Love to Hate You (24 page)

“Anyway, I'm leaving,” I say, trying to end the painful phone call.

“Look, now that we know you're alive, you can stay,” says Vera.

“I'd rather come back.” As soon as possible.

“Whatever you like. But if you come, be prepared to tell all, ok?” she sighs.

“Do you actually enjoy putting me through the wringer?”

“No, but you know how much we like some juicy gossip. Bye!” says Vera. I say goodbye too and hang up. Now that I've solved the problem of the phone call, I carry on getting dressed: I put on my jeans, recover the top from where it's hidden between the cushions on the couch, and I'm ready to go.

In theory, I should nip to the bathroom, but that might mean waking up Ian, and I have no desire to talk to him this morning, so it'll just have to wait until I get home. After all, what's a bursting bladder next to the most embarrassing conversation of my entire life? Especially because – even though he might be accustomed to casual sex – I've slept with the grand total of five men, Ian included, in all my thirty-three years, so I'm struggling a bit to consider this ‘normal'.

The front door opens with a slight creak, and I slip on my coat and leave without looking back.

It's a cowardly thing to do, and I'm very well aware of the fact. I'm even a bit ashamed, to be frank, but I need a few hours of solitary reflection before I can deal with what happened last night. Because – unfortunately – there's no way of having this memory surgically removed.

While I'm sitting on the tube heading home, I can't help feeling vexed at the thought of last night. Ian was so different from what I would have expected, and what I find really disturbing is that he seemed genuinely quite taken by me. Which can't be true, I know, but the illusion of yesterday is imprinted on my brain and it's difficult to erase. I can smell him all over me and every little part of my body still remembers all his caresses and kisses all too well. My boyfriends have never been particularly memorable, so it's not surprising if this morning I don't feel totally myself.

When I get home, I'm greeted, for obvious reasons, by two very impatient looking girls.

“Shall we go out for breakfast?” suggests Laura, at the sight of my pale face.

That's an excellent idea and just what I need, so not long afterwards we find ourselves walking towards a cafe nearby. I desperately need to sweeten up the morning.

After sitting down and ordering, I wait patiently for all the inevitable questions, which soon arrive. I'm grateful they managed to hold them back until we got here.

“So what happened?” asks Laura, leaning back in her chair.

I squirm in mine. “Do we have to go into the details?” I ask, with pleading eyes.

“Don't try that one with us, save it for your boyfriend,” says Vera seriously and ever so slightly angrily.

“I don't have a boyfriend,” I feel obliged to point out.

She glares at me. “Whatever you want to call him—”

“I don't call him anything! That's the point!” I say, banging my hand on the table. I was really hoping that at least my friends would understand the situation.

“Ok,” intervenes Vera, “let's not get worked up. And let's backtrack. Jenny, you have to understand that we've had a pretty scary morning, thanks to you. You weren't in your bed and we were seriously worried! We were convinced that you hadn't wanted to spend the night at Ian's and so we were terrified that some nutter had done something to you on the way back home.”

I must admit that it sounds reasonable.

“Sorry,” I apologize, “because I had really didn't have any intention of staying. It was an accident that I hadn't calculated on. I was just… overwhelmed,” I explain, with a sigh.

My friends soften at the sight of my bewilderment. “Overwhelmed?” Laura asks quizzically. “Overwhelmed by what exactly? By his physical appearance? Good god, woman, I thought that after all these years you'd have noticed it—”

“Don't get any weird ideas!” I burst out nervously, grabbing the croissant that has just materialized on the plate in front of me.

“What ideas
should
I get, then?” she asks, with a chuckle. I hate that insinuating laugh of hers.

“Listen, sweetheart,” intrudes Vera, “let's get to the point. Did you go to bed with him or not?”

Yep, that's certainly straight to the point, I think as I continue to eat.

“Yes,” I admit, between mouthfuls.

“And it was that good?” asks Laura. I sit there in stunned silence for a moment.

“How do you know?” I ask, genuinely surprised.

“I can tell by your face,” comments Vera. “You know, that 'I've just had the best sex of my life and I've got absolutely no idea what to do now' face—”

“I'm an open book, apparently—” I grunt in annoyance.

“Come on, pull yourself together,” says Vera, trying to console me. “We've all been there. Of course, it took you a bit longer than normal—”

Laura nods sadly. Apparently every woman has a skeleton in her cupboard.

“And now?” she asks. “What did you say to each other this morning?”

I clear my throat before answering, because I know they're not going to like what I'm about to tell them. “Errrm, to be honest, we didn't actually
talk
this morning.”

Vera looks at me doubtfully. “How come?” she asks.

“Ian was still asleep when I left,” I say quietly.

“Whaaaaaat?” explodes Laura, totally unexpectedly.

“What?” echoes Vera, staring at me with horrified eyes.

“He was asleep and I didn't want to wake him up. And I had to get out of there—” I try to justify myself.

“No, you absolutely
didn't
have to get out of there!” Laura interrupts me.

“Believe me, I had to go,” I say emphatically. The two of them weren't there this morning and they don't know how I felt when I woke up.

“He'll be pissed off, Jenny,” Vera tells me, “and he has every right be, to be honest.”

That's an exaggeration. “I don't think so. He's probably thanking me right now for not disturbing him—”

Vera and Laura look at me, unconvinced. “Really?” asks the first.

Of course at that moment, my phone starts ringing, and I'm afraid I've got a good idea who's calling.

“Go on,” says Laura.

“It'll be my mother,” I say, not wanting to open my bag.

“It's not your mother! Come on, answer the bloody phone!”

With visible annoyance I start to root around for it in my bag.

It's not my mother. Crap – the only time in history where I was actually hoping it was her.

“Hello?” I answer, in a feeble voice.

“Where the hell did you get to?” shouts Ian. Apparently his awakening was not the sweetest.

“Hello? Hello? You're breaking up—” I lie, and then hang up.

“What the hell are you doing?” asks a shocked Laura.

I glare at her. “I'm hanging up, if you don't mind! I should never have answered in the first place.”

The phone starts to ring threateningly again and, without a second thought I turn it off altogether. I'm too weak to face this kind of thing at ten o'clock in the morning.

Two seconds later my company BlackBerry starts to trill imperiously. Won't take no for an answer, eh? I grab it and turn it off too. “Right, let's see if he can find something
else
to ring,” I exclaim in annoyance.

“Do you think ignoring him is a good idea?” asks a worried Vera.

“I think it's a
great
idea.” It must be said that the anger of the last few minutes has brought me back to earth a little bit.

“So your amazing plan is… to ignore him?” she asks sarcastically.

“I haven't got a plan! And for the moment ignoring him is a necessity. My head feels like it's about to burst! For God's sake, at least you two could help me—” I moan, sinking into the chair.

“Ok, Ok. Don't get yourself into a state. We're on your side, but what we want to know is, why?” asks Laura gently.

All my despair must be visible on my face. “Why what?” I ask, trying to re-assure myself.

“Well, you could start with why what happened, happened—” suggests Laura. It's nice of her to be so diplomatic.

I look to the heavens, in search of a sensible answer. “If only I knew. It was a fatal combination of too much wine on an empty stomach and what you might call insistent advances… But it's crazy, isn't it? Ian can't have wanted to do it, can he?”

“What do you mean? It's crazy that he likes you? I thought that seemed pretty clear from the way he was holding onto you on the sofa at our place,” says Vera frankly.

“Yeah. You can't really act like this is completely out of the blue. After all, we are talking about a guy who goes around kissing you and telling everyone you're his girlfriend—” says Vera, speaking to me as if I'm a bit slow on the uptake.

“His
pretend
girlfriend!” I say, stung.

“Pretend or not pretend, I don't think he was pretending that evening on our sofa!” Vera snaps.

“Can we not talk about the business on the sofa?” I implore them. Really, I can hardly bear to think about things like that.

“Ok, because the real problem is what happened last night, right?” asks Vera. Next to her, Laura nods.

“Oh my God, last night—” I say desperately. “Well, last night I fell for it like an idiot. Ian is obnoxious, annoying, unbearable, competitive and a snob, but when he wants he knows exactly how to get to me.”

“So what's the problem? You two could be dating like a couple of normal adults,” suggests Laura with the best intentions.

My only answer is the look of horror on my face. “Are you round the bend? No normal woman could put up with something like that. Ian never goes out with anyone seriously, not to mention that he changes women the way some women change handbags. Believe me, I have too much respect for myself to fall for someone like him. I've never done this before and I'm certainly not going to start now.”

As I say this, the image of Ian staring at me like I was the most precious thing in the world appears in my mind, and I shake my head to try and get rid of it.

Laura looks at me with uncertainty. It's obvious they both think I've already lost it.

“So tell me then, what's the plan?” asks Vera.

“Simple. For today, it'd be better for me to not think about what's happened. Do some shopping, go and see a film, have a few drinks down the pub. Tomorrow I'm going to my parents' for lunch and on Monday, in the office, I'll have a chat with him and explain that it was all a terrible mistake and that the best thing is if we pretend it never happened.”

“Has it occurred to you that he might not agree?” asks Laura.

“He will, believe me,” I say with conviction.

We get up from the table and decide to head for Oxford Street. I've never been a woman who deals with her problems by throwing herself into shopping, but apparently this weekend is going to be full of new things. Let's try and be positive. A credit card is the lesser of two evils.

I've been sitting in my mother's kitchen peeling potatoes since ten o'clock this morning. Not exactly my favourite pastime. My sister Stacey is watching me with a worried look on her face which she's not even trying to hide.

“Why
did
you come so early?” she asks suspiciously. “You
hate
being here.”

Her observation is accurate so I would have a hard time trying to deny it. “I'm a bit stressed at the moment, Stace, a bit more than usual, and I needed to do something different,” I admit, deciding not to stray too far from the truth. The fewer lies I tell the better chance I'll have of not getting caught out.

“And what is this additional stress?” asks my mother, as she chops the carrots.

“Work,” I say, vaguely. Well, Ian is work after all.

“Darling, we're all very worried about you,” my mother begins. “First you throw away a relationship that we'd hoped was finally the right one for you, then you start working like a complete lunatic. You're so pale, and the bags under your eyes – good grief!”

Last night wasn't exactly a quiet night in, I must admit, and not even make-up managed to hide the fact this morning. When I dared turn on my phone for a minute to check my messages, I found my inbox overflowing with e-mails from Ian begging me to contact him. Yes, begging… he seems to think he can order me about the way he does the rest of his household.

I didn't answer and immediately turned my phone back off. People lived for centuries without phones, I think I'll manage fine without one for two days. Tomorrow he'll have plenty of time to tell me I'm just another idiot who has fallen at his feet.

But it happened once and it'll never happen again! Never, never, I solemnly promise myself.

“Mum, Charles and I were really mismatched,” I try to explain for the thousandth time. “And with work, I've been working the same hours for nine years, so I doubt I'll die, even if I have to carry on like this for the next ninety-nine.”

“But don't you want a family? Children?” asks Stacey. Oh God, not this boring old speech again.

“I don't want them just to have them. If I meet the right person then I might, but I don't want to have them at any cost,” I explain, knowing that I'm wasting my breath.

“I know men like my Tom are rare, but perhaps I could introduce you to some of our friends,” says my sister.

“I don't think so,” I say. Something tells me we like very different kinds of men.

“Why not?” asks my mother, just as I was sure she would. “Are you seeing someone?” she asks suspiciously.

“Of course not,” I say. It's true, I'm not seeing anyone at all.

“Then come and meet Eliott, Tom's best friend. He's just split up with his girlfriend too. Can I give him your number?” she offers, glad that the idea was hers. “I mean, Eliott doesn't usually like girls with dyed hair, but I'm sure he'll make an exception for you. I still haven't yet figured out why you went blonde.”