Now that Dani’s coat had fallen open, I could see what she was wearing underneath: a leather corset, suspenders and stockings and the kind of stripper shoes I’d imagined buying to wear for Jude, before immediately rejecting the idea.
‘I’ll lend you something to wear tomorrow,’ I promised. ‘Something of mine will fit you, I’m sure. And if not, we’ll ask Alice. It’ll be fine. But I still think you need to report him to the police.’
‘How can I? They’d see me in this get-up and they wouldn’t believe a word I said. And Fabian would tell them I consented, I said it was fine, and he’d be right. I did.’
‘But you can’t consent to that. Not to being hurt like that.’
‘You can. I did. And I did before. I said yes to all the stuff he did to me. I even enjoyed lots of it. It’s just – he kept pushing and pushing, you know? It’s like he was trying to find where my boundaries were, only I didn’t know. Not until tonight.’
Being strangled until you blacked out would pretty much be beyond anyone’s boundaries, I thought.
‘It’s going to be fine,’ I said. ‘You never have to see him again. You never have to do anything you’re not comfortable with again – ever. You’ve got this.’
Dani drank more wine. She’d stopped crying now, and her face was strangely blank under what was left of her heavy make-up.
‘I thought he was so great,’ she said. ‘I literally couldn’t believe my luck, that this hot, rich, successful man wanted to go out with me. I thought that was it, as long as I didn’t put a foot wrong, I was sorted. Mum would be proud of me. My life would be perfect. But it wasn’t true, was it?’
‘Fabian’s a creep. He always was and he always will be. You’re way too good for him. And there are plenty of other guys out there who are normal and decent and kind and won’t make you do weird shit you don’t want to do, and won’t hurt you, and won’t endanger your fucking life for kicks. Really there are.’
‘Like Jude?’
It was my turn to take a big gulp of wine. ‘Jude’s never done anything like that. But all the same, I’ve been thinking, lately, that maybe it’s not going to work. I thought having a boyfriend would make me happy, but it hasn’t. And I think it’s because he doesn’t really want to make me happy. He’s not a bad person. But maybe “not a bad person” is setting the bar way, way too low.’
‘So it’s back to the drawing board, then? Back to online dating?’
‘I don’t know.’ I thought of Jude, upstairs in my flat, eating the takeaway I’d paid for, maybe commenting on Indigo’s Insta feed. It had been a long time, I realised, since I’d looked at him and felt that rush of excitement, admired the curve of his lips when he smiled and the flicker of his eyes when he laughed. It had been a while since I’d even seen him laugh, except when he’d laughed at me.
‘So “not a bad person” is enough, then? I’m worth more than Fabian, but you’re not worth more than that?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said again.
Twenty-Five
You know what to do with your excess baggage, Aquarius. Ditch it, or pay the price.
Over the next few days, I kept remembering my unequivocal advice to Dani. Dump his sorry arse. Don’t put yourself in danger for a man. No guy is worth this. You deserve so much more.
I remembered it, and I knew it was right. But when I chatted to Dani over coffee and cake at a pavement table after our workout, both of us wrapped up with our hoodies zipped to our chins against the chilly afternoon, and she told me that she had ended it with Fabian – Thank God, I said to myself – there was still something almost wistful in the way she talked about him.
‘I called him and told him it was over,’ she said, her words coming out in a rush. ‘It was horrible, Zoë. He begged me to forgive him. He said he’d never hurt me again, he hadn’t meant to, he’d only done it because he thought it was what I wanted – all that stuff. He sounded almost like he was crying. And then I had to go round to his place to pick up my things and he’d put this massive fuck-off diamond bracelet in with them and it was just as well I noticed and gave it back, otherwise I’d have had to see him again.’
‘You never have to see him again,’ I tried to reassure her, not mentioning that, of course, he could turn up at the gym any time he wanted.
‘You don’t think I overreacted, do you? I mean, if I told him I didn’t like what he was doing, maybe he’d have just stopped, and it would’ve been okay?’
‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘But maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe next time he could have hurt you really badly. Maybe he’d have stopped doing that one thing but carried on pushing your boundaries in other ways.’
She sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right. I do miss him, though, in some ways.’
‘What do you miss, though?’
‘Being able to go out to nice places with a handsome man. Not having to worry about being the only person without a plus-one at weddings for the rest of my life. Not having to worry about never having a wedding of my own. Being able to go home with him and introduce him to Mum, and all my friends back in Liverpool seeing that it was the right thing to have split up with Jamie and made my own way in life. And now I’m back to worrying about all that shit.’
‘But just think about it for a second.’ I waved my fork a bit too vigorously, and a bit of carrot cake flew off it and immediately got devoured by a passing pigeon. ‘If Fabian had been your plus-one at a wedding, what would be the chances of him not turning up? How many times when you went to nice places with him did you end up feeling bored and anxious while he ignored you and talked to his important friends? Would he actually ever have asked you to marry him, even if you put up with his shitty behaviour and dodgy kinks for years and years?’
‘I know, you’re right. Of course you’re right. I’ll just have to get used to being single again,’ Dani said gloomily.
‘Being single’s not so bad. Come on! I was single for years and years and I was fine about it. It’s good to be at peace with yourself, have your own space, no one to answer to but yourself.’
‘It’s easy for you to say that now,’ she pointed out, ‘you’ve got a boyfriend.’
And that shut me up, good and proper. Because I knew that the advice I was so generously dishing out to my friend wasn’t necessarily advice I’d follow myself. Sometimes, when the direct debit for the gas bill came out of my account and left me staring queasily at my bank balance wondering where Frazzle’s next consignment of posh raw food pouches was going to come from, or when I looked at the bathroom mirror and tried to remember the last time Jude had left me a note written with a soapy finger, or when I lay in bed after we’d had sex, sleepless and unsatisfied, I wondered what advice I’d give someone in my situation.
And I knew exactly what it was. Kick him to the kerb. Or maybe, if I was feeling charitable, Tell him to shape up or ship out. He’s just a cocklodger.
But, somehow, I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t Jude’s fault he wasn’t earning much and was working such long hours. It wasn’t fair that I had a job that paid me a decent wage and he didn’t. I got to swan off to the gym in the middle of the day, while he was stuck at work in an office, or walking the streets pushing leaflets through letterboxes, or getting a train to a rally somewhere at six in the morning. And he couldn’t help that sex wasn’t always satisfying for me. (Wasn’t ever satisfying, said the brutally honest voice in my head.) He always held me and told me he loved me afterwards, before he fell asleep, and often he said he was sorry it had been over so quickly. Before, I’d told him I loved him, too, but now I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.