A Girl Like You (15 page)

‘
Oh, right. Got it.
’

‘That’s odd,’ says Skinny Jeans. ‘Since I was wearing nothing at all when you left my room without saying goodbye . . . let’s see, seven weeks ago?’

‘Um, yes. Well, you know . . .’ I trail off. Come on, Robert, I think desperately.

‘
I’m sorry, were you planning on making me breakfast in bed?
’ says Robert. Yes! Make a joke!

‘I’m sorry, were you planning on making me breakfast in bed?’ I say.

Skinny Jeans grins.

‘Scrambled eggs? Toast? On a little tray?
’

‘Scrambled eggs? Toast? On a little tray with a rose on it?’ I say.

‘
Don’t fuck with my script
,’ says Robert, which makes me grin slightly more broadly.

‘Find yourself hilarious, huh?’ says Skinny Jeans.

‘I’m a great audience,’ I reply, without thinking.

‘
Cute line
,’ says Robert.

‘Well, whatever . . .’ says Skinny Jeans. ‘I had a good time anyway. I was just . . . surprised not to hear from you.’

‘
I’m sure you got over it
,’ says Robert.

‘I’m sure you got over it,’ I say, in a slightly teasing tone.

‘I don’t know why I expected a girl like you to want to see me again, anyway,’ says Skinny Jeans, half to himself.

‘What does that mean? A girl like me?’

‘Cocky. Funny. Hot,’ he says.

I start laughing. ‘I was
so
nervous on our date . . .’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘You
were
?’

‘
Don’t talk about feelings . . . talk about booze
,’ instructs Robert.

‘Have some more wine,’ I say. I fill up his glass as slowly as I can, and then mine. How long can three minutes possibly last?

‘Do you remember rubbing the fat guy’s tummy for luck? Holy shit, that was hilarious.’

‘Uh, yeah,’ I say. I do remember it, kind of.

‘And singing all the words to
Smokey Joe’s Cafe
in that kebab shop on Portobello Road? And getting everyone in the shop to join in?’

‘Erm, yeah, that was smashing.’ Nope, don’t remember that at all.

‘
You are one classy lady
.’

‘It was one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time,’ says Skinny Jeans.

‘Yeah . . .’ I say doubtfully. ‘What are you doing here, anyway? You don’t strike me as the speed dating type.’

‘I lost a bet with Alfie,’ he says. ‘You met him at The Cow that day . . .?’ Waistcoat Guy, I think, nodding. ‘I said to him that if you didn’t text me back then I’d try speed dating, because I’m officially the worst single man in London.’

‘You’re not!’ I say. ‘I mean, it wasn’t a bad date. I was just . . .’

‘Don’t say you were drunk! It’s the biggest post-sex insult ever.
’

‘. . . drunk, I mean drinking, a bit more than I ought, and I was, uh, cringing at the thought that I’d been a nightmare date.’

‘No. You were great,’ says Mark/Skinny Jeans.

‘
Actually, the biggest post-sex insult is “we did?”
’ says Robert. ‘
But that’s another story
.’

I laugh out loud and quickly turn it into a girlish giggle and try to focus on Skinny Jeans. ‘Well, anyway. It’s nice to see you now.’

‘You too,’ he says. ‘Any chance of a second date?’

‘
This is a second date
,’ says Robert.

‘This is a second date,’ I say. Good time-buying, I think.

‘Then . . . a third?’ he says.

‘Sounds like fun. Have your people call my people.
’

‘Sounds like fun,’ I repeat. ‘Have your people call my people.’

‘I get it,’ says Skinny Jeans, laughing to himself as the bell rings again. ‘You are one tough customer.’

I’m so not, I think, but I grin at him and take a long slug of my wine. Thank God that’s over.

‘Thank you,’ I whisper into my earpiece.

‘
Pleasure
,’ Robert replies.

Next I have to sit opposite Henry. He interrogates me about Charlotte and Robert starts giving Henry advice through me. After that, the rest of the dates are pretty easy. Robert is mostly quiet – in fact, for a moment I think he’s dropped off to sleep until he sneezes very loudly and I squawk in surprise, scaring the guy opposite me half to death.

‘
Anyone worth a date
?’ says Robert as I finish date 18 – or is it 19? – pour myself another glass of wine and sit back with a happy sigh. This is easy!

‘No,’ I mutter. ‘I need to get out of here, soon. Let’s get drunk.’

‘Abigail,’ says a deep voice, and I look up to see Joe, Peter’s brother, walking towards me. Fuck.

‘Joe . . . hi,’ I say, all thoughts of Robert forgotten.

‘I’m just coming over to tell you that I’m not going to sit opposite you for three minutes, so you’re saved,’ he says.

‘Fine,’ I say.

‘
What an asshat
,’ says Robert in my ear.

Joe nods and gives me a look of utter disdain.

‘I didn’t do anything wrong, you know,’ I say involuntarily.

‘
What
?’ says Robert.

‘What?’ says Joe.

‘I didn’t do anything wrong. With Peter. I broke up with him, but I didn’t hurt him and he’s fine, he’s totally fine, right?’ I stammer hopefully.

‘I’m not telling you how my brother has been since you walked out on him, without so much as a backward glance,’ he says, every word dripping with contempt. ‘But I want you to know something. He had an affair. Two years ago. With a girl he worked with. He ended it because he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting a girl like you, even though he loved her. And she’s with him in Thailand now.’

‘
Fuck off
,’ says Robert.

‘Fuck off,’ I repeat, and immediately clap my hand over my mouth. I didn’t mean to repeat that, it just came straight out because I was too shocked to process what I was saying. I stand up, my eyes filling with tears. Peter had an affair. And Joe hates me enough to tell me.

‘I, uh, I, uh, I’m going d-d-downstairs,’ I stammer, picking up my bag and wine and hurrying past Joe.

‘See ya,’ he says.

I stumble down the stairs, trying to stop the tears that are welling up in my eyes.

‘
Abby? Are you OK? Abby? Say something . . . Do you want me to come down there and punch that guy?
’

‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ I say, stalking through the bar to the front door, ripping out the earpiece as I go. ‘I’m hanging up. I’m having a fag.’

‘
But you don’t smoke
—’ says Robert, as I pull the earpiece out. Peter had an affair. At the same time that I was trying to ignore the fact that I felt like something wasn’t right, like the relationship was missing something, but thinking that I should do my best and keep trying and above all not hurt him because I was responsible for his happiness, he was banging someone else on the side. How stupid I must be. When I broke up with him he looked at me with his sweet, sad face and said ‘I’ll always love you, no matter what. Even if we’re not together.’ God, he must have thought I was so gullible. Just think! All that worry and uncertainty, the guilt about leaving a man who I thought was so fundamentally good and decent . . . who cheated on me. And Joe thinks I should feel bad because he didn’t want to hurt me? Why not just leave me?

What a fucking liar.

Maybe Plum was right. There are no good men. Only different degrees of bad ones.

I only smoke when I’m stressed and I am really, definitely stressed now. With trembling hands I put the coins into the cigarette machine, beg a lighter off the bartender, tear open the pack and am outside lighting up within 60 seconds.

Just as I exhale, and take a huge slug of wine, my own phone rings. It’s Robert again.

‘Abby, are you OK?’ says Robert, when I finally answer.

‘Yes,’ I say, my voice high and quivery.

‘Are you crying?’

‘No,’ I lie, as another tear escapes out the corner of my eye. ‘I’m just, I don’t know, in shock. Joe has a nasty vindictive streak . . . And he never liked me. Peter took me on a family skiing holiday the first year we were together and Joe hated it . . .’ I take a shaky drag. ‘Can you believe Peter had an affair?’

‘No,’ says Robert. ‘He’s clearly an asshat, too. And Joe probably fancied you.’

‘Yeah,’ I say, laughing and blotting tears with a tissue. ‘I wonder who she is?’

I suddenly remember a girl in his team at work, a sporty type I always thought was odd; she stared at me a lot but never started any conversations. I mentioned to Peter, after his work Christmas drinks one year, that I thought she was weird. He jumped to her defence, saying that she was just very shy. ‘I know who it is,’ I say now. ‘I mean, I know who she is. I’m sure it’s her.’

‘I wouldn’t waste any time thinking about it,’ says Robert.

‘I wonder how long it went on for,’ I say. ‘And how it started. And it ended. And how often he lied to me . . .’

‘Abby, darling, you’ll never get the answers you want,’ says Robert. ‘It will just torture you. You left him. You ended it, you walked away and you were loyal while you were with him.’

‘Yes,’ I say uncertainly.

‘So forget about it. Otherwise it will drive you crazy. Trust me,’ says Robert. I suddenly think about him and Louisa, and how the man she’d cheated on him with is now her husband.

‘What an asshat,’ I say.

‘Yes,’ says Robert. ‘He is.’

There’s a pause. Actually, I meant Louisa, I want to say, but don’t.

‘Thanks for calling back,’ I say.

‘Anytime.’

‘And helping me survive tonight. I feel like you’re my therapist sometimes.’

‘That’s what friends are for.’

‘Actually, that’s what
best
friends are for. You just got a promotion.’

‘Lucky me. And you didn’t even need me. Not really. You could have handled all of that on your own.’

‘Yeah, but our way was fun.’

There is silence for a few minutes. I take another sip of wine and hear Robert taking another sip of his. It’s oddly comforting.

‘I told you speed dating sucked,’ he says finally, and I start laughing despite myself. Fuck Peter. I am bulletproof.

‘Are you OK? What the hell happened with Joe? Let’s get out of here!’ exclaims Plum, bursting out of the pub and onto the pavement. ‘Can I have my phone back? Like, six guys want to ask me out! I’m saying no, of course. My heart belongs to Dan.’

‘Plum’s here,’ I tell Robert.

‘Good. I’m late to meet your sister and Luke for a house-warming party. Why don’t you come and join us?’ he says.

‘Maybe later, I have to talk to my homeboys,’ I hang up and turn to Plum, who is having trouble lighting a cigarette through the ecstatic smile on her face. See what I meant about the victori ous circle of self-assurance?

‘Hey chicks,’ says Henry, following her out with Charlotte by his side. ‘Would you stop running off and leaving us alone? You’re giving us a complex. That was shit, by the way. I don’t know why I let you talk me into it.’

‘Let’s get out of here,’ I say. ‘Anyone want to go for a few drinks? My shout.’

Chapter Nineteen

Speed dating left us all with post-traumatic euphoria. We found a new bar around the corner, took over a table and started to tell dating stories. Plum and I pressed olives in our cheeks and did our Stockard Channing imitations, Henry told a story about a friend of his who had a weekend in Ibiza that started with a small glass of white wine on the flight over and ended in being airlifted out by helicopter.

‘I’ve never been to Ibiza,’ said Charlotte shyly. She’s completely out of her shell; Henry’s puppyish openness seems to reassure her.

‘Neither have I,’ said Henry. ‘We’ll go together. What’s your favourite place to go on holiday?’

They’ve been flirting a lot. Henry is following Robert’s just-make-conversation tip, and Charlotte is twinkling back. Plum is in brilliant form, and I’ve laughed so much that my face is aching. Even the inevitable discussion about Peter doesn’t upset me.

‘Now’s the time to tell you, I never liked the guy,’ says Henry.

‘But . . . I thought that you got along!’ I say. ‘You always came over for dinner, and we watched rugby together . . .’

‘We did get along,’ he says. ‘But we were friendly. Not friends.’

‘You’re way out of his league,’ agrees Plum. ‘You smile so much more now.’

I put a small black olive over my incisor and grin at them all. There’s no point in talking about Peter. Or his brother. Who cares about the affair? I am bulletproof. Nothing affects me.

Another text arrives from Jon, the blind date guy.

Hey! Just checking you got my text earlier. I had an awesome night. Would really love to do it again. Jon

Delete, ignore, continue. To hell with karma.

And now we’re at the housewarming. It’s in a top floor flat in Notting Hill, and you can hear the party from the street before you even get in.

‘Raise the roof, raise the roof,’ sings Henry as we walk up the stairs, and does a little dance. Plum, Charlotte and I fall against the wall giggling.

As we walk in, the first person I see is Robert, propped in a doorframe with his arms folded, talking to a blonde girl wearing, frankly, way too many sequins.

‘Survive, did you?’ he calls to me, turning away from her.

‘Just,’ I say, and turn around to help the others with the wine that we picked up from the off-licence. Charlotte and Henry have already charged into the overcrowded kitchen, and Plum is talking to the guy who opened the front door for us. I turn back to Robert, and see the girl he was talking to gazing at the back of his head balefully, before stalking quickly down the corridor.

‘Your sequinned blonde is leaving,’ I say in a low voice, walking over to him.

‘She’ll be back,’ he says. ‘Come on, let’s find your sister. She’s pretty hammered.’

‘Thank you for tonight,’ I say. ‘Especially the Peter thing.’

He grins. ‘Enough with the thank yous. I’ve had experience in dealing with similar revelations.’

As we walk into the living room I’m hit by a tsunami of happy, party noise. There’s about sixty or seventy people in here drinking, whooping, dancing, smoking, laughing or shouting over each other. The music is turned up full blast and half the crowd is wearing wigs and sunglasses for no apparent reason.

It’s not one of those parties where everyone looks to see who you are and then dismisses you. It’s a party where you walk in and immediately feel like laughing for the delightful indulgent silliness of it all. I also immediately identify five girls wearing outfits I want to copy.

‘I was going to introduce you to everyone,’ says Robert. ‘But I think we’re one drink too late for that.’

We smile at each other for a second, but I’m quickly distracted by a guy charging into the wall next to me in an attempt to walk up it, à la Donald O’Connor’s ‘Make ’Em Laugh’ routine from
Singing in the Rain
. It fails miserably, and he crashes noisily to the floor.

‘Are you alright?’ I ask, leaning over him gingerly.

‘Did anyone see?’ he squeaks through his armpit, which is somehow over his face.

‘Um . . .’ I’m not sure what to say.

‘That’s JimmyJames,’ Robert tells me. ‘He’ll do anything for attention . . .’

‘I will NOT do anything for attention,’ says JimmyJames from the floor. ‘I draw the line at nuns and dogs.’

He grabs Robert’s proffered hand and pulls himself up with a bounce. Jimmy, I can now see, was built for power, not for speed. Or climbing up walls. He’s about my height and barrel-shaped, with scruffy brown hair.

Before I can reply, or ask why he’s called JimmyJames for that matter, I’m distracted by a shout behind me. ‘Sistaaaah!’

I turn around. It’s Sophie, uncharacteristically dancing on a coffee table to ‘Bust A Move’ by Young MC. She screams my name in joy and reaches her arms out to me, and promptly falls off the table. For a split second, I imagine her plummeting headfirst onto the floor and breaking her nose, too drunk to even put her hands out to stop herself, but a moment later Robert has caught her and places her safely on her feet. She doesn’t even seem to notice, and collapses happily into me. ‘I missed you so much!’

‘Thank you, oh my God, that was close,’ I say. Robert smiles and turns back to JimmyJames.

‘Tell me everything about speed dating!’ says Sophie. She doesn’t usually get drunk like this. Someone has been giving her shots.

‘Tomorrow,’ I say, shaking my head.

Sophie grabs my hand and makes me do the (rather pathetic) bendy arms breakdancing move we perfected as children. Laughing, I turn to look at Robert, but he’s staring at a very pretty girl, with big slanty eyes like a Siamese cat.

‘Robbie, can I have a quiet word?’ the girl murmurs in a husky voice. God, I wish my voice was deeper. I swear I sound about seven on my voicemail.

‘Olivia! Of course. I’d love to,’ he says. ‘Let’s go to the kitchen. Abby, do you want a drink?’

‘Lukey is over there, come and say hi,’ Sophie says, grabbing me by the hand.

‘Yes, and I’ll have anything,’ I call over my shoulder as Sophie leads me away. ‘I’m clearly too sober for this party,’ I add to myself.

‘Sobriety kills,’ says the guy standing in front of me. We make eye contact. Holy sensory overload of gorgeousness. I turn to Sophie to break eye contact with him.

‘Abigail, this is Dave,’ says Sophie.

‘Hello,’ I say, and – stunned into rudeness – turn quickly to Luke before Dave can say anything back. ‘Hi, Luke.’

‘Hello, nearly sister-in-law,’ says Luke, kissing me on the cheek, before dipping Sophie into a huge movie star snog. I have no choice but to turn back to Dave. Oh God. The handsomeness.

‘Can I interest you in a shot?’ says Dave. He has a bottle of tequila strapped to his chest in one of those water bottle holders normally used by runners, with six shot glasses on either side like bullets. In an iPod holster on his left arm is a small salt shaker, and he’s holding a plate of sliced lemons in his right hand. He’s clearly responsible for my sister’s present state.

‘You couldn’t rig up a contraption to hold the lemons with?’ I say. Hold it together, Abigail. His eyes meet mine and my face tingles painfully. I’m blushing.

‘I was hoping to strap this plate to a dwarf’s head,’ he says. ‘But my go-to dwarf is on holiday.’

‘Bummer,’ I reply, my eyes flicking up to meet his and then quickly away. Funny too. Shit. Come on, Abigail. Pull yourself together.

He’s just so
handsome
. Short dark blonde hair and extremely blue eyes that I can’t look into for more than a half-second. Very tanned, like he’s just been skiing or sailing or something. A huge smile that almost takes over his face. Tallish and fit, perhaps a little on the thin side, but as long as his jeans aren’t smaller than mine I don’t care. In summary, hot as hell. And probably out of my league.

‘Places!’ shouts Dave. Sophie and Luke stop kissing and stand to attention as he hands us all shot glasses from his holster, and fills them up with tequila.

‘I’m not sure that I like tequila shots,’ I say, thinking of that night with Skinny Jeans. Ew. Block it out.

‘No one
likes
tequila shots, Abigail, my darling,’ says Dave, raising an eyebrow. ‘Obviously.’

Lick hand. Sprinkle salt. Do the shot. Suck the lemon. As I shake my head at the disgusting taste, I look up and meet Dave’s eyes again. God. It’s like being punched in the stomach with – well, sorry, but it’s true – desire. I have never felt like this in my life. I bet we’d have that spark, if we kissed . . .

There is nothing cool or detached about me right now. In fact, I’m quite sure he can read my mind and it’s saying, in very large print:
I would like to be naked and in bed with you
.

I turn to Sophie.

‘You should call that guy! Jon!’ she exclaims. ‘I heard he really likes you. Did he text you?’

‘Uh, yeah,’ I say distractedly. ‘But I’m not into it.’

‘Can you make up a lie rather than ignore him? Like, that you’re getting back with your ex? At least he won’t have to wonder . . .’

‘Nah,’ I say. ‘Can’t be bothered. I told him I wasn’t looking for a relationship.’

‘You’re being mean. Apparently he’s really lovely . . . Oo! I ran a marathon today!’ she says proudly.

‘I thought it was a charity 5k in Hyde Park at lunchtime?’ I say. God bless drunk attention spans.

‘Whatever. The point is, I ran a long, long way,’ she says. ‘Then I went home to recover, then I met Luke for dinner at Bumpkin, and then Dave announced himself as the captain of fun,’ she says, hiccupping slightly. ‘It’s been a bit crazy ever since.’

‘No, no,’ Dave interrupts. He has a very self-assured way of speaking. ‘Captain Fun. Not the captain of fun. It’s a legitimate name. Abigail, you can see the difference, can’t you?’

‘Absolutely,’ I nod, again stupidly. I wonder if he heard that thing about Jon. At least he’ll know I’m single, right? (Does that sound desperate? Oh God.)

I charge towards Robert, who has just come in with two beers and no Olivia, hissing ‘follow me!’ as I reach him. The moment we’re in the corridor, I collapse dramatically against the wall.

‘Dave. You’re like, best friends with him, right? How have I never met him before? Is he single?’

‘Yes, why?’ says Robert. Then he clicks. ‘Really? Him?’

‘Yes, yes, he’s the first guy I’ve met since breaking up with Peter that I find just – argh, divine,’ I babble. ‘Tell me about him, does he have any deal-breaking faults? Is he nice to waitresses? Do you think he’d like me? Would he ask me out? I think I might take him as my lover.’

‘Your lover? OK, just relax, Abby,’ says Robert. ‘Dave is one of my oldest friends, I can help.’

‘You can?’ I say. ‘Yes. Please. If he’s your best friend, he must be normal! Isn’t this exciting? Finally, I know what I want! I want him!’

‘Just one thing,’ he says, pausing to think for a second. ‘Dave—’

A shout from down the other end of the corridor draws my attention, and I see Henry and Charlotte holding hands and heading out the front door.

‘Look!’ I say, grabbing Robert’s arm. ‘Henry and Charlotte!’

Robert nods. ‘I saw them doing a mating dance in the kitchen.’

‘So, what do I do about Dave?’

Robert thinks for a second. ‘Just ignore him. That’s the best thing you can do.’

‘Really?’ I say doubtfully.

‘Yes, definitely,’ he says.

Plum comes bounding up. ‘This party is awesome! I
beg
your pardon,’ she says before I can reply, turning around to face the guy behind her. ‘Did you just place your hand on my bottom?’

‘No . . .’ he says. He’s cute, in a beardy way. ‘Maybe. Can I get you a drink to apologise?’

‘I suppose,’ she says, and skips after him into the kitchen, turning to flash us a manic grin.

‘Come on,’ says Robert. ‘I’ll introduce you to everyone.’

The people at this party come not only from all over the country, but all over the world. A Greek girl called Aphrodite is teaching a Liverpudlian called Dylan how to say ‘I’m pregnant with your child’, an American who is, rather fabulously, called Vlad, is standing on a chair having a Cypress Hill song com petition with JimmyJames, and a Canadian guy called Matt asks for my number but then repeatedly calls me Jessica.

‘Where do they all come from?’ I say.

He looks around and shrugs. ‘That’s London for you. I guess JimmyJames and Dave are very good at making friends.’

I love it. As much as I enjoy the warmth of having friends I’ve known since I was 18, these people don’t know me as Peter’s quiet girlfriend, or the girl they always saw in the library, or Plum’s subdued friend, or Sophie’s less fun, elder sister. I have a blank slate. As a result I’m a bit louder and more confident than I’ve ever been before. I talk more and laugh louder. It’s brilliant.

Throughout all of it, I’m acutely aware of exactly where Dave is on the other side of the room, what he’s doing and who he’s talking to. I’m discreetly tracking him. He’s so good-looking and funny, and exudes confidence and charm. If he was to come and talk to me, could I be cool and detached? Would I clam up or babble? I have no idea. But I’m following Robert’s instructions and ignoring him.

Then I head into the kitchen for a refill. ‘You’re Robert’s flatmate,’ says the girl in too many sequins that I saw talking to Robert earlier.

‘Yes,’ I say, though it wasn’t really a question. ‘I’m Abigail.’

‘I’m Emma,’ she says. ‘I expect Robert’s told you about me.’

‘Oh, yes, Emma! Of course.’

Her eyes fill with tears. ‘He hasn’t ever mentioned me, has he? Bastard.’

‘Um, I’m sorry,’ I falter. ‘What . . . are . . . did he do?’ I can’t think of what else to say, though it’s pretty obvious what she’s upset about.

‘What he does to everyone,’ she says, flailing her arms wildly and spilling a little bit of gin on the floor. ‘Slept with me three times and then told me it was better we kept it casual.’

I grimace. That sounds like Robert alright. Though according to him, it’s always mutual, and the girl doesn’t expect anything else. Like hell.

‘He makes you feel special, like he’s going to look after you, you know?’ she says. She’s slipping into full rant mode. ‘And he always says how he’s not looking for a relationship but he’s so kind and sweet and hot and seems like perfect boyfriend material. But it’s all a front, it’s a game to him, he’s just a big fucking slut.’