ring him and tell him that I’m in Au Bar and I’ve just ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio and a plate of yam shoestring fries with dip, because I’m famished. ‘So you’re not coming home yet? I was thinking maybe we’d go out to dinner.’ It’s been ten days since our big fight. It’s felt more like ten months.
‘Well I’m here now aren’t I! I wish you’d told me earlier.’ It did cross my mind this afternoon to go home and make him do something insanely forgiving and fun with me. But it just felt like too much work with no guarantee of me not being left standing there with egg on my face. ‘Look, I’d come home, but Leigh needs to talk. Something important. I can’t get out of it now.’ I didn’t think to check with you first. I’m about to add. To be honest, given the way you’ve been acting lately, I didn’t think you’d be bothered . But I don’t. Because that’ll only hurt us not heal us. Having the last word is overrated.
‘Well, you’ve made your plans. You can’t go back on them,’ he says, like the ever-understanding person he is, but I can tell he’s disappointed. ‘I’ll just see you later then.’
I want him to say Leave. Right now. Come home. I need to see you, I need to kiss you and tell you we going to change… When he doesn’t, I reply with a meagre, ‘All right then.’
There’s an awkward pause and then he says, ‘I love you. And…’ A bit more awkwardness… ‘I’m sorry Jill.’
‘Oh!’ This takes me by surprise. ‘Rob, I know you are. Me too. Let’s not be sorry anymore. It’s forgotten about. Everything’s forgotten about.’ A sigh comes out of me, and I think please let this be our fresh start. When I hang up my heart starts a quick ticking. I should just tell Leigh that I had to go home. Surely making up with Rob is more important than listening to Leigh’s affair drama? But it’s too late. She whips in the door. I experience an ominous feeling that I’ll regret misplacing my priorities. She looks beautiful. Different. Elegant. In a loosely-pleated, knee-length little black skirt with an Audrey Hepburn cowl neck top. The skirt flirts with her legs as she walks, in towering sandals, with that Does she, or doesn’t she? catch in her step. ‘My God, you look fabulous!’
‘We’re fucking,’ she says, and flops into an armchair.
I’ve clearly misheard.
She peeps from around the hand she has clapped to her face. ‘Oh, stop looking at me like that!’ I see the edges of a smile. Her neck is blotchy, like you get when you drink too much, or you have to make a speech, or….
‘Leigh! How? I mean, when? And who?’
She fans her face. ‘Who? Who d’you think? We’ve been emailing. I sent him one saying, Nice chatting with you last week etc. He wrote back, said we must do lunch some time –’
‘ Do lunch? Is that how he talks?’ I don’t like him already.
‘He emailed me at eleven o’clock this morning, picked me up at twelve, drove me straight to his house.’
‘His house!’
‘We didn’t exchange a word in the car.’ She runs her hand down her face and throat. ‘I was barely in his front door when he got me up against the wall and his face was under my skirt.’
My eyes drop to her skirt hem. ‘Good God.’ She clutches her bottom lip with her top teeth, and I don’t know if she’s going to laugh or cry; she is just this strange unreadable concoction of emotion. Then she starts giddying her feet and doing the Benny Hill thing again, complete with construction-worker noises. We’re attracting attention.
‘Where’s his wife in all this?’
She shrugs. ‘She works.’
‘And his kids?’
‘Oh, they’re… I don’t know. They’re always at their nana’s. Apparently they don’t have much sex.’
‘His kids?’
‘He and his wife!’ She goes off somewhere, smiling. Her tongue slides out. She looks slightly touched. But her face has splashes of life all over it. She is sparkly as a disco ball at her own
‘Well I’m here now aren’t I! I wish you’d told me earlier.’ It did cross my mind this afternoon to go home and make him do something insanely forgiving and fun with me. But it just felt like too much work with no guarantee of me not being left standing there with egg on my face. ‘Look, I’d come home, but Leigh needs to talk. Something important. I can’t get out of it now.’ I didn’t think to check with you first. I’m about to add. To be honest, given the way you’ve been acting lately, I didn’t think you’d be bothered . But I don’t. Because that’ll only hurt us not heal us. Having the last word is overrated.
‘Well, you’ve made your plans. You can’t go back on them,’ he says, like the ever-understanding person he is, but I can tell he’s disappointed. ‘I’ll just see you later then.’
I want him to say Leave. Right now. Come home. I need to see you, I need to kiss you and tell you we going to change… When he doesn’t, I reply with a meagre, ‘All right then.’
There’s an awkward pause and then he says, ‘I love you. And…’ A bit more awkwardness… ‘I’m sorry Jill.’
‘Oh!’ This takes me by surprise. ‘Rob, I know you are. Me too. Let’s not be sorry anymore. It’s forgotten about. Everything’s forgotten about.’ A sigh comes out of me, and I think please let this be our fresh start. When I hang up my heart starts a quick ticking. I should just tell Leigh that I had to go home. Surely making up with Rob is more important than listening to Leigh’s affair drama? But it’s too late. She whips in the door. I experience an ominous feeling that I’ll regret misplacing my priorities. She looks beautiful. Different. Elegant. In a loosely-pleated, knee-length little black skirt with an Audrey Hepburn cowl neck top. The skirt flirts with her legs as she walks, in towering sandals, with that Does she, or doesn’t she? catch in her step. ‘My God, you look fabulous!’
‘We’re fucking,’ she says, and flops into an armchair.
I’ve clearly misheard.
She peeps from around the hand she has clapped to her face. ‘Oh, stop looking at me like that!’ I see the edges of a smile. Her neck is blotchy, like you get when you drink too much, or you have to make a speech, or….
‘Leigh! How? I mean, when? And who?’
She fans her face. ‘Who? Who d’you think? We’ve been emailing. I sent him one saying, Nice chatting with you last week etc. He wrote back, said we must do lunch some time –’
‘ Do lunch? Is that how he talks?’ I don’t like him already.
‘He emailed me at eleven o’clock this morning, picked me up at twelve, drove me straight to his house.’
‘His house!’
‘We didn’t exchange a word in the car.’ She runs her hand down her face and throat. ‘I was barely in his front door when he got me up against the wall and his face was under my skirt.’
My eyes drop to her skirt hem. ‘Good God.’ She clutches her bottom lip with her top teeth, and I don’t know if she’s going to laugh or cry; she is just this strange unreadable concoction of emotion. Then she starts giddying her feet and doing the Benny Hill thing again, complete with construction-worker noises. We’re attracting attention.
‘Where’s his wife in all this?’
She shrugs. ‘She works.’
‘And his kids?’
‘Oh, they’re… I don’t know. They’re always at their nana’s. Apparently they don’t have much sex.’
‘His kids?’
‘He and his wife!’ She goes off somewhere, smiling. Her tongue slides out. She looks slightly touched. But her face has splashes of life all over it. She is sparkly as a disco ball at her own
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