A Moral Dilemma: A Romantic Comedy Chick Lit Story (25 page)

“
You have one new message
,” the automated voice came back. “
Press one to listen to your message, press two to
…”
My fingers stabbed repeatedly at the number one, and I squeezed my eyes shut when I heard his voice.

“Rebecca it’s Charles. Look, sorry I haven’t been in touch but…these past few days have been…well, quite turbulent to say the least. Anyway look, I really need to see you. I need to…talk to you about something.” My heart knocked in my chest. Isabella must’ve told him what I’d been doing! But no…he didn’t sound at all alarmed…he sounded…almost hopeful. “…I’m in New York on business for the next few days, but I’ll be back on Thursday, and I’m really hoping we can get together that evening? Ahem… Well, if you’re busy, I’ll understand…maybe we could meet on Friday? Anyway, call me back when you can. Bye.” I held the wretched BlackBerry close against my chest and felt an unexpected impulse to start giggling. Suddenly
feeling invigorated, I bounded off the sofa, into the bathroom and started washing the make-up off my face. Well, I didn’t want to be getting any spots now did I?!

C
hapter Seventeen

“Oh my god! It’s all my fault! It’s karma! What am I going to do Becky?!” Julia looked as if she was about to burst into tears, which seeing as how I only had a thirty minute lunch break, and knowing just how long a Juju sob can go on (ages!), I really didn’t have the time for it. I knew I should never have agreed to meet up with Julia for crisis talks during a lunch break. Crisis talks with Juju were like the UN Summit. They could potentially go on for days! But she’d been calling my mobile all morning whilst I was in the treatment room, and when she left a message with Lauren saying she needed to talk to me urgently, and was sitting in Starbucks down the road, waiting for me to finish work, I couldn’t very well leave her sitting there all day now could I? Well, actually, I could have. But that would’ve been mean.

“Julia,
calm down
,” I said firmly, with hands gripping and steadying her shoulders, which had started to heave, an imminent sob alert. “Now, take a deep breath,” I said in my most soothing therapeutic sounding voice. Juju breathed in deeply. “And…breathe out.” She then exhaled, quite dramatically, sounding more like a horse neighing than the graceful silent sigh my clients usually delivered. A group of trendy moms sipping lattes, with toddlers strapped in designer buggies, seated nearby, suddenly lost interest in their own humdrum conversation, and shot a few amused ‘drama alert’ glances our way. Not good. This situation needed to be contained. “Good,” I soothed encouragingly. “Feel better?” Julia’s head started nodding. Quite fast. “
OK
…”
I started cautiously, “Calm?”

“Calm
,” she murmured, giving a strained little smile.

“So….do you want to tell me what’s going on?” desperately hoping that she’d say no! That she’d changed her mind. That it’ll keep. At least until after I’d finished work!

“Sebastian’s cheating on me!” she wailed, all semblance of any calmness disappearing. The trendy moms nearby, started raising eyebrows and widening eyes.

“What?!” I hissed as loudly as possible. “Juju, the last time we spoke, it was
you
who was cheating on Seb!” I threw out, with lowered voice and gritted teeth.

“I know! I know! And I hate myself for it!”
She snatched a napkin off the table and blew her nose. “I’ve been trying to reconnect with him, but he just won’t let me get close. He literally pushes me away! Seb has NEVER pushed me away! And he’s always meeting up with
her
! Coming home late at night, reeking of
her
perfume!”

“Meeting up with who?!” feeling my eyebrows starting to furrow.

“She’s always wanted him!” she ranted defiantly between sobs. “Always! And do you know what Becky? I honestly believe that
HE
has always wanted her too!”

“Always wanted who?!” I snapped, annoyed that my brows were still furrowing and more than likely causing a semi-permanent crease! Which I absolutely did not want to have for my
date
meeting with Charles tonight!

“It was bound to happen! At the back of my mind I always knew it would! I always knew he would end up having an affair with
her
!”

“Julia!” I said crossly, ignoring the tables of curious, whispering spectators around us. “Having an affair with WHO?!”

“With Abigail! Seb’s having an affair with Abigail!”

By the time I got back to the salon, my whole head was throbbing. For once, I was actually grateful for the amount of client records and treatment notes we each had to do, as it provided me with the perfect excuse to hide away in the staff room for an hour in between clients. I slumped myself down at the lunch table, and spread my files out all around me, pen poised, with the purposeful look of someone hard at work, but with the actual intention of doing absolutely none. I pressed my forehead against the palm of my hand, as if this gesture in itself would help me to connect the fragmented, jumbled up dots of life, as I once knew it. Normality was beginning to spiral
way
out of control. There I was, firmly planted smack bang in the middle of my own moral dilemma, being dragged, heels first right into the centre of another!

I thought about calling and asking her straight:
Are you fucking Seb
? But knew it was highly unlikely I’d get a straight answer. Julia had to be wrong. Torn, because of her own guilty conscience, she must’ve started having ultra paranoid delusions. That’s it! Julia’s been imagining the whole thing.

There.

Mystery solved.

Hmmm. But why would Seb have been sneaking around late at night with Abby? And what
really
happened at the infamous sleepover?

Seb’s having an affair with Abby?! It couldn’t be true. She wouldn’t! Well…
actually
…NO! Not even Abby’s moral compass could be so warped! Abby and Juju are friends!
Were
. Were friends. And Abby and Seb… Well, Abby and Seb are…just friends! Friends, who
used
to be lovers.

Oh. Gawd!

“You’re not fooling anyone you know.” Portia came into the staff room, perched herself on a bench, and started unbuckling her five inch heels. “It’s obvious
you’re not really working on any of that.” She gestured dismissively toward my rather impressive pile of client files, scattered across the table.

“Oh really,” I deadpanned.

“Yes. Really. The question is though,” she started mischievously, “what
are
you working on Rebecca Hardy? What exactly
are
you up to?” I knew exactly what she was referring to, and it had absolutely nothing to do with client notes. She’d been passing these snide comments all week. Indirect, yet direct, comments about me, somehow being involved with Charles Coombs.
Wonder why Isabella Coombs cancelled you Rebecca? Been out dancing lately Rebecca? You’ll never guess what Johnny’s been telling me about Mr and Mrs Coombs, Rebecca.
I told her that no, I couldn’t guess. And further more didn’t want to. And no. I didn’t want her to tell me the juicy gossip about them. I didn’t want to hear anything. Not from Portia. I wanted to wait. Until this evening. When I would hear it from Charles myself. And although I didn’t have a clue as to what ‘
it
’ was I would hear, I knew that I wanted to, needed to hear it. From Charles. Himself.

For some inexplicable reason, which made absolutely no sense whatsoever, I found that Charles Martin Coombs was dominating my thoughts both day and night! I mean, sure; there was a kiss…
well
quite a few to be precise. And yes, they were nice…
actually
they were very
very
nice. And OK, admittedly Charles is a bit different to most the guys I’ve ever known…to be honest he’s a complete freaking contrast! I’ve only ever really known ‘guys’, lads, boys, twats and complete arseholes (Jeremy!). But Charles…Charles is…a man. A real grown up, confident, extremely attractive, and sexy man. Erm, let me rephrase that: A real grown up, confident, extremely attractive and sexy MARRIED man! So, like I said; there’s no reason whatsoever why he should be in my thoughts at all! Yet still, he was. Quite a lot.

“Earth to Rebecca…” Portia sing-songed, standing in front of the table I had spread myself out on, snapping her fingers and drawing me out of a daze. I looked up at her. She cocked her head to one side, “You OK?”

“Hmm um.”

She hesitated, then asked quietly, “Are you going to see Charles again?” I thought about telling her it was none of her damn business, but the look on her face told me that she wasn’t just prying, she really seemed to be genuinely concerned.

“I’m seeing him this evening,” I sighed, expecting the inevitable
he’s a married man!!
scolding, yet again.

“Good,” she smiled. “Very good.”

Although I’d met up with Charles several times before, meeting up with him this evening seemed a little strange. Firstly, Isabella didn’t know about this meeting. Going on a date with her husband, without her consent, didn’t seem quite right, but didn’t seem wrong either. And to be fair, I wasn’t really going on a date with Charles, I was simply meeting up with him because
he’d
said he wanted to discuss something with me. Not that he wanted to take me out. So I guess in a sense you could call it a business meeting…of some kind. There. That sounds better. Secondly, we weren’t meeting in some swanky top restaurant or chic City bar, Charles had explained that he literally only had a couple of hours as he needed to catch a flight from City Airport this evening, so we had arranged to meet at a pub in Islington. I didn’t know this particular pub, but figured; once you’ve seen one… And thirdly, Isabella hadn’t chosen or bought the outfit I was wearing this evening. I had. Technically I wasn’t ‘working’ for her anymore, so I could wear whatever the hell I wanted. I could now dress in my usual casual style, as opposed to the prima donna I’d been masquerading as, and really be myself. Which may, or may not, be a good thing.

I stood in reception with Mrs Ellis, my pamper day client, smiling passively and nodding dutifully, as she banged on and on about something or other, sneaking glances at the wall clock, all the time thinking:
I. Need. To. Go!!!.

“So I may need to change next month’s appointment,” she trilled, “but I’m not certain. I do prefer to stick to a routine, you know. It really does throw me completely out of sync when I miss a pamper day.” I started subtly steering her toward the door, my smile now frozen on my face, still nodding. “What I
may
do is to see if I can catch a later flight,” subtly opening up the door for her, desperately wanting to just push her out of it! “…but of course then I’d arrive in Geneva far too late.” A quizzical look crossed her face as she realised we were now standing in the open doorway. “Oh, Well then. Here we are. Toodle-oo Rebecca!”

Bye,” I said brightly, snapped the door shut behind her and dashed into the staff room. “Fuck! I’m going to be late!” I threw out to no one in particular as I hopped to my locker whilst taking off my pumps.

“It’s only 5.30pm,” Lauren offered helpfully, but not helpfully, if you know what I mean.

“Exactly
! I have a meeting,
a business meeting
, with Charles at six!”

She opened her mouth to say something, but gave me a look instead.

“Oh, Lauren, please don’t. I am SO late!” struggling to unzip my salon tunic.

“Here,” she sighed, “let me help you” and unzipped me.

“Thank you,” I smiled at her, stepped into my simple jersey bandeau maxi dress and pulled on my Top Shop flip-flops.

“I thought you said you’re meeting up with Charles Coombs?” looking me up and down critically.

“I am.”

Lauren frowned slightly. “Oh,” and then: “Do you want to borrow something of mine Becky?”

I gave a little laugh, “No thank you,” securing my hair in a simple, deliberately messy, chignon. There! I thought, appraising my reflection in the mirror.
Charles Coombs, I would like you to meet Rebecca Hardy. The real Rebecca Hardy.
It’s amazing how liberated one feels when one can truly be one’s true self! When one does not have to dress to impress (nor to seduce), but one can throw any old thing on, and still look absolutely fabulous! Of course, it does help a tad if one is somewhat taller. I studied my reflection, straightened my back, in a fruitless attempt to add a couple inches. And it also helps, just a smidgen, if one has more than an A cup! I started fiddling around with my boobs under the bandeau, trying to push them up to look like a C cup. Epic fail.

“Not even a touch of make-up Becky?” she added timidly.

“No.” No one gets all dolled up to go down the pub at this time of day on a Thursday evening. “No one.”

Islington High Road was literally buzzing. This unusually good weather had seemingly dragged everyone out of work early on a Thursday, and alfresco City diners, with unbuttoned shirts and discarded ties, seated outside quaint little cafes, lined the hectic, raucous pavement. I turned down a side street, heading toward the Rose and Crown pub, where I was supposed to be meeting Charles at 6pm. It was already 6.10pm! I bunched up the bottom of my dress in one hand and picked up my pace. I turned into another little backstreet and suddenly had a strong sense of déjà vu. This was all oddly familiar. I narrowed my eyes as I walked past another pub. Ahaa!! This wasn’t no damn déjà vu! This pub was ‘Wheelers!’ The very same pub where I had caught the cheating Jeremy in action. I laughed to myself, remembering my ridiculous escapade to catch him in the act. Wow! Just to think, I almost didn’t ‘catch’ any proof at all, and would probably still be dating that lying toe-rag! In fact, if it wasn’t for that cheeky Irish barman, I would never really have known just how much of a toe-rag Jeremy was. I quickly peeped into the pub. I really ought to go and thank him. He did me a massive favour and I’m quite sure I didn’t thank him back then. I looked at my watch; 6.15pm. Hmm, no real time for a formal thank you. Perhaps a quick wave would suffice? I hastily scanned the bar searching for him; he wasn’t serving at the bar, and he wasn’t waiting on any tables inside.
Oh, there he is
, I thought happily, as I spotted him out in the courtyard, taking an order from a very cosy looking couple. A very
familiar
,
cosy looking, couple. Oh. My. God. I took a few steps closer, just to be sure, preferably to be wrong. But there was no doubt about it. It was them. He had his arm casually around her shoulders, and she rested her hand lightly on his thigh, as she chatted to the barman. Then, as the barman turned away, Abby snuggled up to him, looking delighted, and Sebastian pecked her lightly on the top of her head.