A Passionate Love Affair with a Total Stranger (28 page)

A honk slipped out of my mouth and I turned my back to the restaurant, mortified but even more helpless with laughter. ‘You are destroying our chances of investment,' Sam whispered. ‘PUT A FUCKING SOCK IN IT!' Then he clutched his stomach and laughed until he cried. I leaned against the wall and howled as silently as possible. The well-dressed investors watched us with silent disgust and I knew our chances of getting so much as a ha'penny out of them were rogered.

‘Shelley will never speak to us again,' I gasped a few moments later. I was exhausted with the effort of laughing so much. Sam, who looked similarly destroyed, was slumped over the table, loading sugar cubes into his coffee. I raised an eyebrow.

‘It's free sugar,' he said defensively.

We chinked coffee cups. ‘I'm basically very drunk,' I confessed. ‘Bit worried about sounding serious or capable.'

Sam sipped his coffee. ‘Likewise, Chas.' We giggled.

The suited men were engaged in a heated debate about something financial and I stared at them, impressed and
intimidated by their vocabulary and assertiveness. The confidence that came with wealth always threw me.

‘I think we've fucked up any chance of impressing them,' Sam observed. ‘I certainly wouldn't invest in two knobs throwing spoons around in the corner.'

Teenage rebelliousness took hold of me. Fuck those suits! I liked being a knob throwing spoons in the corner! I didn't want to go next door and be all grown-up. At Salutech I had to be grown-up all day; I missed the giggling and trumping and knob gags from when we'd set up First Date Aid together in the summer. All I actually wanted to do right now was to get into my pyjamas and watch crap films with Sam. Be a knob. Not worry or care what anyone else was thinking.

I looked unenthusiastically at the suits. They seemed to be winding things up: presentation and mingling time must be drawing near.

‘Are you thinking what I'm thinking?' Sam asked, interrupting my thoughts. There was a very naughty, very teenage look in his eyes.

‘I'm thinking I want to skive!' I whispered.

Sam's eyes sparkled. ‘Me too!'

I glanced furtively at the door. ‘They can't make us stay, can they?'

‘Chas, they'd probably pay us to leave, my brother.'

One of the suits looked wearily over at me.
Oh, for the love of Jesus
, his face said. I hoped to God Shelley didn't actually know any of these people.

‘We won't be letting Shelley down, will we?' Sam asked, reading my mind. ‘I'm worried she'll have paid for us to be here.'

‘No way. This'll be funded by stinking-rich venture capitalists.'

Sam brightened. ‘Well, then, I say we do one, Chas. Let's crack open some Scotch and watch
Dirty Dancing
.'

Sam was the best business partner in the world.

We finished our coffee, gave the waiter time to disappear, then left at a brisk trot, chortling like naughty children.

I bowled drunkenly through the lounges and lobbies, Sam striding confidently ahead of me in his sharp suit. I felt a great fondness as I watched him. The Samuel Bowes walking in front of me might be a bit squiffy but he was an eligible, impressive and very likeable young man, these days, unrecognizable as the slob who had colonized my sofa for the last ten years.

I remembered how he'd lamented the stagnation of his life a few months ago when he was pretending to be William. It had been a cry from the heart, a deep longing for purpose and worth.
I have a massive overwhelming feeling of underachievement
, he'd said,
like life is passing me by
. It certainly wasn't passing him by any more.
You're a clever sausage
,
Bowes
, I thought fondly.
I'll really miss you if you go to London.

Outside, not quite ready to go home, we wandered aimlessly around the concrete slopes of the underground shopping centre, exchanging fantasies about what we would do with First Date Aid if we did somehow land a big investment deal. I was a bit unclear as to how I'd find time to start working on it again but I knew there'd be a way.

‘We must be doing OK if Shelley's so keen to help,' I said, sitting down on a cold bench.

‘Greatest company on earth,' Sam said, without hesitation. He sat down next to me and we gazed at the Balmoral. In a room towards the back of the hotel a corporate party was in full swing: overweight men in shirts danced to a tune we couldn't hear while the women tried to writhe seductively in their special sparkly dresses and heels that thrust them uncomfortably forward. We watched in silence as they thrashed around without inhibition under a disco ball.

‘I like my life,' Sam remarked out of nowhere.

‘Good,' I said, feeling a little worried. Comments like this always generated in me an urgent need to like my own.

Do
I like my life? I wondered. I grimaced. What with Margot and her blackmail, Dad's depression and work problems, and the horrible knowledge that Hailey's partner was cheating on her, things were about as far from perfect as they could be. I slapped myself on the forehead. There it was again: ‘perfect'. Hadn't I told William that I needed to ditch perfectionism? That I'd probably feel a hell of a lot happier if I could just let go? ‘Perfect' was not a helpful word!

Further unease set in as I remembered those emails with ‘William'. The basic fact of the matter was that I had discovered some big things about myself during that time and had done nothing about any of them. Whereas Sam had chosen to tackle his stuff head-on. Four months ago he had been unemployed, lazy, bored and unhealthy; now he was running a company, actively auditioning, taking exercise and feeding himself well.
Why haven't I changed?
I thought.
Am I failing?

But what was I meant to change? Was I meant to quit
my job just because I couldn't find a healthy work–life balance?

Of course not! My job was my life!

And therein lies the problem
, an annoying little voice said.

After a few seconds I put a lid on it. It was like the world's crappest merry-go-round.

Sam was looking at me. ‘What the hell was that, Chas?'

‘What?'

‘You just went through some epic mental battle,' he said mildly. ‘Including slapping yourself on the forehead.'

I waved him off. ‘Just worried. Dad, work, Hailey, you know.'

Sam nodded sceptically. ‘Can I interest you in half a Snickers?' he asked, pulling a misshapen bar out of his pocket and splitting it in two. ‘Mm, nice chocolate bar …'

I shook my head. ‘No thanks.'

‘You're being snotty because it's junk food,' Sam told me, taking a big bite.

‘No,' I lied. ‘I'm just full.'

‘Liar.'

‘I'm not lying! I'm full!' I sounded very lame.

‘You knob. Nobody's ever full after a posh meal. Eat some dirty chocolate, knob!'

I giggled. Encouraged, he waved the chocolate in my face.

‘Stop it!' I ordered. Sam did not stop it: instead he grabbed me and put me in a headlock. ‘KNOB! Eat chocolate!' he shouted, in his best Cookie Monster voice. He shoved the chocolate in my face. I squirmed against him but it was no use. The harder I pulled, the more I laughed. Sam, too, was laughing now. I tried one final attempt to
wrench myself free and, as I did so, heard a terrible noise. I gasped. The Bowes had trumped!

‘NOOOOOOO!' I screamed, scrabbling even harder. ‘Get off me! Get your evil backside away from me!'

Sam collapsed with laughter, letting go of me and fanning the air. I ran off to sulk a good distance away from him. ‘Sorry!' he cried, completely hysterical.

‘Actually, you can give me that chocolate,' I said crossly. ‘It's the least you can do to make up for your behaviour. Savage!'

Sam finally recovered and threw it over. He held his half up high as if proposing a toast. ‘To us,' he said. ‘The best business partners ever. I'm a pikey who knows nothing about tuna arpeggio; you're a work-fiend who knows nothing about chocolate … Man, that fart smells.'

I was laughing again. ‘Tuna carpaccio!' I cried. Sam was sitting like a little gnome on the bench, still wafting his trump away from him, blithely unaware of his error.

‘Tuna, eh?' he asked, blinking.

I folded my hands over my stomach. ‘Stop it. Stop talking. We have to talk about serious things. I'll wet my knickers if I have to laugh any more.'

Sam patted the bench next to him, declaring it a trump-free zone. ‘Right, serious things,' he said, trying to look serious. He didn't pull it off. ‘Hmm … OK, tell me what's going on with Hailey.'

My face fell. ‘Oh, Bowes, it's a mess,' I said sadly, and told him the whole sorry tale.

‘Oh,
no
,' Sam said, when I'd finished. ‘No!' He looked really quite stricken. ‘How could he do that to our lovely Tits? Hailey's amazing!'

I nodded gloomily.

‘What a CUNT!' Sam exclaimed.

‘God knows how many girls he's dated behind her back,' I said.

‘CUNT!' Sam repeated, even more angrily.

His anger was infectious and I felt my temper rise. How dare Matty move Hailey into his house and then make a fool of her? In public, too. He knew I ran a dating business! Did he not think I'd see him there? Did he not even
care
? Was it true, what Margot had said, that he was the sort of man who met some strange woman for a sordid fuck and then went home for his lasagne with wifey? My blood boiled. He couldn't get away with this. It was disgusting! He was living with my
best friend
!

‘I have to confront him,' I said suddenly. ‘Now! This can't go on a moment longer!'

Sam agreed. ‘Yeah. The CUNT,' he shouted. ‘Give him what-for, Chas!'

He looked at his watch. ‘Ten forty-nine. That's not too late.
What a cunt!
'

I steeled myself and dialled Matty's number.

As soon as the phone began to ring, I knew I'd made a mistake. ‘No,' I whispered to Sam. ‘No, this is wrong. I'm drunk.'

I went to cancel the call but it was too late. Hailey had answered Matty's phone almost immediately. ‘Chas?'

She sounded confused.
You stupid idiot, Charley
, I thought furiously.

‘Oh …' I said. ‘Hi!' My voice was far too high-pitched.

There was a silence. ‘Why are you calling Matty?' she asked suspiciously.

I baulked. ‘I wanted to talk to him about the Christmas Wonderland he's working on,' I said. I could hear myself slurring slightly and felt even angrier with myself. This had been a stupid plan. ‘Feeling festive …'

Then Hailey said something extremely odd: ‘Are you sleeping with my boyfriend, Charley?'

I did a double-take. ‘
What?
'

‘You heard.'

I was astonished. ‘No! I am definitely not sleeping with Matty!'

‘What the
fuck
?' Sam whispered.

There was another pause. When Hailey spoke again, she sounded horrible. ‘Why the hell did you call him at this time of night, then? Tell the truth, Charley.'

I didn't know what was happening but I knew that I needed to end this call immediately. ‘There's nothing to tell. I'm with Sam, we're drunk and we started talking about the Christmas Wonder–'

‘Don't LIE TO ME!' Hailey roared.

I was utterly shocked. I didn't know what I'd just walked into but I wanted to get out of it quickly.

‘You tell me right now why you were calling Matty,' Hailey hissed. ‘Are you sleeping with him?'

‘No!' I cried. And, because I didn't know what else to do, I took a deep breath and told her exactly why I had called Matty tonight. My voice was wobbly and frightened, but I held firm and told her everything I knew. What else could I do? Sam stared at his shoes, listening and nodding. ‘Cunt,' he whispered, when I got to the bit about Matty replying to Margot within minutes.

‘Fuck off,' Hailey said eventually. ‘Fuck off, you drunk,
delusional fantasist. If I find you've been sniffing around after my boyfriend, Charley, my God I swear I'll …' She paused. ‘Just fuck off.'

The line went dead.

I put my phone down. ‘Didn't go very well,' I said shakily. I was really quite traumatized. What the hell had just happened? Why on earth was Hailey suspicious of
me
? I felt my lip begin to quiver. Drunken crying was something I'd always found rather distasteful but right now it seemed rather appealing: I was (a) very upset, (b) very wasted and (c) in the company of someone who (albeit by accident) knew more about me than anyone else in the world.
Sam really understands me now
, I thought drunkenly.
If I can't cry in front of Sam, I can't cry in front of anyone
. I let a little tear wobble off down my cheek. ‘She said I'm a drunk, delusional fantasist, Sam. And she thinks I'm sleeping with Matty. MATTY!'

Sam shuffled over to sit closer to me. ‘Come on,' he said. ‘She was just lashing out. You gave her some really bad news.'

‘No!' I cried. ‘It was like she'd been suspicious of me for ages, Sam. WHY?' The crying was really gaining momentum now. I felt sick. Hailey was my right-hand man! Sam didn't understand the bond between women. It was sacred. ‘Sacred,' I muttered to him. ‘Me and Hailey have a sacred connection, man … I can't lose her, Sam. Without Hailey I have nothing!'

‘Great song,' Sam said reflectively, patting me on the back.

‘Eh?'

‘Whitney Houston, “I Have Nothing”,' he said. ‘Beautiful.'

Somewhere deep inside me I knew this was extremely funny but I was deep in fear now. Hailey, my best and most precious friend, hated me and seemed to think I was having it off with her partner. While I couldn't understand that, I knew that it had been a huge and unforgivable error to call Matty at ten fifty on a Thursday evening. Why couldn't I have waited until tomorrow?