story! All
crooked and yellow, like a fucking hag's!' she hissed. Then
added 'Motherfucker!' for good measure in her American
accent.
Nathan laughed. 'I can't decide what's worse – you
saying motherfucker, or that accent which is so bad.'
'See, I told you,' Valentine put in. 'Only Americans
can say motherfucker; Nathan said it much better than
you and he's not even a drug dealer.' She glanced at him
again; surely he was too wholesome-looking. 'You're not,
are you?'
Now it was Nathan's turn to roll his eyes.
'Anyway, please don't mention the teeth ,' Valentine
appealed to Nathan. She didn't think she could stand
another night of Lauren's teeth fixation.
He shrugged and muttered, 'Whatever.'
'So what time are we due at Fi-fi's?' Lauren asked. For
a split second Valentine hadn't got a clue what she was
on about, then she twigged. This was the routine Lauren
always used when she wanted out of a situation. Fi-fi
didn't exist except in Lauren's imagination, which was
just as well given her wanky name, and she was very
useful when Lauren needed to rid get of some man
sharpish. Valentine made a show of looking at her watch.
'We should leave in ten minutes.'
Nathan folded his arms across his chest. 'So am I
invited?'
'Darling, I'm sorry but Fi-fi is very fragile. She's just
split up with her husband. Well, he left her and now he's
demanding that she move out of the house. She's in an
appalling state, crying hysterically.'
'Well maybe I could help,' Nathan said calmly. What
was going on? Valentine wondered. This never happened.
It was surely time for Lauren's masterstroke.
'Oh, that's so sweet of you, but she's really off men
at the moment and there are her three children – all
under five – to look after. It could get very . . .' – she
paused for dramatic emphasis – ' emotional .'
'I used to work at a summer camp for inner-city kids;
I'm pretty much not phased by shit like that.'
Lauren looked at Valentine in dismay and Valentine
shrugged helplessly. Lauren's routine had always worked
in the past; men hated the thought of raw emotion on
show. Throw in the children and it was a dead cert that
they would scarper.
'But if you don't want me to come, that's cool. Can I
have your digits?' Nathan asked.
'My what?' Lauren exclaimed. 'I thought we'd just
done all that.'
'He means your number,' Valentine interpreted.
'Nathan, you've so got to stop talking like a Lily Allen
song. You're American, right?'
Now it was Nathan's turn to roll his eyes. 'And you're
British, so quit saying so like some high-school bimbo.
And the motherfucker has gotta go.'
Lauren pursed her lips, she so hated to be criticised.
'I've just lost my mobile. Give me your digits and I'll call
you.' Another regularly deployed tactic of hers when she
didn't want to be in contact with someone again. She
hadn't lost her mobile.
'OK.' And wandering over to the table he picked up
a felt pen, walked back over to Lauren, took her arm and
wrote down his name and number on her bare skin. 'Don't
forget to call me.'
'Couldn't you have found some paper?' Lauren said
in outrage. 'I think that was my CD marker pen; it's never
going to come off !'
'Well, you'll have no excuse not to call me then,' Nathan
replied.
'Sure, I'll call you,' Lauren answered, crossing her
fingers behind her back so that only Valentine could
see them. And with that Nathan turned and took his
beautiful body out of the room. Valentine gave a what the fuck look to Lauren, who sniffed dismissively. Nathan had
seemed like a genuinely nice guy – a first for Lauren.
Lauren shrugged, had another sip of wine and poked
ineffectually at the fire. Nathan returned to the living
room dressed in jeans and a blue sweater, the exact colour
of his eyes. He looked adorable and any other woman
would have been clinging on to him like a limpet. 'I
thought you guys had to be somewhere.'
Lauren looked faintly guilty. 'We do,' she insisted.
'We're just having a drink to give us strength; it's going
to be a
crooked and yellow, like a fucking hag's!' she hissed. Then
added 'Motherfucker!' for good measure in her American
accent.
Nathan laughed. 'I can't decide what's worse – you
saying motherfucker, or that accent which is so bad.'
'See, I told you,' Valentine put in. 'Only Americans
can say motherfucker; Nathan said it much better than
you and he's not even a drug dealer.' She glanced at him
again; surely he was too wholesome-looking. 'You're not,
are you?'
Now it was Nathan's turn to roll his eyes.
'Anyway, please don't mention the teeth ,' Valentine
appealed to Nathan. She didn't think she could stand
another night of Lauren's teeth fixation.
He shrugged and muttered, 'Whatever.'
'So what time are we due at Fi-fi's?' Lauren asked. For
a split second Valentine hadn't got a clue what she was
on about, then she twigged. This was the routine Lauren
always used when she wanted out of a situation. Fi-fi
didn't exist except in Lauren's imagination, which was
just as well given her wanky name, and she was very
useful when Lauren needed to rid get of some man
sharpish. Valentine made a show of looking at her watch.
'We should leave in ten minutes.'
Nathan folded his arms across his chest. 'So am I
invited?'
'Darling, I'm sorry but Fi-fi is very fragile. She's just
split up with her husband. Well, he left her and now he's
demanding that she move out of the house. She's in an
appalling state, crying hysterically.'
'Well maybe I could help,' Nathan said calmly. What
was going on? Valentine wondered. This never happened.
It was surely time for Lauren's masterstroke.
'Oh, that's so sweet of you, but she's really off men
at the moment and there are her three children – all
under five – to look after. It could get very . . .' – she
paused for dramatic emphasis – ' emotional .'
'I used to work at a summer camp for inner-city kids;
I'm pretty much not phased by shit like that.'
Lauren looked at Valentine in dismay and Valentine
shrugged helplessly. Lauren's routine had always worked
in the past; men hated the thought of raw emotion on
show. Throw in the children and it was a dead cert that
they would scarper.
'But if you don't want me to come, that's cool. Can I
have your digits?' Nathan asked.
'My what?' Lauren exclaimed. 'I thought we'd just
done all that.'
'He means your number,' Valentine interpreted.
'Nathan, you've so got to stop talking like a Lily Allen
song. You're American, right?'
Now it was Nathan's turn to roll his eyes. 'And you're
British, so quit saying so like some high-school bimbo.
And the motherfucker has gotta go.'
Lauren pursed her lips, she so hated to be criticised.
'I've just lost my mobile. Give me your digits and I'll call
you.' Another regularly deployed tactic of hers when she
didn't want to be in contact with someone again. She
hadn't lost her mobile.
'OK.' And wandering over to the table he picked up
a felt pen, walked back over to Lauren, took her arm and
wrote down his name and number on her bare skin. 'Don't
forget to call me.'
'Couldn't you have found some paper?' Lauren said
in outrage. 'I think that was my CD marker pen; it's never
going to come off !'
'Well, you'll have no excuse not to call me then,' Nathan
replied.
'Sure, I'll call you,' Lauren answered, crossing her
fingers behind her back so that only Valentine could
see them. And with that Nathan turned and took his
beautiful body out of the room. Valentine gave a what the fuck look to Lauren, who sniffed dismissively. Nathan had
seemed like a genuinely nice guy – a first for Lauren.
Lauren shrugged, had another sip of wine and poked
ineffectually at the fire. Nathan returned to the living
room dressed in jeans and a blue sweater, the exact colour
of his eyes. He looked adorable and any other woman
would have been clinging on to him like a limpet. 'I
thought you guys had to be somewhere.'
Lauren looked faintly guilty. 'We do,' she insisted.
'We're just having a drink to give us strength; it's going
to be a
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