Love to Hate You (20 page)

I should have imagined that. We have this in common: we always need to look strong, because that's what we've been taught. We come from completely different families, but somehow we're carrying the same burdens on our shoulders.

“Are you feeling any better now?” I ask. We both know I'm not talking about physically.

“Yes, sure, I just needed to wallow in some self-pity,” he says sarcastically.

I'd never have thought it possible, but I really get what he's feeling right now. I know how hard it is not to have your family's approval. We've both worked so hard for years, we've both struggled to be independent. But all our achievements don't seem to be matter to our families. They wanted other things for us. I don't know why, but I instinctively lay my hand on his, as though to re-assure him. He looks at our hands in astonishment for a while, then covers my hand with his. His touch is light, but I feel a tremor run through my body again.

“I know what you're thinking, but you mustn't let your family undermine your certainties. We're both right, but we're human and having to constantly have our choices called into question drives us mad sometimes,” I say, thinking of all the years of fights and recriminations in my life.

Ian lifts his eyes and looks at me almost sweetly. Still holding my hand, he very slowly starts moving his face closer to mine.

“Ian,” I stop him halfway, in a panic, “I think this is a really bad idea.”

“Why?” he asks, totally ignoring my objections.

“Ian—” I'm almost begging, because part of me knows quite well I won't be able to resist him if he gets too close.

“I like the way you say my name, Jenny,” he says, kissing me sweetly. We stay like that for a while, our lips touching lightly.

Before I can snap out of it, Ian pulls me towards him and, after imprisoning me in an embrace, he starts really kissing me, letting himself go completely.

Out of some instinctive impulse, my arms hug him tightly and one of my hands somehow finds itself amongst his thick, soft, black hair.

Time goes by without me realising it, until his lips start moving down my neck and I'm startled by a shiver. I can't remember even one of the presumably very good reasons why I'm supposed to be steering clear of this man.

A moment later Ian is kissing my lips again, passionately. I've totally lost control of my body, not to mention my tongue, which is moving autonomously now, wrapped around his in a strange dance.

His hand starts making its way under my sweater at exactly the same moment we hear the front door shutting. We barely have time to separate our mouths before Laura and Vera enter the room.

They stand there, their faces a study in confusion at the sight of us wrapped around each other on the sofa. Would somebody be kind enough to take a picture of all us right now, just so we can remember this wonderful moment?

“Hi,” an incredulous Vera greets us. Her eyes are open wide and fixed on Ian's hand under my sweater. The hand in question doesn't move but just sits there on my belly, showing no sign of life. I see what she's looking at and decide to break up the incriminating embrace, so I try to stand up. Unsure of how to behave, Ian lets me go.

I admit it's quite embarrassing to be caught in such a compromising situation when you're over thirty, especially when it's never happened to you before – not even when you were a teenager.

“Erm—” mumbles Vera, her astonished expression the double of Laura's.

Obviously Ian has more experience in dealing with these situations, because he regains his self-control immediately and decides that the best thing to do is to make a run for it.

“Great, well, I've got the keys so I'll be heading off, then,” he informs us, while standing up and grabbing them from the table.

If he'd taken them when I was trying to give them to him earlier, none of this would have happened, I think with some annoyance. I'm angry with myself, to be honest, but right now it's easier to unload my tension onto Ian, who's been the target of my aggression for at least five years. As far as I'm concerned, he can be my target for another five minutes. He must realise that my mood has changed as he looks at me from the corner of his eye, because he freezes, unsure about what to do.

“Er, do you want to see me out?” he asks, with an eloquent look. I'm almost tempted to say no, but Vera glances at me.

“Ok,” I answer, to avoid more tension. He says goodbye to my friends and we head for the door.

“So—” he starts, only to run out of words again, not sure of what to say.

“Let's just forget about it,” I suggest quickly, to help him out of this embarrassing moment. I must have surprised him – he was probably expecting a totally different answer.

“Ok,” he says simply, without conviction.

“We're still under the effect of that awful weekend,” I add, “not to mention you're still a bit drunk—”

“Am I?” he asks perplexed. “What, forty-eight hours later?”

Sometimes I think Ian really doesn't get it. “Do you feel normal?” I challenge him. “Well, not really, but—” he starts.

But I cut him off with a hand gesture. “Ian, are you sure you want to talk about it?” I ask. His expression is quite uncertain. “No,” he admits through gritted teeth, “but it's usually women who want to talk over things like… like what just happened.”

Good boy, don't say the word ‘kiss'.

“This must be your lucky night then, because first of all nobody's stolen your car yet, and second I don't have the slightest desire to talk about it.” I don't see how I could be any clearer…

“Goodnight then,” he says, turning towards me, and before I can pull away, he has kissed my cheek. His kiss is really innocent, but being near him makes me dizzy all over again. Maybe I'd better see a doctor, I might have some strange disease.

A few moments later there's no sign of him, luckily, except for the smell of his aftershave in my nose, but a couple of deep breaths clear that.

As I close the door I remember that I've probably got the Spanish Inquisition waiting for me in the living room. I'm not criticising them: if I'd seen a similar scene I'd probably have reacted even more. I must acknowledge that at least they didn't start asking questions in front of Ian. I go back to the living room and sit down in the armchair, ready to defend myself.

“So how long has this been going on?” asks Laura, her arms folded across her chest.

“Since never,” I answer point-blank, because it's the truth.

“Pull the other one,” says Vera, “we both saw you.”

“I know what you saw, girls. I swear it has never happened before.” I know it's not a great explanation, but it's the best I've got.

“You seemed to be quite into each other,” insists Laura.

“It was just a kiss.” I mean, they didn't actually find me naked on the sofa!

“It was
not
just a kiss!” blurts out Vera. “It was one of those kisses that give you goose bumps – one of those kisses that can only end in bed.”

“And judging from the way things were going, you wouldn't even have made it that far—” Laura adds.

“Oh come on!” I moan, sounding offended.

Laura looks at me. “I've had the same boyfriend for ages, but I still remember how these things work, sweetheart.” Good for her.

I decide not to add anything.

“Ok, let's not get away from the point,” says Vera. “We're here to help Jenny realise a few things.”

“Oh, is that what this is? I thought you were here to torment me!” My sarcastic tone doesn't bother them – they know it's my default method of self-defence.

“Do you like him, Jenny?” Vera asks. “You can tell us, you know. We're not your mother.”

They're right, I know, but admitting to myself I'm attracted to Ian would mean giving in to a weakness that I swore I would never give in to in my life. Never, ever, ever.

“I don't like him, really!” I shout. “What you saw was a mistake. Ian is still a bit confused after what he went through over the weekend, and I'm just in a mess. That's it, I swear! I'd been sleeping, and he turned up… I just wasn't psychologically prepared… it all happened in a flash.”

Laura looks at me, her eyes almost sad. “So do you usually need to get ready before meeting him? How? By repeating to yourself 'I must not like him, I must not like him'?”

“Yes! I mean, no! Oh, God, I don't know—” I answer, panic-stricken. I know what they're getting at and I don't like it. “Listen, girls, I know you think you're helping me by forcing me to open up about it, but believe me, all I need right now is a good sleep. Tomorrow I'll be rested, it'll be a new day and things will look a bit less bleak. This really isn't helping me, though, believe me.”

Vera and Laura look at each other for a moment before nodding.

“Ok then, we won't talk about it right now,” Vera promises, “but remember, you've got to clarify the whole situation for us as soon as possible. You don't usually run away from your problems. We're doing this for your own good.”

I stand up from the armchair meaning to finally go to bed. “When I work out what's going on, you two will be the first to know.”

I struggled to get to sleep, slept badly and, as if that wasn't enough, woke up at the crack of dawn. To avoid any further attempts to 'make me see reason', I very wisely decided to come to the office earlier than usual. And it was definitely a great idea.

I've been here since six thirty and I don't look as perky and relaxed as I usually do when I get here. George is with me near the coffee machine, and I'm already on my third of the day.

“Good morning,” he says, sounding serious, “if it actually is for you. You look a bit scary,” he adds, confirming what I was already suspecting.

“Remind me exactly why I usually appreciate your honesty, please,” I say, taking my cup of coffee out of the machine.

“Because you love honesty,” he says, ignoring my bad mood.

“Not this morning though,” I admit tiredly. I thought the lad was more perceptive.

“You should get out more often, darling. Have some fun, meet some men… you're single, aren't you?”

I nod in resignation. “Yes, I am single—”

“Even though the press might disagree,” he says with snigger that's loaded with innuendo.

“Well, they write bollocks,” I say, to cut short the conversation while I sip my steaming coffee. It's really bad, but I have other things to complain about today.

“You know, people in this office are always gossiping about totally made up stories, but this one about you and Ian—” He pauses, theatrically. “It's as though there were some truth in it… something real.”

I turn visibly pale.

“Not that you would ever tell
me
—” he continues, trying to work out what I'm thinking, “but if you ever
do
need someone to confide in… remember that I can keep a secret. And if you ask me not to talk about it, well, I won't.”

“Thank you,” I say sincerely.

“I know you live with your best friends, but sometimes a male perspective can be helpful,” he says kindly.

I must look really look desperate if everyone is offering me their psychological support.

“And anyway, you'd be doing me a favour,” he says with a wink.

“How so?” I ask, astonished.

“Simple: I've got my eye on Tamara,” he explains, “but she's got a crush on Ian. So if you were to start seeing him, I'd be forever in your debt.”

“George!” I exclaim indignantly. “What the hell are you on about? I've no intention of starting to see Ian!” I'm actually trying to push him out of my mind, since he seems to have wormed his way in.

Sometimes I really don't understand George – how has he got the nerve to come out with such stuff?

“Why, what would be wrong with it?” he asks.

“Oh come off it!” I reply in annoyance. “Instead of wasting time with me, why don't you check those balance sheets that have just come in?”

He gives me a pleading look. “But there are loads of them!”

“That's why you should get onto them as soon as possible,” I reply, not moved to pity at all by his expression.

“On my own? I'll need help to get through them all,” he implores.

“All the others are already working on the stuff you dumped on them,” I point out, “but if you really need some help, I
could
ask Ian if Tamara can give you a hand.”

Who's the best boss in the world now?

George looks at me ecstatically. “Would you?” he asks, hopefully.

“Only if you promise to keep your mouth shut forthwith about my private life.”

“Deal!” he agrees happily.

“But don't count your eggs just yet. Ian might not agree to my proposal,” I remind him. In the past, I would have bet that St John would never have agreed to
any
request coming from me, but lately things have got weird. So never say never.

“I expect you will do your best to convince him,” he says, sniggering.

“What did I just say?” I rumble, threateningly. “And anyway, I really don't understand how anyone could believe such a thing. Ian and me? Are you all out of your minds? I'm even
older
than him! He probably only goes out with twenty year olds – ones without functioning neurons in their brains!”

And to be quite honest, we could also lose that ‘probably', I think to myself.

“Completely wrong,” says a deep, irritated voice behind me. My usual good luck.

“Hello, Ian,” says George sheepishly.

Ian waves ‘hello' to him, then walks over to me. “Have you got a minute?” he asks, sounding serious. He looks angry, but strangely more vulnerable than usual. I wish that I could answer that I don't. Instead I answer, “Yes,” without even knowing why.