Don’t You Forget About Me (29 page)

‘After all that exercise?’ protests Seb. ‘Come on, you must be starving! A ten-mile run burns off a ton of calories. You’re going to need to eat a lot of food to replenish your fuel reserves.’

‘I am?’ I squeak.

‘Totally,’ he says, serious-faced.

‘Well, if that’s everything,’ interrupts the waiter.

‘Actually, there is one more thing,’ I say, turning to him. ‘Could I order a bottle of water? A very large one.’

I brace myself. By the looks of things, I’m going to need it.

The rest of the evening slips away in an eye-watering blur of sizzling hot plates, tongue-scorching noodle dishes and more red-hot chilli peppers than you could shake Anthony Kiedis at. Each dish is hotter than the next and I have to keep dabbing my face with my napkin to stop the sweat from pouring down. At one point Seb is feeding me with chopsticks and I actually remember a story I once read about someone who died from eating a chilli.

But I’m resolute. By some amazing miracle I’ve been given a second chance at making Seb fall in love with me. I can’t waste that! I’m going to do this date differently if it kills me so, screwing up my courage and my taste buds, I try each and every dish. Thankfully I manage to survive and am relieved to make it back to Seb’s apartment where we cuddle up on the sofa.

Now this is more like it, I think, snuggling up to him.

‘Can I try the nook?’ I ask, tilting my face to his as he wraps his arm around me.

‘The what?’ Seb peers at me, his brow crumpling questioningly.

‘You know,
the nook
,’ I repeat, then seeing his blank expression, reprimand teasingly, ‘Don’t you know what the nook is?’

‘Erm, no,’ he replies, looking vaguely amused. ‘Should I?’

‘Absolutely,’ I admonish.

‘I’m a fast learner,’ he smiles, a glimmer in his eyes.

‘Well, in that case . . .’ I twist my body around and nudge my shoulder underneath his armpit, wriggling my body into the gap between his ribcage and the crook of his arm. I used to love lying in the nook with Seb. It’s one of the million things I missed so much when we broke up. ‘It’s this space right here, you see, a little hidden spot that you can fit right into – that’s why it’s called the nook.’

Only for some reason, now it doesn’t seem to quite fit. Which is really odd, I think, feeling slightly disconcerted.

‘Are you sure about this?’ he laughs. ‘Maybe we need a cushion,’

‘No, you don’t need a cushion,’ I say, wriggling a bit more.

‘Ow, I hurt my shoulder at the gym,’ he winces.

‘Oh sorry,’ I apologise, quickly adjusting my position. ‘Is this OK?’

He fidgets for a bit. ‘Yeh, it’s fine now,’ he says. ‘You?’

‘Yeh, fine,’ I nod.

Though to be honest it’s not as comfy as I remember. In fact, to tell the truth my neck’s now twisted at a funny angle and my arm’s a bit squashed. A bit like after you’ve had sex and you’re lying curled up together and your arm goes numb but you don’t want to say anything.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter, as I soon forget all about the pins and needles tingling in my arm as Seb starts kissing the side of my face. ‘You know, I find a girl who can eat hot spicy food like you can very, very sexy . . .’

‘Really?’ I feel a thrill.

‘Totally,’ he murmurs as he runs his fingers underneath my dress. ‘Wow, what’s this?’ he says approvingly, as he discovers my new basque.

‘Do you like it?’ I smile flirtily.

‘Like it? I
lurvve
it . . .’ He trails off, his breath hot and ragged in my ear.

‘Mmmm.’ I lie back, happy with anticipation and pleased at the effort I’ve made. His hands move up my thighs and I feel a shiver of anticipation. God, I love this bit.

He starts kissing me, and it’s all getting hot and heavy when suddenly my stomach makes a growl.

‘Ooh, sorry,’ I giggle with embarrassment, but he shushes me with his lips and starts kissing me deeper.

The excitement heightens, and he starts kissing those delicious erogenous zones behind my ears. I let out an involuntary moan.

And a loud burp.

Oh my god, I’m so embarrassed.

I quickly cover my mouth, but thankfully he’s so engrossed he doesn’t appear to have noticed and I abandon myself to the feeling of his lips on my breasts as he starts to unlace my basque. I can feel him hard beneath my inner thigh. I can feel his urgency.

Then I feel something else. A sort of rumbling.

Oh no.

Please
, no.

I can hardly bear to think the thought. One way of putting it would be that I’m a little gassy. Another would be that
I need to fart
.

Horror flashes through my body as I desperately try to hold it in, but now I can feel another rumble brewing. It’s all that spicy food. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten it. I can’t eat spicy food. My stomach hates it.

And now it’s payback time. I flinch with terror as Seb reaches for my French knickers and tries to peel them off.

I cling onto them desperately.

‘Playing hard to get?’ he grins, tugging them harder.

‘Um, something like that . . .’ I try to giggle in a nonchalant, sexy way, while clenching my buttock muscles tightly. My stomach gives another rumble. Louder this time.

Somewhere in the recesses of my brain, I remember a bit of mindless information about how a volcano rumbles for approximately five minutes as a warning before it erupts.

Oh Christ. I’m going to erupt.
Like a volcano
.

For a few moments more, I try to focus back on having sex with Seb. I’m a seductress, remember! I need to prance around in my basque! Jumping up from the sofa, I get up to do a bit of prancing while Seb settles back on the sofa, arms behind his head. ‘Mmm, sexy,’ he murmurs approvingly.

I give a little appreciative wiggle. Then I realise something else. Something much
much
more terrifying than any volcano.

It’s not just gas.

‘Sorry, I won’t be a moment, I’ve just got to—’ I don’t even get to finish my sentence, or register Seb’s surprised face as with my legs crossed I make an awkward dash across the living room.

Argh. I need the loo. Quick!

Chapter 23

‘That’s so strange, I must have caught a bug from somewhere.’

Fast-forward to Sunday morning, and I’ve just crawled back into bed after spending the last twelve hours doing a relay between the bedroom and the bathroom. Last night my stomach staged a revolt from all that spicy food and I was held hostage on the loo for hours at a time. At one point I actually fell asleep with my head in the sink.

But of course I can’t admit the truth to Seb, can I?

‘There’s probably a virus going around,’ he nods sympathetically, passing me a glass of water and two aspirin. ‘It’s that time of year. Here, take this.’

‘Thanks,’ I say gratefully, giving him a little smile and taking a sip. There’s an ominous growl from my abdomen, rather like when a dog bares its teeth to warn you it’s going to attack. I brace myself. Oh no, please god no. I know I wanted to do things differently, but I think maybe this time I went a bit too far. Making Seb happy is one thing, but making myself ill is something else.

Still, he is being very sweet, playing nursemaid and looking after me. I’m a very lucky girl to have such a caring boyfriend.

‘OK, well I better dash,’ he says, checking his watch.

I feel a beat of surprise.
He’s leaving?
‘Where are you going?’ I ask as he pads quickly across the bedroom floor and disappears inside his walk-in wardrobe.

‘For my run,’ he replies, his voice muffled, before reappearing a few seconds later in his tracksuit. ‘I know we were going to go together, but now you’re sick . . .’ He trails off.

‘Of course, you go ahead.’ I force a bright smile. The only running I’m doing now is in the direction of the loo. ‘So when will you be back?’

‘Probably later this afternoon. I’m going to hit the gym afterwards, do some weights, have a sauna. I like to do a proper workout at the weekends.’

‘Oh, I see.’ For some reason I was assuming he’d only be gone an hour. ‘Well, have fun, and don’t worry about me,’ I set about reassuring him, along with myself. So what if Seb isn’t going to stay home today and keep me company? I’m not disappointed, I totally understand. OK, I admit, if the tables were turned I wouldn’t leave him, but girls are different, aren’t they?

‘You should just stay in bed, watch TV.’ He gestures to the giant flat screen pinned on the wall of the bedroom.

‘Yes, I will,’ I nod. Actually, maybe it will be nice to be home alone. Watch TV. Rest. I still feel physically weak and want to stay near the loo. I don’t want to be caught out like last night.

As my memory flicks back, I give a little shudder. I can still barely think about my expensive sexy new lingerie. It’s lying ruined, hidden in the bottom of my handbag as I wasn’t, how shall I put this delicately,
quick enough
. I swear, spicy food should come with a government health warning: ‘Could seriously damage your sex life
and
your underwear.’

‘Oh, before I forget, I’ve got a friend’s wedding coming up and I wondered if you’d be my guest,’ he asks casually, doing a hamstring stretch.

‘
A wedding?
’ At the mention of the word, all thoughts of my ruined underwear are forgotten and I feel a rush of delight. He’s asking me to accompany him to his friend’s wedding.
Already.

‘Well not really a friend,’ he qualifies, ‘more a colleague.’

My mind is racing ahead. Who cares whose wedding it is? Everyone knows a guy has to be really serious about you before he invites you to a wedding. It’s an unspoken rule. You don’t take your girlfriend to see another couple waltz up the aisle unless you want to follow them up there. It’s like a public declaration – you might as well put an announcement in
The Times
which says, ‘Here she is, everyone, my future wife!’

‘When is it?’ I ask, trying not to look too excited. Gosh, I wonder what I should wear? I’ll need to get a new dress. And some new shoes.

‘A week from Wednesday, but it’s just a lunchtime thing at a register office. They’re both lawyers and have afternoon meetings scheduled . . .’ He lets go of an ankle and bends his body in a side stretch. ‘What do you say?’

Oh wow, yes, I’d be delighted, what time shall we meet, do I need to get a gift . . . ?

The words are stacked up on the runway like aeroplanes about to fly out of my mouth when suddenly I remember the last time we went to a wedding. The bouquet. The row. Seb telling me he didn’t believe in marriage.

Actually, on second thoughts . . .

‘No, I don’t think so,’ I say, slamming on the brakes and promptly doing a U-turn.

Seb pops back up from his side stretch and looks at me in surprise. Obviously that wasn’t the response he was expecting.

‘You don’t have to take time off work. It’s just a quick “I do”, a glass of champagne, and then back to the office,’ he justifies quickly.

‘It’s not that,’ I say, shaking my head.

‘It’s not?’ He crumples up his forehead. ‘Then what is it?’

I swallow hard and cross my fingers underneath a cushion. ‘I don’t believe in marriage.’

‘You don’t?’ He looks at me in astonishment. To be fair, I’m probably the first girl that’s ever said this to him.

‘And . . . er . . . I think it would be hypocritical of me to go to a wedding when I feel this way,’ I continue firmly. Put like that, I actually feel quite proud of myself for sticking by my principles. Even if they don’t happen to be real. ‘I hope you understand.’

Seb is still looking at me in amazement. Like he can’t quite believe his ears. ‘Oh wow, totally,’ he says, finding his voice. ‘I’m exactly the same. I don’t believe in it either. I’m like, why get married? It’s such an outdated institution and a total waste of money.’

‘I know, right?’ I agree, and roll my eyes. ‘All that expense for just one day!’

I’m actually getting into this; in fact I’m starting to convince myself. I mean, maybe Seb is right. Maybe marriage has no place in the modern world and all this time I’ve just been really old-fashioned. After all, isn’t this what feminists have been going on about for years? Isn’t this what my mother burned her bra for? Well, not my mother
personally
.

‘I just don’t get all these girls that are obsessed with the dress and the big white wedding and the honeymoon on safari!’ I snort.

OK, I confess, going on a safari for my honeymoon has always been a fantasy of mine. It just seems so romantic: floating in a hot-air balloon above the Serengeti with your new husband; driving out into the bush at daybreak to spot lions and elephants with the man you’re going to spend the rest of your life with; sipping gin and tonics by the campfire at sunset, making plans for your future together . . .

But then who’s to say you can’t just go on a safari anyway? You don’t have to be married.