Any Way You Want Me (8 page)

‘Oh, right,’ I said, struggling to remember what campaign she was working on. Becca was a creative in advertising. A creative
what
, I had often wondered, but it seemed to be just a one-word job title.

‘The new Renault,’ she added. ‘For men on the move!’

I giggled. ‘Is that really the slogan?’

‘No, that’s just what we call them. Men who wet their pants over big engines, revs, horsepower, all that nonsense. Anyway, I’m not going to talk about that all night. How are you?’

‘Well,’ I started, planning to launch into my excitement about tracking down Danny on the internet. Then I caught the cabbie’s eye in the mirror and changed my mind at the last minute. I didn’t feel like talking about it in front of him somehow, so I told her about our night at Julia and Mark’s instead.

To be honest, it was quite refreshing to have something to talk about that Becca might actually be interested in. Before Molly was born, we had sneered about how dull women became when they hit motherhood. ‘Promise me you’ll tell me if I get like that,’ I’d begged her. ‘Shoot me if I start telling you about poo or sick or romper suits, like they’re remotely interesting.’

‘You don’t have to ask, babe, of course I will,’ she’d agreed. ‘That goes for gory details of the birth, too. If I so much as
hear
the word “stitches”, our friendship is officially terminated.’

Since I’d crossed the line into parenthood, though, that conversation had never been referred to by either one of us. I didn’t know if she was too kind to remind me of it, or if she thought I was in too deep to drag back to sanity. I
did
know that I’d mutated into one of those very women we used to scoff at. I’d moved to the other side, changed teams. While I could talk in encyclopaedic detail about breastfeeding and potty training and language development, Becca still talked about hot dates, nightclub binges, and holidays in Third World countries. We were like different species.

Becca shuddered at my descriptions of Julia and Matthew. ‘Ugh! She sounds like some sort of power-dressed ogress,’ she grimaced.

‘She was,’ I said. ‘The sort of woman who kisses you on the cheek, then doesn’t bother telling you she’s left an enormous lipstick print there.’

Becca nodded. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’ She pulled out a compact mirror and checked her own lipstick. ‘
He
sounds rather nice, though,’ she added.

‘Who, Matthew?’ I said incredulously. Maybe I’d been too generous when I was describing him. Maybe I should have spelled him out in more obvious terms. Read my lips:
Womanizing, booze-mottled, lecherous old piss-head
. . .

‘No, he sounded hideous – Mark. Mark sounded nice.’

I was silent for a second. Mark. ‘Yeah. He was, actually. He was lovely.’

‘Fifteen pounds forty please, gels,’ the cab driver said, pulling up outside a glass-fronted building.

I tried to pay for it, but Becca pushed my pound coins away. ‘I’ll get it. No, honestly. I’ll put it on expenses. Could I have a receipt, please?’

‘Now,’ she said, as we walked up to the door. Swanks, it was called, and it certainly looked incredibly swanky inside, all immaculate white and bleached wood. ‘This is meant to be a bit special, so I hope you’ve got your celeb-spotting goggles on. Did you see the review it got in
Time Out
?’

I shook my head, not bothering to add that there wasn’t really much point in my buying
Time Out
these days.

She made a circle with her thumb and first finger and held it up. ‘Top-notch.’ She grinned. ‘Oh, Cat, hi! We were just about to go in.’

Cat hugged me and kissed Becca on the cheeks. ‘Let’s do it, then,’ she said.

Over our food – top-notch indeed – we got down to the business in hand. Gossip.

‘How’s your love-life then, Bec?’ Cat asked.

A smirk slid over Becca’s face. Her mouth twitched. ‘Pretty shag-tastic, thanks for asking,’ she said.

‘Tell us!’ Cat demanded.

‘Who?’ I asked. ‘Since when?’

‘Star sign, job, sex-factor rating,’ Cat added, all in one breath. ‘Now.’

Becca spluttered. ‘Easy, girls,’ she said. ‘He’s called Nick. He was what you might call a sperm-of-the-moment decision.’

Now it was my turn to choke on my drink. ‘Becca!’

Cat’s eyes had lit up and she had put down her fork in anticipation. ‘Tell. Us. More,’ she insisted. ‘Where did you meet him?’

‘Browns,’ Becca said. ‘Work leaving do on Monday. I came, I saw, I conquered.’

‘And then you came again,’ Cat giggled.

‘Exactly.’The smugness was practically visible; it was coming off her like steam. ‘It was a bit embarrassing, actually. I was quite drunk and eyeing up the talent with my mate Polly. I spotted Nick and said to her, “Right, I’m having him.” Only thing was, I said it a bit loudly.’

We rocked with laughter. ‘Oh, no!’

She grinned. ‘Oh, yes. He winked at me and said, “I heard that,” very pointedly. I thought I was going to
die
on the spot, and there’s Polly absolutely wetting herself laughing at me. But . . .’ She shrugged. ‘It worked. I did have him. And he’s lovely.’ She smirked and twizzled some rocket leaves round with her fork. ‘And he’s
wadded
.’

‘Of course,’ Cat nodded. ‘Wouldn’t expect anything else.’

‘So what happens now?’ I asked. ‘Seeing him again?’

She munched through her leaves. Becca was one of the few people I knew who actually chose to eat salad because she liked it, not just because it wasn’t fattening. The freak. ‘
Seen
him again already,’ she said. ‘Last night. He took me to Nobu.’

‘Ooooh,’ we chorused. Blimey, even I’d heard of Nobu.

‘Oooh indeed,’ Becca said. ‘Do you know, I really really like him. He made me laugh. And he’s good in bed as well. He makes me feel like . . .’ She broke into song. ‘Like a natchural wooooman . . .’

Her cheeks were flushed as she waved her microphone fork around. Sparkly eyes. An I’ve-had-fab-sex-in-the-last-twenty-four-hours glow in her skin.

‘Well, I’m very happy for you and not jealous at all,’ I said, trying to keep the sigh out of my voice. All that sex and romance and giddiness . . . It had been a long time since I’d felt like that. My cheeks were only flushed from alcohol, and shouting at my children these days.

‘I’ve got some news too,’ Cat said. ‘Tom and I are going to move in together. A domestic tom-cat, as he put it.’

‘Ooooh!’ Now it was my and Becca’s turn to be the
Trisha
-audience-style chorus.

That
was
good news. Tom was lovely. Cat had been with him for years, but it had been quite on-off, on-off – mainly because they both had feisty firework tempers and the kind of rows where one person stormed out or threw books at the other one’s head or said horrible, hurtful things that made the other one cry and say even more horrible, hurtful things back.

Cat had always been charming and lovable in my eyes, though. She was the sweet youngest sister, as opposed to the sensible oldest sister (Lizzie) and the awkward, troublesome middle one (me). Cat was the kind of person that everyone adored. She had long blonde hair, green eyes and freckles and a nose that scrunched up when she laughed. If you strayed into her bad books, though, ouch – you knew about it. That cat could scratch.

‘That’s brilliant, really brilliant, Cat,’ I said warmly, squeezing her hand across the table. ‘His place or yours?’

‘Neither,’ she replied, grinning back. ‘We’re going to sell up and buy somewhere new. Somewhere that’s ours. It’s so grown-up it’s terrifying. Which is why we’re going to have a fuck-off-great, month-long, young-guns holiday first, to cushion the blow.’

‘Like it,’ Becca nodded. ‘Anywhere in mind?’

I poked my cutlery around my plate and tried not to listen
too
hard as Cat started telling us about her plans for India, how she couldn’t wait to get back there, how she was desperate for a sunny beach to lie on, Goan fish curries, haggling for rugs in Anjuna market, palm trees, cold beers on the balcony at the Panjim Guest House . . .

I slugged my wine down. ‘Shall we get another bottle?’ I said, interrupting Cat’s
Passage to India
monologue. There was only so much jealousy I could deal with in one evening, after all. Any more of this and I’d be forced to run out of Swanks screaming and crying and checking myself into the nearest loony bin. Or something.

‘Have we finished it already?’ Becca asked, picking up the bottle and peering through the murky green glass. ‘That didn’t take long.’

As she waved a hand to the waitress, I noticed somebody staring at me across the room. He looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t place him. Blue eyes, sharp shirt, sexy cheekbones. Was he one of the dads from Molly’s playgroup scrubbed up for a night out? Someone Alex played football with? He was smiling and waving, and then he made one hand into a phone shape and held it up to his ear. ‘Call me,’ he mouthed.

Then I remembered. Jack.

Oh my God, it was Jack from the other night, the one I’d lied to, the one I’d told I was a scriptwriter! I smiled back quickly and nodded and turned around to the table, heart thudding uncomfortably. Shit. I hadn’t expected to see him ever again, let alone a week or so later.

Cat kicked me under the table. ‘Who is
that
piece of eye candy over there you’ve just been flirting with?’ she hissed. ‘Don’t tell me you’re doing the dirty on Alex?’

‘No!’ I could feel my ears turning red and the blush sinking down into my neck. ‘He’s just . . .’

‘Go on, Sade, you can tell us. He
is
nice. Out of ten, I’d definitely give him one.’

‘Cat, stop it! And stop staring!’ I was giggling like a ten-year-old with nerves. ‘He’s someone I met, that’s all. Nothing more than that. Nothing.’

‘Well, he keeps looking over here,’ Becca said. Then she frowned. Remembered. ‘Hang on – isn’t he the guy who was in the Prodigal the other night?’

I nodded. ‘Yes, he is. Jack.’

Cat’s eyes were so wide, I could see the whites around her pupils. ‘Oh yeah? So what happened with you and Jack? Why is he telling you to call him?’

Becca leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin resting on her hands. ‘Yeah, Sade. Why
is
he telling you to call him?’

I put down my cutlery, cleared my throat. I had to explain, then. There was no way they were going to let me off without giving them every single detail.

‘So what’s going to happen now?’ Cat wanted to know when I’d finished.

‘Nothing!’ I said hotly. ‘Look – his number went through the wash, didn’t it? I can’t ring even if I wanted to. And, of course, just a small detail, I
don’t
want to.’

‘Of course,’ Becca said, nodding her head, lips pressed together in a smug smile.

‘Oh, of course,’ Cat agreed. ‘Turn down a babe like that? Of course.’

‘Stop it,’ I groaned. ‘Look, I’m a responsible mum, I’m settled down with my long-term partner, I’m . . .’

Then I thought about the alter ego I’d invented on the website. The Sadie who worked at Channel 4, the Sadie who had chosen career over kids, who larged it up every night. Jack was just the kind of man she’d go for, wasn’t he?

Sod it.

I stood up. ‘Just a minute,’ I told them and walked off.

What’s she doing?’ I heard Cat saying behind me. Her voice had gone up an octave.

‘Is she going over
there
?’ Becca asked incredulously.

She was. I was. All the way to Jack’s table. It’d be worth it just to see their faces.

‘Hi, Jack – oh, sorry to interrupt, everyone,’ I said sweetly. I batted my eyelashes, glad of the extra-length mascara I’d whacked on them. ‘Jack – I’m so sorry I haven’t called. I managed to lose your number. Could you give it to me again, please?’

Someone at the table sniggered. The old ‘give it to me’ phrase always appealed to someone’s juvenile humour. Had I said it deliberately? I wasn’t even sure myself.

Jack pulled out a business card and pressed it into my hand. ‘Now, don’t lose it again,’ he ordered, pretending to frown and be stern. ‘And ring me!’

‘Thanks,’ I said, smiling as prettily as I could. ‘I will.’

I turned and sashayed back to my table, aware that Jack and all his mates were watching me. So, too, were my mates. With open mouths practically dragging on the linen tablecloth.

‘Sadie Morrison, are you going to phone him? For real?’ Cat asked, half-giggly, half-disapproving.

‘She’s messing around,’ Becca said, but her voice was uncertain. She caught my eye. ‘Aren’t you, Sade?’

I shrugged. I was enjoying this. I’d forgotten how much I liked being part of the gossip. The troublesome middle sister seemed to be doing her damnedest to climb out from her confines these days. I’d missed her. ‘I’m not sure,’ I said in reply to both of them. ‘Oh, good, here comes our wine. Cheers!’

I didn’t get home until midnight. God, I loved girly nights out. It had been so long since I’d had a proper one. Far too long. When we left the restaurant, around ten, I’d phoned Alex, asking him to give Nathan some formula milk for his last feed. I was having far too good a time to go home now. I didn’t want to go home. Ever again. When Alex agreed to the formula idea, I told him he might as well make up a bottle for the morning as well.

‘What – you mean, you won’t be feeding him yourself tomorrow morning?’ he asked.

I sighed, trying not to feel exasperated. ‘Alex, I’m pissed. I’m going to be . . . ow!’

I whisked around to see Jack’s grin as he sauntered past. He had pinched my bottom.
Jack
had just pinched my bottom. While I’d been on the phone to
Alex
. I sobered up suddenly. What was I doing? I had completely led on this strange man and now he . . . Oh, fuck. Sadie, get a grip.

‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing, nothing,’ I said quickly, pulling faces at Cat and Becca to try to stop them laughing as they leaned against the restaurant front. ‘Go on, Alex, give me a break. You said you were working at home tomorrow, so please let me have a bit of a lie-in, oh PLEEEEASE . . .’

‘Well . . .’

‘Look, get up with Nathan for me and you’ll be on a promise for the weekend. OK?’ I stuck my tongue out at Cat and Becca, who were practically on the floor by now.