If You're Not the One (7 page)

‘You are kidding me,' said Jennifer, full of mixed emotions. She was deeply impressed, terribly envious and strangely proud to hear that people were still having wild sex with their husbands, even if she wasn't.

‘I'm not,' said Esther, giggling. ‘It was hilarious. You know the type of sex you have where afterwards you're almost a bit embarrassed.'

‘Wish I could remember,' said Jennifer drily, grabbing the milk out the fridge. ‘By the way, they are brilliantly quiet up there aren't they? Thank you so much for coming round and saving our day.'

‘Pleasure,' said Esther. ‘Thanks for saving
me
from hours more of pushing Sophie on the swings.'

‘No worries,' said Jennifer dolefully, her mind still on Esther's exploits. ‘Do you know the last time I can remember feeling faintly embarrassed after sex was probably with Tim.'

‘Really? Why? What did you do?'

Jennifer grimaced. ‘You don't want to know.'

‘Er, well that's where you're completely wrong.'

Jennifer wrinkled up her nose, embarrassed ‘Let's just say he was quite kinky and leave it there shall we?'

‘No way!' protested Esther. ‘I'm sorry but you have to spill the beans now, Missy. If you don't I'll end up imagining
all sorts of things that are probably far worse than the reality.'

Jennifer sighed, knowing she was beaten. ‘OK, but tell anyone this and you're a dead woman.'

Esther pretended to pull a zip across her mouth.

‘OK, so basically, towards the end of our relationship Tim was only really up for it if I was…um, pretending to be someone else.'

Esther's eyes widened. ‘You mean he liked role play?'

Jennifer nodded, went red and chewed on a fingernail. Liked was an understatement.

Esther laughed heartily. ‘Oh god. I think I can vaguely remember you saying something about that at the time.'

‘Hmm,' Jennifer said, wrinkling up her nose ‘Anyway, maybe I should have just put up with his weird ways. Let me show you something.' She hurried into the front room and returned with the Rich List.

‘Bloody hell,' said Esther, wide-eyed once she'd been shown the relevant bit. ‘That is a sick amount of money. God, I can't tell you how much we could do with just a little bit of that. Things are really tight at the moment to the point where we're struggling some months to make the mortgage payments. I certainly shouldn't have treated myself to this scarf I can tell you. I feel guilty every time I put it on. Can't you phone Tim and ask if we can have some?'

‘I wish,' said Jennifer.

‘That could have been you,' said Esther.

‘Well, I don't know about that.'

‘It could. Don't you remember how gutted he was when you broke it off? You could be that rich.'

‘Ooh listen to you, last of the feminists. I'd prefer not to be sponging off Tim Purcell thank you very much. Though, having said that, I'm not totally sure what the difference would be to how my life is now. I hate being so bloody dependent on Max these days. In fact I've been thinking recently about retraining in something in an attempt to improve my pathetic earning potential.'

‘Like what?'

‘Dunno, haven't got that far yet,' admitted Jennifer flatly. ‘Any ideas are very welcome.'

Esther giggled suddenly. ‘So, hypothetically, if you had stayed with Tim, do you think you'd still be friends with us lot now?'

‘Course I would,' said Jennifer, insulted. ‘What do you take me for? Although I'm not sure Karen would have been popping round the mansion that often. She hated him didn't she?'

‘She did,' confirmed Esther. ‘I always thought he was OK though. He was so clever wasn't he? Had an answer for everything. Oh and I'll never forget that party he threw in your house that time. The one where Karen shagged Pete for the first time. It was awesome. Maybe even the best party I've ever been to.'

‘God that party was fun wasn't it?' agreed Jennifer. ‘Or are we looking back through rose-tinted glasses?'

As her mind returned to Tim, for once she allowed herself to be transported back to how life had been then, all those years ago. She always pretended she couldn't care less, but in truth, being permanently reminded by the business section of the papers that one of your exes was doing amazingly well in life was a little galling.

And deep down she knew it probably
could
have been her enjoying the fruits of his labours, if she'd stuck with him. If she hadn't let her concerns that he didn't love her as maybe he should overwhelm her. Or, more to the point, if she hadn't decided that despite his protestations, he cared more about work than any living human being, and that that in itself was a problem she'd never be able to overcome.

Still, that was all firmly in the past and besides, she suspected that no amount of riches would ever have made up for the fact she'd spent much of their time together dressed as a police woman.

April 1997

Jennifer was just about to pour her powdered Cup–a-Soup into a mug when she made the mistake (or not as the case may be) of glancing inside the empty vessel, at which point she retched violently.

‘Oh my god that is so disgusting,' she exclaimed, stomach heaving.

‘What?' said Karen, coming to join her in the small kitchen, opening the fridge and peering hopefully into it.

‘That mug's got mould growing in it. I think I'm going to puke.'

‘Gross,' said Karen, closing the door again. Neither a stick of limp celery, a jar of Pond's Cold Cream or a Fray Bentos were really what she fancied.

‘Shall we just get some chips before we get there?'

‘OK,' agreed Jennifer, unable to bear the surrounding debris a moment longer.

As a student you expected to live in a certain amount of squalor but the house they'd moved into for their
third and final year of university, veered dangerously into unsanitary territory. From the outside it was amazing: a huge, grade-one listed, Regency terrace, located smack bang in the middle of a square just off the Brighton sea front. The paint may have been peeling (not helped by the saltiness of the atmosphere), but when you stood at the other side of the square, with your back to the sea, it looked exceedingly grand and still possessed the majesty of its era. Inside, however, it was a different story. The house had been adapted so it could be rented out with the student market in mind. On the ground floor there were three bedrooms and a bathroom, on the middle floor there was a vast communal lounge along with a further two bedrooms and a tiny kitchen. The third and final floor comprised three more bedrooms and another bathroom. Curiously there was no dining table anywhere in the house, something which all the parents who had visited at one time or another found baffling and commented on, but which none of the students cared about one iota. Meals tended to be consumed standing up or lying down.

Of course eight bedrooms meant eight housemates. Eight studenty human beings, whose priorities didn't remotely involve anything like rubber gloves, cleaning fluid or tidying. As a result the mess was unprecedented. The house permanently looked like it had just been burgled and the kitchen existed under a coating of grease. Washing up was done on a need to eat basis and everything generally felt a bit…sticky to the touch.

The only part of the house which wasn't completely grim to be in was Tim's room. His was on the top floor and was by far the largest in the house, a privilege for which he paid £20 rent a week more than the others. Not only was his room the best in terms of size and view, but in startling contrast to the rest of the house it was also kept clean and tidy. Not that Tim was getting busy with the Marigolds. Instead he paid fellow student, Amber, a Chinese girl, £6 an hour for three hours every week, to come and clean his room and also to take away, wash and iron his clothes. This completely set him apart from his peers but then Tim was a rare breed of student altogether. The most glaringly obvious thing that separated him from the rest of the student community was the fact that he always had a bit of cash. Not just the odd tenner either, but wedges of the stuff which he kept folded in a money clip. He'd gone to a very expensive public school so undoubtedly had financial support from his family, but he also always had money-making schemes on the go, ones which tended to actually be successful, and this was reflected in his standard of living. Tim had his own fridge which was always well stocked with lagers and nice food, ready meals like lasagne and curries from Sainsbury's and sometimes even M&S. He had his own desktop computer complete with Windows 95 and a two-seater sofa positioned against the window, meaning that when you lay on it you could fully appreciate the sea view. He also had his own hi fi and a kettle, making the room more like a self-contained studio
apartment. Jennifer loved spending time in it. It certainly beat her tiny box room on the ground floor at the back of the house, with its own rather desultory view of a back yard which belonged to an unsavoury Mexican restaurant.

For Jennifer, climbing into fresh clean sheets once a week also felt like a huge perk of going out with Tim. Unless, of course, the night after Amber had been and cleaned it coincided with one of Tim's ‘work' nights or, as Karen referred to them, his ‘I want to be alone' nights. Jennifer was used to Tim's ways though, and in all honesty Karen constantly going on about how weird they were was sometimes more annoying than her boyfriend dictating when she could and couldn't stay in his room.

Now, as Karen and Jennifer gave up the futile task of looking for anything that might be worth eating, they retreated to the lounge where Pete and Jim were playing Fifa on the PlayStation and listening to music. Empty McDonald's bags littered the table and, with the curtains drawn, the only real light source other than a small side lamp came from the tropical fish tank which belonged to another of their housemates. Jim was only wearing his pants, which wasn't a pleasant sight but one which the girls were used to enough that it didn't warrant a comment.

‘Tim's not coming out tonight is he?' asked Karen, collapsing onto the sofa, her short skirt riding up her firm but chunky legs. Her question sounded more like a
hopeful statement and told Jennifer everything she needed to know.

‘Don't know,' she replied, immediately on edge. She wished Karen would get over her dislike of Tim once and for all. ‘Why?'

‘No nothing,' said Karen, ‘I don't mind either way, I just assumed it wouldn't be his bag. That is to say fun. Joking!'

‘You going to that karaoke thing?' enquired Pete, his eyes not leaving the screen.

‘Yeah,' said Karen.

‘Do you want some draw?'

‘Why not?' said Karen.

‘OK, you sort that out and I'll go and find out if Tim's coming or not,' said Jennifer, pointedly ignoring her friend's dig.

She thundered up the stairs to the third floor, taking them two at a time in her platform trainers which she was wearing with a crop top which showed off her flat belly and an A line short skirt.

‘Are you coming out tonight or what?' she panted, having banged on Tim's door and received a ‘Come in.'

‘I'm not, my precious,' replied Tim, not looking up from his desk. ‘Sean's coming over to show me the code he's written. We're having a meeting.'

‘Ooh,' she moaned. ‘Please come?'

Tim turned and gave her an approving look followed by a lopsided grin so endearing it made her want to run
over and kiss him. Not that she did. Tim's demeanour was generally one which encouraged people to keep their distance. But while they didn't tend to go in much for spontaneous affection, what they both did relish was sparring with one another verbally.

‘Hmm, let me think about it. My options are A: stay here and see all my ambitions and dreams come to fruition. Or B: go out in the rain to watch you and Karen murder what were perfectly decent songs to start off with in a shitty karaoke gay bar on the sea front. You're all right thanks.'

‘Vicky's coming,' joked Jennifer, grabbing the life-size cardboard cut-out of Posh Spice which Tim had pinched from Blockbuster Video the previous week when he was pissed.

Ms Adams was wearing the white mini-skirt and bra top she'd worn for the Brits. Ginger Spice was downstairs in the lounge too, in her iconic union jack dress, casually leaning against the wall, only with an extra black moustache and glasses which someone had thoughtfully drawn on.

‘Well, that's a different story then,' said Tim. ‘If old lovely legs is going.'

But he didn't mean it. His attentions were firmly back on his computer.

Jennifer tried not to feel put out. She'd been going out with him long enough to know he wouldn't change his mind and that there was no point grumbling given that his
drive, ambition and clever brain were the things that had attracted her to him in the first place.

Admittedly half the time she didn't entirely follow what he was on about when it came to his plans to cash in on what he felt was going to be a huge surge in terms of internet usage but his passion for the subject was infectious. His latest idea was to create some kind of platform on the world wide web for people to find old university, college or school friends, that then allowed you to find out how they'd done in terms of what jobs they'd gone on to, whether they were married or not, and if they'd had children. It would be called ‘reUNIon' and was less a social networking experiment than a way for people to be utterly nosey. It would allow you to link up with people and then, once they'd given their permission, you'd be able to see their page which would be formatted almost like a CV. However, before you could see it, the site would ask you to predict what you thought those people were doing. In other words, if you'd signed up to it you might receive an email from an old classmate asking if you wanted to see what they had predicted about you. Tim was convinced that people's natural desire to know what others thought of them would be the key to its success.

‘So what's Sean bringing round?'

‘You wouldn't understand,' said Tim bluntly.

‘Try me.'

‘He's been developing some programs. I
told
you. He's written some code.'

‘For reUNIon?'

‘Yes,' Tim said, sounding exasperated, which in turn made Jennifer feel sad.

Just then, Pete yelled up the stairs.

‘Tim, someone here for you.'

‘Great,' said Tim, bounding into action, brushing past her in his eagerness to get to Sean, practically flattening her as he did so.

Jennifer gave up and sighed. She'd lost him so she might as well get on with her evening. Karen would be pleased anyway, she thought, as she picked her way across the landing which had piles of dirty laundry strewn all over it.

Later that night, or rather, in the early hours of the next day, Jennifer and Karen staggered home. After five minutes of taking it in turns to stab the front door with their keys they finally made it into the house. Giggling like schoolgirls, cross-legged and clutching one another in an attempt not to piss themselves laughing, it took them an age to get up the stairs. Once they had they both raced to the loo and then reconvened in the lounge,they peeled their coats off and Karen got out all her skinning up paraphernalia.

‘I'm going to see if Tim's still up,' said Jennifer, who couldn't be bothered with pretending she wasn't dying to see him.

‘Fine,' said Karen, only slightly huffily. ‘No doubt he will be because he hasn't taken over the world yet.'

As Jennifer bounded up the stairs she decided it was probably time to have it out with Karen once and for all. Her constant jibes were getting on her nerves. It wasn't her fault Karen was single at the moment.

‘Tim,' she said, banging on his door, having seen light coming from beneath it. There was no reply but there was music playing, Oasis by the sound of it. She barged in.

Tim and Sean barely looked up, so engrossed were they, huddled over the wretched computer.

‘Er…yoohoo, hello, Earth calling my saddo geek boyfriend.'

‘Oh hello you,' said Tim looking up. Despite looking exhausted and having the pallor of someone who hadn't had any fresh air all day, his eyes were shining and he looked excited and thrilled. As he leaned back his shirt rode up exposing a glimpse of his lean hairless stomach.

‘How's it going?' said Jennifer, suddenly feeling slightly queasy. Running up the stairs probably hadn't been the wisest of moves given that she had litres of various spirits swooshing around in her belly. She swayed across the room and sank thankfully down onto the bed. She reached down to pull off her trainers and once she'd manhandled them off, chucked them across the room. They made a huge thudding sound as they made contact with the wall.

‘Amazing,' said Tim. ‘We're doing fucking amazing, thanks to Sean.'

Jennifer smiled weakly in Sean's direction. Sean had the social skills of a jellyfish as far as she was concerned and, if she were being completely honest, she was a bit jealous of him. Tim never looked this happy and satisfied after a night in with her, that was for sure.

‘Come downstairs and have a drink with me and Karen?' she said, trying not to sound petulant but not sure if she was succeeding due to being so drunk. Ugh, now that she wasn't breathing in lungfuls of sea air, the alcohol was making its effect well and truly known.

‘Um…'

Jennifer got up, rolling her eyes heavenward, bracing herself for the inevitable no.

‘…yes, why not, my little drunkard? I'd love to. And then you can tell me all about your evening.'

Jennifer smiled. ‘I'll re-enact it if you like.'

‘Even better,' said Tim pulling a face. ‘Come on Sean, we should have a break.'

‘Cool,' muttered Sean, not moving.

Tim rubbed his face with both hands, then came over to where Jennifer was and regarded her with interest as she bent down to retrieve her clumpy shoes.

‘I can see right up your skirt,' he said, in a way that gave Jennifer an immediate thrill.

He lightly stroked her belly, in a way that was a mixture of quite nice yet also irritating.

‘You are wrecked aren't you,' he stated, suddenly noticing how much she was frowning. Her brows were knitted together partly due to how much concentration was required simply to stand up straight.

‘I'm fine,' she said defensively.

‘Good,' he said, running his hands up her back.

It was the affection she'd been craving for days, only right this second being touched was making her feel vaguely nauseous. She needed to eat. She needed toast.

‘Can I have some of your bread?' she said, pulling away and gesturing to his fridge. She lumbered over to it before he'd had the chance to answer.

‘But of course,' said Tim. ‘Eat an entire loaf if you like, my sweet. And if reUNIon takes off like I think it's going to, I shall buy you your very own bakers.'