Any Way You Want Me (9 page)

‘Yeah, OK. It’s a deal. Have a good one. And don’t do anything stupid.’

‘What, me? Stupid?’

Once I’d got that sorted out, we went round to Cat’s flat, which was only a short walk away. Cat had lovely taste – a mixture of antique tables and old chests next to funky Habitat sofas and rugs. Her own paintings hung on the walls – seascapes mainly, views of the Suffolk coast where Tom’s family lived. She also had a box of tricks under her armchair which contained the smelliest, buddiest grass I had come across for a long time.

Oh, it was good to be back with the girls. Oh, I loved them. Had I told them that? Oh, they were the best. Truly the best. Oh, we had to do this more often. Had I told them how great they were? I was so happy for them. Things were going really well, all that love and lust and oh, I was pleased, really. Because they deserved it. Because they were fab. Had I told them that already?

Five

My hangover buzzed and grumbled inside me for hours, the next day. I had a hot bath and strong coffee – hey, I’d even had extra sleep – but I still felt terrible. Again. Two hangovers in less than a week. At this rate I’d be an alcoholic by March.

Cat had phoned at ten-ish. ‘Tell me you’re not going to ring that man,’ she had ordered, sounding uncharacteristically strict.

‘What? Oh, hi, Cat,’ I groaned, still trying to recover from the noise of the telephone ringing. Small drills appeared to be boring into my skull. ‘God, I feel dreadful. How about you?’

‘Concerned about you, mainly. Sadie, please don’t do anything stupid with that Jack guy. Promise me.’

Jack! Jesus, I’d managed to forget all about him in my pain and suffering. What the hell had I done with that business card he’d pressed into my hand? He’d folded my fingers over it, one by one. I’d watched his clean square fingernails as if in a trance. Just remembering it made me feel . . . quivery.

‘Sadie! I’ll tell Lizzie if you don’t promise me.’

‘Oh God, don’t tell Lizzie,’ I said quickly. ‘Whatever you do. I’ll never hear the end of it. She’ll be giving me numbers for Relate and the Samaritans and she’ll tell Mum and—’

‘Yeah, I know. Exactly. So promise me.’

‘Cat, I don’t know what you’re so worried about. I—’

‘Are you going to be long, Sade? Only I need to use the phone.’

Alex had come in. Shit, how much had he heard?

‘Listen, Cat, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later, OK?’

‘Sadie, you haven’t promised me!’ she wailed. ‘I feel terrible – we shouldn’t have egged you on like that. We—’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, you didn’t egg me on!’ Honestly, she was behaving as if I’d rogered him there and then in Swanks, on one of the steam-pressed tablecloths. ‘Look, stop fussing. I’ll talk to you later, OK? And don’t tell Lizzie or I’ll kill you. I mean it. Bye.’

Alex gave me a strange look as I put the phone down. ‘What was all that about?’ he wanted to know. ‘Don’t tell Lizzie what? Who are you going to kill?’

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Cat getting her knickers in a twist about nothing. Too boring to tell you. Right, kids – we’re all going to Tesco. Chop chop!’

The day dragged on and on and horribly, drearily, painfully on, as if ten extra hours had been sneakily packed into the clock while I wasn’t looking. The Tesco trip was a blur of comfort food in the trolley, forgetting the vegetables and a constant stream of requests from Molly. The drive home was spent worrying that I was still over the limit. At midday, I found myself thinking, only seven hours until they’re in bed. I mean, that was how bad it was.

My mum phoned while I was attempting to give the children their lunch. I wedged the phone under one ear as I spooned brown vegetable slop into Nathan’s mouth while simultaneously indicating to Molly via sign language that if she didn’t finish her scrambled egg there would be trouble.

‘What’s that noise?’ Mum asked suddenly, interrupting a monologue about Mrs Edwards’ new dog.

‘It’s Molly, banging her spoon on the table,’ I said wearily. ‘Stop that, Molly. I’m trying to talk to Grandma.’

Molly looked me square in the eye and banged even harder.

‘I said,
stop that
,’ I snapped, turning away from the table. Nathan immediately started grizzling once he realized his food supply had been interrupted. ‘Sorry, Mum, what were you saying?’

‘Is this a bad time? Shall I call back?’ she asked.

‘No,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘No, it’s fine. Molly, I said,
stop banging
!’ I wrenched the spoon out of her fingers and she promptly burst into tears.

‘Oh dear,’ my mum said. I could just about make out her voice over the howls I now had in stereo. ‘I’d better let you go. I’ll call you back later.’

As I clicked off the phone with a fierce stab of my finger, Alex came into the kitchen. ‘Sadie – I’m trying to work,’ he said. ‘Do you think you could keep it down a bit?’

It was all I could do not to throw the wretched phone at him, standing there so self-importantly while I was in the middle of the Scrambled Egg War. Did he really not see that?

By the time the kids had had their tea, I’d had enough. We were all sick of the sight of each other and I needed to escape. ‘Alex,’ I wheedled, going into our bedroom where he was working, with one child in each arm, so that we looked like some kind of three-headed beast. ‘I don’t suppose you fancy some Daddy-bonding time by giving these two a bath, do you?’

‘Yeah, ’course,’ he said. He eyed me suspiciously. ‘Why? Are you going back to bed?’

‘I thought I’d nip out for some fresh air,’ I replied.

He stared at me and then out of the window. The streetlight outside our bedroom glowed orange. ‘But it’s dark,’ he said, as if I were a simpleton. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I just want to get out. Be on my own,’ I said. ‘I think I might go for a quick run.’

‘A run?
You?
’ He said it as if I had just told him I was going to go fox-hunting or granny-bashing.

‘Mum run Mum run Mum run,’ Molly babbled helpfully. ‘Munrum Munrum RumnumMum.’

Nathan started squeaking fretfully, wanting to be put down. I passed him to Alex and began looking for my tracksuit bottoms. Ahh, right at the very bottom of the drawer, not having seen the light of day for a while. I was almost surprised that a formation of indignant moths didn’t fly out with them.

‘OK. If that’s what you want to do.’

‘Alex! I’m only going to run round the block a few times. I just want to shake off this bad head, that’s all. All right?’

He held his hands up. Submission. Don’t blame me if you break your leg. Don’t blame me if it makes you feel worse. Don’t blame me if you get a stitch at the end of our road. I won’t say, ‘I told you so,’ no, not me.

It was dark outside, just like Alex had warned me, and a cold wind blew around my ears. For two seconds, after the door had banged shut behind me, I wondered if going for a run was a completely insane idea. Why on earth hadn’t I just snuggled back into bed for half an hour like Alex had suggested? I hovered on the doorstep for a second, put my key up to the lock.

No. Come on. Just a quick run. Do it. Go.

My trainers bounced along the pavement a few seconds later. I was off. The street lamps were on and windows were lit up all along our street. Run, run, run. I could see people at the bar in the George IV pub as I got to the corner, bright wall lamps shining through the smoky fug, someone’s head thrown back, mouth open in a laugh. I ran on past the shops where people were picking up the final edition
Evening Standard
, a pint of milk for the morning, fags and beer for the evening. Run, run, run. A bus pulled up and ten or so people got off, all in their work clothes, some frowning into mobile phones, ‘I’ve just got off the bus. Yeah, I’ll be back in five.’

On I went. My breath was starting to feel more laboured now, muscles stretched, but my head felt clear for the first time all day. I imagined my arms to be oiled pistons, powering me along, my legs moved in rhythm, trainers hitting the ground with a satisfying slap. My body was made to do this – to run and hunt and survive. I’m a strong, powerful woman, I reminded myself. Practically Amazonian, all bar the height. I’m a strong, powerful woman. I’m a . . . unfit, red-faced – no! I’m a strong, powerful woman!

I was nearly at the park. I was nearly at the park. Oof. I was nearly at the park. If I could just make it to the park . . . I would just make it to the park and . . .

‘Sadie? Is it Sadie?’

I was jolted out of my reverie and stopped abruptly. Only then did I realize how much I was gasping for breath, how my eyes were swimming, how tight my chest felt.

I blinked, but could say nothing.

‘It
is
Sadie, isn’t it? From the other night?’ He was holding out a hand and I blinked again. ‘Mark. You came for dinner on Saturday.’

‘Mark!’ The word heaved out of me in a rush of air. It sounded like a sigh. I shook his hand – such a bloody awful British thing to do – and hoped it was dark enough that he couldn’t see how scarlet my cheeks were. How sweaty my hairline was. ‘Hello. Oof. Sorry – really out of breath.’

I was expecting him to go on his way – what was he doing round here anyway? He lived miles away! – but disarmingly, he seemed to be waiting for me to catch my breath. Blimey, Mark, I felt like saying, you’ll be stood there a while, if that’s the case. Got the crossword to do or something?

I rubbed my eyes and noticed he was in running gear too. Well, I say ‘running gear
too
’ but while I was in baggy old tracksuit bottoms and a fleece so over-washed it had gone bobbly, he was in a spotless white T-shirt and running shorts. I gulped at the sight of his trainers. They had probably cost more than our car.

‘Right, I can breathe again. Phew. Sorry about that. How are you? What are you doing round here?’ I babbled.

‘I work just round the corner. I often have a run before I go home. Where are you going?’

Oh, no. He wanted to run with me. No! No! This was just going to be excruciating.

‘I . . . Well, to be honest, this is the first time I’ve been running in ages. Over a year. As you can probably tell.’ I gestured to my red face, my sweaty hair. Good one, Sade – flag up your bad points to the man. Show him how totally unfit and unhealthy you are. ‘I was planning to go to the park, but I’ve just realized it’s probably shut by now.’

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘It is. There’s a good path around the outside though if you fancy it?’

I looked at the pavement, scuffed the toe of my trainer along it. I gave him a wry smile.

Oh, bugger it. Be honest.

‘Actually,’ I confessed, ‘if the park gates are shut, I might just make it up to the cafe next door, and then collapse with a hot chocolate instead.’

He smiled back. He really was quite good-looking. ‘Mind if I join you as far as the cafe, then?’

‘Not at all,’ I said. Luckily I was so red-faced he wouldn’t have known I was blushing. ‘Lead the way.’

There were too many people on the pavement for us to be running next to each other, so he went ahead and I panted after him. I found myself staring at his bottom as he ran, and dragged my eyes away hurriedly. Sadie Morrison, behave yourself! I could hear Cat saying. I seriously hoped she hadn’t gone and told Lizzie about Jack. I would never hear the end of it. As the eldest sister and the one who had done everything first, Lizzie liked to think of herself as a bit of an authority.

Run, run, run. The park was in sight. The cafe was in sight. Come on, Sade. Nearly there. This is helping to burn off that chocolate pudding from last night, I told myself. In fact, I’d probably burned off enough calories by now to warrant having a muffin at the cafe as well as a hot chocolate.

I was fully expecting Mark to wave a hand and keep running along his usual route, but no. He was slowing down as we got to the cafe, stopping. He was bending over, stretching out his hamstrings. I shot another quick look at his bum. Firm and . . . Yes. Very nice. Ding-DONG! Leslie Phillips said inside my head. Purely as one would appreciate a fine piece of art, though, you understand.

Right
. So when he’d said, ‘Mind if I join you as far as the cafe?’ he had meant
to
the cafe as well, not just the running part. Shit. Better forget the idea of the muffin, then. I didn’t want him to see me with crumbs all over my chops.

He was looking strangely at me. ‘All right?’ he asked.

I realized I was frowning. ‘Yes. Yes. Fine,’ I said quickly. ‘Shall we?’

The cafe was one that I sometimes took the kids to if I couldn’t face making lunch. It was set back from the road, just before the entrance to the park, and served up perfect toddler food – chips and beans, boiled eggs and soldiers, cheese sandwiches, whatever tickled the little darlings’ fancy. It was popular with the local parents and always crammed full of buggies and high chairs in the daytime. Ketchup-smeared kids shouted, grizzled and sang without anyone tutting in annoyance at them. Shell-shocked-looking new mums comforted themselves with sticky cakes while their babies slept or cried.

In the evening, it appeared to be a different place altogether. The box of toys and colouring books was out of sight. The high chairs were stacked up neatly in the corner. There were red tablecloths and flickering tealights on the tables.

My hot chocolate came in a tall glass, with whipped cream and baby marshmallows. Mark had a cappuccino. We sat down at a table in the corner, and suddenly I wasn’t sure what to say to him. Then, foolishly, I remembered how I’d thought about his face while Alex and I had had sex the other night and I was struck even dumber. Oh no. I wished I hadn’t thought about that. Why had I thought about that now?

Luckily, Mark seemed quite capable of starting the conversation. ‘So,’ he began cheerfully, stirring his chocolate-dusted froth, ‘you live round here, do you?’

‘Tennyson Road,’ I said.

‘Oh, I know,’ he said. ‘I used to live on Milton Road years ago. Tennyson’s the one with the school on, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right,’ I replied, sipping my chocolate. Damn. Had I got cream on my nose? I wiped it surreptitiously. Please let me not have any cream on my nose. Please, if there is a God, please let me not have any cream on my nose.