‘Well, maybe you’ll see him in the morning.’
‘And does this mean I’ll get to meet Gretel?’
‘Shut up.’
‘Just saying! Oh shit! Is that the time? I’m late. Oh God, I’m so stressed I may vomit.’
I bite a pepper and chew delicately. ‘Megan? Oh, soon. Maybe even tonight depending on what time she gets back.’
I’m flailing. I can’t find Gretel. She isn’t here. I can’t find her buzz or energy, passion or enthusiasm. Maybe her period is due? Does she even have them? I’m not sure. But the atmosphere is flat and it feels like my fault. Joshua’s eating but he’s not smiling and it’s my responsibility as a girlfriend to entertain him, to uplift him, to put him in a good mood. He can’t associate his girlfriend with any negativity.
‘Speaking of friends,’ I start, not sure where I’m going. ‘Umm, my friend Chrissy. The one whose hen do I went to. It’s her wedding next weekend, and she gave me a plus one.’
He puts down his fork. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah, I mean, I know weddings are pretty boring, especially if you don’t know anyone. But you’re more than welcome to come. If you’re not busy.’
The smile he smiles. ‘I’m not busy. I’d love to come, Gretel. Where is it?’
‘Just in Surrey. So we can get there and back on the train.’
‘And you know Chrissy from?’
I wonder if I need to invent a lie for her too, to give our friendship a more dazzling edge, but it’s too hot and I’m just … not today … so I say, ‘We temped together years ago, and just clicked. I won’t know many people at the wedding either, so you’ll be stuck talking to me most of the day.’ That wasn’t a very confident thing to say. Argh. April’s just seeping out of me, all into the stir-fry. But Joshua’s still smiling and spearing a piece of pepper.
‘Sounds great.’
‘You sure you want to come?’ Why do I keep checking?
‘Yes!’
‘But, weddings can be really dull and boring and long.’ Stop it stop it stop it stop it!
‘Not with you there.’
‘OK, if you’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Great.’
We talk and finish the wine, and time passes as Joshua tells me all about his manager in a lot of detail, and all the different ways in which he isn’t as appreciated in work as he thinks he should be, and all the ways he could do a better job if he was manager. At about nine, he crashes to a halt, and just looks at me.
‘What?’ I ask.
Then he’s out of his chair, scooping me up in his arms, carrying me to the bedroom.
‘What about the washing-up?’ I squawk. Again, so totally un-Gretel.
‘I’ll do it later.’
But I’m still too busy digesting dinner to want to have sex right now, I think. But the soy sauce will stick to the plates and take forever to scrub off, I think. But it can’t still be there when Megan gets home because that won’t be fair, I think. But I don’t trust you to actually do the washing-up later, I think.
But I’ve not been Gretel enough this evening. She doesn’t care about something like the washing-up needing doing. Not when there’s sex with her glorious boyfriend on offer, the boyfriend she wasn’t expecting to get, especially as she wasn’t really looking for one. So I let myself get carried to my bedroom and try to get myself into a sexy place, which is really hard with a stomach full of food. My head’s so not in this. It’s all over the place, cluttered with lies and guilt, and chicken that the enzymes in my stomach haven’t broken down yet. I feel almost panicked as we start kissing, the taste of my cooking on his tongue. I don’t feel aroused as he strips off his shirt, revealing his bloated belly. I almost want to push him away when he starts kissing down my own full tummy with a suggestive look in his eye. I don’t think I have the energy to fake another orgasm, let alone think about even attempting a real one. I want to be alone. I want to never touch a man again. I never want one near me again. I hate them. I hate Joshua for touching me. I hate him for loving me, for caring, when it can never be trusted. Feelings. They always wane and then you end up fucked up and bitter and wishing you’d never got going in the first place. And I don’t deserve these kisses, and I don’t deserve what he’s doing right now, with my knickers pulled to one side. I don’t deserve a man like Joshua, even though he’s still a man and they’re all awful. I don’t deserve anything good, and I want to cry but …
I let out a moan, because I don’t want to hurt his feelings, because he’s trying really hard down there.
He doesn’t do the dishes. He falls asleep clasping me in his arms, and it’s a really delicate procedure, getting out of there without waking him. I wiggle like Houdini until I’ve dislodged him and his affection and spend a good amount of time looking at Old Faithful, my crack in the ceiling. I watch him sleep, changing my mind about him every five minutes:
Look at his sleeping face. He really is quite handsome. I can’t believe this man has chosen me. I want to touch his face, I want to kiss him, I want to be next to this face forever.
Then:
I can’t believe you’ve just fallen a-fucking-sleep when you didn’t wash up. I knew this would happen. I hope you don’t snore because I have work tomorrow and I don’t want to be tired. I just want to be alone. I wish I could vanish you away so I can be alone in my bed, without your body here confusing me.
I can’t take it any more. I heave myself out of bed, holding my head as if that will stop it whirring so hard, shake on a dressing gown and pad out into the darkness of the flat. I can still hear Joshua’s heavy breathing whistling through my door, so I gently push it shut. And it’s just me again, April. I look at the dirty table, sigh, and get to work collecting the plates up and taking them to the sink.
I’m elbow deep in Fairy Liquid bubbles when I hear the scrape of Megan’s key in the lock.
‘I’m still up,’ I stage whisper. ‘Hey. How did it go?’
I twist to see her putting her bag down on the sofa, a tired wilt to her body. As she steps towards the kitchen, moonlight from the front window highlights her perfectly made-up face and hair – though there’s a touch of ‘end-of-the-night’ to the look.
‘Really well,’ she says, sinking into the sofa. ‘Thank God.’
‘Amazing! I knew you’d smash it! You want a glass of wine? I’ve got some leftover.’
‘Please.’
I shake off my soap-suddy hands and pour out the rest of the merlot that Joshua brought round. I hand her a glass before plonking myself next to her. ‘So, tell me all about it.’
She takes a deep slurp before replying. ‘It all went seamlessly. Right up to the last minute, of course. There was a terrible moment when we thought the flowers weren’t going to arrive. Or Cara Delevingne. But then it all came together. Cara turned up with all her friends, which is a bonus, means we’ll definitely get press coverage tomorrow. Everyone loved the line. They’ve sold out of the heart necklace ALREADY online.’
I reach over and grab her foot. ‘Megs! This is amazing! I’m so proud.’