A Passionate Love Affair with a Total Stranger (29 page)

‘I'm a terrible, stupid person,' I wept.

Sam put his arm round me. ‘Cry it out, cry it out,' he mumbled. ‘Own that emotion. Feel it. Experience it.'

Once more I knew that Sam was saying something very funny, as he so often did when drunk. Somewhere among my tears I found a smile. ‘Where did you get that kind of chat from?' I asked him, holding my scarf against my cheek to stem the flow of tears.

‘Drama school,' he replied, nodding wisely. ‘It's OK, Charley. Just allow yourself to feel the pain.'

So I cried a bit more.

Eventually I stopped and we agreed that it had been extremely stupid to call Matty while I was drunk and that I had to apologize first thing tomorrow. But I was still angry with myself. What kind of a horrible drunken fool behaved so carelessly? And, while we were at it, why was I generally so out of control tonight? Skiving off from the investment meeting and sneaking out of the Balmoral? Attempting to steal
napkins
? What
was
that? I went to nice restaurants all the time! I was on a strange high tonight; it was definitely more than just drunkenness. There was a
breathlessness, an absence of balance. Sometimes, when my clients emailed to tell me how a date had gone, they had described exactly this. But I was not on a date. I was in the middle of a business evening with my housemate.

Sam removed his arm from my shoulders and I felt the cold air bite my neck. ‘Do I look like a fiend?' I asked him, trying to pull myself together. ‘Mascara everywhere?'

Sam leaned over and peered at me, trying hard to focus. I stared at his skin, marvelling at its youthfulness. How, when I used expensive creams in a sub-military facial regime, did I have far more wrinkles than Sam? I asked him as much.

Sam smiled. ‘Hang on and I'll check your wrinkles too.' He leaned closer. ‘Hmm,' he said. I could smell his breath on my face, sweet with wine and mango. ‘Hard to see,' he murmured. ‘Smile a bit?' I obliged.

‘OK,' he said. ‘Now make that face you make when you're trying to solve a problem.'

I thought about Margot and felt my features change. I laughed. ‘Do I do this face a lot?'

‘Yes. Well, I'm afraid you do have a few wrinkles, Chas. But they're rather charming. Smile again?'

I smiled. Sam smiled back at me. We sat there for a few seconds, smiling at each other and I felt the weird out-of-control thing start again. I wanted us to run down into Princes Gardens and make dens and climb trees.

‘What are you thinking?' he asked.

‘Um, that I want to go and climb trees in Princes Gardens,' I admitted. Sam chuckled. ‘What were you thinking?'

‘Bit odd,' he said, after a pause. ‘I was thinking about
those emails we sent each other. And how it's been a bit confusing since then.'

Edinburgh suddenly seemed to go silent. I stared in alarm at Sam. I had gone to some lengths to make sure there was no confusion. Why did he have to bring this up now? ‘Confused how?' I asked him nervously.

Sam had that determined expression he wore when there was something he had to say, however unwelcome it might be. The first time I'd seen it was when a girl had come up to him in the student union and asked him when they were going to meet up again. His face had set in the same way and he'd informed her, in a scared but determined voice, that they weren't. She had thrown a pint of Snakebite at him.

‘Confusion over the fact that we, y'know, basically fell in love and then just forgot about it,' he said firmly.

I began to blush and stammer. ‘But … we didn't know … we didn't realize … It's been fine since then, no problem at all, no awkwardness, we're both in relationships, well I am, you probably will be again soon, it's fine, Sam,' I gabbled.

Sam watched me, perplexed. ‘I agree,' he said slowly. ‘But I've never felt like I did then. With those emails. I think we should make sure.'

I felt like I was going to faint. Why couldn't he just shut up? ‘Make sure of what?' I mumbled.

‘Make sure that we're not meant to be together,' he announced. ‘That there's nothing beyond the emails.' I could see how nervous he was but his jaw was set. He meant it.

‘Er … And how would we do that?' This was horrible.

Sam looked down, and in that moment I knew he wasn't just nervous, he was petrified.

‘I think we should kiss. Just to prove that there's nothing. A sort of scientific experiment.'

There was a terrible silence while Sam dug his fingernails into his thighs and I weighed up the pros and cons of getting up and making a run for it.

Then: ‘Maybe,' I heard myself say.

Panic.
WHAT?
I should
not
be kissing my housemate! And my housemate should not think that I wanted to kiss him!

Calm down
, I begged myself.
Try to look cool.
Given that Sam appeared to be serious, and was looking quite grown-up for once, I forced myself to consider it seriously too.

After a few seconds of frantic deliberation, I had to concede that it was not an absolutely terrible idea. There
had
been awkwardness and confusion for me since London, however much I'd tried to squash it down. Nonetheless I was quite certain that there were no real feelings involved. I'd asked myself several times if I liked Sam and the answer had been consistent: NO WAY! So what was the problem with one kiss if there was nothing in it? I was the sort of person who liked a good piece of solid scientific evidence. A short, passionless kiss would probably draw a nice firm line under the whole thing.

I relayed this to Sam. He thought about it and then nodded. And I realized I had just agreed to kiss him.

Panic descended once again.

‘How should we go about it?' I asked, in my best scientific-experiment voice.

‘Not sure. Do you want to get all upset again?' he asked.
‘And then I could put my arm round you and you'd look at me and then we lean in slowly?'

I considered this proposal. ‘Nope,' I said eventually. ‘That sounds too romantic.'

‘True. Well, let's just count to three and then do a peck on the lips. No messing around, get it over with quickly.'

‘OK,' I said. ‘Sounds like a plan.'

Nobody moved.

‘Bowes?' I said. ‘Are you going to do it?'

‘We just agreed we'd count to three.'

‘Oh. Right. Well, you count.' As drunk as I was, I was feeling very frightened.
It's a scientific experiment! Get a grip!
I shouted at myself.

‘OK,' Sam said, leaning towards me. ‘One, two, three …' I froze. He stopped about six inches from my face. ‘You look terrified, Chas.'

I was. My hands were shaking. But something was telling me that it was imperative to carry out this experiment. I shook my head and said that I was absolutely fine, thanks.

‘Right, one, two, THREE,' Sam said. He closed his eyes, I did the same, and a few seconds later I felt his lips touch mine.

Sam's lips were warm and actually felt very nice. There was a brief pause while we both had a think about what to do next. I felt that our lips should probably part a tiny bit just so we could say we'd done a proper kiss. Sam clearly felt the same because he started to kiss my top lip. Very softly, very slowly. An unexpected electric charge passed down my spine and I shivered suddenly.

Sam sprang away. ‘What?'

‘Nothing. Just a drunken spasm.'

We looked at each other warily for a few seconds.

That felt nice
, I thought, dismayed. To my great consternation, I realized that I definitely wouldn't object to trying again.

‘Well?' I said nervously.

‘Well?' Sam repeated. His troubled eyes were searching mine for something, so I gave him what he obviously wanted.

‘Just as we thought,' I said loudly. ‘Nothing.'

Sam nodded vigorously, clearly relieved. ‘Yes. I think I might go home, actually. I'm wasted.'

‘Me too,' I said, jumping up. I definitely wanted to be the first to leave.

We walked home very fast for two people who were as drunk as we were. Not much was said.

I woke up to find a pair of eyes staring at me from a range of about four inches. I stretched and smiled, snuggling forward into his body. I might be so tired that I felt like I'd been attacked by a pack of mallet-wielding cavemen but at least I was in bed with a heavenly man.

‘Yippee!' John said, immediately rolling on top of me. ‘Lambert's awake!' He slid his hand down my stomach.

‘No,' I told him, grabbing the hand before it reached tropical climes. ‘No, John, I'm too tired.'

I
was
tired. Beyond tired, in fact. John and I had been up working until three thirty a.m. and the alarm had gone off at six. I was so tired that I wondered if I was actually dead.

Today was Wednesday, the day of our doctors' conference, one of the most important events in our Simitol launch schedule. It was also the day of Granny Helen's funeral and I was therefore going to miss it. It had been given to a gloating Margot, although John was very concerned about how Bradley Chambers – who had been scuttling around all week like an angry little rodent – was going to react when he discovered I wasn't in charge. But John was going to tell him at the last minute so he couldn't object and, to ensure Margot had as smooth a ride as possible, we had prepped it up to the eyeballs last night.

‘Gruuuuhh,' I said, as John's hand began to wander again.

He paused. ‘Lambert? Are you constipated?'

‘Have to get up. Need to check the paperwork one last time before I drive to East Linton.' I had told Mum and Dad I'd be at the table by nine so that we could all have breakfast together.

John chuckled and pinched my nipple. ‘Hmm. Well, I'll overlook your disobedience just this once,' he said, rolling out of bed.

I dragged myself into the shower, ignoring the fact that my facial skin had the quality of translucent cabbage this morning.

‘Now, Lambert,' John said, arriving suddenly beside me. ‘I really do think today would go better if we were to have a short burst of invigorating intercourse.'

‘You're an animal,' I told him, handing him the soap.

He washed his face grudgingly, then put the soap down, a subversive look in his eye. ‘You're right,' he said. ‘I
am
an animal. Controlled entirely by my instinct. And I'm afraid my instinct demands that I mate with you right now.'

Without any further ado, he picked me up and carried me back to bed. ‘I
can't
,' I cried. ‘I have to get my papers in order and I have to go home, John, John get
off … oh
. Oh! Oh, my goodness …'

And that was that.

A little later, I drove along the A1, mired in guilt. There was something disgusting and disrespectful about my having given in to John this morning. Why hadn't I said no to him? Why could I never say no to bloody
anyone
?

‘Sorry, Granny Helen,' I whispered. I imagined her shaking her head, muttering darkly about the youth of today, and managed to smile bravely. I was dreading the day ahead. I wanted my parents to look after me and make me feel safe, whereas in reality it was my job to do that for them. Of all the times I could find myself looking after my parents this had to be the worst: Dad was all but mute and even Mum – the strongest and most capable woman in the universe – seemed frail and uncertain. I could see their age and their limitations all of a sudden and it made me feel uprooted and vulnerable.

Hailey had told Ness in an abrupt text message that she wasn't going to come today. I had called her incessantly since Thursday night but she had cancelled every single call, eventually sending me a brisk and deadly
Fuck off
text message. Hailey had adored Granny Helen and it dismayed me that she hated me enough to boycott the funeral. Eventually I had written her a long email, apologizing for my oaf-like insensitivity in calling when drunk but making quite clear that what I had said about Matty was real.

As Ness had pointed out, Hailey must surely have checked
love.com
by now to verify my story, so it was confusing to both of us that she was blanking me. Why was this my fault? And why, in the name of Geronimo, had she thought
I
was sleeping with Matty?

I arrived in my parents' kitchen just before nine o'clock and all thoughts of Hailey – and indeed anything else – evaporated into the sad, stale air. None of the usual hustle and bustle was in progress: Dad was leaning against the Rayburn, staring blankly at Malcolm, Malcolm was sitting
in his bed staring blankly at Dad, and Mum was serving up a very un-Mum like breakfast of Frosties and UHT milk. Katy and Ness, who'd arrived last night, looked beautiful but sombre. Katy was wearing a black vintage slip with a chunky cardigan and an elaborate 1980s alice band; Ness was small and sprightly with a lovely shirt dress and boots. As usual I felt large, dull and corporate in a plain black shift dress I normally wore to work.

Malcolm, fortunately, greeted me with wild enthusiasm, shoving my bag out of the way with his nose and wagging not just his tail but his whole body. He even jumped up and tried to dog-cuddle me and I knew things must be really bad when Mum didn't tell him off.

After giving everyone a quick hug, I sat down to eat some Frosties and listened while Ness acquainted me with the running order for today. We were interrupted by the incessant ringing of my phone, which I eventually dug out to silence, embarrassed and annoyed. ‘Stupid bastard phone,' I muttered, just as it started to ring again. It was John, and after a few seconds' deliberation, I decided that I should probably answer. I slid off into the lounge.

‘Hello, Lambert. Are you surviving, my poor girl?' John said.

Feeling cared-for was very nice. ‘I'm OK,' I said quietly. ‘But it's pretty dark here.' I heard Dad shuffle up the stairs. He sounded like an old man.

‘Oh, Lambert,' John said, in tones so kindly that I felt my lip wobble. ‘If there's anything I can do, please let me know.'

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

‘Now, Lambert,' he said. ‘I'm so very, very sorry to do
this to you, my dear, but I, well … I need to ask you to come into work for a short while.'

There was a silence as I tried to work out if he was joking.

‘Lambert?'

‘Er … are you serious?'

‘I'm so sorry, but yes. It's an emergency. The funeral's at two this afternoon, right? You'll definitely be back in time.'

‘What's happened? Can't someone else cover it?'

‘I'll explain when you get here. But Chambers has categorically demanded you come.'

‘I – I
can't,
John, it's my granny's funeral!'

John sighed. ‘Lambert, I don't know how to say this, but I think it's that or … Well, he said it would constitute serious misconduct if you didn't come in.'

I was dumbstruck.

John continued: ‘I appreciate it's terrible timing but …'

‘Please, don't do this to me,' I whispered.

I heard a door open and Bradley Chambers's voice in the background. ‘Is she on her way?' he barked. ‘If not, tell her she needs to be. It's an order.'

An hour later I sat slumped on John's office sofa while he paced up and down, wringing his hands and explaining that Bradley Chambers had refused to allow Margot to run the conference. I could hear what he was saying but I couldn't actually believe it.

‘Sorry, John,' I said carefully, putting up a hand to silence him. ‘Can I get this straight? You tricked me into
coming in “for an hour or two” so that you could make me go off and do the conference? Is that right?'

John looked agonized. ‘Not exactly tricked, Charley. I just … Chambers ordered me to get you in and then explain once you were here.'

I gawped. ‘And you
agreed
to that? On the day of my grandmother's funeral?'

The door swung open and Chambers marched in. John jumped, almost as if to attention, and without even thinking I did the same. Why did this fat little bastard have so much power over us?

‘Sharon,' he leered unpleasantly. ‘Sorry to inconvenience you.' I almost laughed. ‘Inconvenience' was not the word I'd have used. ‘But this is a big deal,' he continued. ‘We've had a lot of trouble at the other conferences in Europe. I need you in charge, Sharon,' he said.

‘It's Charley,' I snapped. ‘You know it's Charley.'

Bradley Chambers looked stunned. ‘I thought it was our little joke,' he said stiffly. ‘I told you, you remind me of a girl I used to know called Sharon.'

‘Well, I'm not her,' I said. ‘Can you just confirm this? Does my job hang on whether or not I do the conference?'

Chambers narrowed his eyes and looked like the filthy gutter rat he was. ‘Well, it's a shame to put it like that,' he said softly, ‘but I would struggle to keep on a comms director who refuses to direct comms.' He stared straight at me with his repulsive, glassy little eyes, and bile rose in my throat. I looked beseechingly at John, who was standing behind him, but he avoided my gaze.

I was on my own. And so, backed into a corner and
slightly paralysed with shock, I felt myself give in. ‘Right,' I said stiffly. John couldn't even look at me. I got up and did up the button of my blazer. ‘I'd better go and tell Margot I'm running the event after all.'

‘Sure thing, Charley.' Margot smiled frostily. ‘You just can't let go, can you?' I was standing woodenly in front of her desk.

I shook my head at her, begging her not to carry on. But it was like a red rag to a raging bull.

‘Nothing on earth would persuade me to miss my grandmother's funeral,' she said, handing over the conference folder. ‘You strange, cold girl, you.'

You strange, cold girl, you
, I repeated bitterly, as I fired up my computer. I must be dead inside.

I pulled out my phone, trying to work out what on earth I was going to say to Dad.

While I pondered this awful dilemma, a text message arrived from Hailey:
I've changed my mind
, it said.
We can sort out our differences another time, I'm not going to miss Granny Helen's funeral just because of a row. Some things are too important. X

I stared at my phone, feeling like I'd been punched in the face. Never had a truer word been spoken.

‘What the fuck was I thinking?' I asked the room. ‘What the
fuck
?' Of course I had to go to my grandmother's funeral! How could I have doubted that even for a second? I looked at my watch. I had given in to Chambers's blackmail precisely six minutes ago, but they were already the most shameful six minutes of my life.

I got up and put on my blazer just as John slid into my office.

I could barely look at him. This big, strong man, after whom I'd lusted for seven years, was a spineless coward. ‘Yes?' I said, walking over to the coat rack.

‘Just came to check you were OK, Lambert,' John said awkwardly. ‘I see you're off to the conference already. Well done, old girl. I know it's awful but you did the right thing. I'll make it up to you …'

This was amazing.

‘Chambers has been very difficult lately,' John continued.

‘John,' I cut in. ‘The situation is clear – you don't need to explain. But I am not missing my grandmother's funeral.'

John looked shocked. ‘Lambert,' he said uncertainly. ‘You can't go …'

‘I have to,' I said briskly. I started to pull my coat on. ‘Neither you nor Chambers has any right to force me do the conference.'

John was looking quite afraid. ‘Lambert, I'm sorry, you really do have to –'

‘I do NOT!' I interrupted furiously. ‘I do not have to do anything! I booked a day off! I stayed up till three fucking thirty! I AM GOING TO MY GRANDMOTHER'S FUNERAL!'

I picked up my bag and made towards the door but John moved over and actually blocked my way. I gasped. ‘John!'

At close range I could see quite clearly that he was afraid. Of who? Me? Chambers? What was wrong with
him? John was a corporate ballbreaker! ‘Margot will manage it perfectly well,' I said tightly. ‘Please move out of my way.'

John didn't move but he took my arm. His hand rested lightly on it but behind the hand I could feel a huge force. ‘Margot
won't
manage it perfectly well,' John said, raising his voice. He'd never raised his voice at me and yet at this moment I couldn't have cared less. This man was not fit to be my boss, let alone my lover. ‘She won't be a patch on you, Charley. She's wearing yet another vulva skirt and Chambers will probably –'

‘What the hell do you mean I won't manage it well?' Margot said, marching in. The glass walls of my office weren't designed for one hundred per cent privacy. ‘Well?' She stood with her hands on her hips, staring at John.

‘Margot, please,' John said angrily. He looked wild.