7 Years Bad Sex (16 page)

Shelley took him to a secluded authentic Italian restaurant slightly off the beaten track. The scent of tomato sauce with oregano and melting cheese greeted them as they pushed open the door, and Alex’s spirits lifted. He could never turn down a pepperoni pizza, and this one promised to be excellent. Maybe he could bring Casey here the following day.

Feeling slightly more exuberant now that he was out of the flesh pot of the bar, he ordered garlic breads, pizza, and wine. Shelley took on a completely different persona in these more sedate surroundings. Gone were the glitzy accent and affectations, and out came a more down-to-earth girl with a very pragmatic outlook on life.

‘We ain’t gonna be shagging tonight, are we?’ she suddenly threw at him as they were waiting for pudding.

Alex shook his head, slightly surprised by her perceptive nature but glad to be off the hook. ‘No, we’re not. I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on. I was—I
was
looking for… um.’ He felt himself redden.

‘A shag. You can say it, I won’t be offended.’

‘All right then. I
was
out looking for a shag, but for all the wrong reasons.’

‘You on the rebound?’

Alex shook his head.

‘But you
are
single?’

Alex shook his head again. ‘It’s complicated.’

Shelley hiccupped with irrepressible laughter. ‘Isn’t it always, mate? But tell me this, is your name at least Alex?’

Alex grinned. ‘My name’s Alex, and I
am
from London. I didn’t lie about any of that.’

‘But you’ve got a missus at home. Is she pregnant?’

‘No. No, she’s not pregnant.’

Shelley was perplexed. ‘I don’t get it. What’s your problem? You don’t love her anymore?’

‘I love her very much.’

‘So she doesn’t turn you on?’

‘She does.’

‘So what then? Why are you out looking for sex when you have a lady at home who’s not pregnant, who you love, and who turns you on?’

‘That’s a very good question, Shelley, and one I’ve been asking myself all night.’

Shelley laughed some more. ‘Let me guess: It’s complicated.’

Alex looked at her thoughtfully. She was great fun to be with and easy to talk to. How much could he tell her? He opened his mouth to launch into a confidence, but the image of his band’s publicist popped into his mind.

From now on, your personal life is a closed book. Never tell anything to anyone, however friendly they seem. If I see details of your personal life splashed all over the social media, and they didn’t originate from me, I’ll eat you alive.

He grinned to himself. Emily was one forceful woman. He would never have thought that her stern warning would keep him out of mischief in this most random of circumstances. Nevertheless, he remembered her warning just in time.

‘It
is
complicated. More complicated than I can begin to explain.’ He spoke softly, and Shelley listened intently. ‘Anyway, I’m terribly sorry if I’ve led you astray. I really don’t mind what you tell your friends about… about how your night ended.’

Shelley pulled her mouth into a little moue, but her eyes smiled. ‘D’you know?’ she said. ‘D’you know, you’re a really kind man, and your woman is a lucky girl. Thank you for the meal and the chat. But I’m absolutely bloody knackered, so when we’re done here, I shall take myself home and sleep.’ She grinned broadly. ‘Wahey, I don’t have to hang out in a club until three a.m.’

‘Wow.’ Alex shook his head. ‘I had no idea that that’s how you party girls really felt behind that glitzy, exciting exterior.’

‘Oh, us party girls, we harbour all sorts of secrets, and not all of them happy.’ Shelley looked wistful. ‘But that’s a different story for a different man. What are you going to do now?’

‘Me?’ Alex recoiled, surprised by the question. ‘Same as you, probably. Go find my bed and catch up on some sleep.’

‘And the missus?’

‘Ah.’ He sighed deeply. ‘That’s a question for tomorrow.’

‘I am
so
intrigued. You’re like an international man of mystery. Of course, I don’t know if you’re international. Maybe only national.’ Shelley giggled. ‘And I’m drunk, even though I’ve only had a few glasses. Anyhoo—good luck with whatever it is that’s troubling you.’

‘Thank you, Shelley. And thank you for—well, for being there. Who knows what might have happened to me if it hadn’t been you coming my way.’

Shelley rose. ‘I don’t often say this to people because most people think I’m a bit of a dumb blonde, you know. But sometimes, the stars align right and events happen that work out perfectly later, even if you can’t see it at the time. So hang in there and have faith.’

‘That’s profound,’ Alex said gently. ‘And very beautiful. Thank you, Shelley.’

‘Bye, Alex.’ She kissed him lightly on the cheek.

‘Good night, Shelley.’

She left with an airy wave of her hand, and Alex lingered for a moment longer to finish up the wine. He felt like he had had a really lucky escape. And all right, so he hadn’t upheld his side of the bargain. He wouldn’t be able to tell Casey whether he could
do it
with a stranger. But he didn’t care. He had found out what he needed to know. He loved his wife truly, madly, deeply, and he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—stray. Even by mutual consent.

Chapter Ten:

 

Fancy New Friends

 

~Casey~

 

‘Eurrgh—rggghh. Ack.’

Casey drew a shuddery breath when the heaving finally subsided. She put down the toilet lid and rested her head on it. The coolness of the porcelain was soothing, but what she really needed was a long sleep or a hot shower.

After the lift doors had closed behind her, she had stared at herself in that gilded mirror for some time. A strange dizziness had settled in her head, and her stomach had started lurching. Casey had remained transfixed on the spot until she belatedly recognised the symptoms for what they were. With only seconds to spare, she had managed to locate and enter her room, where she had been marooned in the bathroom ever since. And, at last, the nausea passed.

Casey continued to focus on her breathing to steady her nerves. That was what had brought on this attack of the hurls.
Nerves.
It wasn’t food poisoning or a bug, she was sure of it. All morning her stomach had been roiling uneasily, but when she had left Alex behind, matters had reached fever pitch. It was her nerves.

I can’t do this,
she thought, not for the first time.
I can’t. I can’t.

She sat up and leaned her back against the tiled wall, facing away from the toilet now that her stomach was well and truly empty.

I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. But oh, oh, I must. I promised Alex. It was my idea.

‘It was my idea,’ she said out loud. The sound of her voice was reassuring, and she continued talking. ‘It seemed like a good idea when we were safely back in London. But now that we’re actually here—’ She sighed deeply.

‘We must be mad. Maybe I should ring Alex and call the whole thing off. He didn’t want to do it either. But then again, we’re here now. We’ve come all this way, and we agreed on a plan. We
have
to find out.’

Casey shook her head. She would never admit this to Alex, but the curse idea was beginning to appeal to her. It would explain everything
and
take the responsibility for their plight away from them.

Reluctantly, she detached herself from the cool sanctuary of the bathroom and padded into the bedroom—the very
blue
bedroom, as suggested by its name—to find her phone. She curled up in the armchair by the window overlooking the sea and launched the Internet search engine. Until now, she had only taken Liza and Sasha’s word for it. She had only read a little of the article they had showed her. She hadn’t dared to investigate further, but perhaps if she did, she would find some answers.

Her searches for ‘seven years bad sex curse’ didn’t yield any information beyond what she had already been told. There was no indication of how to undo such a curse in any of the articles Casey read.

After a while, she decided to change tactics. A more general search on ‘undoing curses’ yielded a barrage of information ranging from simply refusing to believe in the curse to instructions for performing ‘candle magick’ and other, more complex ‘reverse hexes’. All of it sounded bizarre and surreal to Casey, and she was astounded at the amount of people who took this stuff seriously.

She closed her phone and looked out the window, digesting the new information she had gathered.

‘So, if the most powerful counter-curse is to simply refuse to believe in curses, we’re already there. We’ve never believed in it, not really.’

Or have we?

‘With that, either the disbelief strategy is not an effective counter-curse, or we’re quite simply not cursed to begin with. Which is what we’ve said all along.’

The mind boggles.

Casey sighed. ‘This is going nowhere.’ She stared out of the window some more. The sea shimmered and glinted silver against a pale horizon in the late afternoon sunlight. Seagulls wheeled overhead, their mournful cries carrying softly on a light breeze. On the beach, families were busy flying kites, playing games, and splashing by the water’s edge. A few adventurous souls were even having a swim. The scene was tranquil and suffused with happiness, at least from a distance, and Casey wished she could simply ‘magick’ herself into one of those lives.

Of course, she couldn’t do that. But even the simple act of observation calmed her troubled mind, and eventually she was able to focus once more on the task at hand.

With sudden urgency, she abandoned her position by the window and started the shower running. If she was going out tonight, she would need to wash away every trace of her sickness… plus every trace of Alex on her skin.

 

An hour later, Casey was walking along the promenade towards the pier. She had glammed up, but not excessively so. She would
try
, but she wasn’t desperate. It would either work—or it wouldn’t. For one second, she wondered how Alex would be getting on, but she quashed that thought before it could take root. Now was not the time to think of her other half.

Setting one foot in front of the other, she debated where to go. The obvious place would be a bar or a club, but Casey wasn’t in the mood for loud music, stale air, and sweaty bodies. Besides, what if she bumped into Alex? In all their planning, they had never considered dividing the city into two halves—a his half and a hers half—so that they could exclude the possibility of ending up in the same place.
Where would Alex most likely go?

‘A club for sure,’ Casey said to herself. ‘Ergo, I’m going to stay away from clubs. And pubs. And anyway…’

Her stomach gave an audible rumble. Evidently it had recovered from its earlier unhappy acrobatics. Casey laughed at herself. ‘Yes, I probably ought to eat something.’

The thought of food lodged in her mind and couldn’t be displaced. As she kept moving further and further away from the main town centre, she let her eyes explore the frontages of the more exclusive hotels and restaurants on this stretch of promenade.

And then she saw the perfect place. Its blue neon sign winked at her like a beacon promising food as well as a safe haven. Peter’s Place, it was called. She remembered seeing it featured in a magazine a little while back. Tonight, she would dine exquisitely, but she wouldn’t pull. She would
probably
stick out like a sore thumb, but she didn’t care. In Peter’s Place, she would be safe. After all, Peter’s Place was an extremely trendy
gay
bar.

Her feet were miles ahead of her decision-making process, and she was eagerly stepping up to the host’s desk before her brain had quite caught up with her.

‘Table for one, please,’ she smiled.

The maître d’ looked at her inquisitively but didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘Certainly. For drinks or to dine?’

‘To dine, please. I’m starving. Oh, and I’d love a table by the French windows, if you have one.’

The maître d’ tilted his head. ‘You could sit on the terrace, if you like?’ He indicated the open space in front of the restaurant.

Casey shook her head. ‘I’d—I’d rather be inside, if that’s possible. But kind of nearly outside.’ She felt herself blush, although she couldn’t fathom why she should be embarrassed.

‘Inside, but kind of nearly outside,’ the maître d’ repeated calmly. ‘I see. No problem. Follow me.’

He picked up a menu and a wine list from his stand and led Casey to a table for two by one of the wide-open French doors giving onto the terrace.

‘How’s this?’

‘Perfect. Thank you.’ Casey thought her face would split in half with her smile of relief.

‘Lovely. Your waiter will be with you shortly.’ The maître d’ set down the menu and whipped away the second table setting in one smooth movement before Casey could say, ‘don’t bother.’

‘Here you are, ma’am. I trust this meets your requirements, and I hope you enjoy your evening with us.’

‘I’m sure I will.’

The maître d’ retreated, and Casey let out a deep breath. The restaurant was stunning. The walls were painted a stark white but textured with wide, blackened beams. Fairy lights were trailing down each beam, softening the heavy appearance and suffusing the restaurant with a magical glow. The tables were laid with crisp, white linen and expensive crockery and cutlery. Along one side of the restaurant, the bar was a riot of colourful spirit bottles balanced on glass shelves reflected in floor-to-ceiling mirrors, making the area seem twice as large as it actually was. The overall effect was one of understated glitz, extremely tastefully done. Casey loved it.

As for people—the place was filled with impossibly beautiful, groomed, and fit-looking men, and that was only the staff! The clientele was arriving in small groups of twos and fours who were quite possibly even more delicious than the staff. Bolstered by the knowledge that they were all off limits to her, Casey allowed herself to people-watch unashamedly. It was like feasting on the most extraordinary buffet without any fear of the consequences.

As the thought of feasting entered her head, Casey had to force herself to let go of the eye candy so that she could peruse the menu long enough to choose some food. After a small moment of deliberation, she settled on the muscles—
mussels! Pull yourself together, Casey!
—followed by medium-rare fillet steak with potato Dauphinoise and tiny spears of asparagus, and Peter’s special spotted dick to finish. The latter promised to be a white chocolate mousse studded with succulent raspberries and blueberries.

‘Goodness,’ she exclaimed to the waiter—Jim—who took her order. ‘Your menu is certainly stuffed with extraordinary—’

Innuendo!

‘—choices.’

‘It is that.’ Jim smiled like he had read her subtext. ‘Peter, the owner, has a wicked sense of humour. You’ll see when the food arrives.’ He winked.

‘I’ll look forward to it,’ Casey smiled. She settled back to wait.

For a few minutes, she looked out to sea and allowed herself to absorb the atmosphere. But as the restaurant began to fill more and more, she became a little self-conscious. People-watching turned out to be a bit challenging when you were conspicuous by your very difference, and she kept making accidental eye contact with men whom she had intended to observe discretely. Her face was starting to ache from her permanent sorry-I-didn’t-mean-to-stare smile, and she gave up. She pulled out her tablet and called up a book.

No sooner had she finished a couple of pages than her starter arrived. She suppressed a laugh. Jim hadn’t been kidding when he said the restaurant owner had a wicked sense of humour.
Dirty
might have been a more appropriate description. The mussels themselves came in the obligatory black pot brimming with marinière sauce—nothing out of the ordinary there. However, the bread that accompanied it was another matter. An artistic baker had moulded a bread stick with an acorn-shaped protrusion at the top and two round dough balls at the bottom. Owing to this substantial base, the highly suggestive arrangement was, in fact, upstanding by its own accord.

Casey gazed it at for several seconds, debating whether it would be rude to take a photo and whether, in fact, she would even dare to tear a piece off. Or at which end she would start if she did.

‘I’d start from the top,’ a male voice broke into her thoughts.

‘Of course you would, you dirty soul. Me, I like to grasp things by the balls,’ a second male voice teased the first.

Casey looked up. A couple of handsome men towered above her and regarded her with amused eyes. There was a subtle flamboyance about them that was intriguing. Little details like the flowery cufflinks and the red patent leather shoes hinted at an extravagant mindset and a certain
joie de vivre
. Casey had to stop herself from staring.

Before she knew it, a little devil spurred her on. If it was double meanings and dirty puns they were after, she could spar with the best of them.

Very deliberately, she picked up her dough stick and dipped the tip deeply and repetitively into the marinière sauce. When she was satisfied that the bread had absorbed enough of the fragrant white wine creaminess, she lifted it up again, watching with feigned fascination while a few white drops oozed their way back into the bowl. Slowly and provocatively, she put the bread stick between her teeth, bit, and chewed. She let out a little moan of pleasure and swallowed.