Boyfriend in a Dress (22 page)

As I fill my mug with instant hot water, I hear somebody come in behind me, and turn to see José blocking the doorway.

‘Hi, José,’ I say wearily; another confrontation.

‘Just to let you know, I am checking the security cameras. I zink you ’ave been stealing from zese offices, and I intend to call ze police.’

He exhausts me, but, at the same time, I can’t stop myself laughing. ‘What is it you think I have stolen, José?’

‘Stationery,’ he says in a cool voice. The top three buttons of his shirt are undone, and chest hair is sprouting out all over the place. But there is no sign of sweat on him.

‘What kind of stationery?’ I know this is complete rubbish, but he is playing every card in his pack. It’s almost admirable, in an idiotic way.

‘General stationery. Angela tells me zere is ’ardly a stapler left in ze building, and I ’ave noticed your bag bulging in ze evening.’ He smiles at me; he knows this is ludicrous.

‘What exactly do you think I have been doing with all these staplers?’

‘Car boot sales.’

‘You think I’ve been selling staplers at car boot sales? If I was going to steal something, wouldn’t I steal something a bit more profitable, like phones? Or laptops?’

‘Ahhh, so you admit it!’ José leans back against the door frame and smiles again.

‘José, for God’s sake, get out of my way,’ I say as I push past him, and manage to spill a couple of drops of my coffee on his beige loafers.

‘Beetch!’ I hear him swear as I walk back to my office.

‘Jesus Christ,’ I mutter, and close the door to my office, divert all my calls to answerphone, and begin the unenviable task of clearing my inbox.

At around six, I raise my head, and check my mobile – another missed call. I close the door and redial the number. After one ring, time enough for me to pat my hair down but not to compose myself, Dale answers.

‘Nicola?’ He sounds relieved.

‘Dale, hi, I’m so sorry.’ I mean it as well. I feel terrible. But not terrible enough to have phoned before.

‘What’s going on, has he been charged?’ he asks, still concerned. His accent is becoming familiar again, his voice not alien, but soothing.

‘Oh, no, well, they let him out yesterday.’ I feel guilty as I say it.

‘Oh right,’ and Dale jumps to all the logical conclusions, I can hear it in his voice. The disappointment is glaring.

‘Yeah, so he’s okay. I don’t really know what’s happening, they just seem to be questioning him. And I’ve been down there today. It doesn’t even look like much will come of it. I don’t know for sure, of course …’ My voice trails off as I realize for the first time that I don’t know what will come of it. I should know that at least, what exactly is going on. I feel suddenly anxious, in the dark.

I realize that neither of us has said anything for a while, and I know I should ask about him.

‘So what are your plans now, then?’ I try to sound curious, and not guilty.

‘I phoned the airline today, I didn’t know what would be happening …’ Dale sounds guilty too.

‘And?’

‘Well, I’ve missed Dublin now as well, but I can get a flight back to the States whenever I want.’ He is waiting for me to tell him what to do.

‘So are you going to book it for the weekend?’ I ask, telling him what I think, without actually saying it.

‘Yeah, I could do.’ The sadness is almost seeping down the phone now, and I shiver, as I start to hear the patter of rain outside against the window. It’s only light now.

‘Well, then you have another day to look around town, tomorrow, and you can fly back on Friday night. You must
be missing the kids like crazy.’ I pretend to sound like I mean all of this, and ignore the fact that I have stopped him going where he was going.

‘Yes, I could do that,’ he says, and then quickly, before I have a chance to say anything, ‘Can I see you, before I go?’

‘Oh Dale, I have to work tomorrow. What with resigning and everything, they are watching me like a hawk.’

‘What about tonight then, just for a drink, just to say goodbye?’

‘Well, I have this work do that I have to go to, and …’ Charlie doesn’t even know he is here: I have deliberately kept it from him, not because of the circumstances, but because I really don’t want him to know. Charlie would probably have liked to say hello, but I’ve kept him to myself. Another secret. Just rack ’em up.

‘I suppose I could meet you before going to the restaurant, it is on my way. Just for a quick drink – I have to be there for eight, so if I leave now, I can make it – okay?’ I make it sound like I was going to come all along, that I hadn’t even considered not seeing him.

‘Sure, I’m here. I might pop out later, catch a play or something.’

‘Great, well, I’ll be with you in about half an hour then.’

‘Great, I’ll see you then.’

We hang up on each other at the same time.

Outside the rain starts to hammer down, and even though Dale’s hotel is not more than ten minutes’ walk away, I try desperately to catch a cab – I don’t have an umbrella. But it’s always the same in London, as soon as a cloud pops into the sky, hailing a cab is the hardest thing in the world. I gradually start to make my way down the street, stopping to look both ways and see if I can glimpse a rare orange light, but they all shoot past me with their smug inhabitants dry inside. My
paper, held pathetically above my head, is soaked through and starting to stick to my hair, and my vest top is soaked. I make a run for it.

I get to the hotel more wet than dry, having given up the hope of looking like anything but a drowned rat about a minute after I’d started running. It is actually quite refreshing just to say: ‘Fuck it I’m going to get wet, so come on rain, do your worst.’ It’s strangely liberating.

I shake the rain off, half laughing, in the foyer while the receptionists and busboys look over at me in shock and disdain. Fuck ’em. My phone starts ringing and I fish it out of my bag, trying desperately not to drip all over the rest of the contents.

‘Hello,’ I almost shout as I get to it just in time. I am elated, still half laughing at how I must look, how I feel.

‘Nix, it’s me,’ Charlie says breathlessly down the phone.

‘Char, where are you?’ I wipe my dripping hair away from my forehead, and pat the rain off the side of my face.

‘I’m at work, just about to leave now – where are you?’

‘Oh, I’m at the restaurant, just about to be seated.’ I am lying, again.

‘Well, have a drink for me, and get home fast – they’re not taking it any further – I’m not being charged. I fucking told you!’ Charlie almost screams it down the phone, sounding like a man who’s just won the lottery.

‘You’re kidding, that’s bloody great! That’s great.’ If I am honest, I can’t quite believe it.

‘What happened?’ I need to know the details

‘The girl said she didn’t know who it was, but it wasn’t me. She’d just mentioned my name when she’d first woken up because I was the last person she’d seen. She just said we’d had a coffee and a chat and then she’d left. But she’s fully conscious now and she’s told them she can’t really remember what happened.’

‘Charlie, that’s brilliant,’ I say, as I try and hide the incredulity in my voice.

‘I want to be with you, now,’ I continue. I want to hold him and make plans and tell him I believed him all along.

‘I know, can’t you get out of this bloody thing – tell them you feel ill or something? Sod it, just tell them what’s happened, I don’t care, they’ll understand. Please?’

‘Oh Charlie, I wish I could. I’ll be quick though, I’ll just have a starter and then I’ll come straight round.’ I’ll just say hello and goodbye to Dale, have a quick drink, and then blow out the dinner, and go straight round to his.

‘Great, well, get home as soon as you can. I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

‘We’re going away, just you and me!’

‘I know, I know.’ It’s the first time we’ve both really believed it since we’ve been back.

‘I’ll see you soon,’ and I hang up.

I feel unbelievable. Outside the rain has stopped and the sun is coming out again, at seven o’clock at night, one of those late red suns that really shouldn’t be there. I feel over the fucking moon. I want to sing and dance and jump for joy. I can’t remember feeling this good, forever, since uni, since America.

I phone Dale and tell him I’m downstairs.

‘I’ll come straight down,’ he says, not happy at all, businesslike even. I just need to do this, have this drink, and say thank you as well – he helped me through it. I need to send him on his way with a dignified goodbye that lets him know that I’m glad I saw him, and that everything, me, him, Charlie, his kids, everything will be all right.

I can’t sit down because my jeans are soaking, so I linger at the door while I wait for him to come down. I watch the stairway for him, but he doesn’t appear, just a youngish guy with a shaved head in jeans and a sweatshirt,
who walks towards me with a serious look. He stops in front of me.

‘Oh Jesus, Dale?! What happened?’ I instinctively rub my hand over the top of his head and feel the freshly-shorn bristles. ‘What butcher did that to you?’ I laugh, and he smiles back. You can really see his face, but it looks completely different – squarer somehow, and his eyes bluer, almost Irish.

‘Time for a change,’ he says, laughing at himself, and feels his head.

‘You look great, I mean very different, but … oh my God, it really suits you! I didn’t even recognize you! And what’s with the jeans? You look like something out of a GAP advert!’

‘Is it that bad?’ He looks serious for a minute, and then smiles again.

‘I just thought it was time I relaxed, I went shopping today – I’ve never owned a pair of jeans in my life. Thought it was time I gave it a try – you can’t really knock it till you’ve tried it.’ He crosses his arms, and looks away, almost embarrassed.

‘No, it really suits you, you look great, honest. I just didn’t recognize you that’s all.’ I laugh again, and then we realize that we are staring at each other for no real reason.

‘Well, I, unfortunately do not look quite as good,’ I say, and gesture towards my soaking wet hair – I can still feel the water on my eyelashes, but can’t wipe them because of the mascara streaks that would be left behind.

‘You got caught in the storm,’ he says.

‘And you are a genius,’ I reply, and ring out the bottom of my top, which actually leaves a puddle at my feet. I shiver slightly.

‘Well, you need to get dry, and nowhere is going to let you sit down in those,’ he gestures towards my jeans which are two shades darker with damp.

‘Let’s go upstairs and get you dry, and we can have a drink there.’

‘Oh.’ I am taken aback slightly, I don’t know why, it’s not as if I can’t trust myself; I am completely sober. I realize I haven’t eaten all day, but I am only going to have one drink. And what I want to do most is see Charlie. I won’t stay long.

‘Of course, if you don’t mind. It makes sense.’ I sound like I am justifying it to myself.

‘Yes it does, come on it won’t take long.’

Dale walks off towards the stairs and I follow, and the disapproving receptionists’ looks follow me.

‘Ahhh, it hurts, my legs are too tired,’ I say as I drag my soaked denim-encased legs up the last flight of stairs to the third floor.

‘Come on, stop whining,’ Dale says, and grabs my outstretched hand and drags me up the last few steps.

‘Sadist,’ I say, smiling.

‘Flattery won’t get you anywhere,’ he replies, and with that his key is in his door.

I stand uncomfortably by the bathroom while he grabs some towels, and passes me the complimentary bathrobe that hangs behind the door.

‘Not worn once,’ he says, as he hands me a pile of fluff, and flips on the bathroom light.

‘You can change in there,’ he says, and motions towards the bathroom, which is huge and marble and white and old-fashioned. He walks over and throws himself onto his bed, and grabs a newspaper from the side, leaving me standing stupidly by the door.

‘Thanks.’ I feel like a kid, being supervised by a teacher. I thought the sexual tension would be too much for us and we would be ripping each other’s clothes off like the last time we had been in a bedroom together, albeit six years ago. But Dale is all grown-up, and I am the kid; he just wants a drink, and to read his newspaper, I am the one being childish, and unforgivable. I towel dry my hair and peel off my jeans with
some effort, pat myself dry, and think about Charlie, waiting in his flat with a bottle of champagne for me to come home and celebrate. I am fine, I am in control, I am not going to do anything more than have a drink and go. Besides, Dale seems like a different person now, with his lack of hair and his new jeans. It’s like the control has shifted somehow, and he who previously needed me to prove he was still young and attractive just doesn’t any more. His haircut has performed the reverse Samson effect, and now he has the power. No, I am completely in control, and not about to do anything silly. I double knot the dressing gown.

My feet feel particularly naked stepping out on the carpet of his room, and as I look down at the starting to chip red nail varnish on my toes, I jump at the knock on the door behind me. Dale springs up and without even looking at me, brushes past to open the door. I hurry further inside, so that the waiter won’t see me, and think we are doing anything we shouldn’t. I have a guilty conscience, and I haven’t even done anything …

I position myself on a chair, moving a familiar-looking suit onto the side of the bed, and adjust the bathrobe so that it covers my knees, and no bra or cleavage is showing. Dale catches me doing it as he walks back from the door with a bottle of red wine and a couple of glasses. He looks away and pretends he didn’t see, and I stop immediately. I am embarrassed enough for the both of us, with my presumption. He is making me feel like a fool.

‘You do drink red, don’t you?’ he asks, as he puts the two glasses down on the side.

‘Absolutely.’ I try and sound bright and breezy. I just don’t want him to come any closer; he needs to stay on that side of the room.

‘I spoke to my kids today,’ he says, as he pours the wine, and I feel all of my adrenaline pour out of me. He really does want to go home, he really does just want one last drink. I am being stupid, thinking like a child. I am nearly thirty, for God’s sake. I need to get a grip. I concentrate on the voice of cautious conscience in the back of my head, the one that always persuades me against doing silly things. The one that has been kicking around for a while, since the last time I did something really stupid. I will rely on it now, not to let me blurt out something inappropriate. To talk about his kids, and his trip, and then let me leave, emotionally in one piece. I do not need to hit the self-destruct button every time. I have self-control, I can use it. Not every opportunity is one to be taken – not everything has to end in some fated romantic disaster.

‘How are they? They won’t recognize you when you get back.’

‘I know, I know,’ he says, rubbing his head again, with a look of simultaneous pride and regret.

‘And the kids at school! All the teenage girls are going to fancy you now.’ I laugh, and relax a little.

‘“Fancy”? That word always makes me laugh,’ he says. ‘They “fancied” me anyway,’ and I notice his accent, remember he’s not from these parts. He is a world away, and he is going home soon.

A thought slams me. ‘For God’s sake, don’t tell Joleen you saw me, she’ll think I made you do it!’ I say, and then catch the look on his face, a serious look, at the mention of her name.

‘I wasn’t going to tell her I saw you; it would only upset her.’ He takes a large gulp of wine, and I follow suit. He sits on the end of his bed, legs apart, cradling his wine glass in his hands, head down. Even the pose doesn’t seem like him, seems too young for him somehow. He looks like a footballer, not a poetry teacher.

‘Even now, after all this time, she’d get upset if you talked about me?’ I ask, incredulous.

‘Oh please, you love that it would upset her, don’t sound so shocked.’ He is being confrontational, and I rise to the bait.

‘Why would you say that? I was barely even there, just a year, and you never had any feelings for me anyway, you just pretended, to wind her up. She must know that by now.’

‘She isn’t stupid, don’t talk like she is.’ Dale turns and snaps at me, with flashes of anger in his eyes.

‘Sorry, God, I wasn’t saying she was stupid, I’m just saying that it was, you know, so long ago, and we were at college, and, it was nothing.’

‘It wasn’t nothing.’ Dale rubs his hand from the front of his head to the back, he has acquired a new habit, in a day.

‘Oh, Dale, come on.’ I try and laugh it off.

He necks his drink, and pours himself another large glass, which almost spills over the top. I take another gulp. I don’t like where this is going. I meant it to be light-hearted, a fond farewell, not some massive deep and meaningful. Dale is a man of passion, no cutting off of hair can get rid of that. He wants to feel great things, romantic things. He wants to be Shelley and Byron rolled into one. He wants his life to be fated, he believes in destiny, he wants drama and tears, he wants to see me cry. An anger rises up inside me. Is this some game that he and Joleen concocted before he came away, some malevolent way to get back at me for ruining their year at college, gate-crashing their party of two? I bet they haven’t even separated – she’s probably hiding in the wardrobe, waiting for me to make a fool of myself. But they’re out of luck today. I’ve come for my drink, and then I’ll go.

I have worked myself up into a state, and I gulp my wine, and put my glass down, ready to leave.

‘Do you know what Einstein said?’ Dale asks me, assuming of course that I won’t know.

‘No, what did he say?’ I ask, angrily, waiting for some deep pearl of wisdom that Dale thinks will go right over my head. So what if it does? I’m sick of this.

‘He said, “When I was young I found out that the big toe always ends up making a hole in a sock, so I stopped wearing socks.”’

What? Dale starts to laugh to himself, and I just sit there looking confused for a second.

‘What are you talking about?’ I try not to laugh, all the anger oozing away.

‘I’m just saying, big toes make holes in socks.’

‘No, you’re not, you bloody know you’re not. I learn from my mistakes, Dale, we all do.’

‘I don’t.’ He turns and looks at me and the smile fades.

‘We made a mistake, didn’t we? You didn’t mean to do what you did, and I didn’t mean to let you leave.’ This is the conversation he’s been waiting to have since they checked his passport at the airport.

‘Oh Dale, Jesus, let’s not get into it all right, let’s just finish our drinks, and say goodbye.’ I realize I am out of wine, and get up and walk over to get the bottle, pour myself another large glass. As soon as I take a sip, I feel slightly unsteady, but walk back to my chair and sit down carefully. Dale takes a pack of cigarettes out of the back of his jeans, and lights one, offering the pack and the lighter to me. I do the same, and breathe out smoke carefully, watching it curl up towards the ceiling and disappear.

‘Don’t you ever think about it?’ Dale asks quietly, head down again.

‘No, I don’t. It was what it was; saying goodbye, getting rid of the tension. I don’t know, we just wanted to do it so we did. We were kids.’ My lies are even bigger than me now, they sound convincing. I am amazed how easily it comes.

‘I wasn’t a kid. It was more than that,’ he says seriously.

‘No, it wasn’t, you just think like that because you were going through a hard time: what’s-her-name had just tried to top herself.’ I feel my words slur slightly, and an insensitivity creep into my voice, and I concentrate on sounding nice.

‘And you know, I was leaving, you looked so sad …’

‘Don’t you dare call it a pity fuck.’ Dale jumps up and walks back to the bottle, picks it up and slams it down again, and drops fly out of the top.

‘Well, don’t dress it up as something it wasn’t,’ I shout back, stubbing out my cigarette, and glaring at him.

‘Dale, we shagged once; it doesn’t matter, it hasn’t changed our lives. For God’s sake, not everything has to be riddled with some fucking meaning that’s not even there.’ I am almost convincing myself.

‘Not everything has to be for a reason.’ I quieten my voice.

‘We’ve moved on, we’re grown-ups, you have kids, for Christ’s sake. Let’s not make a drama out of it.’ I sit back against my chair, and let my head fall back, with the exhaustion of the conversation, of trying to think straight. I feel the room spin slightly, and open my eyes wide, and sit up. Even now, even after everything, I can’t admit it. It would do more harm than good. He doesn’t want my confession; he needs to hear me say it didn’t matter.

‘I have to go,’ I say quickly, and finish off my wine in a gulp.

‘Do you still love him?’ Dale asks, ignoring what I say.

‘If you are talking about Charlie …’ I don’t answer. I want to say yes, I really do, but I don’t want to lie any more than I have to.

‘Well, there’s my answer,’ Dale says in response to my silence, and indignation sweeps me.

‘Yes, yes I do. We fit, we’ve stayed together, through everything.’

‘Yeah, I bet there have been some really tough times – did his football team lose a game? Did you put on a couple of pounds? You really are a pair of survivors!’ The sarcasm in Dale’s drunken voice is tangible, and I bite my tongue.

‘Look, this has turned nasty, so I’m going to go. I’m sorry it had to end like this, I really am, and it was very nice to see you, but this is bloody stupid.’

I get up and stumble my way towards the door, but Dale jumps up and stands in my way. I expect him to grab me but he doesn’t.

‘Even after what he did, you’re going to stay with him? He attacked somebody! A woman! And you’re going to forgive him?’ I am shocked, but that is all. Dale really thinks we are something, his feelings are running deeper than they ever should have.

‘Dale,’ I say quietly, in a whisper, ‘he didn’t do it. The police have cleared him of everything, the girl herself admitted he didn’t do it. And you know what? Even if he had done it, even if I had left him, it still wouldn’t have been about you and me. You think there is an “us”, Dale, but you’re just clinging to it, some wild idea of what I am, and what you could be with me, when it’s not either of us at all. Not everything is romantic, not everything is destined to be. Sometimes,’ I reach out and touch his arm, ‘we just want things to be different, to entertain ourselves, to kid ourselves that we’re different. But we’re just normal, we’re two people who met, had sex, and then didn’t see each other for a while, and just because we share some kind of sexual tension, it doesn’t mean we’re … I don’t know, meant to be.’

‘Don’t patronize me.’ Dale grits his teeth, and I am suddenly exhausted again.

‘Then calm the fuck down, Dale, this isn’t sodding Shakespeare.’ I try to push past him, but he grabs me and spins me around.

‘Don’t talk to me like I’m a kid – why did you even come, if you had nothing to say?’ He seems absolutely bewildered that I could just leave like this. I am not fitting into his plan of what tonight was supposed to be.

‘I came to say goodbye, I came because I wanted to say thanks – no, you know what? If you want honesty, I came because I thought I had to! I came to make you feel better about yourself, to send you on your merry way with a happy heart. Jesus, I just came to say goodbye, Dale. That’s it.’

‘It was more than that.’ We are standing too close, I can feel his hands digging into my arms, and I know I should break away.

‘All right, I came to prove that I could trust myself. That Charlie and I are fine, because I could trust myself with you. I didn’t want to run away from this one. I wanted to … get closure or something stupid. There you go – is that American enough for you?’ I laugh slightly, at my own words.

Dale stares at me hard, and then smiles. ‘Closure? Are you sure about that word?’

‘I know, I sound like an idiot. White trash all along.’ I sigh and laugh. I feel Dale lean in and his lips brush mine.

‘No, Dale, Jesus!’ I pull away from him, fighting myself and the urge to make another fucking huge mistake.

We stand and stare at each other and I know for a fact that if he kisses me again, I won’t say no, but does he know that? It’s the red wine, and the drama, and the tears, but mostly the wine, I tell myself quickly. But still I just stand and stare at him. I don’t think he will do it – how much rejection can one man take? But it’s like he knows what I’m thinking – maybe I give it away, maybe my mouth isn’t saying anything, but my hands are signalling to him, kiss me again, and I won’t say no. He takes a step forward, and puts his hands on either side of my face, and kisses me softly. I feel his tongue lick my upper lip, but no part of me moves, except my mouth,
kissing him back. I feel his hands move down to the knot on my robe, but he keeps kissing me, and then after a couple of seconds, he steps back and looks at the double knot that is refusing to come undone.

‘Jesus,’ he laughs, and it is almost enough to bring me to my senses, but as quickly as an image of Charlie darts through my head, the knot is undone and his tongue is on my breasts and his hands are up and down my back, and I feel myself pulling his sweater over his head. I push him down onto the bed, but he pulls me with him, holding a breast in each hand, pushing my legs apart with his knees, and my hands are at his jeans, unbuttoning them quickly, and pushing my hand inside. I run my tongue down the hair on his chest, and then up again, licking his nipple, kissing his neck, meeting his mouth again as he kisses me hard and takes my face in his hands. I so want to kiss him, and impress him, and have him want me more than anybody that has gone before, and make him believe that this was the sex he has always wanted, and I am the person who can make him feel more than anybody else. I want him to want to be inside me more than he wants anybody else in the world. And an urgency creeps into his movements as he kicks off his jeans and I see how hard he is already, how much he wanted this, but I want to slow him down, and make him realize how great this is, what we are doing. But I feel him spread my thighs, and guide himself inside me with an urgency that says he couldn’t slow this down. I reach down and try and hold his dick, try and slow him up, but he pushes my hand away, and presses himself back inside me, and I resolve to kiss him for all the time it takes, and to hold him for as long as I can, because I don’t know what will happen when this ends.