A Moral Dilemma: A Romantic Comedy Chick Lit Story (2 page)

“I followed Jeremy
,” I managed to whine
spasmodically
, trying to wipe the snot, honestly uncharacteristically, running from my nose. “He was with this girl. Some tramp!” I wailed uncontrollably, gasping for breaths, completely abandoning my usually calming mantra; that
I was a woman of peace and tranquillity
. Evidently, not today!

“
Oh poor Becky.” Julia wrapped her arms around me and I discarded any remaining semblance of graciousness and howled into her shoulder allowing my snot to run free.

“OK darling,” Abby
said coolly, steering us toward the house, “let’s take this inside,” nodding her head toward Mrs Pemberton’s twitching curtains. My meddlesome neighbour had probably heard every word and would no doubt make it her duty to bring the rest of our quiet mews community up to speed. The very thought was just too humiliating and made me howl even louder as Abby shoved me through the front door. Between the two of them they’d managed to locate my keys, get me up to the first floor, into my apartment, out of the wig and onto the sofa.

“Now then,” Julia sat down beside me and patted my lap, “shall I put the kettle on?”

“Oh for chrissakes Julia!” Abby rolled her eyes, already heading over to the drinks cabinet. “She doesn’t need a cup of tea.” Placing Jeremy’s Courvoisier brandy on the table, “Glasses Juju,” she ordered.

“But Becky doesn’t…”
Abby gave her a look, “OK, OK,” and collected three tumblers from the kitchen. Abby gave her another look. “What? I couldn’t find anything else,” she shrugged innocently.

“Now get this down you
.” Abby half filled a tumbler and held it in front of my face. The potency of the Courvoisier wafted up my nose and straight to my head making me feel a little dizzy. I never ever drink brandy…but this was my second quite large measure in one day! Bloody Jeremy had succeeded in turning me into me into an alcoholic to boot! I gulped down the firewater and immediately understood why it was called that, as I felt it scorching my throat on its way down, filling my inside with a curious warming sensation.

“A
arggggh,” I groaned, screwing up my eyes, which were now watering for an entirely different reason.

“Feel better?”
Abby asked. I nodded. “Now, what the bloody hell is going on Rebecca?”

I inhaled. And exhaled.
“Jeremy called me this afternoon to say he was going to stop by his brother Mark’s place after work, and would probably crash there tonight.”

“But Becky darling,” Julia started to
state the obvious to me, “he often stays over at Mark’s place on a Wednesday. They play pool over at Sports Moves. Even my Seb goes over there sometimes. It’s just a boy’s night out darling.” Abby rolled her eyes at her.

“Juju, I
know
this, and that’s why I didn’t have a problem with it.”

“So darling why are you in such a state?”

“Oh for chrissakes Juju!” Abby, now clearly losing her patience. “Do you think you could just let Becky talk for more than ten seconds without interrupting? That way we stand a good chance of actually finding out what this bastard Jeremy has done!”

“Abigail why are you calling Jeremy
a bastard?” poor Juju said in protest. She always felt defensive whenever Jeremy’s honour was bought into question (which it often was by Abby). I guess Juju felt a sense of responsibility seeing as it was her who had introduced me to him in the first place. He was a good friend of Sebastian’s, Julia’s boyfriend, and she had always said that they were cut from the same cloth. And that ‘cloth’ in Julia’s faultless imagination was pure as driven snow.

Abigail turned obstinately toward Julia. “I am calling him a
bastard
Julia, because my best friend is sitting here crying her poor little heart out as a direct result of something
he
, the bastard, has done.”

“But how can you say that? We don’t know what he’s done.”

“And we never bloody well will if you don’t shut up!” My head started to spin.

“Honestly Abigail, there is no need…”

Neither my whirling head nor I could take it any more. “Stop it!” I yelled.

“Sorry darling,” they both said. Finally remembering why they were here.

“Like I said, I didn’t mind the fact he was staying over at Mark’s tonight. But I’d forgotten to leave some food out for Kitty Kat this morning, so had to come back at lunchtime, and that’s when I heard the message on the answer machine.” They looked at me, both dying to ask the question but neither daring to do so. In a very strange and admittedly perverse way, I was quite enjoying this rare undivided attention of both my usually opinionated best friends. I exhaled, for dramatic effect. “The message was from Mark. He said he was having a great time in Aspen and due to the fact that he’d met some ‘
top totty
’ he wouldn’t be back for another week!”

Julia looked confused
. “But how could Jeremy have been staying over at Mark’s if…Mark is in…” And the penny finally dropped. “Oh. My. God!”

“So
, I dressed up in that pathetic disguise and waited for him outside his building.” Abby looked impressed. Julia looked horrified. “He eventually came out…with some strumpet in tow! I followed them to that pub on the corner of Church Street.”

“Wheelers?”
Abby asked.

“Yes. Do you know it?
” She nodded. “Well Jeremy and the strumpet sat outside in the courtyard and they were very
very
intimate.”

“But darling it
could
have been innocent.” Julia ignored Abby’s incredulous stare. “I can’t believe that Jerrers would do anything to jeopardise your relationship. He’ll have a very good explanation. You’ll see.” She gave a reassuring smile.

“I thought the same. Jeremy’s very good at explaining things away. But this time I’ve got the evidence,” and nodded at the camcorder poking itself out of my bag.

“What’s this?” Abby grabbed the camcorder out of my bag and was already turning it on.

“No!” I yelled. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“But haven’t you already…”

“No. I haven’t.” T
hey both looked puzzled. “Long story. Anyway, I want you two to watch it, and then tell me honestly if you think Jeremy has cheated…or is planning to cheat on me. OK?” They nodded and I got up from the sofa, rather unsteadily thanks to the Courvoisier, and swayed out onto the terrace.

Out on the terrace
I flopped down onto the hammock which systematically started gently swinging. It was an unusually beautiful day for London in March. Warm with a nice tender breeze, and transparent blue skies, that looked like a watercolour painting. It was the rare occurrence of days like these that made me appreciate the fact that I’d held my ground and insisted we bought an apartment with some outside space. Finding an apartment for sale with outside space in Central London had proved to be an almost impossible task. Jeremy, who at first wasn’t too fussed about having outside space, became absolutely reticent when he discovered a bit of outdoor space would cost an extra one hundred grand or more. He was quite certain then, that he could live without it. But I could not. I hated the thought of being all cooped up indoors all day, and having to put your shoes on and physically leave your own home to walk in search of a bit of fresh air. I loved being able to wake up in the morning and eat my bran flakes out on the terrace. We had originally wanted to buy a two bedroom apartment for no more than four hundred grand. But after three months of endlessly viewing wholly unsuitable properties in the dodgiest parts of Central London, Jeremy had finally agreed to consider a one bedroom apartment. The agent called soon thereafter to tell us they had just taken on a stunning one bedroom in Warwick Garden Mews, with a “truly amazing roof terrace”, but that we had better be quick because he knew this one would get snapped up. Having already been pipped to the post, on a couple other properties, which we loved, Jeremy and I didn’t need to hear it twice. We got here within the hour. We were already sold on location, with it being just off High Street Kensington, walking distance from some of our favourite bars and restaurants, plus Hyde Park, various galleries and museums close by. But as soon as I saw this beautiful quiet cobbled mews, I knew I wanted to live here. The agent hadn’t exaggerated. It was stunning. Philippe, the guy that owned the apartment, was an interior designer, and had spared no expense in its décor. It was a bright and sunny apartment with high ceilings and had been intelligently laid out to maximise space and light, though Jeremy had thought it to be quite small for the half a million pound asking price. The roof terrace was almost as big as the whole apartment, and with its exquisite decking, designer shrubs and lighting, could easily rival Kensington Roof Gardens. Perfect for entertaining, and it was for us, the deal clincher.

I loved our home. Yes, it was small, but it was ours. We owned it. I had never dreamed I could ever afford to own such a beautiful apar
tment in such a trendy part of Central London. And I know for a fact it would never have happened if I was on my own. My mum always said, “
It takes two to make life dear
.” She should have added: especially if you intend to get on the property ladder in London. I could never have got a mortgage for half a million on my beautician salary, albeit a beautician at London’s most exclusive salon. No amount of creative mathematics with the multiples could have helped me. Even combined with Jeremy’s income it had been a stretch. He had to be very imaginative with his bonus figures for us to have got this mortgage through.

I sighed and closed my eyes
, allowing the warm spring breeze to caress and clear my head. If Jeremy and I were to split up…what would happen to my beautiful home? Would I have to remortgage? Buy him out? But I could never afford it! I started to panic and tried to sit up straight, but the hammock, most definitely not designed for straight sitting, kept throwing me back down. I jumped off and started pacing the terrace. I had to think this through. Right. Now. First of all, I am not going to leave Jeremy. Not unless the footage shows beyond any reasonable doubt that he’s a cheat, which of course, it may not. Humph! Plan B. I’d better have a plan B. If it turns out that Jeremy is in fact a lying cheating toe-rag, then he will have to leave. It’s my home and I’m not leaving and I’m definitely not selling. He can piss off! But what if he wants his share of the equity? According to Mrs Pemberton a one bedroom at the end of the mews sold for six hundred and fifty thousand quite recently, so ours would be more or less the same. That’s over seventy-five grand I’d have to give him! Pah! I couldn’t even find seven grand, yet alone seventy-five! He’d have to agree to forgo any equity payout as penance. Not likely. But I couldn’t expect him to continue contributions to the mortgage if he’s not living here. No worries. I can handle the mortgage by myself…if I never eat, or use a cab, or public transport, ever again! Great. I’ll die of starvation, but at least they’ll find me in a beautiful apartment! But hey, why be so negative. There was always a glimmer of hope wasn’t there? Maybe the barman hadn’t actually heard any incriminating evidence at all and was just winding me up to teach me a lesson…for…for…throwing down the fiver! I don’t know what sick twisted reason he could’ve had. I mean, he never actually said he’d heard anything at all. Oh my good god! That was it! It was a wind up, and I’d fallen for it, hook, line and sinker. Hah! Abigail and Julia probably thought I’d gone completely loopy loo. I ran back into the apartment shouting, “It was a wind up! Jeremy’s innocent isn’t he?” I laughed. Nobody laughed back.

Evidently, Jeremy was not innocent.

“Guilty as charged,” Abby sighed in a ‘told you so’ kind of way. I looked at Julia knowing she was the best barometer of judgement, but she looked completely crushed.

“I’m so sorry Becky,” Julia soothed, “
I cannot believe Jerrers would be so stupid, and only believe it now because I heard it with my own ears.”

“Right then.” I stood in the middle of the room feeling all cried out. “Who wants to help me pack?” and headed off to the bedroom.

“Rebecca you are not leaving are you?!” Abigail was already behind me.

“No. but Jeremy bloody well is.”

“Ugh! What is this
Abby?” I found it hilarious that Julia only asked this question having already downed half the glass of the dark suspicious looking cocktail Abby had given her.

“It’s that
bloody Jeremy’s brandy mixed with, I’m assuming it’s his cola too?” Abby said dryly, looking at me for confirmation. I nodded. Neither of those beverages could ever have been mine. I simply wouldn’t think of even beginning to pollute my body with spirits or cola…well, not until today of course. And today
was
an exception.

We were all flaked out on the slouch couch. It had taken us three hours to pack all of Jeremy’s belongings
ironically
into black rubbish bags. It was amazing how much stuff he had! Clothes mainly. Designer. We had debated whether or not I should cut the sleeves off his Armani suits and Pink shirts. After much goading from Abigail, and protests from Julia, in the end I had decided not to cut, in view of the fact that I would need him to remain fairly civil in regards to the apartment. I sat quietly looking at the rubbish bags of severance, piled high in the hallway, not quite believing that I was in this situation. Yet again!