Guess Who I Pulled Last Night? (16 page)

“I reckon if that was the case, and we’d played football
instead of having the Second World War, we’d all be German now.”  Paul
smiled and sat back in his chair, folding his napkin and laying it on the
table.  “That was lovely Niall, thank you.  Did you enjoy that
Charlotte?”

Charlotte was now looking at Niall again, smiling
shyly.  “Yes, thank you,” she almost whispered.

He smiled back, holding her gaze for a few seconds, and then
he turned his back to her.  “Waiter, could I have the bill please?”

“Well I don’t know about you, but I think that I could sleep
through the afternoon, never mind work,” Charlotte sighed, giddiness at the
sight of Niall’s broad shoulders making her voice rather high pitched.

“Hmm, me too,” answered Paul, watching Charlotte suddenly
bury her head inside her handbag.  “Have you lost something?” he asked
mischievously.

“What?  Err, no, I was just checking that I had my car
keys.”  She looked up, her face having taken on a new glow.  Paul was
grinning questioningly at her. “What?” she mouthed.

Paul shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.  “You
tell me,” he mouthed back, giggling as Charlotte gave him a quick v sign from
behind her bag.

Niall looked up from examining the bill.  “What’s so
funny?” he asked.

“Oh nothing, I was just thinking how true it is that a
woman’s handbag is like her mind, and hers,” Paul nodded towards Charlotte, “is
absolutely filthy.”

Just then, as if she didn’t feel awkward enough, Charlotte’s
embarrassment metre went into orbit.  Approaching the table, with the
ginger haired man trailing behind, was Tom, grinning broadly and waving. 
Charlotte almost shouted with the shock. She thought that they were well
hidden, how had he spotted them?  Thinking quickly, but rather stupidly,
Charlotte held her handbag up in front of her face, grabbing the table cloth
with it.

Paul, who had been leaning on the table, hit his chin on the
wood, while Niall lost his hold on the credit card machine, just managing to
catch it before it landed on the floor.

“What the…” Niall gasped, turning to look at Charlotte; a
handbag held aloft with handfuls of the white cotton tablecloth.

“What’s she doing?” Tom asked, having arrived at the table and
pointing at his sister.

“I think that she’s hiding from you,” said Paul, rubbing his
red, throbbing chin.  His promise to keep the fiancé story going, was now
forgotten.

Tom edged his way past Niall’s chair and planted a kiss on
Charlotte’s cheek.  “Hello Charlotte, what’s wrong with you then?”

Charlotte, still gripping the bag, with her eyes shut,
silently prayed, but it was no use.  She opened her eyes slowly and gazed
up at Tom; Amanda had lied when they were children, you weren’t invisible with
your eyes shut.

“Hi, n-n-nothing is wrong with me,” she stammered.  “I
just didn’t want to see you.” At least, she was telling the truth.

Tom broke into a smile, rarely being offended when any of
his family tried to hide from him.  “Charming, I must say.  I suppose
I’m an embarrassment am I?” he asked, grinning broadly at Niall.

“Yes you are,” moaned Charlotte, punching him in the ribs
with some force.

“Oof, that hurt Charlotte, do you have to behave like a
man?   If you must know, you’ve got a big black mark down the back of
your blouse.”

“You said I hadn’t,” Charlotte groaned, looking first at
Paul and then Niall.

“You are quite a disaster area, aren’t you?  We thought
that you’d changed your clothes enough for one day.”  Niall smiled,
putting a hand to his mouth, obviously to stifle a laugh.

“You’re not kidding, out of the three of us, she’s always
been the clumsy one,” said Tom, turning to Niall as he placed his hands on
Charlotte’s shoulders.

“There are three of you!” Niall exclaimed, still under the
illusion that Tom was Charlotte’s fiancé.

“Yes, and I’m the only boy.  It’s awful I can tell
you.”

Charlotte buried her head in her hands; the look on Niall’s
face said it all, he thought that she was some sort of sexual deviant. 
What could she do, if she tried to explain he would see that she was a liar,
either lying about her sexual preference, or lying about Tom being her
fiancé?  Charlotte decided to keep it simple and stay quiet and perhaps
Tom would go away.

“So what do people think about there being three of you
then?”  Niall, although slightly perturbed, was also fascinated.

Tom looked confused.  “Well nothing really, it’s fairly
normal isn’t it?  There are quite a few threes in our street.”

“My God, really,” gasped Niall, as he collapsed back in his
chair.

Charlotte now had her head down, and her arms hung limply at
her side. She almost gave up the will to live.  She lifted her head
slightly and looked at Paul, desperate for help and inspiration; however, Paul
was engrossed in conversation with the ginger haired man, obviously doing a
little business.

“So, Mr Bennett, if you call our office, one of our
consultants will give you a combined quote for all your insurance needs.” 
He passed Mr Bennett a business card and shook his hand firmly.

Charlotte turned back to Niall, who was currently looking at
her; the smile of earlier had now been replaced with a grimace.  Tom, who
had no idea what was going on, grinned inanely.

“I spotted you on the way out, so what are you doing here?”
he asked his sister.

“Would you believe lunch, pillock!” Charlotte whispered, as
she flapped a hand at Tom’s arm.

Niall stood up and coughed nervously.  “I think that we
should be getting back.  It was nice to meet you err…” He held out his
hand to Tom, who took it and shook it warmly.

“Oh, Tom, Tom Price, obviously seeing as we are related.”

This was too much for Niall, who almost exploded. 
“WHAT!” He dragged his hand away and wiped it fervently on his trousers.

Charlotte realised that enough was enough; he had to be told
the truth.  “He’s my brother, you just assumed that he was my fiancé.”

“But you haven’t got a fiancé,” snorted Tom.  “In fact,
fact to be honest, I’m not sure that she’s had a bloke for what, err let’s see,
three years now.”  Tom, not realising that he was close to death, received
another severe blow to the abdomen.

“He’s right I don’t have a boyfriend, never mind a
fiancé.  I’m sorry Mr Devine, but as I said, you assumed, and I didn’t
feel it necessary to put you right,” Charlotte sighed, holding her hands, palms
upwards, in a sign of submission.

“Well yes you are right. It isn’t any of my business, but to
be honest I’m not sure why you would think that I would care.”  Niall
signalled that lunch was over by turning on his heel and walking towards the
exit.

Paul, who had still been talking about business, and
oblivious to what had gone on, smiled at the ginger haired man.  “Oh, it
looks like we’re going.  Well, it was nice to have met you Mr Bennett, bye
Tom.”  Paul strode off in Niall’s direction, waving behind him.

“Well it was nice to see you.  Shall I tell mum that
you’ll be over tomorrow as usual?”  Tom could sense from Charlotte’s face
that she was not happy, and he was desperate not to be punched again.

“Whatever,” she said, as she picked up her bag and followed
the rest of her happy little party.

When she got into the car, Niall had already squeezed
himself into the back.  Charlotte climbed into the front seat as daintily
as possible, all the time looking ahead, aware that Niall’s face behind her was
frozen into a frown.

“Nice meal wasn’t it?” she said, trying to make
conversation, as Paul sent pebbles flying.

“I don’t know, I feel a little sick myself.”  Responded
the passenger in the rear of the car.

Bets decided that she needed cheering up, so picked up the
telephone and dialled Charlotte’s work number.  She hadn’t been able to
get hold of her the previous evening, and she desperately wanted to know how
Charlotte’s lunch had gone.  When Charlotte answered it, rather grumpily,
Bets gathered that all was not well, but gossip was gossip, and it had to be
gleaned.

“So I guess that yesterday was crap.”  Bets went
straight in for the kill.

“Oh, God Bets it was awful.  I’m sorry I ignored your
call last night. I didn’t answer because basically, I was trying to become
invisible.”  Charlotte went on to tell Bets the whole regretful tale,
aware that Bets was trying not to laugh too loudly.  “And when Tom told
him we were related, well I thought that he was going to be sick, I just wanted
to die.”

“Never mind,” soothed Bets.  “You don’t like him
anyway, or do you?” she asked, playing devil’s advocate.

“NO, I do not; he's rude; he's obnoxious; he's…"

“Very sexy,” Bets giggled.

“How do you know; you've never even seen him,” retorted
Charlotte in a slightly strangulated voice.

“I’m just going by your reaction my dear.  Anyway,
aside from your nightmare lunch, have you heard from Kerry?  I tried last
night but got no reply.”  Bets suddenly felt in the doldrums again after
the initial hilarity.

“Yes, a couple of days ago.  I meant to tell you
yesterday, but what with “the lunch” and everything I cleanly forgot, which
makes me feel a real shit.  Apparently, Kelvin is going out on a date, but
before you blow off the handle, I’ve spoken to him.  It seems that it’s
not really a date, just his work crowd, but he will be arriving with one of the
girls he works with.”

“So why tell Kerry at all, or can I guess; to make her
jealous?”

“Hmm, I think so, plus it’s the pub where her auntie Irene
works, so I can see why he wanted her to know.”

“I don’t know what we are going to do with those two. 
How about we have a girly night at my place, try to persuade her to come round
tomorrow night, what do you think?”

“Yeah okay,” said Charlotte.  “You ring Kerry, for
about seven o’clock.”

“Great, I’ll ring her now, see you tomorrow.”

Once Bets had returned the receiver, she felt her mood lift
slightly.  Hopefully, they would have a good old gossip tomorrow night,
and they could all shake off their mournfulness, depression and, in Charlotte’s
case, feeling like a prat.  She called Kerry’s mobile with no response so
left a voice message and then called her home number and did the same, hoping
that she would at least listen to one of them.  As Bets thought about
Kerry, she suddenly felt sad again, what was Kerry doing with her life? 
Jane then broke her reverie.

“Bets, sorry but there is someone here to see you.” 
She stepped aside to reveal a young woman, who Bets recognised as Stuart’s
sister.

“Oh, hello.”  Bets walked towards her, smiling kindly at
her sad, dark-brown eyes.

“Hello, I hope you don’t mind me calling, but I felt I
should, seeing that we practically ignored you at the funeral.” A shadow passed
over both their faces. “Kelvin told me where to find you; I’m Emma by the
way.”   She held out her hand to Bets, who ignored it and hugged her
instead.

“Bets, obviously.  Pleased to meet you,” she said into
Emma’s shoulder. 

Bets pulled away and they stood in awkward silence, until
Bets nodded towards the staff room at the back of the salon.

“Come on, we’ll get a coffee.”

Emma nodded nervously and slowly followed Bets to the light,
airy room.  She watched as Bets began to spoon coffee into two cups. 
When she had finished Bets placed them on the table and sat down, Emma pulled
out a chair and joined her.

“So what made you come and visit me?  I don’t want to
appear ungrateful or anything, but I wasn’t aware that you knew I even
existed.  Stuart and I were only together a short time.

“I know,” replied Emma before sipping her coffee, “but you
were all Stuart talked about for the whole of the summer.”  She smiled at
Bets, who now had tears in her eyes thinking about all those wasted months.

“Bit of a silly cow where men are concerned, I’m afraid,”
said Bets in explanation.

“Aren’t we all?  It doesn’t matter now anyway. He knew
how you felt.”  Bets looked surprised.  “He rang me on the day it
happened,” explained Emma, her voice faltering slightly.  “He said that
you’d finally made it, and that he was really happy.”

“He was?” Bets asked, running a finger along the rim of her
cup.  “I hope he knew how I felt about him. It was quite intense even
after two weeks.

Emma nodded. “He knew. He was like a kid at Christmas, all
excited.” She smiled wistfully, remembering their telephone conversation.

They both sat in silence, gazing at the murky brown coffee
in their cups, neither daring to speak in case they upset the other one. 
Bets broke the silence.

“I don’t know what to say really, you must be devastated by
it all,” she sighed.

“You take each day as it comes.  Mum and Dad aren’t
coping very well. I have to keep my eye on them, make sure that they are eating
and everything.  That’s why I didn’t get chance to speak to you at the
funeral, I was a little preoccupied with them, which is what I meant by ignoring
you; it wasn’t on purpose.”  Emma smiled apologetically.

“Oh God, please don’t worry about that, no one would have
expected you to have been anywhere else but by your parent's side,” said Bets,
placing a hand on Emma’s.

“Well some people thought that it was all about them, not
Stuart.  One old girlfriend of his, from college, was hysterical outside
the church.  She kept coming over to us and talking about when they were
together.  She was talking about being in the lead car; it was pathetic
really.  I think he only went out with her for a couple of months.” 
Emma put a hand to her mouth, as Bets smiled at her words.  “Oh God, I’m
so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I mean you and him were different.”

“Emma, it doesn’t matter. I know what you meant.”

“I’m so sorry, me and my big mouth.”  Emma smiled at
Bets and sighed deeply.  “How are you anyway?” she asked.

Bets now also sighed, thinking about how she was; she
couldn’t really answer.  “I don’t know is the truth.   This may
sound strange and callous, but it’s not meant to, but I feel really sad, but I
don’t really miss him.  I know we saw each other nearly every day in two
weeks, but I’ve forgotten that routine and gone back to my old one.  Do
you understand?”

Emma nodded.  “I understand. I suppose it’s like going
on holiday, for two weeks you have a daily routine, then you come home, and
it’s all forgotten after a few days.  I miss him though, like mad. 
He was a pain, like most big brothers are, but I really, really miss him. 
Still I suppose that life must go on.”

“I know,” Bets sighed.  “But it must be hard for
you.”  Her gaze wandered over Emma’s tired face.  “I’ve lost both my
parents, so I can sort of understand what you are going through.  You try
and kid yourself that life has to go on, but really all you want to do is curl
up in a ball and scream blue murder.”

“Hmm, something like that.  Look I’d better go; I must
be keeping you from your work.”  Emma laid a hand on top of Bets'. 
“I just wanted to see you that’s all and well, let you know I’m thinking of
you.”  Emma stood up and buttoned her coat.  “Oh before I forget,
this was in Stuart’s things left in the hotel.”  She fished about inside
her bag and produced a long thin object wrapped in Union Jack paper. 
“It’s for you.” Emma passed the parcel to Bets.  “I won’t say that we will
keep in touch, because that would be a lie.”

Bets smiled and nodded, clasping the parcel tightly in her
hand.  “You’re right, but if you are ever in town and fancy a massage or a
facial, you know where I am.”

“I do and thank you Bets.”

“What for, I haven’t done anything?”

“You made my brother happy for the last few days of his
life, so you definitely did something.”

Emma’s words brought tears to Bets' eyes, as she followed
her back through the salon.  Emma stopped in the doorway and turned to
face her.

“Well bye Bets, and take care.”

“You too, and look after yourself as well as your mum and
dad.”

“I will,” she said, and disappeared into the drizzle
outside.

“Are you okay Bets?” Cheryl asked, standing at the reception
desk, a handful of tissues at the ready.

“I’m fine,” she replied, looking down at the parcel still
tightly clenched in her hand.  “It’s been worse for her, much worse,” she
whispered as she made her way back to the staff room. 

Once she was sat at the table, Bets allowed herself to look
at the label on the parcel.

To Bets,

I told you that I would buy you something nice,

Stuart xx

Bets ripped open the wrapping paper, inside was a long thin
box, with a picture of Big Ben on the front.  She carefully opened it up
and pulled out a garish plastic model, with a sticky label clock face. 
Her face broke into a huge smile and then her quite laughter got louder and
louder.

“Oh Stuart,” she sighed. “You do make me laugh.”  Then
as she wiped away the stray tears falling down her cheeks, she placed the
plastic model on top of the filing cabinet where she could see it every day.

Across town, in one of the local pubs, Kerry was enjoying a
lunchtime drink, at least she was having a drink.  Although, enjoying it
perhaps wasn't the correct phrase.  She looked across at Caroline,
flirting with a man old enough to be her grandfather, never mind her father.
The table was full of empty glasses, proof that Caroline had what it took to
con an old man out of a few quid.  Kerry felt a hot sticky breath on her
neck; she turned to the slightly younger, slightly drunker friend of Caroline’s
benefactor, leering ominously over her shoulder at her cleavage.

“Yes, what do you want?” she demanded.

“Cracking set you’ve have there, perhaps I could buy you a
couple of drinks in exchange for an introduction.”  His brown, cracked
teeth flashed in front of Kerry’s face as he moved closer.

She stopped him with the palm of her hand against his
chest.  “I don’t think so.”  Kerry turned slowly away, her face
contorted with disgust.

“Go on Kerry,” was the shout from across the sticky, red
patterned carpet.  “Barry isn’t that bad, is he Eric?”  Caroline
turned toward her companion and ruffled his greasy, grey hair.

“Nah,” he barely uttered, as he lolled drunkenly against
her.

“No thanks, I do have some pride,” Kerry muttered.  She
pushed away her glass. Something had clicked inside her head, and Kerry
realised what she had subconsciously known for days; this was not where she
wanted to be, or what she wanted to do.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Caroline demanded, now
sounding fairly sober.

“What?” Kerry asked, reaching behind for her jacket.

“You heard, what was that supposed to mean, you having some
pride?”

“Oh shut up Caroline, just drink the free drinks and enjoy
yourself, I’m off home.”  Kerry began to walk toward the door.  As
she passed Caroline, Kerry felt an iron grip upon her arm, she turned slowly,
and Caroline’s red, sweaty, face full of spite stared up at her.  Her
yellow, nicotine stained teeth were pressed together, beneath thin, mean lips.

“Take it back, bitch,” she hissed.

Kerry knew that this was a way of life for Caroline,
chatting up old blokes for drinks and spending all day in the pub, smoking and
guzzling, and she had criticised it.  Kerry could guarantee that in two,
three or even thirty years’ time, Caroline would still be here; however, Kerry
knew that she couldn’t and wouldn’t be.

“Look Caroline, I didn’t mean anything by it, if you took
offence, I’m sorry, but he seriously isn’t my type.  Now if you don’t mind
letting go of my arm, I honestly would like to go home.”

Reluctantly, Caroline let go, and tutting loudly turned her
attention back to Eric, who was swaying precariously as he reached inside his
pocket for more money.

“Come on Eric, let’s get another drink, she’s been boring
for the last couple of weeks anyway.

As she turned to leave Kerry shook her head, wondering and
worrying where the young girl was going to end up in life, but hopefully, if it
wasn’t too late, Kerry wouldn’t be joining her.

Charlotte had dreaded the office door opening all day,
fearful that Niall would come in with some smart remark, but it was nearly time
to go home, and he hadn’t made an appearance; hopefully, she was safe now until
after the Christmas holidays.  As she thought about the previous day’s
debacle, Charlotte coloured up involuntarily, how could she have been so stupid
to try and kid him?  In fact, why had she been so stupid?  It had all
started because of Grant, not wanting him to know that she was still single,
but it really didn’t matter anymore. She didn’t care what that Capri driving
idiot thought.  Charlotte was wondering how she got herself into such
messes when Gwen came in, singing her own peculiar rendition, of ‘I Don’t Like
Mondays.

“Oooh, tell me why, tell me why?” she screeched.

“Please, Gwen, do tell me why you are singing like that, and
by the way, it’s Thursday?” Charlotte asked, a smile creeping across her face
as she looked at Gwen.

Gwen was wearing her usual man-made fibre ensemble,
including the day’s speciality, a knitted, patchwork waistcoat, topped off with
a red and white Santa hat, complete with flashing bobble.

She grinned back at Charlotte, stopping momentarily to fish
the back of her skirt out of her knickers. She walked towards Charlotte. 
“I bet you’re pleased aren’t you?”  She asked, as she plonked herself down
on the vacant chair next to Charlotte’s desk.