Still Thinking of You (10 page)

18. Appetites

It was just nauseating the way Action Man and Barbie Babe insisted on parading their togetherness. Admittedly, they were here in Avoriaz for their wedding, but it was also everyone else’s holiday. And Mia, for one, found their constant kissy, kissy ways rather embarrassing. They weren’t teenagers, for God’s sake, and the last time Mia had been so blatantly loved up she had been nineteen. She and Jason had not been able to keep their hands off one another, but that was hormones, surely.

‘I’m ravenous,’ said Rich, reaching forwards to grab a handful of nuts from the plate on the table. Clearly he had post-shagging hunger.

‘I hope you washed your hands,’ commented Mia. She smiled so that her remark didn’t sound crude. Rich laughed, and asked if anyone wanted a drink.

‘You shouldn’t be getting them in,’ said Jason. ‘It’s your wedding gig. Ted, it’s your round, isn’t it? How about some champagne?’

Ted was known for his generosity, and on this occasion, like all others, he didn’t disappoint. He ordered two bottles of Veuve Clicquot and left his Amex behind the bar. Kate smiled smugly, which really irritated Mia. It wasn’t as though it was Kate’s money being splashed around. She didn’t work. She got to stay at home and play with the kids all day. Mia’s irritation was almost immediately subdued by shame. In all honesty, she knew that one of the things Kate liked most about her husband earning a tremendous salary was that they could afford to be generous with their friends. Kate firmly believed one of the nicest things about having money was sharing it. Mia shouldn’t be mean about her. But, sometimes, it was hard watching them be so bloody perfect.

‘Did you catch up with Louisa and Will over the holidays?’ Kate asked Mia.

‘We exchanged cards and telephone messages. They’re really well. Really, really well by all accounts. Louisa is expecting
again
.’

‘Is she, my goodness. That’s splendid news.’

‘Absolutely,’ smiled Mia, although she didn’t really think so. Louisa and Will had two children. They didn’t need a third. It wasn’t fair that some people had so much and she had… well, it sometimes felt as if she had nothing. ‘Has anyone heard anything from Helena and Mark?’

‘Yep, aha. They’re great, too. Just moved into a new house. White Georgian number in Notting Hill,’ said Jason.

Lloyd let out a low whistle. ‘That must have cost a bit. What do you think?’ He could barely imagine.

‘That size, in that area. Have to be close to a million and a half,’ guessed Rich.

‘Really?’ Lloyd shook his head.

Louisa and Will, Helena and Mark, Kate and Ted, now Rich and Tash. Mia sighed. It was as if they weren’t real people on their own, only half-people. Mia was just Mia, and it felt lonely. Intellectually, she knew it shouldn’t. She knew that she was an independent woman with a great job, her own flat, her own car and her own night classes, but she did
feel
lonely. And recently the loneliness outweighed everything else. It outweighed the sense of satisfaction she gained from doing a good job in the office. It outweighed the feeling of wonderful indulgence that came with knowing you could suit yourself when it came to any decision, be it choosing a holiday destination or a toothpaste brand. It outweighed the pride she felt over owning a smart two-bedroom flat in Fulham. The loneliness was all-consuming. Her plan
had
to succeed. She would not, no, could not go on as was.

‘Shall we go eat?’ asked Jason.

‘Damn fine idea,’ smiled Jayne, jumping up enthusiastically.

Mia rolled her eyes in exasperation. She wondered what drugs Jayne took and vaguely wondered if she should take them, too. Jayne had more bounce than a jack-in-the-box on E. Yet she managed to combine her (offensive) optimism and glee at the world with sophistication. How did she manage that? Mia’s particular brand of sophistication came directly from her deep cynicism at the world and was articulated through her constant sarcasm. Besides, she couldn’t imagine that Jayne ever actually ate anything. It simply wasn’t possible to eat and retain an ironing-board-flat stomach. She was just one of those girls who was aware of how attractive a ferocious appetite is in a thin woman. Men somehow associated one appetite with another and assumed she’d be good in bed.

Mia knew all the tricks; she’d played most of them. She’d bet money on the fact that Jayne would order huge quantities of food and insist that everyone else did likewise, but throughout the meal she would always be far too busy being amusing and entertaining to actually take a bite. Besides which, eating destroyed lipstick. Mia glowered at Jayne’s thin back as she followed her into the dining room. Jason was falling over himself to be pleasant. He was asking if Jayne could teach him how to board. Clearly he fancied her like mad. This was no surprise to Mia, but it was still a disappointment. Bugger. Jayne’s presence could really screw up Mia’s plans. She was depending on the fact that Jason would be short of amusement and diversion. How was she supposed to seduce him if he was infatuated with someone else? Bugger, bugger.

If not now, when? Keep calm, stay calm, deep breath, she instructed herself. A good mental attitude is extremely important in these matters, she’d read that. Just as important as folic acid tablets. Mia was not a quitter. Jayne was a nuisance, yes. She was an unforeseen circumstance, yes. But her presence didn’t necessarily mean disaster. Maybe Jayne wouldn’t fancy Jason. If she rejected him, then Mia could be waiting with open arms to comfort him. OK, it wasn’t the most glamorous or romantic notion, but Mia was past all that nonsense. She didn’t want Jason to fall in love with her. Just to impregnate her.

She’d simply have to keep her eye on the Jayne situation. Although watching her now it really seemed as though she fancied Natasha more than she fancied Jason. She was all over the girl. She’d clearly decided that they were one another’s new best friends. Jayne had squeezed in between Rich and Tash so that she could ‘really get to know the beautiful bride’. She laughed at everything Tash said, even though most of it was dull trivia about the wedding, and she was forever touching her. Mia watched in amazement as Jayne used her napkin to wipe away a crumb of bread from Tash’s lips.

‘I love it here,’ said Jayne. ‘You’ve chosen a really beautiful place to get married, Tash. I so admire your taste, darling.’ Jayne poured some wine for Tash and herself, then clinked glasses. ‘I do hope nothing goes wrong.’

‘Why should anything go wrong?’ asked Rich.

He looked at Jayne with real anger. Clearly she’d pissed him off by squeezing between him and Tash, and stealing the limelight.

Jayne turned to Rich and batted her eyelashes. Really, she batted them. Mia couldn’t believe it. She didn’t think anyone did that except in cartoons.

‘I’m sure it won’t,’ said Jayne sweetly. ‘I’m just saying I hope it’s all perfect. Little things can go wrong when you are planning a wedding, you know. You might run out of champagne, or maybe the chef can’t get some vital ingredients, or the bride breaks a leg boarding.’ Jayne laughed at Rich’s terrified face. ‘I’m just joking. I’m sure nothing will go wrong. Now, let’s eat.’

She squeezed Tash’s hand, and patted Rich’s knee. Then she turned her body so that it was directed towards Tash and started to discuss the menu.

Mia had to admit that together they were both breathtaking. Tash’s blonde straight hair fell forwards and brushed Jayne’s dark, curly hair – even Mia thought it was erotic. Rich, Jason and Lloyd were captivated. Only Ted seemed oblivious as he stared off into the middle distance. Planning how to spend his next million, Mia supposed.

19. Good Times

The bar was swaying. It was made of Plasticine or Play-Doh or something. Lloyd wasn’t sure, but everything was morphing in front of his eyes. It was possible, like Kate had just said, that he was drunk. He couldn’t be certain. He tried to count how many drinks he’d had. He had a gin and tonic before dinner, a double. Then he’d had about five or six glasses of wine with his food. Well, the conversation was flowing, so the wine was bound to accompany it, or maybe it was the other way around. Then they’d come here to this club and had some beers. Après-ski was met with the same enthusiasm as the action on the piste, so he was not alone in his intense state of inebriation.

The club was moist. The people were sweaty. The floors were swilling with slopped beer, and the walls were damp with condensation created by scores of hot bodies squeezed into one smallish room. There were mounds of discarded clothes under stools and tables which Lloyd kept stumbling over. It was extremely cold outside, so although everyone arrived in several layers, as the alcohol and the music took effect, most people began to strip down to clingy, skimpy T-shirts. Lloyd wasn’t complaining. He liked looking at the girls in their cropped tops, grinding and grinning on the dance floor.

Lloyd was a surprisingly good dancer. He enjoyed dancing all the more so because people didn’t particularly expect it of him, a thirty-something civil servant. Not that he danced much any more. Opportunities to strut your funky stuff weren’t exactly prolific in the life he’d chosen. It was unlikely that a group of civil servants would decide to hotfoot it down to the Brixton Academy on a Friday night after a particularly gruelling week. He was much more likely to relax with a jar of bitter in his local. But the old gang remembered him as a good dancer, and therefore they thought it was natural that he should take to the floor, which made it easier to do so.

Lloyd didn’t actually recognize the tunes that were playing. He might have been ‘with it’ once, but he’d stayed the same and ‘it’ had moved on, become something different. He’d have liked to hear a bit of early Pulp or Oasis, but luckily the hip-hop tunes were easy to move to and Lloyd was a fast learner. He closely watched the younger dancers and mimicked their moves in a convincing manner. A group of pretty young girls allowed him to dance nearby. They occasionally smiled at him, and he smiled back. At one point he even wiggled hips with a brunette, but he didn’t try to take it any further. When the track finished, he scuttled back to the others, making the excuse that he needed a drink. He didn’t offer the brunette a drink. She looked disappointed. She would have said yes, but Lloyd preferred leaving the flirtation exactly where it was. He knew the dangers of being overly flattered by a flirtation.

It was bloody fantastic being in a club again. He could dance, he could drink and he could flirt. The alcohol stretched the possibilities – the expectancy, the warmth, the wit. He could pretend he was…

What?

Young again?

Still married?

Someone else altogether?

Suddenly Lloyd felt an overwhelming depression swamp him. How was that possible? Only seconds ago he was feeling fifty metres tall, and now he felt flattened like a bulldozed building. He helped himself to a glass of water from the bottle on the table, then fell back into one of the more comfy chairs. He looked around. Tash and Rich were snogging. Yup, actually going for it in the club, as though he’d just pulled her. He felt lonely. He missed… Well, Greta, he supposed. He missed Greta. Or something. Or someone.

Lloyd could see the brunette he’d been dancing with. She was now grinding hips with a lanky twenty-something. Lloyd disinterestedly watched the new couple fade into the throng. He shivered. His sweat, induced from exerting himself on the dance floor, already felt freezing cold on his hot skin. He felt sick and tired as he recognized that his hangover had already started to kick in. In truth, he wasn’t sure he would feel any better if Greta were here. Sometimes, he was lonely even when he was with her. They lived a fairly isolated life at the moment. They only ever socialized with people from the office. The people with whom Lloyd saw his future lying. He missed the old gang – they shared a past. He’d held a secret belief that as soon as they were all together again that nagging loneliness which seemed to coat him, invisible but as tangible as a brick wall, would dissolve. He felt nauseated with disappointment that it hadn’t.

The dinner had been great fun. The conversation had bounced, leapt and ricocheted around the table. There was no denying it; every one of the old gang was great dinner-party company. Their views were informed and honed. Their ability to express themselves was amusing; in fact, magnetic. They were a great bunch. It never ceased to amaze Lloyd just how many jokes and anecdotes Jason had up his sleeve. He was the only man that Lloyd knew that didn’t rely on a small number of faithful jokes, pulling them out time after time on every social occasion. Sadly, most men were oblivious to the audience joining in the punch line, but not Jason. Jason was the guy who started the funny e-mails.

And Kate and Ted were so eminently pleasant. It was lovely the way Kate asked about his daughter, Joanna. Not many people did that. They assumed he didn’t have an interest in her, which was ludicrous. He had split up from Sophie, not his daughter. He’d wished he’d been able to answer Kate’s question about whether Joanna was immunized against MMR, though. It wasn’t that he didn’t take an interest; it was just that Sophie dealt with all the medical side of things. Still, he was sure Kate had been impressed when he had turned the conversation and told her how much he’d spent in Hamley’s last month.

He was even beginning to enjoy being called ‘Checkers’ by Mia again. It did at least show that he belonged.

Rich and Tash seemed very happy. She was certainly lovely to look at.

But their affability and conviviality had not been able to disperse that nagging feeling of aloneness. In fact, oddly, it had somehow served only to make him feel more lost. Lloyd shook his head. That didn’t make sense.

It must be the booze.

20. Hanging on the Telephone

Lloyd staggered to the loo. Peeing often helped to sober him up as it involved a lot of concentration to avoid getting his shoes wet. He went back into the bar and sat down between the snogging Rich and Tash, and Kate and Ted, who were sitting holding hands, but not a conversation. Mia was dancing with a complete stranger, and he couldn’t see Jason and Jayne. He assumed they’d gone off together somewhere. He was a quick worker that Jason. Lloyd didn’t know whether to feel envy or pride at his friend. He checked his watch and considered calling Greta, but it was very late and he was very pissed. She might not be too happy to hear from him.

But he should. Yes, he should. Lloyd found his jacket on the floor and pushed his arms into the sleeves. He staggered outside without fastening it, which was a mistake as it was subzero outside. He stood under the porch of the doorway into the bar, trying to shelter, but merely annoying the people who were intent on getting inside. He jabbed memory three. Which was Greta’s number. His direct line to his office was stored in the first memory button, and Sophie still had second place. There was nothing significant about that, he’d argued to Greta. He just hadn’t got around to changing the order. It was unnecessary.

Greta picked up the phone after only three rings. ‘Gretait’ssme,’ slurred Lloyd. Greta, a Channel away, rubbed her eyes, sat up in bed and flicked on the bedside lamp.

‘What time is it, Lloyd?’

‘Ten past two.’

It was ten past one in the UK, but Greta didn’t mind. When she had been Lloyd’s mistress she’d grown used to receiving inconvenient calls, late at night.

‘Are you having fun?’ she asked brightly.

‘Was, but now I miss you and I’m sad.’

‘Oh, poor boy,’ giggled Greta, pleased. ‘How’s the snow?’ Greta was a good skier herself.

‘Oh, it’s looking good. Falling as we speak. I’m looking forward to getting out there.’

‘And how are all your friends? Is it nice to see everyone?’ Greta asked politely. She had made her point that she thought it was rude she had been excluded, but the holiday had gone ahead without her. There was no point in harbouring any resentment. Or, at least, there was no point in showing any more resentment.

‘They’re all well. Excellent form.’

‘You don’t feel too much of a gooseberry being the extra guy?’

Lloyd didn’t take the opportunity to say that he was no longer one of seven, but now one of a group of eight. He just mumbled, ‘I’m fine, just missing you, Grets.’

‘Lloyd, what are you doing out in the snow? You’ll catch your death, darling. Come in at once,’ shouted Jayne. She was leaning out of a window of the bar, her mouth was almost touching Lloyd’s ear. She flashed her widest, most beguiling smile. ‘You simply must come and save me from Jason.’ She put her hands around her mouth and yelled in a fake stage whisper, ‘No one warned me that he was such a charming octopus.’ She giggled as Jason pulled her back into the bar and firmly closed the window, sealing in the good-time vibe.

‘Who was that?’ asked Greta. Her tone was colder than the icicles hanging from the roof tops.

‘Jayne,’ replied Lloyd simply. His office life had taught him never to volunteer more information than required.

‘Is she there with Jason? Has Jason taken a girlfriend?’ she demanded, her sleepy, sultry tones well and truly banished.

‘No, no, nothing like that. Jayne is Ted’s sister. She’s here because –’ Lloyd wondered if he could get away with pretending that she wasn’t in their party at all, that it was a coincidence and in fact she was skiing with a group of friends. No, probably not. Greta would question him about the group of friends. She’d probably start imagining any amount of untrue and ugly situations. He had to come clean.

‘She’s here because Ted and Kate backed Rich and Tash into a corner. Jayne needed a holiday. It’s all very embarrassing.’

‘She called you “darling”.’

‘She calls everyone “darling”. She leads the type of life where everything
is
“darling”. It doesn’t mean anything. Look, Tash and Rich are just being good friends. Jayne’s split from her boyfriend and needed cheering up.’

‘Yes, they are very good friends. I know who to call, then, if ever I split from my boyfriend,’ said Greta, and then hung up.

Shit.

Lloyd stared at the phone in surprise. He hadn’t expected her to take it well, but he hadn’t expected her to hang up on him. It wasn’t civilized. Bloody women. He supposed he’d have to call her back. After all, that’s why women hung up phones, or walked out of restaurants and bars, just to see if you’d follow them. He hit memory three again.

‘Hello.’

The voice was sleepy and surprised, but it was not Greta, it was Sophie’s voice. He’d hit the wrong button. Lloyd momentarily considered hanging up, but he knew that Sophie would dial 1471, and then he’d look like a prat for hanging up. Best he bluff it out.

‘Hello, Sophie. Happy New Year.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Lloyd. It’s late January. It’s not New Year,’ snapped Sophie, recognizing Lloyd’s voice in an instant.

‘Still never too late to say Happy New Year, is it?’

Sophie sighed. She hated New Year’s Eve and never stayed up to welcome the new year in, never had. Her policy was to ignore it. At least to ignore it in a personal sense, professionally it was a big night for her. This year she had had all four of her catering teams at important events. They’d all been great successes and had already led to further recommendations and leads for more work. One of the events was a private party for a breakfast TV presenter. The evening had been ‘Verrrry showbiz, daaarling’, and had been covered in one of the gossipy glossies. Sophie admitted that as far as New Year’s Eves went, this year hadn’t been bad. But she didn’t celebrate New Year. Why couldn’t Lloyd remember something as simple as that about her? And, most importantly, it wasn’t bloody New Year, so why was he calling?

‘I wasn’t sure if I’d catch you,’ said Lloyd. ‘I thought you might be working.’

Even pissed his voice betrayed a sneer. A sneer that said Sophie working was a problem, a betrayal. He still thought that her having a successful career was a bigger betrayal than him slipping his dick inside his personal assistant. Sophie sighed, and tried to remain patient.

‘I don’t have to attend quite as many events as I had to in the old days. It’s one of the perks of being a boss of an extremely competent staff. Besides, I don’t like leaving Joanna with baby-sitters too often, even if I could find one that was prepared to stay after midnight.’ Sophie wondered why she was bothering to explain this to him. Why did she always feel that she had to justify herself to him when he no longer meant anything to her?

‘Why the call?’

‘Just thought I’d see how you are. Oh, and Joanna, of course,’ drawled Lloyd, trying to sound, if not sober, then at least less drunk than was the case. It was wasted effort. His ex-wife knew him too well. She resisted pointing out that by ringing in the middle of the night he was unlikely to speak to Joanna.

Instead she said, ‘We’re fine, thank you. Presumably you couldn’t get hold of Greta. She’s probably in some club somewhere where the reception for mobile phones isn’t too good. Isn’t that what you always used to say to me when I tried to call you at an ungodly hour? When you failed to come home.’

Sophie wished that she didn’t say these things. She wished that she could stop ‘having a go’, to use the vernacular. But she couldn’t. She clearly remembered one particularly painful evening, and she wanted Lloyd to remember it, too. When their daughter had been about eight months old she had woken, screaming, in the middle of the night. It transpired that her temperature was 104 degrees. It was after midnight and Lloyd, who was supposed to be at a work function, was uncontactable. Intermittently, between bathing the baby with cold flannels, Sophie had tried his mobile number with increasing panic and desperation, until three in the morning when he finally came home.

His excuse was that the venue for the cocktail party was in a cellar and the reception on his phone had failed. But why hadn’t he picked up her messages in the cab? Wasn’t cocktail hour over by 9 p.m. at the latest? Sophie knew he had turned his phone off. It wasn’t until a few months later that she asked herself why he would have done that. It wasn’t as though Lloyd could have done anything to help Joanna, but Sophie would have found his presence a comfort. Joanna’s temperature subsided, and experience later dictated that the temperature had been the result of teething, no harm done. Except that it was another tiny incident where Sophie realized she could manage on her own and another tiny resentment that she stored against Lloyd. Resentments that, when finally totalled up, meant Sophie wanted to live on her own.

Sophie wished she’d stop rehashing their past. It never did any good. No matter how many times Lloyd reluctantly apologized for one or other of the crimes he’d committed, he couldn’t repair the damage he’d done.

‘For your information, I talked to Greta earlier on this evening,’ said Lloyd, although he knew his ex-wife was barely interested in facts. She was ensconced in her version of things. A world that he believed had little basis in reality. She could be so exasperating. So argumentative. So wilful. Spirited. Fun. Lloyd managed to shift from furious to curious in a matter of seconds.

He knew it was the drink, but at that moment he didn’t want Greta. At that moment he wanted Sophie, and his daughter, and his old life back. He wanted that more than anything in the world. If they were a family again, he wouldn’t be lonely. He wouldn’t be alone in a crowd any more. He wanted his old life. The life where he believed in happily ever after. The one where he was respected and envied.

His rambling desires were interrupted by a heavy sigh from Sophie.

‘Can I go now? Some of us have to be up early in the morning, and not to dash down a ski run, cutting the first snow, but to feed Cheerios to an unwilling two-year-old.’

Damn, Sophie mentally kicked herself. There, she’d done it again. The reprimand was loud and clear – Sophie’s life was lonely and damaged because of Lloyd’s selfish actions. The truth was Sophie was doing OK now, better than OK. She had long since left behind her the endless nights of reprisals, revenge plots and recriminations. She was sometimes genuinely happy. It wasn’t always easy. Juggling a career and a small child on her own was complicated, but her daughter was such a source of undisputed, exquisite joy that the complications were nothing more than inconvenient. Her work was also a great source of pride and, not to put too fine a point on it, income.

For the first time in a long time, Sophie felt in control of her life and destiny, and she liked that feeling. So why was it that she found her treacherous tongue could not resist waging a pointless battle with her ex-husband? It was clear that the war had already been fought, the casualties counted and the dead buried. Why couldn’t her treacherous tongue follow the instructions of her infinitely more sensible brain and behave with composure and serenity? Sophie wondered if she was over Lloyd. The loneliness had gone away, but her anger reared its ugly head at so many unexpected turns. She was angry with him when other women – her friends, for example – announced their second pregnancy or when she bumped into him and Greta in the high street, strolling along hand in hand, and smiling as though they hadn’t wreaked as much damage as an earthquake measuring seven on the Richter scale. She was angry when he announced he was taking a week’s skiing holiday.

‘What was your New Year wish?’ asked Lloyd.

Right at that moment, Sophie wished she had the courage simply to hang up on him, but she didn’t. Even now she was pathetically grateful for his attention. Habit, she supposed. Because she had been deprived of it for the past couple of years, she naturally hankered after it, like an ex-smoker gladly inhaling secondary smoke in a bar.

‘You don’t have New Year wishes. You’re confusing it with birthdays. You have New Year’s resolutions,’ she pointed out tetchily.

Lloyd didn’t bother to ask her what her New Year’s resolution was. He assumed he knew. It was likely to be to drink more water and lose half a stone in weight. Those had been Sophie’s New Year’s resolutions for all the years they’d known each other. Besides which, he suddenly found that he had an agenda, one which had been developed with the speed and intensity exclusive to a drunk. He planned to stick, unwaveringly, to the agenda. It was the only way to secure success.

‘My resolution is to grow my business by another 30 percent and to franchise the Highgate branch,’ said Sophie, even though he hadn’t asked. Lloyd barely registered what she had said, so intent was he to push ahead.

‘Well, my New Year’s wish is that you were here, with the old gang.’

He let his voice drop slightly, and Sophie knew that his eyes would be misting over. The two things, the drop in tone and the misty eyes, always came hand in hand. It wasn’t exactly insincere, but it was a practised technique. His huge, melting, puppy-dog eyes had weakened her resolve on many, many occasions in the past. But they were less effective over a telephone line.

‘I wouldn’t be enjoying myself if I were there,’ said Sophie truthfully.

‘Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you, really?’ Incredulity was always amplified after a jar or two too many.

‘Mia would be making my life hell because I like make-up and I didn’t go to an ancient university. Mistakenly, she seems to link the two facts. She’d be making snide comments about my “party project” and ignoring the fact that I was nominated as Business Woman of the Year by
Red
magazine. Rich would be veering between correcting my grammar and accent, and trying it on.’

Lloyd lost his footing and slipped. He only managed to stay upright because he fell against the wall. He was glad that Sophie couldn’t see just how drunk he was. ‘Oh, no, no, no, no. Rich wouldn’t do that.’

‘Rich always did that. As did Jason. And Kate and Ted are OK, but I’ve been extremely disappointed with Kate of late. We were good friends, or so I thought. I’ve seen her once since you and I split up. I think that was due to curiosity – she wanted to hear me dish the dirt. Maybe I should have obliged. At least I’d have been more interesting, then maybe she would have called a second time. I don’t think it’s very decent of her to ditch me and Joanna quite as unceremoniously as she has. Even lepers get visitors, and leprosy is medically proven to be infectious. As far as I know, divorce isn’t.’