trim. ‘Oh, you’ve forgotten these,’ says the assistant, placing a silver and white fur bunny headband over my blonde wig. She also hands me some feather things. ‘What are these for?’ I ask.

  ‘Tickle ties,’ she says simply. ‘You drape them around your prey.’

  According to the assistant, I am a platinum bunny. For once Guy is lost for words. ‘Well this is it, there’s nothing more to try on,’ I say, exhausted and irritable as I hold these bloody tickle ties. ‘This will have to do.’

  Guy pretends to listen to what Ruskin is saying. ‘He says you look hot. Cute.’

  ‘And what do you think?’

  ‘Ten out of ten,’ he votes, approval in his eyes.

  38

  As I get ready for the evening I wonder why is it so difficult to change. Despite Guy’s reassurance that I will enjoy tonight, the truth is that I’m not sure at all. I smile, remembering Dad being dragged off to salsa classes when all he wanted to do was lie in a deep bath with a cigar.

  Now that I’m thirty-five I do need to rethink my life because I haven’t changed my habits, big or small, in years. For example, like clockwork I always put my gym kit in the same changing-room locker, number ninety-nine. The one time that I did put my clothes in a different place, I was convinced they’d been stolen and alerted staff, furious since I’d just bought an expensive new anti-chlorine shampoo. Eventually it dawned on me that this time I had been forced to choose another locker because number ninety-nine had been in use.

  I always use the same hairdryer in the gym too, the one on the left-hand side of the first table in the downstairs area. It has to be on the left-hand side. When it comes to habits, look at the way our dog-walking circle meet under the oak tree so faithfully every morning. Why do we meet there, in a spot that blocks out all the sun? However, we are not the only people to be slaves to our routine. Guy and I have noticed Rita, the ex-mayor of Hammersmith, always feeding the squirrels in the park from her scooter, which is positioned, without fail, in exactly the same spot near the Polish memorial statue at the same time every day. Perhaps it’s true. We don’t think to change our routine, even when it comes down to when and where we are going to feed the squirrels.

  As I add the final touches to my outfit and slip on my bunny heels, I decide that it is time to change and I am going to start by enjoying tonight. Maybe Jack is exactly the kind of person I need in my life. I need to be spontaneous again, embrace being young and alive, and not be scared of the future. Jack’s right. Sometimes I question everything to such a degree that I often miss out on half the fun.

  Susie calls me, wanting to talk about the dramas of last night. ‘You’re doing what?’ she asks, when I know she heard me loud and clear.

  ‘Don’t laugh,’ I beg. ‘Give me some tips to get through the humiliation.’

  ‘OK, I’d buy the host a large present, not in cost but in size, and cover yourself up in it.’

  I smile. ‘What do you think of Jack by the way?’ I can’t help asking, since Susie hasn’t offered any commentary.

  ‘I like him,’ she says diffidently, ‘he’s very good-looking but . . .’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Listen, he seems fine,’ she repeats.

  ‘He’s booked us a weekend away next month.’

  ‘Great. Where?’

  ‘And Guy? What did you think of him?’

  ‘Oh, now he’s interesting,’ she remarks, her voice stronger. ‘Mark and I were talking about him. I thought he was lovely, nothing like what I’d expected but . . .’

  I wait.

  ‘We liked the way he challenged Nancy. He’s a good person to have on your side.’ She pauses. ‘I’m sorry but we couldn’t help laughing about the cake incident,’ she concludes, a smile in her voice.

  Nancy joins me in the taxi wearing a fabulous red diamanté corset with a flaming red wig. She looks amazing, like a femme fatale.

  During the journey I apologize for Guy’s blunder, reinforcing the fact that he truly hadn’t intended to show her up, but all Nancy is concerned about is making sure I believe her when she says that my birthday cake and the paella dish have been the one and only ready-made meal that she’s ever bought in her entire lifetime. So I pretend to believe her.

  ‘I can’t think what you have in common with him,’ Nancy says, as she reapplies her red lipstick and then shrieks at the taxi driver for going over a ramp too fast because her lipstick is now smudged.

  She then goes on to tell me that Nick didn’t mind not being invited by Jack tonight. He was happy to babysit.

  ‘He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on,’ she goes on. ‘You’d think he’d jump at the chance of seeing women in PVC corsets. He’s no fun any more.’

  Our taxi pulls up alongside a smart private house in South Kensington. We are ushered inside, into a wide hallway with a chequered floor, sparkling chandelier (modern) and paintings of important-looking though somewhat lugubrious aristocrats on either side of the walls. Nancy shows no sign of inhibition as she flings off her coat and hands it to the cloakroom attendant without as much as a thank you. I, on the other hand, peel my coat off self-consciously and thank him for the two of us.

  We hand over our invitations and a gentleman in black tie stamps a Playboy bunny print onto the back of our hands. I follow the noise downstairs. My knees are trembling and ironically I am pleased Nancy is right behind me, wafting perfume. ‘How’s it going with Jack?’ she shouts above the noise.

  ‘Great!’ I shout back.

  We walk into a crowded space packed with women in suspenders, corsets and fishnet stockings. I brush past a woman wearing just a thong with glitter wings on her back.

  ‘The trick is,’ Nancy whispers, as if she were a pro, ‘to keep on moving, then no one can latch onto you.’ Across the room stands a woman with blonde hair extensions, being photographed dressed in nothing but tassels on her bosoms, and I stand in awe at her self-confidence, unable to take my eyes away from her.

  ‘Cheap
Euro trash.’ Nancy dismisses her, after scrutinizing her from head to toe. ‘Men don’t like that. They like class.’

  Jack stands behind Nancy and me. ‘That’s an example of where less is not always more,’ he whispers to us. ‘Both of you, on the other hand,’ he says, looking at our outfits, ‘look incredible.’

  Nancy laughs flirtatiously as he leads us to the bar.

  Jack plies Nancy and me with drinks all evening, and when he’s out of earshot, I attempt subtly to ask some of his friends about Jack, his place in Bath and whether they know his family well. His colleagues mention how easy he is to work with, but that’s about as far as I get. I feel stupid digging around for dirt that isn’t there. I reach over to touch his arm and Nancy seems put out that I’ve interrupted their conversation. ‘Just off to the Ladies,’ I tell them both. I wrap my arms around Jack’s neck, Nancy irritably moves to the side. ‘When I come back, I want you to dance with me. Don’t move.’

  ‘Promise,’ he says and blows me a kiss.

  I enter the Ladies and see a couple of women surreptitiously approaching a cubicle.

  When I’m on the loo I hear the unmistakable sounds of snorting coming from next door. The first time I took cocaine was when I was at Manchester with Anna. It was three in the afternoon on a rainy Sunday and I can remember Anna chopping up this white chalky mess with one of her debit cards. When I tried it, it felt like nothing more than a strong cup of coffee, but I do remember feeling conspiratorial with Anna, as if we were doing something forbidden on a wet sleepy Sunday afternoon. Although it’s not my thing, nearly everyone in the media seems to do coke, though to my surprise I don’t think Jack does.

  Jack isn’t in the bar. There’s no sign of him anywhere. Where’s Nancy? I stagger down the dark stairs and into the musty basement, where everyone is dancing. I lurch through the sweaty throng, the room is spinning, my feet are trampled on, a woman crashes into me, drunk. People are kissing, pressed up against each other. I’ve had enough of this now and want to go home. Where are they? I scan the room frantically. I look at my watch. It’s past midnight. Maybe Nancy’s gone home, but how odd that she didn’t tell me? It’s too hot in here and I desperately need some fresh air. I make my way across the room, music booming in my ears. Someone or something latches onto my leg. I turn to see a man who looks like an Italian footballer, thighs like nutcrackers, behind me, his legs locked into mine, gyrating against me. Oh good grief! I try to detach myself, then gasp when a woman with blonde wig and an enormous cleavage hurls herself to the floor, right in front of me, and starts doing, let’s just say, acts of a highly sexual nature which encourage men to jump on top of her, including Mr Nutcracker Thighs. I’m pushed against two people groping each other like rampant teenagers. Rapidly I edge away and run upstairs, determined to retrieve my coat from the cloakroom and just go. I’m cross. I shouldn’t have come, and Nancy shouldn’t have left without me. As I hand my ticket to the curly-haired cloakroom assistant I hear muffled voices coming from the corridor.