‘I really am sorry.’ Tom rested his hand on the table for a moment before placing it over mine. I looked up at him, Kettle Chips’ finest halfway into my mouth. ‘I know I should have said something earlier, but it was so awkward, and I didn’t know if it was my place, and I didn’t want you to be angry at me because, well … oh, sod it. Because I like you.’
Before his words could settle, I watched the door open to reveal a beautiful blonde.
‘Don’t look now,’ I said, gripping his hand tightly, ‘but your ex just walked in.’
I sat up straight, eyes on the stupidly pretty woman as she parted the waves of lawyers just like Christian Bale did the Red Sea in the Bible. Red Sea? Dead Sea? Someone definitely parted a sea, anyway. I fell asleep halfway through the film. Tom ignored my instructions and looked.
‘That’s not my ex,’ he said. ‘That’s Vanessa.’
‘She was a bridesmaid at the wedding?’ I said.
‘Yes, Vanessa,’ he said again. ‘My ex is Maria.’
‘But Vanessa was the one who was supposed to pick up the stuff from my office when you came instead,’ I told him in case he didn’t know.
‘I came because she couldn’t be bothered and because Will told her he couldn’t,’ he said. ‘Presumably because he knew he would have to go to your office to collect those things from you.’
‘I’m not following,’ I said, confused, but not too confused to eat another crisp. ‘Why wouldn’t Will want to see me at work?’
‘Because Vanessa is Will’s girlfriend,’ Tom explained. ‘You … said you knew?’
Ha, what a joker that Tom was.
‘No,’ I smiled, glancing across at the blonde woman. ‘I’m Will’s girlfriend.’
Tom pressed his mouth into a very, very thin line until it completely disappeared.
‘Maddie, we should leave,’ he said after a moment’s consideration. ‘Come on.’
‘Why?’ I asked, still very confused. ‘Why should we leave?’
He was right, we should have left right then.
Tom was still looking at me, clinging to the wooden arms of his chair, when Will walked in through the front door.
‘Will!’ I jumped up out of my seat and threw myself into his path. ‘Hi!’
Will stood stock still, his jacket halfway off his shoulders. ‘Hi.’
‘Fancy seeing you here. We’re going over a few things for Tom’s mum’s party,’ I said, pointing at the angry-looking giant in the tiny chair across from me. ‘And then I’m done. With work. And with Tom.’
‘Maddie,’ Tom said quietly. ‘Sit down.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Will shrugged himself back into his jacket and glanced over at the bar before turning on Tom. ‘And what the fuck are you doing here?’
‘What she said − we’re going through some things for my mum’s party and having a drink.’ Tom picked up his pint to make his point. ‘Don’t make a scene.’
‘It’s a meeting,’ I said hastily. ‘We’re in a meeting.’
‘Hi, Tom.’ The blonde appeared at Will’s side.
‘Hi, Vanessa,’ Tom replied.
Vanessa smiled at my boyfriend. And then Vanessa kissed my boyfriend. And then I thought I was going to be sick.
‘Will?’
‘Uh …’ He looked at his very shiny shoes and didn’t say a thing. ‘I need a minute, Van, can you go and get us a drink?’
‘Yeah, right,’ she laughed. ‘You go and get the drinks.’
Her legs were so long. I wondered if she had to pay more for her jeans. They clearly had to use so much more material than they did on mine; surely I should be getting a discount? And then she slid her hand into Will’s and I forgot about getting shafted by the great designer denim conspiracy and remembered how much I wanted to vomit on her lovely shoes. Why was she touching him? Why was he letting her? When did it get so hot in here? I shouldn’t have started that second bag of crisps.
‘Are you OK?’ Tom reached out to touch my hand but I snatched it away before he could make contact. Hands. Touching. Bad.
‘Why are you holding her hand?’ I asked. ‘Will?’
His name sounded weird in my mouth, as though it didn’t mean the same thing any more.
‘Why shouldn’t he be holding my hand?’ Vanessa asked. ‘Who are you?’
I mean, it was one thing not to wait to be introduced properly, but that was just downright rude.
‘Van, I just need a minute,’ Will said again. Maybe it was hot in the bar − he looked awfully sweaty. And uncomfortable. And trapped. ‘Please.’
She replied with a look that suggested ‘Van’ didn’t appreciate being told what to do and really wasn’t used to it.
‘Well played, Tom.’ Will wiped a hand across his forehead and glared at him. ‘I suppose you think this is clever?’
‘No, I don’t,’ Tom replied. ‘I’m not you.’
Three years ago, I met Seb’s now wife at his firm’s summer party. Even then, I knew she was into him. All touchy-feely and little in-jokes intended to make me feel bad about myself, but I didn’t say anything because I genuinely didn’t believe he would cheat on me. Whenever I think about that moment, when I was nothing but polite to a woman who was clearly flirting with my boyfriend, I still get angry at myself.
I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.
‘I’m Maddie.’ I held out my hand, pushing past Will and Tom to get to the tall, attractive lady. She shook it like a wet fish for a split second then pushed it away. Unpleasant.
‘Will, what’s going on?’ she demanded, throwing her hair around as though we were all trapped in a very bad shampoo ad. ‘I’m thirsty.’
‘I’m Maddie, I met Will at Ian and Emma’s wedding,’ I said, answering on his behalf. ‘Will? Do you want to say something?’
He guppied his mouth open and closed a couple of times and then shook his head.
It genuinely seemed so impossible. How could this grey-skinned, angry-looking man be the same person who had been naked in my bed just a week ago, wearing my knickers as a hat and reading an article about the importance of exfoliation out loud from the latest issue of Marie Claire? All the nights we’d spent together, all the text messages, all the emails and the conversations, and all of it had been a great big load of bollocks.
‘Are you his girlfriend?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ she replied. I’d never heard the word sound more like a threat.
‘Then this is horrible,’ I said, taking a deep breath and visualizing the scene five minutes from now when we would be knocking back shots at the bar, glad to have the truth out in the open and this wanking, shitting, tosspot of a cheat out of our lives, ‘but he and I have been seeing each other. I didn’t know he had a girlfriend.’
Other than me, I added silently.
‘Are you seriously shagging her?’ She turned to Will, pointing at me with a very nice little handbag. ‘Her?’
I’ve got to say, I didn’t care for the insinuation in her voice.
‘Vanessa, it’s nothing, let’s not—’ He pushed her arm back down by her side. ‘She’s not—’
‘Oh my God.’ She screwed up her very pretty face until it wasn’t very pretty any more and took a big step back. ‘You are. You’re shagging that slag.’
This was not the united front of sisterhood I had envisioned. Vanessa turned so she could look at both of us, spreading the full weight of her sneer that turned into a snarl that turned into pure, unadulterated disgust.
‘I’m not a slag,’ I retorted, jumping to my own defence since there was no one else here to do it for me. ‘I didn’t know about you.’
Will stared at the floor, very interested in his own shoes.
‘How fucking dare you?’ she spat.
At me.
It’s fair to say I was a bit taken aback. ‘Sorry?’
‘How dare you shag my boyfriend?’ she said, pushing Will out of the way and poking me in the shoulder. ‘You absolute slag.’
?
??Hey!’ I held my hands out in front of me, warding off further angry prods. ‘Can we drop the “slag” stuff? It isn’t helping.’
‘You’re the one sleeping with my boyfriend,’ she replied, squaring up to me. ‘Sounds like a slag to me. A fat, desperate slag.’
‘I thought he was my boyfriend,’ I snapped back, beginning to lose my temper. Why do women always call each other fat when they really want to cause upset? Such a low blow. ‘I didn’t know about you.’
‘Yeah, whatever,’ she said, pushing me backwards. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself. I would never do this to another woman.’
‘Vanessa.’ Tom elbowed his way in between us, but not before she was close enough for me to see what a lovely job she’d done on her eyeliner. Even Sarah would be impressed by that. ‘She didn’t know. Seriously. It’s Will you should be angry with.’
‘Don’t worry, I am,’ she said. ‘But this slag needs to know who she’s dealing with.’
‘We’re officially taking slag off the table,’ I said, standing on tiptoes to talk to her over Tom’s shoulder. ‘I’m not a slag, you’re not a slag. I didn’t know, you didn’t know. When you think about it, he cheated on me too.’
‘Oh, that is it.’ She turned quickly, ducking under Tom’s arm − one of the perils of being so tall: he was easy to sneak around – and lunged at me, fists flying.
In all my thirty-one years, brotherly and sisterly slaps aside, I’ve never actually been hit. Turns out, it really, really hurts.’
‘Bloody hell!’ I lurched across the table, bashing my hip on a chair for good measure as I went down, and landed heavily on my arse. I pressed my hand to my eye, trying to stem the insane throbbing sensation that started immediately.
Even though I knew the bar was noisy and Vanessa was shouting and Will was shouting and lots of people were looking, everything had gone very quiet in my head. I sat on the floor, holding my face and looking up at two men I thought I knew, trying to hold back a woman I’d never met in order to stop her from kicking the shit out of me. It wasn’t the Friday night I’d imagined by a long shot.
I blinked, or rather winked, since my left eye wasn’t working, and suddenly someone turned the volume back on and the world resumed normal speed.
‘Get off me!’ Vanessa was wild with rage, her long hair flying around like a sexy lion. ‘I’m going to kill her.’
If it weren’t directed at me, I might have been impressed. I’ve always been the kind of girl who gets bad news, goes home, feels hard done by and then bottles up all the feelings of rage and resentment until they presumably turn into a tumour, but she was incredible, all arms and legs and thrashing Def Leppard hair. I wanted to say something or do something, but I didn’t quite know what.
So I just sat there on the floor, nursing my bleeding eyebrow and staring at her.
My boyfriend’s girlfriend.
‘What are you looking at?’ she screamed. ‘How dare you? Don’t look at me! You don’t get to look at me!’
‘I’m going to go,’ I said, attempting to stand up and then immediately falling back down. Who knew a punch in the face would impact your legs? This is what happens when you wait until your thirties to get decked. I’ve always been a late bloomer.
Not knowing how long the boys would be able to hold on to her for, I grabbed my bag and, for the want of a pair of working legs, crawled underneath the table and out towards the door.
‘Excuse me,’ I squeaked as I pushed past the ankles of a group of very confused drinkers. I hoped they didn’t think this was some sort of weird S&M thing as they cleared a path. ‘Thank you.’
Happily, it was quite a nice evening to be sitting on a street in London, nursing a newly blackened eye and even newer scuffed-up knees. I rolled over, leaning against the window of the pub, and even though I was outside and on a main road, I could still hear that woman screaming inside.
It was quite a lot to take in. Of course she was angry. I’d been shagging her boyfriend. But I didn’t know I’d been shagging her boyfriend and I was angry as well. I felt angry and guilty and upset and disappointed and hurt and oddly proud that a man with a girlfriend that hot would still want to have sex with me, and that feeling sent me right back to the part where I felt guilty again.
‘You all right?’
Tom crouched down beside me as a big red bus went past.
‘Not really.’ I poked my cheekbone gingerly. ‘My face hurts.’
‘You’re going to have a cracking black eye in the morning,’ he said, peeling my hand away from my eye and wincing. I wasn’t quite sure what he was looking so green about − it was my face that was buggered. ‘Should look nice for that bridal shower.’
‘Even better for work tomorrow.’ I poked it again. It still hurt. Who knew?
‘Shall we get you off the floor?’ Tom suggested. I glanced around at all the cigarette butts and broken glass and God knows whatever else and nodded. ‘Come on.’
He reached down and grabbed me under the arms, pulling me gently to my feet. It was a bit problematic, since he was a good foot taller than me and my legs weren’t working properly, but after a couple of near falls, I was more or less vertical and clinging to his arm. Tom stuck his other arm into the road and whistled for a taxi while I made the epic mistake of turning round to look back at the bar.
There they were, Will and Will’s girlfriend, sitting in the seats Tom and I had occupied only five minutes earlier. And they were holding hands. He had his big manly hands wrapped around hers, and whatever he was saying, he looked terribly earnest and passionate and every sentence was punctuated with intense nose-to-nose face smushing and heartfelt kisses. The kind that looked amazing in the movies but tasted of salty tears in reality and made you self-conscious that your nose was running.
Or was that just me?
Tom looked back to say something to me and got an eyeful of the live show in the window before I could start to whimper.
‘Maddie,’ he said, pulling me away from the scene that would haunt my nightmares for months to come. ‘Get in this taxi.’
‘Why are they kissing?’ I asked, struggling to put one foot in front of the other. ‘Why isn’t she shouting at him?’
‘Just get in the taxi.’ Tom scooped my legs out from underneath me and rag-dolled me into the back of the black cab, dropping me in my seat and fastening the seatbelt around my lap.
I heard him give the driver directions to an address I didn’t recognize and kept my eyes trained on the window. Any second now she was going to reach out and punch him. Any second now he was going to stand up and race out after me, realizing I’m the one he loves. He was probably explaining to her that it was over. He was explaining to her that I was the one. Just before the taxi pulled away, he looked out of the window and caught my eye. And immediately looked away.
As we moved into traffic, all the nonsense churning in my stomach began to settle until all that was left was a great big knot, wrapped up with a great big bow of feeling like an imbecile. And there aren’t many things worse than being made to feel like a fool.
‘I’m sorry,’ Tom said, reaching out for my hand. ‘That was terrible and all my fault.’
‘Yeah,’ I croaked. ‘It was.’
‘It shouldn’t have happened like that,’ he said. ‘I can’t apologize enough.’
I shook my head. Silence was fine, but if I talked, I was going to cry. My eyes burned and tears trembled on the edges of my eyelids as I tilted my head upwards, praying that the tears I had already sprung could be sucked back into my tear ducts. It would all be OK as long as I stayed quiet.
‘He’s such a wanker.’ Tom shook his head. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ I said, sucking in the air as I spoke. I would not cry, I would not cry, I would not cry. I would go home and call Sarah and Lauren and scream hysterically while they said all the right things, but I would not cry. ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s not yours either,’ he replied. ‘I wante
d to say something way back, but …’
Sod it. Too late.
‘Why would he do it?’ I wailed, tears coming thick and fast. It turns out that getting punched in the face is painful, but sobbing uncontrollably after you’ve been punched in the face is excruciating, and that just made me cry more. It was the most painful lose-lose situation I’d ever experienced. ‘And my face really hurts.’
‘Don’t cry …’ Tom tapped my back with ineffectual staccato pats as I hurled myself at his pale blue shirt. ‘He’s not worth it.’
And I knew he was right, but it didn’t help. I wasn’t just crying about Will. I was crying about Seb and Shona and my job and my sister’s aggression and my parents’ refusal to be proud of me and Lauren’s wedding and every last shit little thing that had happened to me from birth, from the big disasters like puberty, to the things that didn’t even seem to matter at the time, like when I put milk in my tea last Thursday and then found out it had gone off.
Eventually we pulled up outside somewhere and Tom paid the taxi driver while I carried on crying. I’m not much of a crier, honestly − the John Lewis Christmas ads do nothing to me − but now I’d started, I couldn’t stop. When Tom prised my arms from around his neck, his shirt was completely covered in mascara and lipstick and whatever else had come from my face that didn’t ever need to be spoken of again.
‘Do you want a drink?’ he asked, keys rattling in the nice-looking door of the nice-looking building.
I wiped my arm across my face and nodded, dragging one foot in front of the other. Normally when devastated and/or mortifyingly embarrassed, I would go home, run a bath and sit in it, trawling through every element of the experience until it was fully committed to memory for future emotional flagellation, but since Tom had already seen me get punched in the face and knew I was shagging a man who already had a girlfriend, going home felt a bit like locking the stable door after the horse had bolted.
‘Bloody hell.’ I dropped my tote bag on the very shiny hardwood floor and clung to my handbag while I gaped at Tom’s house with the one eye that wasn’t already swollen shut. Because it was a house, not a flat − a great, big, lovely house with doors and furniture and an actual landline phone and everything. ‘Are we still in London?’