dials for you to play with.’
I sort of dive on to him, quickly fastening my mouth on to his before he can comment on my terrible seduction line. I hastily unbutton his shirt and push it back off his shoulders. I frantically kiss his chest and neck whilst tearing at his buckle.
‘What’s the rush?’ he asks as he tries to turn my hasty pecks into lingering kisses.
‘It’s time now,’ I insist. ‘We’ve waited too long.’
It’s encouragement enough. After all, he is male. He jumps up and walks to the bedroom. I follow him. We undress ourselves quickly. He folds and hangs up his clothes. We get into bed and have sex.
He wants to please me, that’s obvious. He strokes my head and thighs and caresses my breasts. I bury my head into his neck and squeeze my eyes shut. It’s pointless. Darren is tattooed on to the inside of my lids.
It’s fine, absolutely fine. I even have brief waves of orgasm, although I don’t quite achieve a full climax, but then, I rarely do.
I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling. Josh props himself up on one arm and lies facing me. I pull the duvet up to my armpits. He strokes my hair.
‘I’m sorry that was all a bit quick.’
‘No, no, it was – fine. Great.’ I’m desperate for a cigarette.
‘Really, you, er, enjoyed yourself?’ He wants to believe it. ‘I mean, did you, er—’
‘Yes, really, I came. Well, just about.’
Relieved, he reaches for his cigarettes. ‘Well, that’s good, then.’
‘Yes.’
He hands me a lit fag and I edge up the headboard so that I can smoke it. I’m gripping on to the duvet like a Victorian virgin. We smoke in silence and then we stub out in silence.
‘Do you think we are doing the right thing, Josh?’
‘What a big wedding, rather than something small and intimate? Absolutely. It’s going to be a great party and we’ve both got loads of people we have to invite – my family, your colleagues – and a few we actually want to invite. A big wedding is definitely right for us.’
I hold my breath. As I let it go, unscheduled words tumble out. ‘No, I mean by getting married at all.’ Double jeopardy. Gin-induced soul-searching, the worst kind.
‘Well, even if we simply lived together you’d still have to have sex with me,’ jokes Josh. I turn to him and see he’s terrified. He coughs. ‘Was it that bad?’
‘No,’ I smile, messing his hair and planting a big kiss on his cheek. ‘You are every bit as good as you’ve always said.’
We laugh, me and mymateJosh. I feel more relaxed with Josh than I have done since the engagement. Obviously it was the sex thing that was stressing me out. It’s better to have got that over with. I feel I can talk to him again. I push on.
‘I just worry that neither of us knows how to do this. Neither of us has ever sustained a relationship for any length of time—’
‘That’s because we were with the wrong people. We are meant for each other.’
Of course.
‘But my parents are divorced and yours just stay together to spite one another. Hardly ideal role models.’ Why am I trying to reach for the self-destruct button? Marrying Josh is what I want to do. Why am I putting doubts in his mind?
‘Loads of people manage.’
‘Loads of people mess it up too,’ I counterargue grimly. But then I remind myself: those who don’t make it through are the ones who marry for the wrong reasons, for lust, for passion, because they are irrationally in love. Josh and I are quite different. We are marrying because we are alike. We are compatible. We are comfortable.
Fine.
Josh puts his hand under the duvet. He rests it on my thigh. He moves his thumb in circles. It feels like he is dragging my skin in the wrong direction.
‘Again?’ he asks.
Again? I hadn’t thought about again. But of course there’s an again. And again and again.
‘I’m a bit tired actually.’
‘No worries. We’ve got all the time in the world.’ Josh turns away from me and is asleep in seconds. His breathing is deep and relaxed.
A lifetime of doing it again.
My feet are ice blocks.
17
Bale has come up with his most ridiculous, irritating and inconvenient idea yet.
‘A party?’ I’m incredulous.
‘Yes, Jocasta, you know the sort of thing – music, drink, merriment.’
‘But what for?’
‘For the troops, of course. To thank them for all their hard work during the difficult times, to celebrate these delightful ones.’
Bale, nearer the bile of human meanness than the milk of human kindness, has never been within miles of being altruistic. I can’t credit it now. I wonder which young PA he has his eye on. I assume that there must be someone he wants the opportunity to befuddle. Even so, it’s a lot of expense to run to just to get someone drunk.
‘Come off it, Bale. What’s really going on?’
He comes clean. ‘It’s a tax break. I have to spend a certain amount on staff training and recreation.’
‘I see.’ I consider it. A party isn’t a bad idea. If it takes place after I get back from my honeymoon I’ll be tanned. I begin to mentally run through my wardrobe, considering what I should wear to cause the biggest sensation.
‘All right, I’ll look at organizing something in August.’
‘Too late. All the invoices need to be through by the end of July. The party must take place this month.’
‘In that case, no can do.’ I can use this phrase with Bale – he still thinks ‘ciao’ is an acceptable greeting. ‘Someone else will have to organize it. I’m getting married on the twenty-first.’ I point out the obvious to him. ‘Less than three weeks’ time.’
‘We’ll do it before the wedding.’ Bale reaches for his
I want to tell him that this isn’t in my job description. I want to tell him that I have a number of other projects that need completing before I go on holiday. I want to tell him to go and screw himself. But there’s something in his eyes that tells me this isn’t up for debate. I know I’m being tested. Am I efficient and committed enough to pull off a huge corporate event the week before I get married? Or am I demob happy?
The bastard.
‘No problem,’ I smile and skip out of his office.
‘Bugger!’ I yell, once I’m safely behind my screensaver.
‘What’s up?’ asks Fi as she passes my desk.
‘The usual. Bale,’ I groan. ‘He’s piling up my workload just to see if I fuck up. I could really do without it.’
‘What’s he asked you to do?’
‘Arrange a party.’
‘A party? Great,’ enthuses Fi, miscalculating the reaction I want by about as much as is humanly possible. She sees my thunderous face and adjusts her jubilant one accordingly.
‘Not great.’
