It Had to Be You (13 page)

‘
Let’s hope you last longer than the others,’ she says and then in a flash they are gone.

I look
at William.

‘
The others?’ I ask.

‘
Yup, let me just get this.’

He hands the waiter a debit card and gives me a shy smile.

‘My ex, three months ago we had a big bust up to do with my work, but I won’t bore you with the details. So it looks like we have something in common.’

What the hell does she see in Richard Head?

‘I’m so sorry William,’ I say softly.

‘
I was busy,’ he shrugs. ‘I got tied up with an important contract. I was hardly there. Anyway, I’m not good with commitment. The
others
couldn’t cope with my work obsession either. I’ve let her stay in the flat we shared in Knightsbridge. So Aunt Vera did us both a favour.’

The waiter returns with his card.

‘One of us a favour,’ I correct.

‘
Quite right,’ he grins. ‘And may the best man win.’

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. I wonder which one William is. I see he is thinking the same thing. I realise I can never trust him and vice versa. After all, he did disappear earlier this evening didn
’t he? Who knows what he’s up to?

‘
Or woman,’ I add.

If that means dirty tricks, so be it.

God, he even whoosh-whooshes at weekends. What the hell is wrong with the guy? I know he has to keep up his energy if he is to get through all those condoms, but blimey, can’t he just get some Viagra? Surely it would be less
work and at least I’d get some sleep. I turn over and groan as a pain shoots through my neck. Oh, that’s all I need, a crick in my neck. These pillows are horrendous. I throw the duvet off my sweaty body and crawl to the radiator and turn it down. That’s another thing, when are these heating people supposed to be coming? I guess that’s something I have to sort out. I crawl back to the bed and check my Blackberry. There is a text from Muffy.

‘Happy b
irthday sweetie. See you later. I’m leaving soon so should be with you lunchtime. Text me if you need anything.’

A decent pillow and a good night
’s sleep sound good. I can’t wait to see her. I really should have asked her to bring my pillow. Maybe Oliver can send it. Oh no, that’s a bad idea, he’ll then know where I live. I could ask him to send it to the post office in the village. God, I’m thirty. I grab my handbag mirror and study my face. Thirty, how did I get to be thirty? What’s more how did I get to be thirty with no sign of a marriage on my calendar, jobless and house sharing? I should be sharing a house with a husband and two snotty-nosed kids. No, that would never happen. I would never have snotty-nosed kids, yuk. This is as dire as it can get isn’t it? I can’t even afford decent face cream. I grab my vibrating phone. It’s my mother.

‘
Happy birthday darling, I’ve transferred some money to your account. I was going to get you a calendar of naked men, but then I thought crème de lamer might be better now at your age.’

Does she have to make me sound ninety?

‘Couldn’t I have had both?’

I want to weep. I mean, let
’s face it, you’re only thirty once aren’t you? I’d imagined last night would have been Oliver and me together with our friends having a really good night at Romeo’s. It’s one of those restaurants with a small dance platform. We would have all got drunk on tequila and danced all night. After I’d opened all my cards and presents, Oliver would have given me surprise tickets for Venice or Rome or somewhere equally romantic. Instead I had spent the evening with a stranger, as lovely as that was it wasn’t quite what I had hoped for.

‘
What are your plans for this evening?’

Just a quiet evening in with a razor blade.

‘I’m meeting Muffy,’ I say.

‘
Oh lovely, we’ll give her your cream. Must dash, we’re off to look at 3D televisions. Any word from Oliver?’ she adds hopefully.

‘
He sent flowers.’

‘
Oh that’s hopeful,’ she says chirpily. ‘Especially now, you know, with your body clock ticking.’

She makes me sound like a time bomb. And has she forgotten Oliver
’s little indiscretion already. I hang up and pull my laptop towards me to check Oliver’s Facebook page and cringe at his new profile pic. It’s one of him with me. I’m looking at him adoringly. It was taken in Corfu, I remember it well. We were both slightly pissed and the Greek waiter had said,

‘
Look loving into the eyes.’

I never was sure if he meant his eyes or Oliver
’s. I remember he was very sexy. The waiter that is, not Oliver, although Oliver is very sexy too, especially first thing in the morning. I always found him hard to resist in the mornings when he strolled out of the bathroom smelling clean and fresh from the shower. Oh, I do miss him. I scroll down the page and read his status.

‘
Missing my lovely girl Binki, bad days and bad backs.’

Trust him to get his back in there somewhere. There are several emails. No job offers from any of the agencies I had signed with which is a bit odd. I remember Ben Newman
’s words and feel my stomach lurch. I google
positions in sales
and see there are plenty in the city. My eyes zoom in on one company and I remember Mike Sawyer, the sales director. We’d been on
some sales courses together. A polite lady answers my call and
puts me through to Mike.

‘
Hi Binki, how are you?’ he says cheerfully but I can hear a hesitancy in his voice. I feel my heart beat faster.

‘
I’m great actually,’ I lie, forcing brightness to my voice. ‘But I’ve left Temco. It’s a bit complicated but I’m looking for another job. I see you have a vacancy …’

‘
The thing is Binki, I’d love to work with you …’

‘
I just want an interview,’ I say quickly. ‘I don’t want any favours.’

I certainly don
’t. I’m not giving or receiving any favours thank you very much.

‘
Yeah, right, I understand, I mean totally. It’s cool you know,’ he mumbles.

I knew there was a reason I
’d turned down his offer of a drink a few years ago. It always seems to take him forever to say a few words, that is, a few words that make any kind of sense.

‘
If you could get someone to ping me over the application form that would be …’

‘
Yeah, right, cool. It’s just I think that particular post got taken, you know?’

‘
But it’s in this week’s job section. You surely haven’t had applications back yet, let alone interviewed people,’ I say feeling a strange sensation in my stomach. Something doesn’t feel right here.

There is an uncomfortable silence and then Mike clears his throat before saying,

‘Yeah yeah, you’re right of course. This is a bit uncomfortable Binki …’

I can almost visualise him loosening his tie.

‘This thing with Ben Newman …’ he begins.

‘
Ben Newman,’ I practically yell. ‘Ben Newman, what has he got to do with this? What thing with Ben Newman are you talking about? I mean, Christ, Ben Newman.’

I feel nauseous. Does everyone who works in sales in the whole of London know about the
thing
with Ben Newman? Oh God, they don’t seriously believe I would throw myself at someone like Ben Newman with the wart on his nose do they? I must seem so desperate.

‘
Yeah right, cool, you’re right. I mean, absolutely …’ mumbles Mike who must be almost strangling himself with his tie by now.

I clench my fists and fight the urge to throw my mobile across the room.

‘Mike just spit it out for Christ’s sake. You’re doing my head in.’

There is a long sigh at the other end of the phone.

‘Oh hey Binki, I’ll have to call you back. The fire alarms are going off like crazy here …’

‘
Oh really,’ I say. I can’t hear a bloody thing except him sighing.

‘Yeah
Christ, it’s like The Towering bloody Inferno here. Better go. You know – help the others get out.’

The Towering Inferno my arse, honestly what a load of crap. Before he hangs up I hear a voice say,

‘Here’s your coffee Mr Sawyer.’ Steaming hot obviously.

I hang up and phone six more companies. The first three I don
’t even get past the receptionist once I give my name. The other three claim the positions have already been filled, but I know that can’t possibly be true. I hang up the phone and glance
at my emails to make sure I haven’t missed anything. I delete the email from the relative of the deceased African dictator who wants to put a million pounds in my bank account, and from someone called Marina, who tells me she has everything I have ever wanted, but unless she means a nice soft pillow and a job in sales then I am really not interested. I ignore the tweets from Oliver that simply say
#Missing @binkigrayson
, which makes it sound like I am either on the missing persons’ register or have become mistaken for someone’s lost cat. He’ll be sticking posters on lamp posts next, and before I know it I’ll be seeing a reconstruction of my departure from the Notting Hill flat on
Crimewatch
. I know he means he is missing me but he could have worded it better. I push the whole Ben Newman thing out of my head, telling myself it was just an idle threat. Everyone in sales isn’t going to close their doors to me, surely. I sigh and roll out of my bed with another groan. I’ll be walking around like the Hunchback of Notre Dame at this rate. I slip on my robe, grab the carrier bag that holds my laundry and open the door gingerly, although I don’t know why as the whoosh-whoosh sounds are as loud as ever. He’s like the guy in the film
Sleeping With the Enemy.
I only wish he resembled him when it came to the tidiness of his cupboards. I open the door further and a gust of cold air hits me in the face. The window on the landing is wide open. Jesus, it’s like a freezer out here. I rush and close the window feeling a whisper of cold air across my feet as I pass the end bedroom. God, he’s got that window open too. Honestly it’s all right for him, whooshing away isn’t it? I wander down to the kitchen still wondering if I should ask Oliver to send some of my things. I could sneak to the flat when he’s at work and just take them I suppose, but what if she’s there? That would be so humiliating. Perhaps Muffy could collect them. I’ll ask her. It would be nice to have my nice soft pillow, not to mention my CDs and books. I’ll ask him to pack up my candleholders too. Right, that’s what I’ll do. After all, it looks like I’m going to be here a lot longer than I had planned. If only I could find a job. I open the kitchen door sleepily and walk straight into Andy. Jesus, what the hell? It’s Saturday for goodness’ sake. The other two builders are sitting at the kitchen table sipping tea. They give me a little wave like it is the most normal thing in the world for them to be in
my
kitchen in
their
muddy boots while I’m in
my
dressing gown. Christ, I could have been in my bra and panties. What a terrible thought. They’ll be coming here for dinner next. Why are they always drinking tea? Then I see it and my eyes must bulge out of my sockets. Oh my God, is that the chocolate tea pot? They’ve only gone and made tea in the chocolate teapot.

‘
Morning Mrs Ellis,’ grins Andy, sipping from his mug.

‘
I’m not …’

Oh, what
’s the point?

‘
What are you doing?’ I squeal. ‘Why have you made tea in the teapot?’ I sound totally unreasonable because after all isn’t that what people do? Make tea in teapots.

The kitchen door is shoved open behind me
, bashing me in the bum. I turn to see William in his running shorts and top with a towel around his neck. I pull the robe together quickly and glare at the teapot.

‘
But that’s what it’s for isn’t it?’ says Andy, looking bemused at the other builders.

I rack my brains to remember how many
M&Ms I’d left in there.

‘
Morning Andy,’ William says pleasantly before nodding at me. ‘Any tea left in that pot?’

What?

‘It’s not for making tea in,’ I snap, grabbing it.

Andy shakes his head nonplussed.

‘It’s not?’

‘
No, it’s not. It’s a
chocolate
teapot.’

I place the teapot back on the kitchen counter. I see William pull a face at Andy and the other builders fight back their sniggers. I look down at the muddy floor and bite back a comment about their muddy boots.

‘Perhaps you’d like breakfast too before you start work. Is a full English okay, or would you prefer continental?’ I add sarcastically.

‘
Well, if you’re offering, the lads and me wouldn’t mind a …’

‘
I think she’s cross,’ smiles William, leaning across
to the mug cupboard. ‘Isn’t that right Binki?’

I give him a filthy glare.

‘I’m surprised you can manage breakfast,’ I say turning back to the builders, ‘considering the amount of M&Ms you’ve scoffed.’

A guilty look crosses their faces.

‘Here, have these,’ says William, handing Andy a pack of muffins. Honestly, are they here to work or just bloody eat, drink and bloody pee? Thank God, they have a portable loo outside or I’d be bathing with them next. Well at least the muffins are not from my cupboard. I’m honestly surprised he can find anything in his it is such a mess.

‘
Thanks Mr Ellis, we’ll erm replace the M&Ms,’ says Andy sheepishly.

‘
We thought they were old stale ones,’ I hear him whisper to William.

Stale ones my arse, it didn
’t stop them eating them did it? I take a mug from the cupboard and ignore William’s winks. I remove my jar of coffee and, being as my chocolate stash has gone, stretch to reach my half-open pack of chocolate digestives.

‘
Can I help?’ he asks, pouring coffee into a mug.

‘
No, I can manage,’ I say stubbornly, taking a wooden spoon from the drawer and reaching up to knock the biscuits out. I finally hit them and annoyingly they fall straight into Williams hands. It was a good catch I have to admit, but I don’t want to have to feel grateful to him right now. He gives them to me and turns back to his coffee making. The familiar smell of him wafts over me and I give him a sidelong glance. He is studying a text on his phone and his forehead is creased in concentration. He looks vulnerable with his flushed cheeks and tousled hair.