‘You’ll need to ask Alice. She’s in charge of that kind of thing. Well, she’s in charge of everything really. But I’m sure it will be fine. She’ll give you a price per head or a minimum spend or whatever.’
‘Great.’ Adam hesitated, and then he went on, ‘Could we do, like, an Australian theme? With the food and stuff?’
‘I don’t see why not. Shrimp on the barbie, and…’ That was pretty much the extent of my knowledge.
‘Lamingtons?’ Adam suggested.
‘Shrimp on the barbie and Lamingtons. Whatever those are. Got you.’
Our eyes met and we laughed.
‘Pies and gravy?’ Adam suggested. ‘That’s a thing, isn’t it?’
‘I’ve got no idea. I’ll have to google. But we’ll come up with something, don’t worry.’
‘Great,’ Adam said again.
There was a pause, and I thought he might be about to say something else – I even saw him take a deep breath like he was going to. But he just said he’d see me next week, slung his bag over his shoulder and strolled out into the night, and I had a final check of the kitchen and went upstairs to the flat to find Jude.
He was on the sofa, slouched down low so his hips were right on the edge of the cushions and his chin on his chest, his long legs stretched out in front of him, reading a book called Engines of Privilege. Frazzle was on the bed, one eye open, waiting to see if there was any chance of a last and final snack before bed.
‘Hey, beautiful,’ Jude said, not raising his eyes from the page. ‘Okay day?’
‘Yeah, it was good,’ I replied brightly. ‘How was yours?’
‘Bloody knackering. I was just about to call it a night.’
I thought longingly of bed – and sleep. But I’d promised Dani – and, more importantly, myself – that I was going to do this. One last throw of the dice: the idea made me think of Adam, his long fingers dropping the many-sided dice on the table, determining our fate. If he was rolling now, would it be a one, a twenty, or something in between?
But this wasn’t up to Adam or a dice. It was up to me.
‘I’m just going to jump in the shower,’ I said. ‘How about lighting some candles?’
‘Candles?’ Jude looked at me blankly, like I’d suggested summoning a string quartet to entertain us for what was left of the evening.
‘Sure. You know, ambience.’
‘And a fire hazard,’ Jude grumbled, but he got up from the sofa and I heard him rummaging around on a shelf looking for matches as I closed the bathroom door behind me, having snatched up the ASOS carrier bag I’d stashed behind the door that morning.
Ten minutes later, I was standing in front of the slightly fogged-up bathroom mirror, looking at my reflection with a mixture of wonder and embarrassment. I was a bralette and boy shorts kind of person. I’d hardly ever in my life owned anything you could describe as lingerie. Perhaps I could have started off slowly, with something tasteful in oyster-coloured silk, but I’d decided that if I was going to do this thing, I was going to do it properly.
The result was a black, multi-strapped bra (although whether it was actually worthy of the name – given its cups comprised three strips of elastic that criss-crossed my breasts, meeting in the middle and just about covering my nipples but leaving nothing else to the imagination – was another matter), and a matching thong that left my nether regions similarly exposed.
I looked bizarre, yet also sexy, in a totally in-your-face kind of way. And I felt absolutely terrified, far more nervous than the first time I’d brought Jude back to the flat. What would he do? Would this overt display of my assets drive him wild with desire and transform him into a lover of Seth-like enthusiasm and skill, as I hoped? Or would he be horrified, assuming that his girlfriend had somehow transformed into Mistress Whiplash in the course of a fifteen-minute shower? Or maybe my new kit would have the opposite of the desired effect, turning him on so much that our usual perfunctory sex didn’t even get that far?
I had no idea, but there was only one way to find out.
I opened the bathroom door and stepped out as tentatively as a Victorian virgin on her wedding night, although rather less modestly dressed.
Jude looked up from the sofa and for a second he gawped at me, his jaw literally falling open.
And then he burst out laughing.
Twenty-Three
Today presents you with questions, Aquarius: why are you so afraid to be alone? What are you willing to sacrifice for love? And why is your closet full of odd socks?
In the gym the next afternoon, I pushed myself relentlessly, lifting heavier weights than I ever had before, carrying on until my muscles were burning and trembling and Mike came over and stood by me, his face impassive, his hands ready to support my arms if they gave up altogether.
‘You were giving it some today,’ he commented when I got up off the bench, leaving behind the sweaty imprint of my arms and shoulders.
I nodded, for a few moments enjoying the sensation of there being nothing else in the world except my screaming muscles and my pounding heart. There was no space to think, and that was what I wanted.
‘Missing your training buddy?’ he asked.
‘Yeah. Was Dani in earlier?’
‘Nah. I haven’t seen her all week. I sent her a message but she didn’t read it.’
‘We went for drinks a few days ago. She’s okay, but she didn’t say anything about having a break from training. And she didn’t read the last message I sent her either.’
‘Sometimes people need a break,’ he said. ‘And sometimes they just quit. You get used to people being around, you think they’re part of the furniture, and then they just don’t turn up one day and that’s it.’
‘I’m sure that won’t happen with Dani, though. She loves it here.’
‘She’s made great progress. You too.’
His words gave me a glow of pride, but that wasn’t enough to dispel the shadow of worry I felt over Dani. She wouldn’t just quit. Not out of the blue like that. Something was wrong. I made my way back to work with various scenarios jostling around in my head like unwelcome house guests, resolving to go round to Dani’s as soon as I could and check she was okay.
The pub was busy that night, and Robbie had the evening off, so I had work to keep me occupied at least. I turned out plate after plate of food, the rhythm of a busy service as compelling and all-encompassing as that of a workout in the gym. Alone in the kitchen, at least I didn’t have to smile or pretend that everything was okay. I plugged in my headphones, I worked flat out until ten, and then I cleaned everything down, said a brief goodnight to Kelly and Freddie, and dragged myself wearily up the stairs to the flat.
I found myself half-hoping that Jude wouldn’t be there, although I knew he would be.
I still burned with shame, remembering the previous night – how he’d totally corpsed at the sight of me, laughing so hard he’d barely been able to speak, and then, when at last he could, he’d asked me what the hell I was doing in that hooker’s get-up.
‘I thought you were a feminist, Zoë,’ he’d said, gasping for breath. ‘Never realised you moonlighted as a Playboy centrefold.’