Crystal Balls (11 page)

Getting carried away, my pelvis rises and falls violently against him as I simulate my eagerness.

“I am going to make you come like never before, Miss Harding,” he promises and I almost cry with the anticipation.

“Oh God!” His knee gently presses against my swollen clitoris and I part my legs, allowing added pressure, feeling like I could orgasm like this alone.

“Brian,” I mutter.

He continues to tease my neck and earlobes.

“
Brian
!” I say with urgency.

“Tina!” He joins in with the game as I push against him fiercely but his weight suppresses me.

“
Brian!
”

“
Tina!
”

“
Stop!
”

Kate clutches onto the pillow, burrowing her head in it deeply, but the muffled sound of raucous laugher still emits from it. Giddy and uncontrollable, she lifts her head with
tears rolling down her face. “Oh, Brian!” she mimics. “I’m going . . . to . . . be . . . sss . . .”

Once more she collapses onto the bed, snorting, improvising kissing then vomiting, pretending to wipe her mouth and come back for more, her tongue dancing around foolishly. “No, really,
I’m okay,” she mimes. “Don’t stop now!” Her hips thrust back and forward. “What? Oh, yeah, I’d better brush my teeth!” She’s off again, into
peals of uncontrollable laughter.

How many times do we have to go through this tonight? I wish I’d never told her now, although I certainly wouldn’t be able to share this with anyone else, especially not Chantelle
given how often I preach to her about not mixing business with pleasure.

“It’s not funny, Kate.” I wince, holding my head in shame. “Right in the throes of passion. How the hell am I ever going to look him in the eye again?”

Kate makes an attempt to be serious for a moment, although in an oversized pair of pink flannelette pyjamas with a Snoopy design it’s really not possible. “Look, why don’t you
just blame him for plying you with drink – tell him you’re not used to drinking that much?”

“I was okay until I lay down, but then the room started to spin. That hasn’t happened to me in years.” I shake my head, groaning. “I ruined his rug, Kate!”

“
Pphwwwrrr!
” Kate is off again, rolling around the bed, beating down on the duvet wildly and gasping for breath. She surfaces. “Just tell him you thought a souvenir of
you might be nice!”

“Oh what a wonderful idea! The next time he sees carrots he’s going to think of me? Any more intelligent suggestions?”

I really can see no end to this situation, nor the funny side of it, particularly after such a romantic meal followed by the promise of the most spectacular orgasm in years.

Brian was as gentlemanly as usual. He apologised profusely, taking full responsibility for the episode. He, naturally, thought I was calling out his name in lust, hence he didn’t move off
me. I have to admit, it was rather nice to hear him call my name back. “
Tina! Tina!” Hhmm
. . . I tried my best not to make him feel stupid but he seemed to take it quite hard.
Or maybe he was more gutted about his Conran rug then he was prepared to let on.

“Why don’t you just call him, Tina. He’s rung you three times already and you’re giving out all the wrong signals by ignoring him.”

“I can’t, Kate. I haven’t got a bloody clue what to say apart from ‘Can I buy you a new rug which incidentally I can’t afford!”

Kate tops up our glasses with red wine and tips the remains of the crisp packet into the glass bowl, placing it in the centre of the king-size bed. Fat lot of use this bed has been to me.
It’s an investment with a nil return.

I am also feeling guilty for ruining Kate’s evening. We haven’t had a girls’ night out in ages as Kate works on location so frequently, but I simply couldn’t face it
tonight. Plus my eyes look like they haven’t seen sleep in weeks and my body is shaking, although a little less after our hair-of-the-dog exercise. Kate’s suggestion, of course.

“Tina, are you happy with estate agency?” Kate asks bluntly.

“Yeah, it’s the best achievement of my life, Kate,” I answer without hesitation. “Why do you ask?”

“I dunno really. Maybe it’s because you keep quizzing me about work and you’ve talked about your old acting career more than once in the past half hour.” Kate shoves a
handful of crisps into her mouth, attempting to talk at the same time. “I haven’t heard you mention it in years.” She chokes deservedly. “Why now?”

That’s what I love about Kate, her willingness to challenge you over everything.

“It’s not something I’m conscious of doing, Kate, to be honest. I suppose you being here reminds me of the fun we used to have.” Our glasses clink together as we down the
remainder of their contents in a race to finish first.

“Fun like that,” Kate giggles. “Except in our day it was cider and black.”

“Do you believe in fate?” I quiz her curiously.

“Yeah. About as much as you do!” She rolls her eyes sarcastically. “What’s got into you, Tina? You’re a bit of a weirdo tonight. You and I have never believed in
fate and all that stuff. We’ve always said it’s about being in the right place at the right time. That and bloody hard grafting.”

“I know, Kate, but for some reason I can’t help wondering if life is already mapped out for us from the day we’re born.” I look at her confused expression.
“Don’t you think?”

Kate lunges forward, grabs a full wine bottle from the bedside unit and unscrews the cap. “I’ll tell you what I think.” She fills my already half-full glass right to the brim.
“You’re talking shite and you’re not even pissed. Knock that back and at least you’ll have an excuse!”

She jumps off the bed and slides open the mirrored wardrobe doors. “Let’s have a fashion show like we used to!” she says excitedly while I groan with reluctance.

My body feels like it’s glued to the bed and I feel bloated from eating hangover junk all day. “You do it and I’ll be the comp,” I suggest, rolling over into the warmth
left behind by Kate’s body.

Exhausted from so much thinking and ill from alcohol poisoning, my eyes close as I await her first little number.

My throat is dry and barren and I clumsily feel about in the dark for water, desperate to replenish some much-needed fluids. Kate is flat out next to me in her pyjamas, snoring
gently. I knock back the entire pint glass which I can only assume Kate kindly put there given I don’t even remember falling asleep.

My mind races with thoughts of the past few weeks as the alcohol stimulants keep me from sleeping. The psychic, the contract, Simon, Brian, the wedding . . . How much can a girl cope with? I
make a note to prioritise and conclude that work and my sister’s wedding have to be at the top. Much as a screaming multiple orgasm from Brian would be at the top of my aspirational list,
I’ve made so much of an idiot of myself that it’s redemption time. Maybe Kate is right? Maybe there is no such thing as fate.
But how can we really be sure?
Perhaps instead of a
guardian angel each one of us is born with a cartographer? Their role being to compile a map for our lives and navigate invisibly, allowing us to go off course from time to time but sitting ready
and waiting to clearly signpost the correct turning when we’re about to venture into unknown territory, or take the wrong route?

Kate is right about one thing. I do talk some shite. Go back to sleep, Tina.

Still pyjama-clad, Kate and I slump on the sofa watching mindless Sunday TV with mugs of freshly brewed coffee.

“Let me know when you’re hungry and I’ll make us breakfast,” I slur, too tired to talk properly let alone make breakfast. And anyway, just in case I haven’t
completely blown it with Brian, excuse the pun, I need to feel and look as svelte as possible, without contracting bulimia or visiting the gym, and the loss of a few pounds certainly won’t do
me any harm.

While I jest about bulimia, during the start of my career and not long after graduating from university, I was signed to a local agency for both acting and modelling jobs. The pressure to remain
stick-thin was overwhelming. To say that I have witnessed the sound of countless retching from toilet cubicles is absolutely no exaggeration. Hence the reason I tried it myself and, quite
worryingly, found it easy. When Gemma, the director of City Models, suggested I lose a few pounds, I starved myself for a week, surviving on two pieces of toast alone. I felt and looked lighter by
the end of the exercise, and I walked like I was floating on air. Which is practically what I was living on. Anyway, I decided that starvation definitely wasn’t my thing so I decided to join
the rest of them by binge-eating anything and everything from chips to chocolate, relishing the flavours as they teased my mouth but feeling remorse and guilt minutes later as the food hit my
stomach making me feel bloated and fat. “
What goes down must come up
,” we used to joke. There was no point hiding it to be honest. Anyone carrying Polo mints was bulimic and it
was quite acceptable in the industry. I’m definitely over the whole addiction thing but once you’ve battled with some form of weight problem, it haunts you for the rest of your life.
Consequently, my weight oscillates like a blow-up doll with an irreparable puncture.

Kate’s face is green and tight and as the mask dries out it drags at her skin, distorting her face, pulling it in different directions. She catches me smirking at her, wondering how she
can pluck her eyebrows at the same time

“It’s not easy being an actress,” she mumbles, barely moving her lips. “Everyone thinks it’s so glam, don’t they? It drives me mad.” She yanks at her
brow fiercely. “Shit, that hurt!”

I laugh at her stressing over the tediousness of earning in excess of two hundred grand a year, walking from job to job, getting her hair and make-up done and having her clothes picked out.

“Get a grip, Kate!” I snap. “Most people would kill to have your lifestyle. Me included.” I stare at Kate, shocked at my comment and the ease with which it slipped out.
“I can’t believe I’ve just said that,” I declare, somewhat stunned.

“Tina, you’re definitely not yourself. I thought you were over all that stuff! In fact, you told me so when you got the contract.”

“I was. I am. I don’t know why I said it. Maybe I was just thinking generically.”

“Why did you say ‘
me included’
then?” she challenges me, as she prepares to scrub away the green clay, soaking cotton balls in water before wringing them dry.

“God knows,” I answer truthfully. “Although maybe it’ll never really go away, Kate, even though I’m happier and more stable with the way my life is now.” I
rest my head on my knees, tucking them into my chest. “Maybe I can’t help but wonder if the next audition would have been the big break.” I pause. “Perhaps I gave in too
early?”

“Tina,” Kate says with concerned authority, as she dabs at her face, “when you rang me the other week to tell me about the contract, I hadn’t heard you so excited in
years. I could almost feel you tingling and, I didn’t tell you this, I had tears streaming down my face with pride.” Her eyes fill up now at the thought.

“Really?” I am surprised. “Kate, I only ever think I should be proud of you.” I hesitate. “For making it right from the start – that’s a damn good
achievement, you know.”

“I know it is, Tina, but although we talk about grafting, a little luck was also on my side. Never forget that. But you, Mrs, have worked your socks off with that business. You put your
house at risk for it and if that’s not a testament to how much you want it to work,” she sighs heavily, “then I don’t know what is.” Her eyes penetrate me. “But
I do know this, Tina. Whatever it is that’s got into you, get rid of it, because you’re not the strong-minded assertive Tina you were the last time I was home.”

What’s she on about?
I’m no different than I was yesterday, last week, last month. But still, I don’t answer her. She only tells it like she sees it.

Perhaps I’m taken aback by the accelerated speed with which my life is progressing. Perhaps it’s the male attention or Sam’s wedding causing me subtle distractions. I
don’t know, but I do know that I am determined to prove that stupid old woman wrong for haunting me with past ghosts. Why the hell did I ever go to her?

Cheering up, I think of the contract and how close I am to opening the second Harding Homes.
Yep, that’s what I want from life. No doubts about it.

“Kate, I’m fine honestly. There’s just so much going on right now.” I polish off the remains of the coffee, setting the empty mug on the floor. “Now pass me that
magazine and get off your bloody pedestal.” I laugh, cowering as she hurls the magazine towards me like a cricketer bowling to take out his batsman.

Lying back against the cream suede cushions, I glance at the contents and flick through the pages – then stop abruptly. “Ooh. God, that’s weird!”

“What’s weird?”

“My horoscope. To think I never used to believe in these things but this one might have been written for me!”

Kate shakes her head, grabbing the magazine from me.

“Tina!” She shakes my shoulders roughly. “What have you done with my best friend?”

“Hi, can I help you?” Chantelle ventures across to a young couple holding hands, pointing at the various property displays and ooing and aahing excitedly at every
detail.
“
First-time buyers?” she asks cheerily. They look at her, astonished, and nod giddily. “Good for you guys.” She shakes hands with them. “I’m
Chantelle. Please, have a seat and we can chat about how Harding Homes can help you.”

The couple follow her, hands still gripped, eyes aglow with eagerness, clearly delighted at the prospect of their own place with no parents, no rules and no housework if you can’t be
bothered. I know Chantelle is wondering at what point to discuss the budget planner – outlining utilities, council tax, home insurance, mortgage payments and life insurance – and how
best to avoid shattering their illusions about what they envisage to be, simply, a round-the-clock sex den.

The front door chimes as it opens and a uniformed man enters, holding a huge bouquet of flowers across his arm, balancing them with his other hand. Romance is definitely in the air today.