Boyfriend in a Dress (24 page)

So I can at least have one more tick in the yes box, I decide to call my little sister. She is still at university, not
quite twenty-one, and the most irresponsible person I know. She would tell me to go for sure. I check my watch, it’s half past ten. I’ve been doing this for an hour and a half. I know that I am going to wake her up – she is at college, she keeps a whole other body clock. If I wanted to call her at three in the morning, I’d catch her wide awake, but any time before noon is pushing it. Her phone rings five times, and I decide to wait for the answerphone. But then a boy answers, sleepily.

‘Hello?’ I am slightly confused, and I hear Charlotte, my little sister, mumbling in the background, and then a sharp ‘give me that!’ and she comes on the phone.

‘Hello?’ She, too, is half-asleep.

‘Little one, it’s me,’ – we have called her that since she was a baby; I don’t know why, it’s more of a mouthful than Charlotte, her actual name, but it has stuck.

‘Oh hi, I’m asleep.’ I hear her fighting the battle between speaking to me, and going back to sleep straight away.

‘Who answered your phone?’ I ask, coming over all big sister – I still can’t resolve the issue I have with my baby sister having sex, and especially casual sex.

‘Oh that’s Jon, my gay friend.’

‘Oh, right.’ And I believe her, partly because she wouldn’t bother to lie to me about anything; it would require too much effort on her part, and partly because it makes me feel better.

‘Can I call you later? I was up writing an essay until five.’

‘No, honey, just talk to me quickly and I’ll put a hundred quid in your bank account this afternoon.’ And lo, I have her attention.

‘What can I do for you,’ she says, the pound signs in her eyes holding them open like matchsticks.

‘Little one, what if I said I was going away for a while – travelling.’

‘On your own?’ she asks, confused.

‘Not exactly, with Charlie.’

I have no idea what she thinks of him, we don’t really talk about things like that. She is my little sister, and I give her money, and hugs, and expensive presents at Christmas. I love her huge amounts, even when she is being a thoughtless little bastard, but I would never really ask her opinion on something like this. I think maybe this is why we are both a bit bewildered by this conversation.

‘Are you still with him? I thought you broke up,’ she says.

‘Why would you think that, I never told you that,’ I say, a little defensively.

‘No, I just thought you didn’t talk about him any more, I haven’t seen him for ages.’

‘Well, we’re still together, but we’re thinking of going travelling – what do you think about that?’

‘Do Mum and Dad know?’ I get the same response from both my sisters, we are all conditioned to think first of what our parents will say. In a way, we are all still kids, asking for permission for everything. It’s not that we wouldn’t get it, we invariably would, we are just always slightly nervous about asking.

‘No, well, I haven’t decided to do it yet, and I don’t want to worry them. But what do you think? It would be great, wouldn’t it?’ I am putting the words into her mouth, making it easier for her just to repeat them back to me.

‘I suppose.’ She doesn’t sound so sure. Why does everybody but me think this is a bad idea!

‘What? Charlotte, what?’

‘It’s just, you’ve just bought your flat. And Amy said you and Charlie weren’t getting on that well …’

‘When did she say that?’ I snap.

‘I spoke to her at the weekend.’

I feel jealous – I haven’t spoken to Charlotte enough, and Amy has a baby and still finds time to call her, and gets
a conversation out of her without having to give her any money.

‘Oh right, so you don’t think it’s a good idea then.’

‘I don’t know, do you want to go? What about work?’

‘What about work? I don’t have to stay in the same job for the rest of my life!’ Why is she asking all these mature questions – why is she being the reasonable one? Why do I suddenly feel like the twenty-year-old? I sense her dozing off at the other end of the phone as I go quiet, and decide to hang up.

‘Hon, I’ll put that money in this afternoon, okay?’

‘Oh thanks,’ and then to somebody in the background, ‘make me a blackcurrant?’

‘Hon, I’ll talk to you at the weekend,’ I say.

‘Okay, love you,’ she says, and I can sense that she’s falling asleep as she hangs up.

I sit, with my pen in my hand, and then screw up the piece of paper without putting Charlotte’s mark under the ‘No’ section. What am I doing?

Phil bursts into the office.

‘Shit, sorry, I didn’t think you were in yet!’ he exclaims.

‘Why would I not be in? It’s nearly eleven o’clock!’

He averts his eyes, rather than replying that that wouldn’t be so bizarre.

‘I’ve been in since eight-thirty actually,’ I say, and shuffle some papers on my desk. Obviously I’ve been working all this time, and not making personal phone calls.

‘Bloody hell.’ He is mildly impressed.

‘Where did you get to last night – you didn’t even turn up!’ I realize he is pissed off with me. He doesn’t like to be left alone at work things, he feels out of his depth, or fraudulent, embarrassed that he is not important enough to be wined and dined, and he is wasting a client’s time, a client who is too nice to say so.

‘I got caught up, I’m sorry about that. Was it okay?’

‘Yeah, it was alright. Well no, it was bloody boring actually.’ He shrugs, and turns to leave.

‘Did you want something?’ I ask, and he turns around, still a bit pissed off.

‘No, I was just going to turn the cricket on – on your TV – but don’t worry.’

‘No, Phil, stick it on, it’s fine. It’s not like it’s noisy.’

‘Cheers,’ and he isn’t pissed off with me any more. Mental note: set up Phil and my little sister before going anywhere. They have a depth of feeling and attention span only otherwise found in goldfish. They are cheerfully shallow. Of course, if it worked out, and they made a relationship of it, they’d end up as fucked up as me. Mental note: do not set up Phil and my little sister.

Phil fiddles with the TV, trying to find the right station, and I pick up the remote and try and help him, but nothing happens.

He turns and looks at me.

‘That’s for the stereo.’

I pick up the three other remote controls and try and work out which is which.

‘Do you want to just give them to me?’ he asks with a not so patient smile.

‘It’s fine,’ I say, and hit some buttons. The screen goes black, and a DVD starts to play.

‘Can I just have them?’ His voice raises slightly.

‘No! I can do it!’ I hit another button, and the TV goes off.

‘Oh, just take them.’ I push them in his direction. Phil presses a button and instantly the cricket comes on. Sod this office. Sod technology. I need to get back to basics.

I spend the rest of the day actually working, which distracts me at least. Every time I feel the impulse to dwell on things, and every time one or the other creeps into my head, I answer an email, or pick up the phone to a writer. The day goes, if not quickly, then productively.

I call the scriptwriter in, close the door to my office, and nail
Evil Ghost 2: The Return.
We decide that our practically naked heroine lives in a old house, a house that was once the scene of a terrible fire, in which perished Tony’s OAP. Thus whenever she appears, she is surrounded by the smoke of the fire, and she coughs a lot, because of the smoke inhalation. Our hero is going to be the model-cum-actor who has just moved in downstairs, who recently lost his girlfriend, who he thought was the love of his life, to a terrible bush fire in Australia. He will have flaming flashbacks. His dead girlfriend will be seen perishing beneath a particularly burning bush, and she will be very plain, so that we know that he really did love her. However, this will allow people to understand why he can fall so quickly for our naked model, who is much prettier. The old woman will stalk the halls at night, killing off any pets in the building first, which alerts our hero and heroine to the
otherworldly presence. That and the smoke in the hallways just after she’s gone. If we have the money we might use an effect in post-production where fire creeps up the walls of any room she has just been in. Then she will burn all the clothes of our heroine who can then be practically naked for the rest of the film. When she finally makes herself known she will be surrounded by the smoke, but also the ghosts of all the pets she has killed, and she will be able to talk to them, like a kind of arsonist Doctor Do-Little. She will appear at breakfast time, after our heroic couple have spent their first night together, and they can both be eating supermarket Bran Flakes of some kind, which helps them keep their looks and youthful figures. Finally, after much running about, our hero will put our old woman out with a bucket of water, the only thing she cannot overcome. It is a complete rewrite, but we are both pleased with it. It takes the whole afternoon.

I check my watch as I see the sun setting outside my office. It is quarter to eight. I realize that I don’t know where to go tonight, and I don’t know who with. I have spent all day trying so hard to ignore the problem, ignore both of the men in my life, that it only dawns on me now that they have both been ignoring me. Neither one of them has called me, or left a message, or tried to talk to me about last night. Where are they both? A nasty daydream shoots through my head that Dale might have done something rash, and tracked down Charlie, and told him everything, although it would save me doing it. No, that would be a bad thing. An even nastier thought creeps into my head – what if Dale has gone? What if he has had enough of my indecision and got a flight back to the States?

I look at my monitor – my in-box is clear, for the first time in weeks. All my calls have been made, my work here is done. I should go now. But where? I pick up my mobile, and go with my first impulse. I phone Charlie.

‘Hey you,’ he says as he picks up the phone. The mobile phone has erased any notion of a surprise call. You cannot answer if you don’t want to speak to somebody, because their name comes up. Or you can let the answerphone take it safe in the knowledge that that person can wait until later. Or you can pick up, if it’s somebody you don’t mind talking to. At least Charlie has picked up.

‘Sorry about last night,’ I say instantly. I still feel the need to apologize, even though I’ve decided, now, in a moment, what I’m going to do.

‘It’s fine – are you hungover?’ he asks, concerned.

‘No, I’m okay.’

‘Are you – you sound strange,’ Charlie says, and I realize I am still thinking, even now, if my decision is the right one. All these doubts.

‘I’m okay – are you at home?’

‘No, actually, I’m in a cab, I’ll be there in about ten minutes. Gorgeous day, huh?’

‘Yeah, it’s been lovely. Can I come over?’

‘Of course.’

‘Shall I bring anything – do you have food?’

‘Is Thai all right? I’ll do a curry.’

‘Great, I’ll see you soon.’

‘Bye.’

‘Bye.’

As I leave work, I realize I am still in the clothes he saw me in yesterday. I dash into the nearest shop, and pick up a white cotton summer dress. Then I put it down and pick up the same thing in black. I pick up the white one again, and head to the till with them both. I go back to work and change, dumping my jeans and T-shirt in a bag under my desk.

On the tube, I am overwhelmed with the need to have it all sorted out already, to have had all the necessary conversations, and be resolved with the outcome. The kind of
nervousness that makes you want to scream and bury your head under a pillow grips me, and then subsides, and I realize I am fine, and strong, and I can cope with all of this.

Charlie opens the door to me – I don’t know why I don’t use my key, it just feels better not to.

‘Did somebody die?’ he asks me, looking at my dress.

I smile, and kiss him hello lightly on the side of his mouth, and dump my bags on the sofa, heading straight for the kitchen.

‘Can I have a drink?’ I ask him as I pour myself a large whisky.

‘Yeah … go ahead.’

‘Do you want one?’ I take a massive gulp that shudders through my system.

‘No, I’ve got a water, thanks.’ He looks at me, confused. I don’t look back.

I head towards the balcony. Charlie has the doors wide open.

‘How was work?’ I ask him.

‘Good, great. They were great about the whole police thing.’ He is chopping onions and smashing garlic and coconut on a board in the kitchen. He looks really relaxed, like a young gorgeous celebrity chef, with his sleeves rolled up, and a camera smile.

I don’t answer, just stand by the door, and let the sun warm me up, and kill the shivers down my spine.

‘They confirmed my leaving date – I can go at the beginning of next month.’ Still I don’t say anything.

‘Nix, are you okay?’ he asks, and I hear the knife stop its chopping behind me.

I turn and face him, and my eyes adjust to the light inside of the flat.

‘Yes, honestly, I’m just tired. Is dinner nearly ready?’

‘Fifteen minutes – put your feet up.’ He goes back to his
chopping. I take a deep breath, and wander out on to the balcony. Brave and strong.

‘Can you just watch these for a second?’ he shouts out from the kitchen, and I stick my head around the door.

‘I want to get changed, it’s nearly done.’

‘Sure,’ I say, and trip over the doorstep into the living room.

‘Easy,’ he laughs, and gives me a sideways glance over his shoulder as he goes into the bedroom, which I ignore. The whisky has gone to my head.

I hear the shower come on, and Charlie makes appreciative noises as he jumps under it.

I prod at the simmering mush in the wok, and light a cigarette.

‘I feel great,’ he calls from the shower.

My head hears ‘good for you’ in a different tone to the ‘Good for you’ that comes out of my mouth. Charlie has somehow pole-vaulted onto some higher plain – some relaxed, confident sure of itself mindset. I am a bag of nerves.

I stir the rice, which is sticking slightly to the bottom of the pan.

‘Charlie, I think this is ready,’ I shout, and then laugh at the strength of my own voice as Charlie appears from around the door, dressed only in a towel around his waist.

‘Sorry, this is almost done. Shall I dish up?’

‘Sure, if you don’t mind.’ He pads over and drapes a hand around my shoulder and kisses my forehead.

‘Get dressed, you’re all wet,’ I say, and shrug him off, scared that he’ll tell me to just let it burn and pull me with him.

He pads back into the bedroom and I hear him pulling on his jeans as I lump the curry onto two plates. I’m not hungry in the slightest. I stuff the bottle of whisky under my arm, and take the plates with me outside.

Charlie comes after me with the cutlery, dressed like an
advert for Ralph Lauren, all starched and clean and crisp in a white polo shirt.

We sit on opposite sides of the table, and Charlie takes a couple of mouthfuls before realizing I’m not eating.

‘Aren’t you hungry?’ he asks me, surprised.

‘Yeah, no, I mean, I need to tell you something.’

‘What?’ he asks, and puts another forkful into his mouth.

‘Charlie, I don’t think I’m going to come away with you.’

‘What?’ He puts his fork down, and looks at me seriously.

‘I don’t think I … want to. But I think you should go.’ I look at him apologetically, and even pull back a little, not entirely sure what his response will be.

‘Why not – I mean, what’s made you change your mind?’ Charlie talks evenly, like an adult, a reasonable man. I feel like a lying kid.

‘I don’t think it’s the right time for me to go running off, and I know I said I’d go with you, and I’m sorry. But I just … I don’t think I want to go. I’m really sorry.’ I look down at my plate, and push some onto my fork in case Charlie decides to throw it at me. But I am kidding myself – he’s not going to throw anything. He’s not angry, he’s hurt. My conscience wants him to be angry, but he isn’t going to react like that.

‘What about your work? Will they let you take your resignation back?’ he asks me quietly.

‘I’m … still going to leave work, Charlie.’

‘What?’

‘I’m still going to leave work, I’m just not going to go travelling … with you.’

‘You’re still going to … I don’t understand … you’re … this is you finishing it, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, I’m sorry. I don’t think we are … ready to go travelling.’

‘But last week, in Devon, you said you wanted to go, you gave your notice in at the same time! You had no intention of
coming with me?’ I feel like I have broken his heart, but that can’t be true. Last week his heart wouldn’t have been broken, and feelings can’t change that much in a week.

I don’t say anything, just look down at my plate, and wait for him to talk at me. He pushes himself back from the table, and walks over to the railings, placing both hands firmly on them, and we both wait in silence.

Finally, he speaks.

‘Nix, is this about the thing, with the girl? It’s madness – the police have cleared me, everybody’s cleared me, except you!’ His voice gets louder, and I can sense that I have broken through his whale noises and rainforest sounds veneer of calm.

‘It’s not about that! But, it kind of is as well. Charlie. Last week I would never have doubted that you did it; I would have assumed you were guilty. How can you be that different, change that much in a week? And even if you have changed, even if it’s only a bit, I can’t risk my life on it! Charlie, people don’t change overnight – they don’t put on a dress and find the Lord. It takes years. Last week, I was going to tell you it was over, and now … now I am. We just put it on hold for a while.’

‘This is fucking insane.’ Charlie storms towards the table and I flinch as he picks up his plate, but then strides through the doors and into the kitchen. After a couple of minutes to let him calm down, I follow him in. He is standing by the sink. I put the bottle of whisky down in front of him, and pour myself a glass.

‘Do you want one now?’ I ask him.

‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ he says, and turns away.

‘Charlie, I’m really sorry, but we were just kidding ourselves, really, weren’t we? You know that …’

‘Where are you going to go?’ he asks, ignoring my pleas for him to agree with me.

‘I don’t know … I thought I might go somewhere a bit more permanently, live somewhere for a while.’

‘Like where, Australia? You can go to Australia, just not with me?’ His voice is filled with hurt and accusation.

‘No, probably not, more like … I don’t know … more like America or somewhere.’ I don’t need to tell him everything, but I can still be honest.

‘America? We’ve already been there, hell, we’ve lived there!’

‘Well, I wouldn’t go back to the same place obviously, I could go to New York, or Las Vegas … I don’t know where exactly yet, I just fancy going back.’

‘When will you go?’ He stabs at me with questions.

‘In a couple of months, I suppose, when I’ve got everything sorted. I don’t know how long it takes to get a working visa, and all the other stuff. I might ask work if I can get a transfer – there’s bound to be something going out there. How about you? Will you still go?’

‘Yeah, in a couple of weeks, I suppose. It doesn’t make any sense not to. I’ll be fine.’ Charlie hastily picks up his plate and scrapes the contents into the bin, and then throws it into the sink.

‘I should go,’ I say quietly.

‘Yes, you should.’ He has turned his back to me, and is barely audible.

I grab my bag and head for the door.

I close it behind me, and hear a crash of plates and pans behind me, inside the flat, Charlie letting me know how he really feels.