Boyfriend in a Dress (23 page)

I wake slowly, and the unfamiliarity of the room confuses me for a moment. I lay still and listen to the heavy breathing next to me, feel the arm tucked into my stomach, and the legs behind me cradled into my knees. Dale is holding on for dear life. The clock on the table next to the bed reads 10.04. It hasn’t hit me yet, what I’ve done, why I’m here, but I shudder slightly, and convince myself it’s the cold, and not the icy blood running through my veins. I don’t feel bad yet.

As the minutes tick on, and Dale leans in even more, sleeping deeply, and I somehow drift in and out of sleep, expecting to wake with a start at any moment and shout Charlie’s name, I realize nothing is happening. I don’t feel bad at all.

I wake again, and check the clock, it seems like only minutes since I checked it last, but it reads 11.58. I force my eyes to stay open for a minute, wait for the dread or the guilt or the fear to come, but still nothing happens. I move Dale’s arm from around my waist, and slither out of bed.

‘Where are you going?’ he asks, lying in the same position.

‘To the bathroom,’ I say, and grab my bag on the way in. I close the door, and fish my mobile out of my bag: two missed
calls. I check my messages. One from Phil, asking desperately where I am. And one from Charlie.

‘So obviously you are getting drunk, and fair enough. It’s been a rough couple of days. Enjoy yourself, I’ll be here when you get back. Wake me when you get in.’

He doesn’t sound drunk, or pissed off, or angry. A bit tired maybe, but that’s it. I turn my phone off, and chuck it back into my bag, and then run the cold water, splash water on my face, and peel out my contact lenses. I run my fingers through my hair, and flatten it down slightly, a makeshift makeover.

I creep back out into the room, and gather up my clothes – my bra and knickers and vest top lay on one side of the bed, my jeans on the other.

I put them all with my bag, on a chair.

I flip off the light … and get back into bed.

Dale immediately rolls over to me, and I push my head under his arm, onto his chest. I can tell he is awake, his breathing sounds uncomfortable; I am not sure if he is relieved at my staying or not.

‘Go to sleep, I’m not going anywhere,’ I tell him, and he kisses me on the top of my head.

I close my eyes, kiss his chest once, shift myself so the hairs on his chest aren’t in my mouth and I can breathe, and drift away.

Where do I go from here? The light blazes through the window, the clock flashes again, 06.52.

The obvious thing, the impulse that strikes me most, is that I should be on my own. I shouldn’t be scared to do my own thing, admit that my feelings either run too shallow or too deep for both of these men, and walk away. I can’t always run away from being on my own, some time has to be the time to try it out. I should just get up, look at the day, today is as good a day as any, bright or cloudy, rain or shine, and stop making excuses, and decide that today is the day to go it alone. But the mere thought of it scares me silly, and not the independence, or the self-reliance that it requires. The idea that I could lose both of them, in the same day, and be left standing, numb and stupid, is the worst part of all. Just thinking about it is merely an emotional exercise in exposing my fears, on some kind of erratic impulse, scaring myself to try and prompt the swell of guilt that usually comes.

We all know the right thing to do, the nuns know it, the priests know it, the good and just know it – I should end it with one, and start it with another, properly and wholly and honestly. Or finish it with them both.

Even if I reject the moral route, or the religious route – if I try and look at this thing philosophically, I am caught failing.

Socrates talked of the keys to a worthy life, a healthy soul, and pinpointed the virtues we should aspire to: Courage, Moderation, Piety, Wisdom, and Justice. I am striking out on all counts. In the Socratic Virtues World Cup I am Luxembourg – I’m not trying very hard, and my shorts don’t match my socks.

The sensible thing, for now, is to leave, and go to work. Dale is sleeping deeply, and rolling out of bed doesn’t wake him.

I grab my stuff from the chair, pull on jeans – knickers can wait, and pull on my top. I close the door behind me, and as I walk down the hotel corridor and put my sunglasses on, I actually feel quite glamorous, until I notice my bouncing bra-less breasts twanging about in front of me, and just feel like a slut. I cross my arms as I walk through reception, and take care not to make eye contact with anybody, in case I see looks I won’t like.

I step outside and it’s a beautiful morning – the rain has cleared the air, and the sun is up, and a whole group of people who are used to functioning at this hour are going about their business – I feel like a gatecrasher. I’m not usually awake at this time, let alone out and about in central London. I decide to walk to the gym and get a shower, wash my hair, generally clean up. By the time I emerge it is nearly half-past eight, and I make my way into work. It still seems so early. I have left a message on both phones. To Dale:

‘Sorry I didn’t say goodbye. I need to think about things. I will call you tonight, if you are still here. Bye.’

To Charlie:

‘Charlie I got caught up, and I drank too much. Hope you didn’t wait up. I’ll call you later – I need to talk to you about some stuff. Sorry. Bye.’

I didn’t mean to apologize – it just came out. I impress myself with my honesty – no cover-ups; I have intentions of telling the truth.

I hang around outside the building and finish my cigarette. It’s quiet, for Covent Garden, but it’s lovely – like some kind of secret world. I resolve to get up earlier more often, and experience this again. I’ve only got a month left. I shudder slightly at the thought of it. I need to decide, today, what I’m going to do. I need to make some calls. This one needs advice, and expert opinion. This one needs to call in the girls.

I take the lift up to the sixth floor, and let myself in. I grab a coffee, and walk through the open plan desks to my office – not for much longer. I remember how great it felt to get it, this ten foot by fifteen foot room that was mine, on loan, at least, until I really fucked up, which somehow never happened. How strange it felt at first to be shut away from all the gossip, and how wonderful it felt to be able to shut the door and actually get things done. It’s the least of my worries, but I’ll be sad to leave it. It’s my first office. I walk in and shut the door, only raising my eyes slightly as I walk past Phil’s desk and spot two rulers taped together which are the most prominent thing on it, his new and improved work cricket bat.

I open up my email, and check the clock – five past nine – the hordes will start flooding in soon, and then my silence will be gone. I get to work fast. I grab my mobile and drag up Amy’s number, and plug it in to my work phone.

‘Hey,’ she says, sounding like she’s walking to work.

‘Hey, it’s me,’ I say. ‘Look, I need to ask you something, it’s a bit complicated, hon, and I’ll explain it later, but what would you say if I said I was thinking of going away with Charlie, for a while, travelling.’ I wait as the phone goes quiet for a couple of seconds. ‘Amy?’

‘Yeah, I’m here. Bloody hell! Are we just speaking hypothetically?’

‘Yep, hypothetically, what would you say?’

‘I’d say don’t.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he’s an arsehole.’

‘Okay, but what about if he’d changed, what about just the travelling thing? What do you think about me just going travelling?’

‘You’ve never wanted to go before.’

‘I know, but what if I want to go now?’

‘Where, what, working or backpacking or what?’

‘A bit of both.’

‘I’d say don’t.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’ve just bought your flat and now you’re going to go off travelling. I think you’ll get sick of it in two months. And I don’t trust Charlie. Have you spoken to Mum?’

‘No.’

‘I don’t think she’ll want you to go.’

‘So, you think I shouldn’t do it.’

‘Not right now, maybe next year, maybe with a bit more thought. Where would you go?’

‘I don’t know, Australia, South America.’

‘You see, you don’t even know that. We need to talk about this properly.’

‘Okay, I’ll call you over the weekend – lunch on Sunday?’

‘Sure, I’ll call you on Sunday morning.’

‘Is the baby alright?’

‘Yeah, he’s great.’

‘I’ll speak to you later, lots of love.’

‘You too.’

‘Bye.’ I hang up, and write ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ on a piece of
paper, and put a mark under the ‘No’ section. I pull up Jake’s mobile number and plug it in.

‘Miss Ellis!’ he answers.

‘Hey, baby, are you okay?’

‘Yes, but where the bloody hell have you been? I tried to call you at the weekend.’

‘Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. I was away … with Charlie.’

‘Oh how is he, all right?’ Jake sounds dubious. They used to really get on, but now Jake thinks he’s a shit; they barely even talk any more. Jake is now very much my friend again, not shared between Charlie and me.

‘Yeah, he’s fine, look, what if I said we were going to go away?’

‘What, like on holiday?’

‘Yeah, sort of. Well no, more like … travelling.’

Silence again, at the other end of the phone. But this time I don’t say anything. If I prompt him he’ll just say what he is going to say, but quicker. I hold my pen, poised, over the ‘No’ section of my piece of paper.

‘Nix, he’s a … he’s a prick. I’m sorry, but you should get rid of him, he’s turned into an absolute arsehole. A City boy.’

‘No, you see, you’re wrong. I mean he was, but he’s changed back, or rather he’s changed, he’s woken up to himself.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘At the weekend.’ I hear myself saying it, and I know I sound ridiculous.

‘Listen to yourself! What did he do, buy you some flowers, spend the night?’

‘Jake, don’t be an arsehole, I’m serious.’

‘Well, Nix, don’t be an arsehole yourself! What are you thinking? Don’t fall for it, believe me, I know men, I am one, and we can turn on the charm when we want, but Charlie’s too far gone. He’s done too much. Stop forgiving him.’

‘I’m not forgiving him. I’m just forgiving myself.’

‘Poetic but rubbish.’ Jake has a frankness to him that cuts through small talk. But sometimes he is too adamant. He can be wrong, even if he won’t admit it. However, I don’t think this is one of those times. He thinks he knows me, which annoys me. He does know me, which annoys me even more.

‘Okay, well, it was just an idea, I’ll talk to you later.’

‘Look, don’t be pissed off with me, you asked me for my opinion. I really, really don’t think you should go.’

‘Okay, how are you by the way, still with, what’s-her-name?’

‘Rebecca? Nope, done, dusted, she was a freak. She wanted to go DIY shopping at the weekends, and she asked me to put up shelves. I’m a simple bloke, Nix, I can’t play those kind of games after a month.’

‘Fair enough, anybody new on the scene?’

‘On a date tonight actually, found some number in my wallet yesterday, must have got it a couple of weeks ago. Sounds like a nice girl. Sarah.’

‘Well, have fun, I’ll speak to you soon.’

‘Yeah, take care, Nix,’ and we hang up.

Jake is a simple bloke, he likes his fun, hates commitment, but Monogamy is his middle name. He doesn’t shag about on anybody, he will always finish whatever he’s in first. It’s almost admirable these days.

Another mark is made on my paper. I dial Jules. She comes on the phone, hushed voice, sounding sweet.

‘Hello,’ she whispers, and I can picture the smile on her face.

‘Jules,’ I whisper back, ‘why are you whispering?’

‘I’m about to go into a meeting with Princess Anne.’

‘Oh shit, I’m sorry, I’ll call back.’

‘No, it’s fine, I’ve got a couple of minutes, is anything wrong?’

I don’t bother with the travelling bit, we don’t have time,
and she’ll want to talk about where, and not why. I just ask the question.

‘Do you think I should stay with Charlie, if he told me he’d changed?’

‘Oh Nix. I don’t know, what do you think?’

‘I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.’

‘Oh Nix, I think you could be happier … I’m sorry.’

‘No, don’t apologize, it’s fine. I wanted you to be honest.’

‘Yes, but I haven’t seen him for a while, I mean he might have changed. I haven’t seen him since, well, that strip club.’

‘Okay, thanks, hon. Look, haven’t you met them all yet?’

‘What, the Royals?’ I can hear her smiling at the other end of the phone again, instead of the concerned look I know she will have been wearing for the rest of our conversation. ‘Nearly! But Princess Anne’s a good one, wish me luck!’

‘Okay, speak to you soon.’

We whisper our goodbyes, and I picture Jules beaming at the princess, winning her over.

I punch in Naomi’s work number.

‘Naomi speaking,’ she spurts out after only one ring.

‘Can you talk?’ I ask quickly, she flies about at work in the morning; something to do with ‘her markets’ that I don’t understand. I hear the noise of her office in the background, it sounds like a football match.

‘Yep, quickly.’

‘Charlie’s changed, shall we go travelling?’

‘Changed how?’ I feel her full attention snap to me and the phone.

‘He’s nicer.’

‘Nicer how?’ she asks. She needs the facts to make a decision.

‘He’s had a … a life-changing experience … he’s changed his focus.’ Every time I try and explain this to anybody, I sound like an idiot.

‘Drugs?’ she asks.

‘No, not drugs, something else.’

‘Nope.’

‘Do you want to expand?’

‘Well, I don’t really have time, and we can discuss this later, but, briefly, he was your university boyfriend who’s hung about too long, and I know the stuff that he gets up to, as I am sure you do too, and a man who does that cannot really care about you, and you are being too nice, and I work with lots of nice men if you are worried about being on your own.’

‘Nim, if you work with so many nice men why aren’t you going out with them, plus, you don’t work with nice men, you work with bastards!’

‘I know, forget that bit. But Charlie is one of them.’

‘I get it.’

‘No, I mean, he really is, you really do deserve better.’

‘Stop, I get it. I’ll speak to you later.’

‘Okay, bye.’

I put a mark on my piece of paper again. My ‘Yes’ column is looking lonely, with just my line on it. I know I should call Mum, but I don’t feel brave enough for that conversation yet. She’ll be upset if I even mention it. She likes to have her family close to her, and she’ll tell Dad, and he’ll just worry about guns, and dangerous animals, and getting mugged in a foreign country. I’ll talk to them when I’ve decided what to do. Everybody has told me not to do it – they all know me better than I know me. I try and convince myself that I can be young and carefree and not give a damn about hot running water or electricity, but they remind me that these things are important to me. Jake actually laughs at the idea of me and a backpack, which is unfair, I think.