‘I… I just wanted to do something different. Something nice. For us.’
‘Different is right. Good grief. I haven’t seen anything like that since I was knocking one out over Babestation when I was sixteen.’
‘Don’t you like it?’ I folded my arms over my chest, not feeling even a bit sexy any more, only embarrassed and exposed.
‘Come here.’ He crossed the room and folded me in his arms. ‘You don’t need shit like that to be beautiful. No one does. You’re lovely as you are.’
But his words couldn’t take away the sting of his laughter.
‘I just…’ I tried again, but my throat was closing up and I knew if I carried on, I’d start to cry.
‘Come on, let’s get you out of that nonsense.’
He unhooked the bra – easily enough, because there was just one tiny clasp – and tugged the stretchy elastic thong down over my hips, tossing it into the corner of the room, where Frazzle leaped on it and started to savage it ferociously. Even if I was dishonest enough to try and return it, I thought, my cat had put paid to any chance of that.
‘If you’re in the mood, you only have to say, you know,’ Jude went on.
I’d never, ever, been less in the mood in my life. But still, I felt I had to go through with it, and I did. Knowing it would be over in just a few short minutes, which it was.
I’d lain awake for what felt like hours afterwards, cold with misery. And now I was going to have to spend the evening with him, with that between us.
Jude was in the flat, lying on the bed, his shoes still on, his laptop on his knees.
He glanced up when I came in. ‘Evening, babe. Busy day?’
‘Crazy.’ I leaned over to fuss Frazzle hello, and so I didn’t have to meet Jude’s eyes. ‘Has he had his dinner? Have you?’
Jude shook his head. ‘I literally just walked in. I’m starving, actually.’
And he and Frazzle both looked at me hopefully, expecting me to magic up their dinner. Well, Frazzle was entitled to, of course – he was a cat and if I didn’t provide regular meals, he would decimate the local wildlife and probably leave home. But I couldn’t help feeling slightly resentful that Jude, knowing I’d spent almost all day cooking for other people, now expected me to cook for him, too.
‘I ate earlier,’ I reminded him. ‘Family meal in the pub, remember? Five every evening.’
‘Oh, right.’ Jude looked crestfallen. ‘Haven’t we got anything in, then?’
‘There’s some bread,’ I said. ‘And some porridge oats. And the twenty-four-hour Tesco down the road. And Uber Eats.’
I opened the fridge and found a pack of the special raw cat food I’d started buying for Frazzle, on the basis that it was organic and ethically produced and apparently identical to cats’ natural diet, even though it cost a fortune and every time I ordered it I felt like the manufacturer, and my cat, had seen me coming. Frazz wound himself around my legs, meowing urgently as he always did, like he was quite sure that if he didn’t keep reminding me, I’d change my mind and do something else instead of feeding him.
‘I wouldn’t mind some ramen,’ Jude said. ‘Fancy any?’
I shook my head. ‘Like I said, I ate earlier.’
‘Okay. Only, do you mind ordering on your account? I’m kind of skint, to be honest.’
I felt resentment flare inside me. He’d been living here rent free for three months and never paid a penny towards the bills, and now he expected me to bankroll his takeaway as well? He’d laughed at me when I’d tried to make our sex life better by pushing my own boundaries.
But was any of that his fault?
He couldn’t have expected my clumsy attempt at seduction. The Zoë he’d met lived in trainers and was on a year-long shopping ban. I’d never said that there was anything amiss with our sex life; I’d just expected him to understand that what was okay for him wasn’t for me.
I’d known when he moved in that he wasn’t earning a proper wage. It was unfair to judge him for that. But was it unfair to expect him to go to the supermarket on his way home and sort out some food for himself to eat, like an adult? Or eat toast and peanut butter, like I’d done on more occasions than I cared to remember, when my finances had been even more perilous than usual?
But Jude was lying there on the bed, looking at me with wide pleading eyes just like Frazzle’s, and I found I didn’t have the energy to point any of that out to him.
‘Sure. Where do you want to order from?’
‘Blessing Bowl?’ he said immediately. ‘White natural with shiitake broth, crispy tofu, bamboo shoots and seaweed? And a side of edamame, and maybe some pumpkin gyoza? And a couple of bottles of lager. Thanks babe.’
I couldn’t help wondering if he’d had the menu already open on his laptop, waiting for me to come home so he could place his order with me, and I could place it with the noodle place. That lot would set me back almost thirty quid, I calculated, tapping it all into the app. But it was churlish to point that out – churlish and mean. It wasn’t fair to take my worry over Dani out on Jude, when he was doing nothing he didn’t normally do.
‘It’ll be about thirty minutes,’ I said.
‘Great.’ Jude got up off the bed and stretched. ‘I’ll have a shower while I wait, then. And do you know where my jeans are? I couldn’t find any clean ones this morning.’
‘I should imagine they’re in the washing machine,’ I said, ‘with the rest of your stuff that I put in this morning.’
‘Damn it,’ he said, ‘I’ll have to hang them out now, and they probably won’t be dry by the morning.’
‘They probably won’t. There’s a twenty-four-hour launderette down the road; I expect they have dryers, if you’re desperate.’
Finally, Jude looked sheepish. ‘Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’ve had a total fucker of a day and I’m tired and cranky and work’s just like a bloody pressure cooker at the moment with all these factions squabbling with one another, and I know I’m going to have to take a side but I don’t know which one to take. But that’s no excuse to be a bastard to you. Believe me, I appreciate everything you do for me, because ultimately that helps me to fight for what’s right. Okay?’
There was so much to unpick there I didn’t know where to start. And I suddenly felt desperately weary. Wasn’t this the kind of conversation you were meant to have in a ten-year marriage that had begun to go sour, not in a relationship that was still brand new, still meant to be in its honeymoon period? I needed someone to confide in, someone to comfort me, someone who had my back and right now – actually, always – Jude wasn’t that person. Frazzle gave me more emotional support than Jude did and just about as much practical help.
But I was too tired to think about it, too tired to argue about it, and definitely, categorically too tired to get myself into a row that might need make-up sex to resolve itself.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘Just sort out your own clothes tonight, okay? I’m going to sleep.’
And so I found myself, a few minutes later, lying rigid in my bed, with all the lights still on and Jude next to me, scrolling on his phone while he waited for his food, a half-smile on his face. Glancing at the screen over his shoulder, I could see he was on Indigo’s Instagram feed; I’d have recognised those abstract canvasses and that messy apartment anywhere. She was his friend, I reminded myself. There was no reason for him not to engage with her social media. But still, I felt like the four walls of the flat were closing in on me, the space getting smaller and smaller. I knew that if I managed to drift into sleep, I’d be woken immediately by the buzz of the entry phone and Jude crashing around finding plates and cutlery, probably asking me where the salt and hot sauce were, and possibly opening the washing machine to try and dry his jeans with my hairdryer.