Bad Friends (27 page)

Around five, I shot home to change, shrugging myself into the beautifully cut Prada suit Bel had steered me towards the week before in Selfridges; and into a rare pair of heels that only served to make me stagger slightly.

Just after six Alex arrived in a black cab, his eyes glittering in a way that alarmed even me. He’d promised he’d knocked the coke on the head last year, but I didn’t like the look of him tonight. He picked up his stack of post from the kitchen table and flicked through it. Then he pulled me into his arms and buried his head in the crook of my neck. His skin was hot against mine in this sultry night, and I felt the butterflies that still fluttered when things were good. The reason I’d failed to walk away yet.

‘God, I’ve missed you, Mag,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘You look amazing, baby.’

He rarely noticed how I looked these days.

‘Really?’ I blushed, stepping back, suddenly shy.

‘Yeah, really. Come here.’

In the shadows he pushed my hair back with a kind of rough tenderness, staring at me silently for a moment. A terrible longing suffused me; a longing for what we’d once had. He leaned down and kissed me like he hadn’t in months. I felt myself start to dissolve.

‘Oh God, Mag,’ he groaned.

‘Isn’t the cab waiting? Your mum will be –’ I tried to concentrate as he pushed me against the wall and kissed me harder.

‘I don’t care,’ he murmured, running his hands up my body, ‘I just want to fuck you senseless.’

‘Alex,’ I gasped, hearing the cab beeping outside but suddenly desperate for him, for the Alex I had first known, ‘Alex, hang on.’ But I didn’t really mean it. ‘I don’t –’ I bit my lip as he yanked my jacket open, ‘I’m – what’s going on?’

‘Nothing.’ But he was edgy, slightly manic, his hands insistent
as he slid one into my waistband. Pulling at his belt, his own breath was jagged as he tugged up my skirt, his fingers on the bare flesh above my hold-ups.

‘God, stockings and the lot,’ Alex muttered, and kissed me even harder, until my lips were almost hurting and I didn’t care any more, I was almost maddened with suppressed desire, desire thwarted recently by his unavailability. I felt a need for him more urgent than I’d ever felt, the ache caused by him habitually ignoring me suddenly as tender as a new bruise. My legs were actually trembling in my stilettos as he yanked me up and shoved me against the sink, fumbling at his own buttons. Impatient now, I reached down to help him as a huge black spider sidled from behind a leaf of the peace-lily on the windowsill. I gazed at it, but I didn’t really see it.

‘Oh God, Alex.’ I bit his earlobe gently with my teeth, wrapping my legs around him now. ‘Oh God, I love you –’

And then suddenly he stopped.

‘What?’ I pressed into him quite frantically, past the point of caring. ‘Don’t stop now, for God’s sake.’

Alex stepped back from me so suddenly that I nearly fell onto my knees, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me. ‘Stockings?’ He stared at me like he didn’t even know me. ‘For my mum’s party?’

‘What?’ I was confused, my mood already plunging. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Why are you all dressed up like that?’

‘For you. I was –’ I felt cheapened by his suspicion. ‘I’ve been looking forward to seeing you, you know.’

‘Right.’ Alex chewed the nail of his middle finger. ‘And you expect me to actually believe that?’

‘It’s too hot for tights.’ I pulled my skirt down and started to button up my shirt, my fingers clumsy. ‘Sorry – what exactly are you trying to say?’

‘I’m not sure, really, Maggie.’ He stared at me like I was some peculiar stranger. ‘I’m really not sure.’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘I
could do with another drink, I know that much.’ Then he turned and, pulling his wallet out, cut himself an enormous line of cocaine on the kitchen table.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ I hissed.

‘What does it look like?’

‘I thought you’d stopped all this?’ I shook my head, bewildered.

‘For Christ’s sake, Maggie, don’t be such a fucking prude. It’s only a bloody line of coke. I bet you’re the only one in your office not bang on it.’

‘What?’

‘You know what. All your bloody media-whore mates.’

‘Shut up, Alex.’ I could hear the doorbell ringing now, laughter outside in the street.

‘I thought you liked a good time, Mag,’ he snapped, rolling up a ten-pound note.

‘It’s not because I’m a prude, you bastard. You know exactly why it is. My mother –’

‘Oh, change the record. I know she was doped up to the eyeballs. So what?’ Alex stared at me and then he snorted that enormous line. ‘Fancy one?’ he mocked, and sniffed massively, pushing the rolled note at me. The queen would blanch now if she could see what she was up to, I thought disjointedly.

‘No, I bloody well don’t,’ I said. The bell rang again insistently.

Alex strode past me, pushing his shirt into his trousers, as unkempt as ever, rubbing his nose. ‘Time to face the music, baby.’ He bared his teeth in a semblance of a grin, but his yellow eyes were full of menace. ‘Tidy yourself up, yeah?’

I looked down to see an enormous ladder running up my filmy hold-up. ‘Shit. Alex, wait!’ I stumbled in my silly heels as I tried to catch his arm, but he was too fast for me. He was already gone.

In the cab the driver was singing along tunelessly to Dolly Parton’s
Jolene
. Alex reached forward and rudely slammed the glass divide.

‘I quite like that song,’ I protested. Alex gave me a look and started opening his post. I couldn’t be bothered to argue: I simply wanted to get through Barbara’s party sober; to get to the Dorchester unflustered; to get the whole bloody night over with, in fact.

Alex tossed letter after bill onto the seat, until, with a nasty lurch, I recognised Malcolm’s scruffy scrawl on the final envelope he held. Without a word, Alex tore it open. Without a word, he read it once. His eyes narrowed. He looked out of the window. We were in the heart of the City now, heading for some swanky restaurant on the river. Still silent, Alex screwed the letter up into a ball and threw it on the floor.

As the cab slowed at a set of lights, I leaned forward and picked it up, smoothing it out. It was short and to the point.

‘Can you stop here, please, mate?’ Alex muttered at the driver, and jumped out into two lanes of oncoming traffic.

‘Alex, wait.’ I paid the driver. By the time I got into the bar, Alex was already halfway through a pint, a whisky chaser glinting on the bar beside it. He handed me a glass. Against my better judgement, I took it. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m not going,’ he said. ‘I’m not in the mood now.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ I soothed, but I was irritated. ‘Your mum will be so upset if you don’t show up.’

‘I just can’t bear to sit in the same room as my bloody father. I don’t get it, Mag. Why the fuck does he hate me so much?’

‘He doesn’t hate you, baby. He – he’s just Malcolm.’

Alex didn’t answer. He just drained his drink and ordered himself another.

‘Look, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to go. I need to –’

‘Don’t leave me on my own, Mag. I don’t mean to be a shit, I don’t really,’ he muttered, kissing the side of my neck so that I shuddered with an emotion I couldn’t immediately place. ‘I need you, baby.’

I slid out of his grasp. ‘I can’t heal you, Alex,’ I said slowly. ‘It’s got to come from you. You’re going to destroy us both if you don’t stop all this soon.’

‘All
what
?’

The air between us curdled as we glowered at each other. A clot of misery swelled in my chest as he grabbed my arm. ‘Maggie? I said don’t go.’

I felt that eerie sensation when you peer down from a great height and see how easy it would be to simply step right off. The feeling you get when you’re almost tempted to do it.

‘I’m going to be late.’

‘You know, Maggie, you think you can save the world with your stupid TV show. But you can’t, baby.’

‘No, you’re right. But maybe I can save myself, Alex.’

I turned and walked out.

I arrived at the Dorchester only slightly late, only slightly drunk, unbuttoning my jacket in the clammy night, dying for another drink now to anaesthetise the pain. Sam and Joseph were waiting in the foyer, hands in suit pockets, both looking rather overwhelmed as bright young things air-kissed and hugged all around them.

‘Come on.’ I indicated the ballroom with my head, suddenly feeling like a Roman general at the Coliseum. Like little lambs, I led those boys to the lions.

Renee was already seated at our table in a hideous gold creation circa 1971, her gnarly hand proprietorial on the arm of a young black guy I vaguely recognised from some music show. I was sure she must have bribed him to accompany her.

‘Hello, I’m Maggie. Drink?’ I grabbed the bottle of Merlot from the middle of the table and waved it so some splashed down my arm. ‘Whoops!’

‘Johnson.’ He reached out a hand to shake mine; he had a nice smile and silver hoops in his ears. ‘Don’t mind if I do, thanks.’

Renee simpered at Johnson, who was still grinning at me. Renee’s simper turned to stone. Gently, Sam took the bottle.

‘Allow me.’

Sam looked very handsome in his tuxedo and much less gawky than normal – if terribly young – his nose still peeling a little from his deep tan, his hair on end, friendship bands peeping from his pristine white cuff. I smiled at him benevolently. I knew I couldn’t teach Joseph anything – he was already arguing with Johnson about the state of the Tory party today, for God’s sake (not Fascist enough for him, probably) – but Sam, well, he might just be the hope of British television. I patted his hand.

‘I’m just going to the loo.’ He flushed beneath his tan and loped off across the chattering room.

‘Bit young for you, Maggie, babes,’ Renee hissed.

‘He’s not
for
me, Renee, at all. And anyway, I could say the same, couldn’t I,
babes
.’ I looked pointedly at Johnson, my smile as glacial as I could manage in the hot night. An executive producer accepted an award for a particularly car-crash edition of
Wife Swap
, his table whooping and looking inappropriately smug. I yawned widely. My mate Naz materialised from behind a pillar as Sam sat down again beside me.

‘Mag! I thought you’d be here.’ She kissed me.

‘How’s it going?’ I refilled my glass and offered her a slurp. ‘Meet Sam, and this is Joseph, and Johnson. And you know Renee, of course.’

‘Hiya all! If you fancy a quick livener, I’m on the
Panorama
table, behind the
Big Brother
lot,’ she muttered in my ear. ‘Those spoddy types are mad for it.’

A big ruddy-faced man appeared behind Sam. ‘All right, Sammy? Enjoying yourself?’

Dickie Crosswell. Sam must have taken after his mother, I thought hazily, smiling at the jolly brick-red face and three chins. He looked like a man who enjoyed life, though he had small eyes sunk like raisins in dough. Sam was flushing gently again.

‘Dad,’ he muttered, head bowed.

Joseph looked sulky as I stood to shake Crosswell’s hand. Crosswell leaned forward and kissed me heartily on both cheeks. ‘You must be the lovely Maggie. Sam’s told me all about you. Keep up the good work.’

It was my turn to blush.

Somewhere between Fern Britton awarding her mate Philip Schofield for Best Entertainment show and Judy Finnegan’s dress NOT falling off – to everyone’s enduring sadness – as she awarded a gurning Davina for most Compassionate Presenter for the ten-thousandth year in a row, I cadged a fag off Johnson and snuck out to the courtyard off the ballroom. I could have been a million miles from London as I stood in the dying light, the hollyhocks
in wooden planters taller than my head, snail tracks slippery and silver over the frayed lower leaves, and lit my first cigarette in months.

‘Maggie,’ his voice made me jump as I coughed, ‘I didn’t know you smoked.’

‘I don’t really any more.’ Hydrangea heads as big as cauliflowers wobbled in the gentle breeze as I ground out the hardly smoked cigarette with my toe, the unfamiliar taste pungent in my mouth.

‘Will you wait while I smoke mine?’ Sam licked his Rizla.

My phone beeped; I ignored it. ‘Give us a drag.’ I held my hand out for his roll-up.

‘Aren’t you going to check your message?’

‘I suppose.’ Listlessly I opened the envelope on the screen.

I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DESERTED ME, YOU TRAITOR.
WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU GO?

Alex.

I shook my head and shoved the phone away.

‘Okay?’

I tried to nod – and failed, bowing my head now as Sam gazed at me; as I realised suddenly that I was crying. Slowly, soundlessly, tears slipped down my cheeks, and I covered my face quickly, ashamed of the naked emotion.

‘Hey, Maggie.’ Sam’s voice was quiet as he slipped an arm around my shoulders. ‘Don’t cry. What’s wrong?’

‘Oh God, sorry,’ I gulped. ‘How stupid. I don’t know really. Everything. Nothing. Just ignore me. I think – I’m just tired.’

I felt a huge yawning emptiness, like a rushing in my ears and I swayed slightly, wiping my tears away as Sam exhaled his smoke. And then he leaned forward and kissed me. I was so surprised I almost fell into the hydrangeas; his lips were soft on mine and I was hesitant. Then he stopped. I opened my eyes slowly and looked into his very green ones.

‘Oh,’ I said quietly.