One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [14]
‘And I haven’t asked you anything at all about yourself. I’m so obsessed with my own life, I’ve completely tuned out of yours. I’m sorry.’
I smiled, recognizing genuine contrition when I saw it. ‘Don’t be. Not much to tell.’
‘Oh, yeah? Mum thinks you’ve got a man.’
I coloured. ‘She does? Why?’
‘Don’t hedge. She says she rang you the other day and you were short of breath and said you’d been for a run. She thought, Hattie doesn’t run for a bus, and then she heard a man laughing in the background.’
‘Ah.’ I remembered it well. It had been the turn of the airing cupboard to host that afternoon’s erotic activity, which had been hot. That, amongst other things, had left me breathless when Mum had rung.
‘Well, come on, who is it?’
‘Um… you don’t know him.’
‘Of course I don’t, but give us a clue.’
I scratched my neck. ‘He’s… just a bloke.’
‘That’s it?’
‘No, obviously not, but…’
‘But what?’ She stiffened. ‘He’s married?’
‘No.’
‘Well, thank the Lord. I gather Maggie’s got one of those. OK, so what’s the problem? Oh – does he make you dress up? Wear rubber, or something?’
‘Don’t be silly. No, he’s quite… you know.’
‘What?’
‘Young.’
Laura’s eyes widened. ‘Oh. Young. How young?’
‘I’m… not sure.’
‘What d’you mean, you’re not sure. Haven’t you asked?’
‘Er, no. Not yet. Not very, I don’t think. But he did take GCSEs rather than O levels. And he’d never seen a vinyl record before.’
‘You’ve been spinning discs?’
‘Well, the more modern equivalent.’
A light went on behind her eyes. ‘Sex!’ she breathed. ‘For the sake of it.’ She gazed at me entranced. ‘Can’t remember when I last did that and didn’t tick it off my list of Things To Do. You know what Mum will say?’
‘Where’s it going!’ I yelped, panic-stricken. ‘I know, so please don’t tell her, Laura, promise?’ I gripped her wrist. ‘Pinky promise?’
‘No, I won’t. But… be careful, Hatts. Is he good to you? Treats you well?’
‘Of course!’ I was aware of my cheeks flaming.
‘And who picks up the restaurant bill?’
‘Well, him, for sure, obviously.’ I wasn’t going to tell her we hadn’t got to the restaurant stage. Were working backwards towards it, so to speak. From bed.
She raised her eyebrows, quizzically.
‘I’m not a sugar mummy, Laura. He pays his way.’
‘What – from his pocket money?’
‘Don’t be silly, he’s not that young. And anyway, it’s not that unusual, is it? Look at Emma Thompson and Greg thingy, and, um, Joan Collins—’
‘Joan Collins! Her husband’s known as the antique dealer!’
‘Is he?’ I was appalled. Licked my lips. ‘Well, heavens, I’m not marrying the guy. It’s just a bit of fun. Just a fling.’
How naïve it sounded, sailing boldly out of my mouth into the stratosphere.
‘Oh, really?’ She held on to those ironic eyebrows. ‘That doesn’t sound like you, Hattie. You don’t do anything you don’t pour your heart and soul into. You don’t do flings. Don’t do anything for kicks.’
I got up quickly from the bed in one fluid movement, wishing she didn’t know me so well. Know how I ticked. I was falling in love with Ivan, I knew that, and couldn’t seem to stop myself. Falling. Such an apposite word. Free-falling, face down, arms and legs out like a starfish, probably a heavenly sensation with a parachute to steady you, to add a note of caution, but not so funny without one and with a bumpy landing. And I’d been careful all these years not to do that. Since Dominic. Not to get involved.
I went to the window and narrowed my eyes to the gentle, undulating hills beyond. My phone vibrated against my thigh in my pocket, and in true Pavlovian response, I felt a thrill go up my spine. All those texts. Ten a day sometimes, designed to make the heart beat faster. ‘Morning, my love, you’re beautiful’ or ‘Can’t stop thinking about you.’ Not as many as Maggie, of course. She was on thirty a day. Like fags, I thought in surprise. I wasn’t a chain texter, like her. Could I wean myself down to one a day, perhaps? Just a quick fix after breakfast? Maybe one could get a patch. On the NHS.
I sighed and leaned the heels of my hands on the sill, gazing out. It