I sat silently in the car all the way back to our apartment, then listlessly undressed and climbed into bed. Joe put his arms around me.
‘Make love to me, Joe,’ I asked.
‘Sure, babe. Why don’t you tell me a story first?’
He didn’t get it. I didn’t want acrobatic sex and horny fantasies. I wanted him to make slow tender love to me. To make me feel better. To make me feel like I belonged here.
I rolled over and stared at the photo on my bedside table. It was of all the girls on our last day in Benidorm. We were literally falling over each other as we made daft gestures into the camera, faces the colour of tomatoes from too much sun. We looked like we didn’t have a care in the world. What were they doing right now? Our friendships were still there, but we’d all gone our separate ways and our contact was limited to the occasional letter or infrequent phone call, always instigated by me because Sarah and Jess were skint students, Carol was working in a bar between modelling gigs to make ends meet and Kate was living on just over thirty quid a week as a junior in a salon.
I reached for the phone to call Kate, but stopped myself; it would only make me feel worse.
Instead, I turned to look at Joe, who unfortunately was in an extremely unattractive, open mouthed mid-snore. Did he ever feel like this? Did he ever want to be somewhere else (I mean, other than a nudist bar in Barbados – fantasy number forty-six)?
Maybe it was an age thing, I mused. Joe was thirty-seven, I was nearly twenty years younger. He was only the second man I’d ever slept with, for God’s sake. And if I married him, then he’d be the last. Panic began to rise. Did I really want to look at the same penis for the rest of my life? What if this was a huge mistake? What would life be like in ten years’ time – would I be married with six kids by then, covered in food, tears and snot, trapped in domesticated hell? I wasn’t ready for this. I wasn’t ready to promise the rest of my life to this man, no matter how bloody spectacular he was.
And spectacular, he definitely was. I touched his cheek. He was everything I’d ever wanted. He was funny, sexy, smart…
I was so confused. I mean, this wasn’t a mild dilemma, like would I take the holiday or the car if I won on Family Fortunes. This was a full-blown life-changing crossroads and I had no idea which way to turn.
When I got out of bed at 5 a.m., the world seemed different. Joe still lay sleeping beside me, the snoring now ceased, the mouth closed and looking unbearably gorgeous and touchable. But it didn’t matter. I knew what I was going to do and I hated myself for it.
I leaned over and kissed him, feeling traitorous but unable to stop myself from betraying him.
You see, I knew I wasn’t staying. I knew I had to go home for a while. Back to Callum and Michael and my gran and the girls. Back to Maw and Paw Walton. Just home. But I knew that if I told Joe, he would insist on coming with me and that wasn’t the answer. I wanted to go alone, to see my mates and my family. To think about us and what we were doing. He would never understand. After all, hadn’t we vowed never to spend a night apart?
I took the coward’s way out. I took off my engagement ring and placed it on top of my signature.
Dear Joe,
the note read,
I’m so sorry. I need to go home for a while to do some thinking. I’ll be in touch soon. Love you – always,
Cooper x.
PS I’m leaving the ring, so you know I’ll be back.
I rushed to Schiphol Airport and caught the 7 a.m. flight to Glasgow.
I never saw Joe Cain again.
5 High – The Lighthouse Family
I arrive at Paco’s on Chiswick High Road fifteen minutes late due to a wardrobe crisis – pink pedal pushers are NOT for a woman of my curvatures and complexion – and the Number 57 bus driver refusing to go over twenty miles an hour. Chiswick is the most convenient meeting place, given that Kate lives around the corner, I’m only a few miles away, Jess can hop on a direct train from Westminster and Carol is dating a minted bloke who provides a car and driver to take her wherever she wants to go. As I charge into the packed restaurant, it crosses my mind again that I need to ask the others if they know what happened to Sarah, but I get sidetracked by their cheers.
Kate and Jess have obviously filled Carol in on my day’s deliberations, because in front of them all are glasses full of red liquid – the unmistakable murky hues of the Invaded Vagina. I’ve never asked what’s in it and I’m pretty sure now isn’t the time to find out.
‘Cooper,’ Jess greets me, her Glaswegian accent softened by an overtone of posh London. ‘We were just about to call in a search party.’
There are kisses and hugs all round, before I eventually park myself, desperate to fill them in on my latest episode.
Jess, dressed in a classic navy power suit, takes charge as usual. As a political researcher and (secret) girlfriend of Basil Asquith, MP, she’s used to participating in important meetings and keeping things in order.
‘Right then, who’s got anything major to report this week?’ she asks, her red, chin-length bob not even budging as she scans her audience.
Three hands shoot up, including mine, one almost decapitating a passing waiter. Bloody hell, THREE major news items. Normally we’re lucky if there’s one and we just fill the rest of the time with essential tasks like swapping
