London Calling (8 page)

“Sounds good,” I said. We both shared another conspiratorial smile and then picked up some glasses from the table to busy ourselves and break the moment. In the kitchen, the three boys were stacking the dishwasher, with Julia sitting on the black counter-top dangling her feet.

“No more dancing?” she said. Her words were slurred.

“Simon said stop so we did. Anyway, we were thinking of ordering a cab – unless you need help here?”

“No, no, no, you go,” Julia said, jumping down from her vantage point. “We’ve got this all covered haven’t we boys?”

General murmurs of agreement from the boys as Tom brushed past us with a hand-held hoover to deal with the breakage.

I went to retrieve the coats from Julia’s bedroom, who hastily followed me in while dialling a taxi on her mobile. She shut the door just as she was connected.

“Yes, hello. Can I order a cab from Braemar Road please? Yes. Going to…” Julia turned to me. “Going to?” she said.

“Going to my flat and then to Angela’s who lives in Stoke Newington – remember?”

“Going to Old Street, then Stoke Newington,” she said into the handset. There was a brief pause. “Great, thanks.” She clicked the red button. “Five minutes.”

“Stop smirking at me like that.”

“I’m not smirking. This is me being smug about one of my plans coming together.

“We’re just sharing a cab because it makes sense, goddit?” I said.

“Uh-huh, whatever you say.”

I opened the door. “Is this Ange’s coat?” I asked, holding up a black jacket not too dissimilar to mine.

“I think so,” Julia said.

I walked down the hall and handed the coat to Ange who was waiting in the kitchen doorway, chatting to Jason. Hugs, kisses and goodbyes followed, accompanied by more slurred smirks from a rather worse-for-wear Julia and then there really were just two.

As we walked out to the cab, the night air threw a blanket of chill over us and we both shivered as we hurried out of the gate and into the waiting taxi. Sitting next to each other, my breathing seemed very loud and laboured although it was probably just in my head. The sky outside was jet black as I looked upwards, the stars shrouded by clouds from the London gloom.

“It was a great night wasn’t it?” Ange said. Her voice was still too shrill but that didn’t stop me finding her attractive right now. For one brief second I wished it was Lucy sitting next to me but it wasn’t so I had to live in the moment.

“Yeah, those guys can cook. The lamb was amazing.”

“The chocolate cake wasn’t bad either,” she said.

I smiled at her and she put her hand on my leg, causing a frisson right up my body. It seemed the feeling was mutual. The back seat suddenly seemed far too small for the two of us. I put my hand on top of hers and we exchanged a look as the cab turned into Old Street.

“Jason and Andy are great, too,” Ange said, squeezing my hand. Squeaky, high-pitched still, but the booze still roaming my system wasn’t listening. My mind was playing a game with my libido now. This was going nowhere, but it could tonight.

“Do you want to come up for a drink?” I said. I wasn’t quite sure who was asking this daring question as the words slipped out of my mouth, but it seemed to be me.

“I’d love to,” Ange replied. No hesitation. And with that, our fate for the night was sealed. The cab pulled up and I got out and paid the driver, waving away her offer of cash. I breathed in the fresh air as the taxi drove away, pulled the keys out of my jeans pocket and opened the door, ushering Ange in but also putting a finger to my lips as I did so.

“Flatmate,” I whispered as she walked up the stairs in her slinky heels. She nodded and did exaggerated walking on her toes up the stairs, which caused me to giggle, then her, and before long we were making far more noise than I ever intended, she of course slightly more shrill.

I had a momentary battle with my conscience who was choosing this moment to point out that while I may be attracted to this woman, her voice and laugh repelled me. I tussled with the thought for a good few seconds before guiding her into my bedroom. I knew if we did the usual drink-and-sofa-foreplay my conscience would never shut up. Right there and then, Ange had willingly come home with me and it had been a long time since that happened.

“I really want you,” she said, pushing me onto the bed. It was meant to be sexy I know, but once again, the voice jarred in my head. It was too late to pull back now, though – so said the rest of my body anyway.

Within moments we were naked, but the little voice in my head wouldn’t shut up. With every kiss to my breast, stomach, inner thigh and back they were silenced, but when I had to return the favour it resurfaced. I wondered when I’d become Ms Morality.

Ange seemed to be suffering no such qualms – when I slid my hands down her body, kissed her breasts and touched her she was wet and wide open for me – invitingly so. When I fucked her, which wasn’t hard, she came within minutes, grinding against me before sitting up with me still inside her and thrusting her tongue into my mouth.

Nevertheless, when she laid her naked body on top of mine, I didn’t say no. Neither did I try to stop her when she sucked my breasts, scratched my back, slapped my butt or buried her head between my legs. And I was powerless to stop the resulting orgasm when her fingers slid inside me and she played me like a pro. I didn’t fake, I didn’t have to. In that moment, she was perfect.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It was, of course, a different proposition when I awoke the following morning with a hangover, short on sleep and the prospect of a day at the zoo with Kate and my nephews in store. Ange was still asleep when my alarm went off at 10am and I managed to turn it off before she was disturbed. I wondered just how you went about evicting a gorgeous woman from your bed of a weekend morning without hurting her feelings or making yourself look like a complete and utter berk.

I reached over to my bedside table, wondering if Ange had thought me remiss not having a table and lamp for her, too. If she did, she hadn’t said so. I had one text and knew it would be from Julia. I was correct.

‘So – have we both woken up with a lawyer in our bed this morning?’ She’s so bloody clever that one. I sighed again and replaced my phone on the bedside table, managing to knock my keys off in the process which caused Ange to open her eyes, squinting at me and holding her head.

“Morning,” she said. She rolled over and kissed my shoulder. “Ugh, my head.”

“Morning,” I replied. I realised what an impossible situation I’d got myself into and briefly wondered how many other people up and down the country this Sunday morning were waking up similarly. Perhaps I should start a Facebook support page for us drunken one-night standers, although I’m not sure the Daily Mail would completely get it.

***

“So, last night was great, but the thing is, your voice and laugh are way too high-pitched for there to ever be anything between us. So while you’re attractive – and I have to say, you really are – and you wear jeans and heels incredibly well, this is what it is. A one-night stand, pure and simple. I hope that’s all right for you – I had a great time. But now I really have to throw you out because I’m taking my nephews to the zoo today. So would you mind leaving quickly? You can use the loo if you need to but a cup of tea is out of the question. We can keep in touch via Facebook if you like.”

“Sure no problem, I completely understand. I’m going to voice therapy to try to lower my voice issue – should I call you if it’s successful?”

“Absolutely! With that sorted I think we could have a great relationship.”

“I’ll let you know. Last night was amazing, thanks again.”

We shake hands. The end.

***

This, of course, is not at all what happened next, but wouldn’t it be a sane and great world if we could all be that honest and accepting? Instead, Ange tried to instigate conversation to which I was fairly mute. She looked confused and she had a right to be.

“Sorry, am I missing something here?” she asked. She propped herself up on her elbow, her breasts looking gorgeous in my bed and it took all my strength not to reach out and touch them.

“We had a great night, you invited me back, we had sex and now you’re being, shall we say, a little frosty. You are single, right?” she said. Her eyes clouded over with doubt.

“Absolutely!” I said. Now it was my turn for my voice to go up an octave. “Single, young, free and… well, not so young, but you know.”

“But now you’re… not interested, is that it?”

“Well… it’s not you,” I began.

She put up her hand as if stopping traffic.

“You don’t need to say anymore…” she said. She vaulted out of bed and began hastily putting on her pants, followed by her bra and shirt. She shook her head as she was doing so.

“You know, Julia says you’re one of her best friends so I’m not sure why you’d do this to another of her friends.”

“I’m… it’s… I thought I was available. I really did enjoy last night and you’re amazing…”

“Yes, I know – it’s not me, it’s you.” She shot me a look. I deserved it.

“It really is. I just feel… I don’t know. Maybe I’m not over my ex quite yet.”

“Spare me the dyke drama.”

She tried to put on her jeans but her co-ordination failed her. In trying to pull on one leg, she lost her balance and crashed into my wardrobe, putting out her hand to stop herself falling over. I looked down graciously but had to bite my inner cheek to try not to laugh. My sense of humour quite often didn’t match the moment.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she muttered. She steadied herself, finally getting her jeans on and scooping up her watch and rings. “Is my coat in the lounge?”

“Yes – I’ll get it for you.”

I jumped out of bed realising this situation was turning into a car crash and that Julia would kill me when she found out. I got my dressing gown from the back of the door and threw it on hastily, aware that being naked was not what the occasion called for. As I went to open the door, I heard her take a deep breath.

“You know, for what it’s worth I really liked you. We got on well and I thought that the sex, be it drunken, was a good start...”

She put her head down and breathed out heavily, her hair cascading, the wind suddenly knocked out of her sails. When she moved her head back up I could see tears glistening in her eyes. She reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear out of habit and breathed deeply to stop herself from crying. I felt awful and incredibly shallow. Injustice had a shape and a texture that now seemed to be weighing heavily on Ange’s body.

“I’m really sorry,” I said. Even I knew it sounded lame.

My stomach fizzed with despair and an acrid taste crept into my mouth, which I swallowed down. Maybe I wasn’t as ready as I thought, starting to believe the web of lies that I’d spun. Or maybe I was just incredibly shallow and should never have invited Ange back if I was just going to reject her as I knew I would the following day. I hung my head in shame.

“I’m going to get my coat and go. See you around,” she said.

She opened the door and walked down the hall and into the lounge where Kate was sitting watching TV in green shorts and a navy blue Gap sweatshirt.

“Hi,” I heard Kate say as we walked in. Ange picked up her coat and looked at me, then back at Kate.

“This is my flatmate Kate,” I said by way of one of the most awkward introductions in the history of the world. Kate though, as is normal in these situations, got up and offered Ange her hand. And Ange, polite to the last, shook it and smiled weakly.

“Nice to meet you,” she said.

All three of us stood looking at each other, Kate not quite knowing what was happening. Ange eventually broke the silence.

“I’ve got to go. I can find my own way out,” she said. Dignified to the end.

I walked after her to the top of the stairs but managed nothing apart from a weak smile as she looked at me for a final time. She in turn gave me a death stare, as was her right, then took the stairs two at a time, nearly crashing into Kate’s bike at the bottom and slammed the door shut so hard the whole flat shook. I gripped the bannister and breathed out hard, then looked up to see Kate staring at me.

“And what the fuck was that?”

“That was a very hot lawyer named Ange.”

“I could see that. But what was that?” Kate’s eyes widened.

“That was me fucking up spectacularly.”

“How so?”

“Can we talk about this after I’ve had some coffee?” I said.

Kate walked up and put an arm around my shoulder.

“Absolutely. I’ll put some on now, shall I?”

***

Half an hour later we were still on the sofa, me onto my second cup of coffee while Kate was still laughing about the whole situation.

“Her voice didn’t sound that squeaky when she said goodbye, you know.”

“She wasn’t in a super-chatty mood though, you’d have to agree,” I said. I started to bite a fingernail.

“Well no, that’s true.” Kate said. “Poor old Ange.”

“You’re not being very helpful.”

Julia had already sent another text but I wasn’t up to giving her the full story just yet.

“I’m sorry, but this is so not you. You’re so bloody fussy about women normally, but then this,” Kate said.

“I know, I’m a bad person.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But that’s what you meant.”

“No it’s not.” She shook her head from side to side before leaning forward, a fluffy red cushion falling from her lap as she did.

“You’re not the first person who’s brought someone attractive home to sleep with after a night out, then woken up and realised it wasn’t for them. It’s not the crime of the century.”

“But I feel awful.” I covered my face with my hands and leant back.

“Could that be to do with the wine, vodka and champagne you drank too?”

“Ugh, you forgot the tequila,” I replied through my fingers.

“So you fucked someone you had no intention of having a relationship with. And you told them so the next morning. It’s called a one-night stand. You didn’t invent it.”

“Thanks for the sympathy.”

“Sympathy?!” Kate said. I actually heard a snort. “I wasn’t the one that got laid last night by a power lesbian in heels. You’ll find it’s in short supply here.” I managed a weak grin at that.