Geli Voyante's Hot or Not (16 page)

Funnily enough
though, my mood for sex has now vanished as I start to feel all tingly. Not in a good way either.

Theo spent the night. We didn’t have sex. Glinda never came home
, but she probably had enough sex for the both of us so at least one of us got some. Just before I left for work that morning, on time for once because Theo made me get up, I got a text from her:

“Bitch! Can’t believe you knew! We’re telling the families this weekend. See you Sunday
. Love! x”

I’m thrilled for her and
, under normal circumstances I would be thrilled for myself. On paper everything is turning out brilliantly. I have a hunky, hot man in my life and a flat to myself this weekend. This usually equals a sex obstacle course in Glinda’s absence that I understandably can’t embark upon in her presence. But no, not for me. I’ll be spending the weekend orally getting to know Theo, and not in the fun way. That’s not the sort of weekend that allows me to whip out the kinky lingerie and chill the champagne. What’s a weekend without those? Just another two boring days.

This is the sort of weekend plan that makes me suspect I have suddenly lost twenty years of my life and I am an old married woman. Saying that, we would probably be spending the weekend ignoring each other i
f we were an old married couple. Perhaps the highlight might be a trip to B&Q.

This weekend is not the weekend I
ever envisioned having with Theo; last night was not the sort of night I envisioned either, but when I attempted to seduce him thinking we could still have sex and use condoms – like we should have done in the first place – he rebuffed my advances. Rebuffed! At least I managed to keep the topic of conversation away from politics, a small mercy. I just hope I survive this weekend.

E
xcept, it turns out when I ask Theo, he’s busy with his mates this weekend. He’s going on a big piss-up in
Newcastle
. I never had Theo down as that type of man, so I guess maybe he is right – maybe we do need to get to know each other better as we have been protected by the Gherkin. Normal personalities don’t apply and we take on Stepford roles when we enter each morning.

At least there wa
s one good thing about work, speaking of Stepford personalities. My column has been approved and I managed to avoid Tiggy. Except, now it’s Friday evening and, truth be told, I am a little bored because of the lack of Glinda, worrying about what will happen when she becomes Mrs Jeeves. Where will I live? I can’t stay here with them and I don’t see Glinda moving to Dalston. It terrifies her. Hopefully they won’t plan on getting married straight away like Tiggy and Calvin. It should take Glinda years to decide on her wedding dress, let alone anything else, so I might be spared the nightmare of trying to find decent accommodation anytime soon. And a best friend replacement to keep me entertained. Not that anyone could replace G. Ever. But I do need some inferior replacement to fill my upcoming lonely nights.       

None of these thoughts are cheering me up,
but who do I have to phone? My life is void of company. Let’s see, Jerry has a date with Julian; Sara’s away with her family… Ooh, family. Of course, my sister Claire. She’s an excellent person to talk to if you’re ever feeling down. After two minutes of conversation, she can make the most depressed person feel joyful.

That’
s because Claire works for a children’s charity in Reading. After listening to her recount some of the tragic cases she deals with, it makes me thankful I’m me because circumstances could be horrifically worse. For many, they are. She truly is nicer than me; tougher, too. I’m sure I’d break down from the tragedy, but she’s dedicated and resilient.

T
hree years older than me, Claire is intellectually in the same league as my father. She followed him to Oxford where she read Human Sciences and was actively involved in charity work. My student activities were in far less noble pursuits – drinking, mainly. When it comes to her professional life she has the most incredible judgement – she can tell if a child is leaning precariously close to trouble before they even commit to any planned misdemeanours and, more importantly, she can sort them out. I can barely keep myself on the straight and narrow, let alone anyone else.

However
, this sound judgement does not apply to her personal life. She likes Tiggy for a start, plus she’s one of those – an absolute Daddy’s girl – but I begrudgingly can’t blame her as she wasn’t around when Tiggy turned evil or when Uncle John died. Unlike me.

I
n the romance department however, she’s worse than me – it always ends badly, and not just because they have an incompatible surname which, reminds me: David Sinclair, her new beau. I really should call.

She answers on the fourth ring.
‘Hey Claire,’ I chirp.

Claire, if you are interested, is Chocolate Éclai
r. She’s rather partial to them and it shows on her hips. She may be the favoured Voyante child – Saint Claire – but I have the enviable figure out of the two of us. She’s a natural blonde with thick, wavy hair that she always puts up in a bun, and creamy white skin that never sees the sun. Even when we were in South Africa she hated sunbathing and being outdoors, diligently applying Factor 50 every ten minutes if she had to be outside. Old before her time is how I think of her – classic looks and style my mother would say, ever the diplomat.

‘Geli! How are you?’
she asks.

‘Fine, fine. You?’

‘I’m wonderful, sweetie. Just wonderful!’ she gushes.

Uh-oh. I don’t like the sound of this. I’ve not heard Claire sound so happy in years.

‘How’s tricks?’ I ask. ‘How’s the new boyfriend?’

‘Oh!’ S
he practically purrs at me. My straight-laced sister,
purring
! ‘He’s just
wonderful
. I think he could be the one!’

S
he’s only been going out with him for
two seconds
, how could she possibly know that? Forgive me for being a killjoy, but it is my sisterly right and duty to point this out to Claire who has quite possibly said this about every boyfriend she has ever had, and that perhaps she is being a tad hasty. That and I’ll remind her that he is called
Sinclair.
Claire Sinclair? Please...

‘So soon?’ I
ask nicely. ‘Isn’t that declaration a little premature?’

She giggles quite manically
. I do not like this. This is ridiculously out-of-character. ‘We’ve actually being going out six months!’

S
he. Is.
Gleeful
. Also,
six months!
Claire’s never made a relationship last more than three, which is actually quite worrying at twenty-seven. Then again, neither have I, but I am younger.

‘You kept that quiet!
Is it love?’ I ask, unable to keep the panic out of my voice.

‘It is,’ she confirms, bursting into giggles again.

OK,
now
I feel jealous. And yes, I know I am a pathetic human being who deserves to be alone for not rejoicing that my sister has found love. And my stepsister.
And
my best friend… but not me. No, not me. I am incapable of being loved.

D
on’t get me wrong, I’m not a bitch who hates her sister for being happy – far from it. It’s just that with
two
major engagements
in
two days
and now Claire being deliriously happy on the phone – Claire who is the one person usually more miserable than I am… Well, I can’t help but feel like life is not going very well at the moment.

I know
, I know – I have my health, I have people who love and care for me. But, I have a career I am becoming increasingly dubious about and a dream man that has already proved not to be the perfect gent I thought he was. I can’t help but think that someone who hasn’t been careful about my body (and I’m not talking the bruising here) is hardly going to be that careful with my heart.

Oh, and m
aybe I don’t have my health. I could be dying of syphilis right now because of Theo’s stupidity. I know I’ve wanted Theo forever, but I’m already discovering things about him that don’t correlate to his
New News
persona. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is, but Theo is definitely hiding something. Do I need this uncertainty on top of everything else?

‘Geli?’

‘I’m here,’ I say. ‘Wow, six months! It’ll be you two getting married next!’

She giggles
again
. My
serious
sister giggles, the one with her head planted firmly on her shoulders. The one who, as far as I am aware, has never had an imaginative thought in her life. I do not like this development one bit.

‘Hopefully,’ she finally says after her fits of giggles
stop. ‘He’s hinted at it.’

So help me
…

‘It comes in threes,’ I manage to choke out
quite nicely, even though it kills me to do so.

‘Why
?’ she gasps, once more out-of-character. ‘Who else is engaged?’

‘Glinda and Jeeves.’

She doesn’t even notice my tone. This is unlike Claire. This David Sinclair has addled my poor sister’s brains. Perhaps this David Sinclair is some fraudster my sister needs to be warned about.

S
he squeals. Again,
what the
... ‘Tell them congratulations! That’s brilliant!’

‘I will.’

‘Maybe I will be the third!’

‘Maybe!’

Thankfully she does not detect the sarcastic note to my echoing. I am feeling grimmer by the second and this conversation was supposed to cheer me up. It also doesn’t help that the monthly nightmare is due – it never rains, it always pours.

‘Speaking of w
hich,’ Claire continues, ‘you’ll be nice to Tiggy, right?’

I mutter
yes.

‘Ge
li!’ she says sternly.

‘I will
,’ I protest. ‘I’ll try and keep out of her way for the ten days before and I’ll smile for the photos. That do you?’

I wou
ld say “mother” in a tone, but Mum would only encourage me to ruin Antigone’s wedding if I were talking to her. I love my mum.

‘Ten?’ she queries.

‘A-huh, or maybe it’s nine. The flight’s on the 22nd, right?’

‘
29th,’ she corrects.

‘Nope
. Tiggy definitely said 22nd, as did Uncle Colin seeing as they are bribing, sorry,
giving
me two weeks’ free holiday to attend.’

‘That’s strange. I know I’m heading out on the 29th.’

‘Maybe
she thought you wouldn’t be able to get the time off work?’

‘I suppose so.’ I know
she is thinking about this. ‘Still, I don’t like the idea of you there without supervision.’

See
, I am the naughty Voyante child. The child who needs supervision. I told you that you don’t officially become a grown-up until twenty-five. Luckily for me, I’m twenty-five four days
after
the wedding.

‘
Theo might be tagging along,’ I reassure her.

Hopefully if he does by then
our stupid no-sex rule – sorry,
Theo’s
stupid no-sex rule, – will be lifted. A little fun in the sun is exactly what would keep me from annoying Tiggy.