inspect for any nasal, ear or rogue eyebrow hair (removing any culprits quickly with his tweezers), before disappearing into the shower with the Aveda range for a good half an hour.
She sighed wistfully. His lengthy bathroom routine used to drive her mad, but now she missed it, as only a heartbroken ex-girlfriend could do. If she could just have him back, she swore she’d never get annoyed again. She’d never stand in her dressing gown, tugging at the shower curtain and moaning at him to get a move on, she’d never complain at all the little bits of dental floss she kept finding like wiggly white worms around the flat, she’d never tell him off for using the last of the moisturising conditioner – again. She missed him and she wanted him back.
Suffering both inside and out, she hugged her sofa-cushion boyfriend and stared vacantly at the debris on the coffee table. And that’s when, amidst the jumble of magazines, tissues and clutter that followed Rita wherever she went, her eye fell on something. The telephone.
The temptation was too much. Reaching over, she picked up the handset. It was like holding a loaded gun. For a moment she hesitated . . . Should she pull the trigger?
Of course the answer was no, no, no, no. Don’t Drink and Dial. But it was too late. There was silence on the other end of the line. Then a ringing tone. Her mouth went dry and she tried to swallow. She waited.
Suddenly there was a click and the sound of a voice. ‘Hello?’ It was Hugh.
Her heart raced. Her mouth seemed to seize up. The phone felt like a grenade in the palm of her hand.
‘Hello?’ His voice again. This time more impatient.
She had to speak. She wanted to speak . . . ‘Hugh, it’s me, Frankie,’ she blurted out, the desperation in her voice scotching any hopes she might have had of playing it cool.
‘Frankie?’ One word. Two syllables. From that she had to try and work out if he was pleased, pissed off, excited, concerned, sad, missing her . He didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘Where are you?’
‘Los Angeles.’
‘ What? ’
She could hear him scrabbling about, and the radio providing the background music was switched off. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said I’m in LA.’ She tried to steady her quivering voice.
‘ LA? ’ His voice rose an octave. ‘What the hell are you doing there?’ (Was that concern, annoyance or jealousy? She wasn’t sure.)
‘I’m staying with Rita.’ Damn. Why hadn’t she said something witty, clever, funny? Why hadn’t she breezed, ‘ I’m having the time of my life .’ Her eyes started to well up with tears. Probably because she was having the shittiest time of her life. ‘I miss you.’ Shit, shit, shit. What was she doing? She had to be strong – cool – collected. ‘I miss you so much.’ The words tumbled out as she started to cave in. And now she was crying. She could almost hear any points she might have gained by flouncing off to LA being scrubbed off, one by one, with each sniffle.
Hugh didn’t say anything. There was an awkward pause. She heard more fumbling in the background, the sound of a door closing. ‘Look, this isn’t a good time to talk. I’m getting ready for work and I’m running late.’
Frankie looked at her watch. Five past eight UK time. Normally he’d be doing the stomach thing in the bathroom mirror.
‘I’ll call you back.’ He sounded so official. As if he was arranging a business meeting.
‘When?’ she stabbed, the alarm ringing loudly in her voice. By this point she was past trying to remain cool and aloof. She white-knuckled the handset.
‘Soon.’
She wanted to shriek, ‘ What day? What time? ’ so she could stay in the apartment glued to the phone. But of course she didn’t. Instead she gave him her number. Twice.
Then he said goodbye and put the phone down. Just like that.
Puffy-eyed, she stared dismally at the receiver. She knew Hugh was never going to ring back. Deep down she’d known that even when
She sighed wistfully. His lengthy bathroom routine used to drive her mad, but now she missed it, as only a heartbroken ex-girlfriend could do. If she could just have him back, she swore she’d never get annoyed again. She’d never stand in her dressing gown, tugging at the shower curtain and moaning at him to get a move on, she’d never complain at all the little bits of dental floss she kept finding like wiggly white worms around the flat, she’d never tell him off for using the last of the moisturising conditioner – again. She missed him and she wanted him back.
Suffering both inside and out, she hugged her sofa-cushion boyfriend and stared vacantly at the debris on the coffee table. And that’s when, amidst the jumble of magazines, tissues and clutter that followed Rita wherever she went, her eye fell on something. The telephone.
The temptation was too much. Reaching over, she picked up the handset. It was like holding a loaded gun. For a moment she hesitated . . . Should she pull the trigger?
Of course the answer was no, no, no, no. Don’t Drink and Dial. But it was too late. There was silence on the other end of the line. Then a ringing tone. Her mouth went dry and she tried to swallow. She waited.
Suddenly there was a click and the sound of a voice. ‘Hello?’ It was Hugh.
Her heart raced. Her mouth seemed to seize up. The phone felt like a grenade in the palm of her hand.
‘Hello?’ His voice again. This time more impatient.
She had to speak. She wanted to speak . . . ‘Hugh, it’s me, Frankie,’ she blurted out, the desperation in her voice scotching any hopes she might have had of playing it cool.
‘Frankie?’ One word. Two syllables. From that she had to try and work out if he was pleased, pissed off, excited, concerned, sad, missing her . He didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘Where are you?’
‘Los Angeles.’
‘ What? ’
She could hear him scrabbling about, and the radio providing the background music was switched off. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said I’m in LA.’ She tried to steady her quivering voice.
‘ LA? ’ His voice rose an octave. ‘What the hell are you doing there?’ (Was that concern, annoyance or jealousy? She wasn’t sure.)
‘I’m staying with Rita.’ Damn. Why hadn’t she said something witty, clever, funny? Why hadn’t she breezed, ‘ I’m having the time of my life .’ Her eyes started to well up with tears. Probably because she was having the shittiest time of her life. ‘I miss you.’ Shit, shit, shit. What was she doing? She had to be strong – cool – collected. ‘I miss you so much.’ The words tumbled out as she started to cave in. And now she was crying. She could almost hear any points she might have gained by flouncing off to LA being scrubbed off, one by one, with each sniffle.
Hugh didn’t say anything. There was an awkward pause. She heard more fumbling in the background, the sound of a door closing. ‘Look, this isn’t a good time to talk. I’m getting ready for work and I’m running late.’
Frankie looked at her watch. Five past eight UK time. Normally he’d be doing the stomach thing in the bathroom mirror.
‘I’ll call you back.’ He sounded so official. As if he was arranging a business meeting.
‘When?’ she stabbed, the alarm ringing loudly in her voice. By this point she was past trying to remain cool and aloof. She white-knuckled the handset.
‘Soon.’
She wanted to shriek, ‘ What day? What time? ’ so she could stay in the apartment glued to the phone. But of course she didn’t. Instead she gave him her number. Twice.
Then he said goodbye and put the phone down. Just like that.
Puffy-eyed, she stared dismally at the receiver. She knew Hugh was never going to ring back. Deep down she’d known that even when
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