Breaking Joseph (35 page)

He smiled back.
“I did.”

“Congratulations.”

“Joe,” Ken cut
in, tapping his watch. “We’re going to miss our reservation.”

Joseph glared
at him; he thought I couldn’t see. “I’m being dragged away by my
wife back there,” he said.

“It’s
okay.”

“Bye then,
Leila.”

I pressed my
lips together to stop them wobbling. “Goodbye.”

And he
went.

I gazed after
him as he disappeared into the crowd. The bit of me that controlled
movement had been swept off in his footsteps and it wasn’t for a
few minutes that I realized I was shivering with cold. I wanted him
to glance back, run back,
something…

It seemed
impossible that I’d walked away from him first. On some level, I
took it for granted that he’d come to me with a better effort under
a full moon. I didn’t really believe, then, that he didn’t feel the
same way–just that he was struggling to say it.

And I’d been
wrong.

“Leila!”

There was no
chance to brace myself. Elise whacked into me and I went sprawling
against the wall.

“Oh, crap! I’m
sorry,” she exclaimed, releasing me from the hug and regaining her
balance. “Are you okay?”

I touched a
palm to my forehead. “Yeah. I think.”

“I didn’t think
I’d catch you.” She bounced. “Oh my God. Did they sort that biatch
out already?”

“Poppy? Just
about.” I shifted about awkwardly. The buzz of the street had
turned smothering. “I’m sorry, Lise. About everything.”

Then the tears
started and they wouldn’t stop. I don’t know what was worse–that I
was doing it in public, where everyone at the company could see, or
that I wasn’t really crying just for her.

“Oh, honey.
Don’t be a moron.” She hugged me again, gentler this time. “Come
on, let’s find somewhere for coffee. Let me grab my bag. I’ll be
right back.”

She returned a
moment later with a leather tote in one hand and a wad of tissues
in the other. I followed her to a hotel bar like a lost kitten.

Elise settled
me in a corner booth and ordered me a large gin and tonic. I downed
half of it in one.

“Jesus.” She
laughed in discomfort. “What kind of morning have you had?”

“Eventful.
Awful,” I said honestly. “You?”

“It’s getting
more interesting.” She leaned over to lay a hand on my arm. “Kenji
told me everything, you know. It’s okay.”

I grimaced. “It
is? Really?”

“Yeah. I mean,
don’t get me wrong. I was surprised.” Her eyebrows wiggled as she
smiled nervously. “Okay. More than surprised. A bit shocked. But
you know what? It’s your business, and you’re a clever girl, right?
If Joe is okay with it, then I don’t see why we shouldn’t be.”

“That’s really
sweet. Thank you.” I paused, fiddling with a bar mat. “He and I
aren’t together anymore, though.”

“Oh.” She took
a big gulp of her latte. “I’m sorry. The way he was talking, I
thought you’d made up and all.”

“No…it’s all
right, though.” Wasn’t it? How was Joseph talking, exactly?

I’d never know,
now. Oh fuck.

“I found a new
job, but it’s miles away,” I said. “I move at the weekend.”

“That
quick?”

“Not got much
choice, really.” I sighed, resting my chin in my palm. I wondered
how embarrassingly red my eyes were. “I need to do this.”

She patted my
arm. “I understand.”

It was then
that I noticed the glittering solitaire on her third finger. I
swept it up so the stone flashed in the light.

“Oh my God,
Lise!” I gasped. “It’s gorgeous. When did you get this?”

“I thought you
were never going to notice!” She laughed. “Two weeks ago. It is
gorgeous, isn’t it?”

“Beautiful. I’m
jealous.” Was jewellery classed as a sensible investment? Maybe
Charlotte could buy me a fat rock.

Elise leaned
in. “Will you forgive me for saying I’m a little sad you’re not
doing this with me?”

“Doing? What,
being engaged?”

“Yeah.” A blush
slid along her dainty cheekbones. “I know, I know. I jumped the
gun.”

“Just a bit,” I
managed.

She tipped her
head, chocolate waves cascading over her shoulder. “It’s just that
things were getting so…you know. Fun.”

“Oh, I know,” I
whispered. “You know I only did that because I wanted to,
right?”

Her knee
brushed mine beneath the table. “I know.”

“I’m sure Joe’s
next girlfriend will be just as slutty, if it helps.”

“Oh, shut up!”
She winced. “I’ll bet she won’t be as classy.”

I told her
about Ken coming to see me with his gallant declarations of love; I
expected her to laugh, but she leaned her chin on her hand and
smiled thoughtfully. She couldn’t stay long–they flew back at the
weekend and had a million loose ends to tie up. We swapped email
addresses and promised to stay in touch. I was grateful for it.

Besides, I
didn’t have it left in me to say goodbye to anyone else.

Chapter 20

“So you’re
moving,” Clemmie said, loitering in the doorway.

I nodded. “Will
you come in, you silly cow?”

Her voice
wobbled. “I’m sorry I was a shit, Leila.”

“You weren’t a
shit. I was. Now come in and make me some po.” I would not break. I
would not break…

“Okay.” She
smiled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Best friends,
right?”

“You bet,
whorebitch.” Her hug was so warm and comforting. It felt long
overdue.

“So tell me
everything,” she pressed, dumping a pile of carrier bags on my
kitchen unit. “Everything. Miss nothing out!”

No more
secrets; I let it all spill. I told her about Aidan and the agency.
Matt punching Charlie. My parents knowing about Charlie. Poppy and
Isobel being force-fed a bit of their own medicine. Joseph melting
into a crowd of suits and dragging a bloodied chunk of me
behind.

“You know
what?” She emptied the smoking wok out on two plates. “That’s like
a bad film, or something.”

“An accurate
assessment.” An Aidan-like assessment, even. I carried our wine
glasses through to the coffee table. “Have you thought about taking
the flat?”

“I think I
will. Is that okay?” She pointed back to the kitchen with a fork.
“I’m sorry for unpacking half your stuff just to cook, by the
way.”

“Don’t be
silly. And of course it’s okay.” I handed her a cushion as she
joined me on the sofa. “How’s stuff with James now?”

“Pants. He
moved out last week,” she said glumly. “I can’t stand it there,
though. Too many empty cupboards and walls. I even miss his stupid
squash stuff everywhere.”

“You can have
the keys on Saturday, and if you want help packing, then I’m all
yours.”

“I might take
you up on that.” Her eyes widened over the top of her wine glass.
“I can’t believe you’re moving in with Shares-Your-Desk!”

“I know. Maybe
we should swap? It’s a nice room, you’d love the bed. All
four-poster regency.” I giggled.

“Do you think
he’d let me rape him?”

“I’m not sure
it’s rape if he gives you permission, Clem.”

She sighed.
“Meh, who cares? Let’s eat something fattening and pretend that men
will still want us.”

“Screw that.” I
tapped my fork on my plate. “This is probably the last chance we’ll
get for ages. Shall we go dancing?”

Clemmie arched
a sleek eyebrow. “Are you suggesting that we get drunk and do
debauched things with strange men?”

“I am
suggesting that we get drunk and do debauched things with strange
men.”

“Right. Well.
One condition.”

“I’m not
wearing anything PVC,” I said quickly, laughing.

“No, no.” She
waved her wine glass about. “I want to know some of your prostitute
secrets. What men really want, all that. How to swallow without
gagging. Whether some of them were bum-ugly.” She suppressed a
manic grin, badly. “Tell me they weren’t bum-ugly.”

“If you want
the full treatment–
and
dancing–I think there’s somebody you
ought to meet.” I scrabbled about for my mobile and punched in a
text. “I warn you now, he’s a bit…full on.”

“Is this your
Aidan?”

I nodded.
“Brace yourself.”

I had never
envisioned a point where I might introduce Clemmie and Aidan. Leila
and Charlotte were separate, and that was that. Now, we sank back
in on each other and pulled our relative universes together. I
prayed they would mesh.

Aidan was
working and couldn’t meet us until later. By the time Clemmie had
painted us both, we had an hour to spend in a minimal upmarket bar,
where I treated us to stained glass cocktails made with gold flakes
and Champagne. We eyed suited businessmen over sticks of decorative
fruit and I told her what kind of client each would be: the young,
dark-haired guy with the tattoo on his neck would want to be
trampled with leather boots. The freckled, mid-thirties man in navy
blue probably squealed like a pig while you sucked him.

Then Aidan came
bounding in, all pink-faced and freshly pressed, complaining at the
top of his voice about being bruised to buggery. He took one look
at Clemmie and proclaimed that Thai women were his favourite;
Clemmie, elated not to be called Chinese–or Japanese, or
Korean–flashed white teeth at him and ordered him a drink.

At half past
ten, we spilled out of a cab to a club frequented by poorly dressed
D-list celebrities, and Aidan blagged us to the front of the queue.
Clemmie was smashed by this point and it showed in her dancing–she
was tripping up and flailing all over the place. While Aidan
disappeared to the toilet, she wobbled back from the dance floor,
and plonked herself next to me.

“Your friend,”
she announced, “is actually rather hot.”

“Aidan?” I
said. “He likes boys.”

She paused,
eyes darting about dubiously. “And girls, because either he came
equipped with a large chorizo or he totally had an erection when we
were dancing.”

“Okay, okay. He
likes girls, too. But you cannot cop off with him, Clem.” I wagged
my finger at her. “I won’t allow it!”

She half
leaned, half lurched into me. “Leila, I don’t think you understand.
It was a
really big
erection.”

“What, a few
cocktails and you want to be skewered like kebab meat?” I
laughed.

“Yes.” She
sighed, falling back into the chair. “I want to be conquered like
Gaul.”

“You’re not
shagging him, Clem. It’d just be weird.”

“
Why
?”
The word was a four-syllable whine.

“Because I’ve
shagged him. For work.” Like you do.

“You’re like
the Romans, you cow. You always get there first!” She elbowed me
playfully. “Fine, fine, I won’t shag him. But I reserve the right
to pounce on Shares-Your-Desk if the opportunity ever presents
itself.”

Clemmie was the
only person I knew who could say big words like
opportunity
when rip-roaring drunk. I did love her.

“Who’s
Shares-Your-Desk?” asked Aidan, wriggling in between us.

“Matt,” I said.
“Where is he tonight, anyway?”

He thrust his
phone in front of me. “Hold on. I’ll just log on to my tracking
device…no…” There was a rumble as he cleared his throat. “Just
busy.”

“Bring him next
time,” Clemmie said hopefully.

“You’re
supposed to be fighting over me,” Aidan complained.

“We were,”
Clemmie replied, her fringe bobbing in a sage nod.

He shot me a
devious grin. “You know, there’s always–”

“No!” I
shrieked. “Don’t even mention a threesome. I knew you would.”

Clemmie winced.
“That’d just be wrong.”

“You’re a pair
of spoil sports,” he grumbled, “luring me out and then leaving me
all unfinished.”

“Yeah. Clem
noticed just how unfinished you were,” I sniggered.

“Oh, fuck off.
My cock is awesome.” He turned to Clemmie and grabbed her hand,
dragging it toward his lap.

She squealed
and swatted him.

“You can be
rougher than that!” He chuckled.

I snorted at
her. “Whore.”

“I’m trying it
out.” She giggled. “You’re a bad influence!”

* * * *

The night
passed without anything indecent occurring and we all ended up,
fully clothed, in my bed. Clemmie crept out to do the walk of shame
at seven AM. Not long after, I put the coffee machine on and made
swirly cappuccinos for me and Aidan.

“Is it midday
yet?” he said.

“It’s half
eight.”

“Oh, fuck
that.” He lunged back into my White Company pillowcase and groaned
to himself.

It had been
almost three weeks now but it was still weird, not hopping up at
seven to read
Legal Week
on my laptop while I demolished two
rounds of toast.

“Aid, are you
going to drink your coffee?” I poked his leg and he writhed away
from me.

“Did you put
chocolate on it in the shape of a heart?”

I shot him a
teasing smile. “Is that what your mummy used to do?”

“My Mummy is
Irish,” he mumbled. “She’d have spat into it and it would have
tasted like whiskey.”

“You don’t
sound Irish.”

He eased up on
his hands, swiping the cup from the bedside table. “She only did
when she was drunk.”

“Sounds like an
idyllic childhood.”

“Oh yeah. Aidan
Reaper, plucky teenager, escapes the ghetto through his love of
theatre, tartish prancing and bumming rich pensioners.” He brushed
knotted curls from his eyes. “Maybe I should write a book.”

“What would you
call it?”

“
Whored
Stiff
.” He almost choked on his coffee with laughter.

I put my cup
down on a stack of boxes and it hit me, suddenly–in just
forty-eight hours, there would be no more Aidan to rescue me from
my bad days.

“I’m going to
miss you, you know,” I sniffed.