Authors: Sarah Manning
Unsticky (16 page)
‘Well, if she is she shouldn’t have been drinking since eleven thirty this morning,’ Grace frowned. ‘No, she’d have told me.’
‘So why are they getting married?’ Liam asked. He was sober, which was a novelty but he spent Saturdays working on a bootleg DVD stall at Camden Market and he needed to be able to count change. ‘Like, if they don’t need to.’
Grace hauled herself on to a neighbouring barrel. ‘Well, they’re in love and neither of them are very bright. Is this the wrong moment to let slip that Lily wants you to play a medley of Burt Bacharach hits at the wedding reception?’
‘Jesus, kill me now!’
‘Could be worse, baby. Lily has a couple of Boyzone CDs tucked away!’ Grace tried to give Liam a friendly punch on the arm and nearly fell off her perch. She settled for groping in her bag for fags and lighter. She’d started smoking again in earnest this week.
‘Are you pissed, Gracie?’
‘Beyond pissed and verging on paralytic,’ Grace announced proudly, as she managed to light her cigarette on the fifth attempt. Then in a fit of alcohol-soaked cunning, she realised that she had a Get Out of Jail Free card to say whatever she liked. Tomorrow she could just pretend that she didn’t remember. In fact, tomorrow she probably wouldn’t be able to remember. ‘So, who are you with tonight? Some barely legal Trustafarian, I’ll bet.’ Grace exhaled smoke with what she hoped was haughty disdain.
‘You jealous?’ Liam asked with a hint of that smirky grin that had used to make her come over all unnecessary. He’d also washed his hair in the last twenty-four hours, which was a huge deal and not to be taken lightly.
‘Hardly, but, like a month to get over an ex is standard. You could have pretended that you were a bit cut up about it.’ All the hurt was welling up again and it was almost a relief to think about something that hadn’t occurred in Vaughn’s office.
‘Look, I was upset,’ Liam said, leaning closer so Grace could see the deep hollows under his eyes which she’d used to stroke with her thumbs when they were in bed. ‘You have to know that those first few weeks that we were together, I was so into you.’
It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. ‘Then why did you stop?’
Liam shrugged. ‘Don’t know. It’s what we keep coming back to, isn’t it? Something wasn’t right.’
‘You mean
I
wasn’t right?’
I
wasn’t right?’
He was trying; Grace had to give him that. ‘You just weren’t there, Gracie. Like, I never got to see the real you and it didn’t even seem like you were that into me until I broke it off. I really didn’t think you’d be this bothered.’
Grace felt as if Liam had stuck a pin in her and she was slowly deflating until there’d be nothing left but a little pile of skin and hair and one hundred per cent cotton. ‘Well, I thought I put some serious effort into our relationship,’ she said in surprise, and she must have been looking all kinds of hurt because Liam gave her knee a gentle pat.
‘Maybe relationships shouldn’t be such hard work,’ he mused. ‘Like, if you’re right for someone then shouldn’t everything fall into place really easily?’
‘Don’t ask me. I realise I don’t know a thing about making someone else happy. Like, I knew you were going off me but I was powerless to do anything about it.’ It was probably because she was drunk and her defences were down, but Grace was pleased that she and Liam could give their three months a proper goodbye. ‘I’m going to end up alone, I just know it.’
‘Don’t be such a drama queen,’ Liam drawled, giving her another sideways smirk, and Grace remembered how he could usually tease her out of her bad moods. ‘Yeah, we didn’t work out, but some other guy will come along and he’ll think you’re ace. And we should be friends, Gracie. I need to have someone to bitch to when Dan starts trying to make me plan stag weekends and write best man speeches.’
They sighed in tandem at the hell that awaited them as the wedding got nearer. ‘Well, I s’pose you can never have too many friends.’ Grace paused as she debated whether she should roadtest Liam’s declaration of friendship. ‘So, if we’re friends, then can I ask you something as a friend? Something guy-related so I can get a male perspective on it?’
‘What guy?’ Liam asked suspiciously, like he was suddenly having trouble letting go of the boyfriend mindset.
‘This rich, older guy who bought me a designer handbag.’
‘Lily told me about that perv who picked you up in Liberty’s,’ Liam snapped. ‘He’s only after one thing.’
His reaction wasn’t exactly encouraging but Grace wanted to tell somebody, even if it was Liam.
Especially
as it was Liam. ‘If I tell you this, then you have to promise you won’t blab to anyone. Which mostly means Lily and Dan.’
Especially
as it was Liam. ‘If I tell you this, then you have to promise you won’t blab to anyone. Which mostly means Lily and Dan.’
Maybe it was the conspiratorial, low voice Grace used or the hand on his leg but Liam nodded, his mouth hanging open.
So Grace hit him with the highlights, drawing a discreet veil over anything that might have happened in the back of a limousine, and concentrating on the moral implications of letting the rich, older, strangely attractive, art-dealer guy who owned successful businesses in London and New York pay for the pleasure of her company.
‘So, what do you think?’ she asked anxiously. ‘It’s kinda surreal, isn’t it?’
Liam looked like he’d just witnessed a ten-car pile-up, which was deeply satisfying because it would be a while before he became a friend rather than a former boyfriend. ‘I think it’s fucking degrading. You’re not going to take him up on it, are you?’
‘Well, no . . .’
‘You can’t fuck someone just because they’re going to buy you some expensive shoes!’
‘I fucked you and all you ever bought me were a couple of cans of Stella and the condoms if I really nagged.’
‘But . . . but . . . but at least I . . . respected you!’
‘Oh, come on, Liam! You never took me anywhere nice, you never paid for anything, you took a picture of my tits on your camera phone and showed it to all your mates - how was that respecting me? At least he’s being honest about it.’
‘So you are going to do it, then?’
‘No!’ Grace pulled her fingers through her hair and groaned. ‘I don’t know. I’m hammered and thinking is really hard right now.’
Liam stood up solely so he could look disapprovingly down at Grace. ‘I might not have been the best boyfriend in the world but that’s no reason to give up on relationships and get into something this shady. He’s treating you like a whore.’
‘No, he’s not!’ Grace snapped immediately, though hadn’t she been thinking exactly the same thing? ‘You’re making out that it’s sordid and all to do with sex, and it’s not like that at all. He happens to think that I’m talented and he’s giving me sort of like a . . . an Arts Council grant to develop myself.’
The champagne had made everything glitter. Now it was wearing off, leaving Grace as flat as the dregs in her glass. Liam stopped boxing her in and took a step backwards. ‘God, it’s a fuck of a lot of money though. Five grand a month?’
Grace nodded frantically. ‘Plus a clothing allowance. And it would be, like, maybe six months out of my entire life, which is nothing really. I could pay off all my debts and—’
‘You are not doing this, Grace,’ Liam growled. ‘C’mon, babes, you’re too good for a creep like that.’ He was looking at her like he used to during those few weeks when she was the centre of his world.
‘You’re right,’ Grace sighed. ‘I know you’re right. I was just saying, is all.’ She drained the last mouthful of champagne. ‘But it’s not that bad being a mistress. ’Cause half the women on the party pages in the
ES Magazine
are mistresses and they don’t seem like skanks. Or what about those girls who go out with fugly guys just ’cause they’re Premier League footballers? They get given newspaper columns and no one judges them for anything except their crappy dress sense. And it would have been cool in this Holly Golightly way - we’re not even talking about fifty dollars for the powder room but five grand! Hey, did you know that Marilyn Monroe was meant to be in that film instead of Audrey Hepburn, but then she died?’
ES Magazine
are mistresses and they don’t seem like skanks. Or what about those girls who go out with fugly guys just ’cause they’re Premier League footballers? They get given newspaper columns and no one judges them for anything except their crappy dress sense. And it would have been cool in this Holly Golightly way - we’re not even talking about fifty dollars for the powder room but five grand! Hey, did you know that Marilyn Monroe was meant to be in that film instead of Audrey Hepburn, but then she died?’
He didn’t know and couldn’t have cared any less. ‘You’re totally rat-arsed,’ Liam stated, sounding pleased that it was the alcohol talking and that common sense would prevail once the hangover kicked in.
‘Whatever,’ Grace mumbled listlessly. ‘I’m starting to sober up and I feel like crap.’
He held out his hand. ‘Come on, let’s share a cab home.’
chapter ten
Grace wasn’t sure what woke her. It could have been the need to glug down three pints of icy cold water because it felt as if someone had emptied a slagheap into her mouth. Or the sun glaring in through the open curtains. Or Liam’s hard-on digging into the small of her back.
Actually it was all of the above, but mostly Liam’s hand dive-bombing between her legs.
Grace had very little recollection of events after she’d staggered out of the bar wrapped around Liam, who’d been the only thing between her and the pavement. But somehow he’d managed to put her in a taxi (Grace was pretty sure he’d rifled through her purse to pay for it), got her home, took off all her clothes, pulled out the sofabed and was now trying to have sex with her. To think she used to accuse him of not being goal orientated enough.
‘What are you doing?’ Grace’s voice was muffled by the pillow, as she tried to wriggle away from his fumbling hand.
His mouth latched on to the back of her neck in a hot-breathed, wet kiss that made her flinch. ‘C’mon, Gracie, for old times’ sake.’
‘Shut up and go back to sleep.’ Grace grabbed the edge of the bed and hauled with all her might because Liam was slobbering over her shoulder and it was too early for this. ‘I’m tired and I’m trying very hard not to throw up.’
Liam kept butting his dick against her like a dog with a wet nose that wanted stroking. ‘I’ve got condoms,’ he offered generously, because going bareback was a Grace deal-breaker. Considerate of him to remember.
‘Go back to sleep,’ Grace rasped, and now she was wide awake and wishing she wasn’t.
‘Grace . . .’ Liam was whining now and trying to find her clit, though he was a good few centimetres off. ‘Look, this was always good between us.’
Yeah, keep clinging to that illusion, Grace thought to herself, but she wriggled free of Liam’s hands so she could roll over. ‘What happened to just being friends?’
Liam was already trying to fit their bodies together, entwining his legs with Grace’s. ‘Friends with benefits,’ he clarified, leaning in to try to kiss her, though Grace winced as the smell of morning breath assaulted her. She was pretty sure that her own didn’t smell much better.
‘Don’t “friends with benefits” me,’ she said, rubbing the back of his neck to take the sting out of her words. ‘Look, you go and brush your teeth, then I’ll brush my teeth and if you make me a cup of tea while I’m doing it, we can have a cuddle. But I’m putting my knickers back on.’
‘Cuddle with knickers off and I’ll make you toast too,’ Liam offered, clambering out of the sofabed, which creaked alarmingly.
‘It’s not a negotiation, Liam,’ Grace said, as she watched him pad across the room. He did have a nice arse - malleable yet firm, even though he lived on fried food and did absolutely no exercise. ‘And two sugars, please.’
They’d ended up having sex, because the cuddling just hadn’t worked out. Contrary to popular belief, sometimes Grace did like to hug and cuddle and just be held in someone’s arms for the sheer comfort of being held. But it hadn’t worked this time. Something had come between them - Liam’s penis, which had made its presence felt and Liam’s face contort like he was in pain until Grace had taken pity on both of them.
‘Go on,’ she’d sighed, pulling free of Liam’s embrace so she could slide her knickers off. ‘Just this once, but don’t think we’re going to make it a regular thing.’
Sex with Liam certainly wasn’t good enough to ever become a regular thing, and he’d given her a lovebite. Grace only noticed it once he’d left after a brief hug and a promise to call her.
Then she’d had to wait ages to get into the bathroom as Eileen from the ground-floor flat was doing her weekly scrub with her bucket of cleaning fluids, though Grace didn’t know why she bothered. When she finally heard Eileen trudge back to her own two lonely little rooms, Grace locked herself in the bathroom and as she waited the twenty minutes for the tub to fill up, there was nothing to do but either stare at the lovebite in the cracked mirror above the cracked sink or stare at the avocado tiles and stained grouting.
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