Virtually Perfect (7 page)

Ben stood open-mouthed.  She flung the door open.  He heard her stomp down the corridor.

'...Eve?'

Ben heard her zipping up her boots.

Ben stood there rubbing his head in a daze, wondering what he'd done wrong.  He hadn't brought her there to do anything untoward, he'd thought about kissing her, but wouldn't have dared try for more.  It was her who wrapped her legs around him, pulling him into her, tightening round his waist.  Not to say he didn't like it; he did.  Not to say he would have said no.  But he wasn't pushing at all.  The ragged breath, the longing looks.  He slung his camera down on the counter.

'Hang on...'

He heard her slam the door. 

Eve ran out onto the landing.  She jabbed at the silver button frantically.

Why is there never a fucking lift when you want one?

She heaved open the glass door and ran down the marble steps. 

She burst into the foyer, panting.  She twisted the handle left and right, pushed and pulled, but the door wouldn't budge. 

Oh shit ...  Seriously?

Eve's curls flailed as she span around.  A little green button. 

'PRESS HERE TO EXIT.'

It's like Alice in sodding Wonderland...

She punched it with the side of her hand, flinging open the door, bursting out into the cold, star-strewn night.

'Evelyn!'

Ben caught up with her on Eaton Place.  He grabbed her arm.

'What's wrong with you?'

Her eyes were ferocious.  A man with a bag of chips started to stare.  Ben let her arm go.  Eve marched on, arms folded.

'You could be banging fifty girls for all I know...'

'...Is that what this is about?' 

Why did he have to live so fucking close... 

'Evelyn?  ...Evelyn!  Don't be ridiculous.'

She'd had no chance to lose him.  He only lived around the corner.

'A hundred then!' Eve called back.

'...Don't be so neurotic.  Can't we just talk, like adults?'

Eve didn't break her pace.

'...You're not hurting him, you know.' 

She paused.  Ben watched her face turn sideways. 

'You're hurting you.  You might wind up hurting me.  ...But you're not hurting him.' 

'What are you talking about?' she scowled. 

'I don't know who he was.' said Ben.  'I don't know what he did....  To be honest, I don't think I want to.  But it's pretty clear from you picking fights over nothing, someone did number on you.'

Eve just stared at him.  Black eyes, white skin. 

She put her head down, started walking again.

'This is me,' she said, clanking up her steps, not even bothering to look back.  Ben hobbled up after her.

'Eve...'

'What?'

'Shut your eyes.'

'Fuck off, Ben.'

'...Look, I have to tell you, I am rubbish at this...  Please, Eve.  Just shut your eyes.'

Eve felt him press a cold little box into her hand.  He closed her fingers around it.  Her breath faltered as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

She stood blinking at the little box.  Metallic letters.

Bvlgari.

'...Ben?'

He was already halfway down the steps.

'Ben!'

He paused. 

She could see his breath. 

'Come in.  I'll make you a coffee'

He had his hands in his jean pockets.  He was only wearing a t-shirt.

'...Please?'

She inclined her head.  He looked up at her, shaking his.

'I've got to go.  I have to be on a plane in six hours.' 

Eve just stared at him.

'...I'll call you,' he said.

He disappeared down the steps soundlessly.  Ben didn't look back again.  Eve saw him close the front gate and emerge on the pavement. 

He walked away quickly, hunched over, head down. 

She saw his bare feet.

He must be freezing...
             

'So?' urged Monique, fingers brandishing her coffee cup, fixing Ben with her big baby blues.  'You guys are an item?'

'I don't know, really,' shrugged Ben.  'I suppose.'

She set her cup down with a clatter, raking back her long blonde hair. 

'There is no
suppose
about it,' she said impatiently, leaning in towards him.  'Have you had the conversation or not?'

'We've had lots of conversations...'

Monique rolled her eyes in exasperation.

'You know what I'm talking about.'

'People don't do that anymore,' he said dismissively.  'Only in Woman's Weekly.'

'...Yes!  Yes, they do!  I'm telling you Benjamin, no girl will let you past the first base without it.  If she will, this isn't the sort of girl you want to be going past first base with.'

Ben's eyes flicked up from his oversized coffee cup.  He smirked.

'Have you heard yourself lately?' he said.  'You're starting to sound just like Mum.'

Monique laughed, playfully slapping his wrist. 

'OK, Ben.  You like her, right?' 

Ben nodded. 

'Well, then I have three pieces of advice for you.' 

Monique drummed her fingers on the table.  Ben looked up at her, cynically.

'Only three?' he said mockingly.  '...Alright, alright, I get it.   Have the talk.'

'Yes!  That's number one!  Number two... it's OK to drop your guard.  Show
a little
vulnerability...  I mean, don't go taking her to the cinema and crying all over her.  Just let her see a softer side.  Women like that.'

'...And?'

'Be a gentleman.  If you say you are going to call...'  She wagged her finger at him.  'Make sure that you do.  Not every five minutes, of course.  But not a week later either...  You will only get away with that so many times, mon frere.  For her, it will become old very soon...'

They were interrupted by the slap of tiny feet pattering across the tiled floor.  A breathless little giggle.

'Maman!  Maman!  Peut-oncle Benjamin jouer dans le jardin avec moi?'

Ben grinned, jumping up and grabbing his little nephew, growling like a bear.  Tristian's silver-blonde curls bounced as Ben slung him over his shoulder.  The rosy-cheeked little boy squealed with delight.

Monique smiled up at her beautiful son.

'Ben oncle a sortir pour maman, mais il jouera avec tu quand il reviendra.'

She watched Tristian's smile disintegrate.

'Où tu vas
, Ben?' Tristian asked his uncle.

Ben set Tristian down, ruffled his hair.  

'Je dois sortir,' he told Tristian gently, 'mais je serai bientôt de retour.'

Ben looked to Monique.  He saw the smile start to quiver.

'Look, it's just a formality,' he told her.  'Your lawyer will be there.  I can always stay here with you...'

Monique folded her arms across herself.  She tucked her chin in, shaking her head.

'I'd be happier knowing that I had you there,' she said.  'I mean... not that you'll understand much, your French is terrible, but...'

He nudged her.  She stumbled and grinned.

'OK,' he said.  'I'd better go and get ready.'

'I like your earrings,' said Alice, flashing a smile.  'Where did you get those from?' she asked leadingly.

'They're from... Ben.'

'Probably got them off the market,' Curtis chipped in.

'They must have cost a packet,' said Alice.

'Nicked them then,' Curtis shrugged.  'They're probably freshly plucked from the ears of some old biddie...'

Eve stopped what she was doing and glowered at him.

'Fuck off, Curtis,'  she growled. 

Her back was killing her.  There had been an estate clearance.  They were down in the warehouse, sorting through all the boxes.  They would have to stay late to get it sorted.  They'd be there all night at this rate.  It pissed Eve off no end when this happened.  There was just no organisation at all.  She didn't mind getting her hands dirty, but if she'd had advance notice, she would have brought in some scruffs.  She'd laddered her tights, her suit was filthy; she had a scuff on her Italian leather heels.  To cap it all, she was freezing her arse off - her knuckles were turning blue.  It would all be worth it for just one diamond in the rough, just one interesting lot amongst all the dross.  As it was, they just went wading on through box after box of worthless crap.

She pulled her phone from her pocket for the umpteenth time.  No new messages.  It had been nearly a week.

'...Bugger this.  Who wants a cup of tea?'

Eve dusted herself down and click-clacked off to the kitchen.

She sniffed the milk suspiciously, waiting for the kettle to boil.

'...They are nice,' came a timid voice.

Curtis stood in the doorway. 

'The earrings, I mean.'

Eve rinsed the stained teaspoon under the tap.

'Alice tells me that sometimes I can come across as a bit of a prick.' 

Eve looked up. 

'...I know,' said Curtis.  'I find it hard to believe too.' 

He smiled awkwardly.  Eve struggled with the lid on the rusty caddy.

'I'm sure he's alright, you know.  Your fella.  I am only pulling your leg.' 

He looked a little bit lost.

'...Would you like a Penguin?'

Eve smiled at him.

Curtis could be alright, when the mood took him.  It didn't make it any easier though.  She still dreaded having to break the news that she'd be attending the wedding alone. 

She lay almost completely submerged, just her nose and lips peeking through for air, breathing in the clammy scent of bergamot bath oil.

When she was a kid, Eve suffered recurring ear infections.  They were so bad that, sometimes, they exuded puss.  She spent half of her childhood in agony.  It was only when her dad knocked on the bathroom door one night that he discovered the cause.  She couldn't hear him.  He almost had to beat it down.  She'd always loved lying like this.

But the water was too hot for Eve tonight.  She hauled herself up and wringed out her hair; heard the gurgle as she yanked the plug free.  She didn't dry herself, just wrapped a towel around her, throwing her heavy white robe over the top, hitching up her socks over her soaking wet feet.

She'd left her coat at Ben's flat.  She couldn't text him and ask for it
. 

Fuck it.
 

Eve clicked on the TV. 

Fiona Bruce had turned puce.  The tube probably had a week of life left.  That should see Eve through another six months.   

She flicked through the channels, settled for BBC2 and sat down. 

She'd watched The Three Tenors in Concert with her mum.  She remembered how they'd both loved José Carreras.  Eve had just finished her GCSEs.  They lay sprawled out across opposite ends of the sofa.

Eve sat watching the sweaty little conductor.

You know, if you went for a bald, fat man, you wouldn't have any of this...

The envelope glared at her from the coffee table.  She didn't want to, but she felt compelled to look.  She knew it would only hurt.  Like a kid wobbling a tooth that wasn't ready, or picking at a scab.  She wished she could just throw them away.  Forget about them.  If you pick at a scab for long enough, it turns into a scar.

He'd processed them in colour.  Red and black.  She was back in the room again.  She remembered the fear.  The thrill.  The smell of him.  She had a crystal clear image of his face, his silhouette; the way he moved around the room.  She remembered his hands on the lens.  The coldness of the counter.  The fixer.  She remembered him touching her. 

She could see now what he could see.  He'd made her quite beautiful. 

Eve's heart felt heavy.  Her throat felt ripped. 

She wandered out to the hall, wrenching the little box from the pocket of her hoodie.  She flipped it open.  One left, and a lighter, slipped inside.

Eve took the cigarette and slipped it between her lips.  She walked out of the front door, flicking the lighter. 

She froze.

'Hi.'

'...Hi.'

He was wearing a suit.  A crisp white shirt, undone at the top button.  He'd had his hair cut.  He was clean shaven.  She watched him smirk, raise an eyebrow.  He reached out, took the cigarette dangling from her bottom lip.  A smile played on his lips as he slipped it into his breast pocket.  He plucked the lighter from her hand, slipping that in there too.