Greatest Love Story of All Time (33 page)

Hugh had replied simply, ‘Yeah.’ It would take a lot longer to win back his respect.

Nellie’s Michael had arrived at three o’clock and left at five forty-five, but Hugh had said nothing to me. He’d merely called all of the politics producers into his office after Michael had left. There was
no
bloody chance of me getting my hands on that gig.

‘What do you want to drink, Fannybaws?’ Dave asked, as he came back in. He’d been outside on the phone for the last ten minutes and had come back in looking distinctly gooey. It was like being trapped in a restaurant on Valentine’s night in this bloody place! I should have made my Freddy date tonight. ‘Er, Coke, please. Was that Freya?’ I asked.

‘Nope. Stefania. She’s not coming tonight.’

‘Eh? What were you talking about all that time?’ Since when did Dave and Stefania talk on the phone?

Dave didn’t answer.

I watched him go to the bar, feeling a little unnerved. What was with the gooey face? Alex and
Leonie were clearly aware of my shift in concentration because they’d started snogging again. ‘Pack it in!’ I hissed at them.

Leonie raised a V-sign at me and continued, but Alex said, ‘Sorry, Fran. You’re right. Although you were just as bad when you met Michael,’ he added slyly.

I smiled. ‘Fair dos, Alex. After all, she is pretty awesome.’

Leonie nodded solemnly. ‘Yes, I am.’ We all burst out laughing.

Then Alex whispered, ‘Tell her!’ in a very loud, theatrical and unwhispery way.

Leonie slapped him. ‘Alex! No!’

‘Leonie has something to tell you,’ Alex announced. He seemed liable to burst.

‘Come on, Leonie. What’s up?’

Dear God, they weren’t … ?

‘Ah. Well, I’ve been wanting to tell you this for ages but I got a bit shy.’

I laughed. ‘
Shy?
The girl who talks about bum sex with complete strangers is telling her best friend she felt a bit
shy?
Don’t make me laugh!’ Alex tittered, straightening out his blazer which was sitting rather lopsidedly over his expensive graffiti T-shirt. Leonie was actually blushing now. ‘Leonie? What the hell’s going on?’ She blushed even harder. ‘Well?’

Alex couldn’t bear it any more. ‘SHE’S WRITING
A BOOK!’ he screamed, then clasped her even more tightly to him in the manner that a toddler throws his arms around his mother’s leg. It was a truly hilarious spectacle.

Hang on. ‘A
book
? Oh, my God! About what?’

‘Um. Sex,’ she said bashfully.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Sex. I’m writing a book about sex. In fact, that’s a lie. I’ve
written
a book about sex. It’s finished. It’s done. But today I got an agent who wants to send it out to a load of publishers. This is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me! And it’s all thanks to you!’

I blinked. ‘Um, I’m glad to be of service but how is this connected to me? Did you drug me and collect all of my sex secrets? Not that I really have any,’ I added.

‘When you got back from Kosovo in 2008 you told me I should write a book about sex. Like a manual or something. So I did! I’ve been writing it for the last two years!’

‘Wow!’ I said, genuinely thrilled. ‘So that’s why you shagged so many blokes in that time? Oh, no! Sorry! Actually, Alex, she didn’t have sex with anyone! She was chaste.’

He seemed remarkably unfazed. ‘It’s OK,’ he said. His normally reedy voice sounded full to bursting with happiness. ‘I know she loves me.’

They had a private moment and I looked away,
embarrassed. The energy between them was intense. The last time I’d seen anything as tangible was when Michael had first arrived back from Kosovo. And now here was Leonie, having the same thing with his best friend. Love moved in funny ways.

‘OK, break it up,’ I said gently, after a few seconds. ‘Leonie, my darling friend, I am so proud of you. This is absolutely amazing. What brought this on? Well, apart from me telling you that you should do it.’

She dropped her eyes modestly to her hands. ‘I’ve always wanted to write a book,’ she said simply.

It was true. It had saddened me that she’d abandoned her wonderful talents with wordsmithery and spent the last nine years charity mugging.

‘But I started charity mugging as a tide-me-over and I met so many people who hated their jobs, I just thought, well, I didn’t want to get on the treadmill. And then you joked about a sex book when you met Michael and you were so happy and glowing and really beginning to go somewhere with your life and I started to feel like a loser …’ Alex put his arm round her and kissed the side of her head.

‘You’ve
never
been a loser,’ I said quietly. ‘Ever.’

Dave arrived back at the table.

‘Leonie’s written a book about sex!’ I cried.

Dave didn’t turn a hair. ‘Of course she has. I can’t think of a better person to write one,’ he said drily, smiling at Leonie and passing her a gin. ‘Good work, kid – what sort of sex book is it?’

‘It’s a sort of contemporary housewife’s manual,’ she said. ‘Lots of fifties-style diagrams and humorous anecdotes about baking cakes afterwards but with the kind of graphic detail you’d only get in a sex book now.’

I began to giggle. ‘So, essentially it’s filth wrapped up in a circular skirt and an apron?’

‘Yep. That’s the one.’

‘Photos or pictures?’

‘Oh, pictures, lots of them. All nineteen-fifties style.’

‘It sounds amazing! Who illustrated it for you?’

‘Um, I did.’

There was another stunned silence. ‘This is amazing! I can’t believe you didn’t tell us!’

She blushed again. ‘I know, I’m sorry. But I was scared. I didn’t think it’d get anywhere. But this agent reckons it could sell. Can we not talk about it now? I’m embarrassed.’

Alex got up, nearly exploding out of his skin. ‘This calls for champagne! Oh, are you two still off the booze?’ he added, looking at Dave and me.

I turned to Dave. Were we? He nodded. ‘Just for today,’ he said.

Alex kissed Leonie again and trotted off to the bar.

‘Stop it,’ Leonie said, catching my smirk.

‘Sorry. It’s just so odd, though. It’s like he’s on drugs. You’ve completely changed him.’

‘I honestly think he’s always been like this. The
closed-book thing is just a front, Franny, he’s quite a lost soul.’

‘Well, I hope he’s not too lost. You need a boyfriend, not a wreck.’

‘I know. But, trust me, I have a boyfriend.’

The three of us burst out laughing at this completely improbable sentence.

‘Now, how are you getting on with the Eight Date Deal?’ she said, brisk once more.

Dave put his drink down and got a notebook out. ‘Stefania gave me this,’ he said, in response to my inquisitive look.

I sighed. I was not enjoying this ‘Stefania and Dave = best friends for ever’ thing. ‘OK,’ I began wearily. ‘There’s a Trendy Person on Saturday called Benj. I’m meeting him on Brick Lane. It’s going to be a disappointment. He’ll be wearing spray-on trousers and probably a moustache.’ Dave sniggered. ‘We’ve had a bit of banter but he’s yet another clever-clever bloke full of witty quips and almost certainly no personality.’ They nodded.

‘And?’ Leonie said impatiently.

I began to grin. ‘Well, actually, the next one is on Sunday and I think he’s a little bit ace. It’s that guy Freddy I mentioned.’

Dave glanced up briefly. ‘So you like this one, eh?’ he asked.

‘Yeah! I do! He looks like a film star! And he’s quite rude to me. Keeps me in my box. Y’know.’

Dave smirked. ‘Sounds like a wise man. And film-star looks too! Quite a catch, by all accounts, Fannybaws.’

‘Seconded!’ Leonie said. ‘I like the sound of him. What are you going to do? Will you ask him to pop it in, do you think?’

‘STOP IT! I AM GETTING BACK TOGETHER WITH MICHAEL! But that doesn’t stop me going on a date with Nice Freddy, though,’ I added impishly. ‘We’re going to a gig at the Roundhouse. Some folky transsexual’s singing. And then he’s force-feeding me tapas and proposing a hard fuck on Primrose Hill.’

Dave sat back grinning. ‘He sounds pretty different from Michael, Fannybaws.’

I nodded guardedly.

Alex was taking his change from the barman. ‘Do you promise you’re not discussing any of this with Alex?’ I whispered at Leonie.

‘Yes! Fran, I gave you my word.’

‘Good. Thanks. Well, the ninety days is up in just under two weeks. You can talk about us all you like after that.’ She squeezed my hand.

Later, when Leonie and Alex had resumed their mutual face-eating marathon, I sat at the bar with Dave, marvelling at how tiny and doll-like his bottle of Schweppes tomato juice looked in his hand. ‘You’ve got absolutely massive hands, Dave,’ I said absently.

‘You’ve got an absolutely massive arse, Fran,’ he replied.

‘Have NOT!’

‘Aye, true. Anyway. This business with Michael. Are you serious about taking him back?’ He poured thick red juice from the toy bottle into his glass. It barely came to a third full and he was slightly dismayed. I poured mine into his glass.

‘Yes. I’ve missed him horribly.’ He took a sip. It left a big red semi-circle above his mouth, which I rubbed off with a tissue.

‘That’d better not have your snot on it,’ he said ominously.

‘Nope. You’re safe. Not a bogey in sight.’

‘Why do you think Michael ended it in the first place, Fannybaws?’

I paused. I’d spent a lot of time trying to avoid this question. Because the truth of the matter was that I had
no idea
.

Jenny had emailed me a few days after the Smiths of Smithfield night, reiterating how much she hoped we’d get back together and how miserable Michael had been since we separated. I shook my head thoughtfully. ‘Honestly? I don’t know. I think something happened that day. Something really bad. You heard what Jenny said – he was going to propose. He had their grandmother’s ring. It wasn’t just a spur-of-the-moment thing, Dave, he’d obviously planned it. He’d decided he wanted to spend the rest of his life
with me and then … 
poof
. It’s over. No contact for three months.’

Dave nodded.

‘I need to find out what happened that day and do everything I can to make whatever it is better. I’m willing to go to any lengths. Whatever needs changing, I’m prepared to do it. I want the ring. I want Michael. I want us back.’

Dave stirred his tomato juice, his face inscrutable. ‘Do you know
anything
about relationships?’ he asked eventually.

I was taken aback. ‘Er … 
What?
’

‘Seriously, Fran. “I’m willing to go to any lengths”? Where’s your fucking self-respect?’ His face was darkening. He downed his tomato juice angrily and stared off over my shoulder.

I waited for him to crack a smile but nothing happened. Confused, I cleared my throat. ‘I see. Well, I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to you, Dave. And I’m sorry that my relationship doesn’t match up to the obviously perfect situation you have with Freya. But life isn’t always like that. Most women aren’t like her. Most of them are scared and unsure of themselves. I’m so sorry that I happen to be one of them.’

‘You don’t know
shit
about Freya, Fran,’ he replied quietly.

I gazed at his angry face, appalled. ‘
What?
Dave, what’s wrong?’

He toyed with his empty glass.

‘Actually, you’re right. I
don’t
know anything about Freya any more because you haven’t brought her out for as long as I can remember. Are you ashamed of us? Of me?’

Dave toyed with his glass a while longer, then put it down. ‘I wasn’t comparing you to Freya. I’m sorry.’

Dave had never been horrid to me in the entire history of our relationship. I didn’t know what to say.

‘Ah, fuck it. I’m going home.’

And he got up and walked out. I followed him out of the bar with my eyes, a big, angry man in a jumper with an old stripy shirt underneath. Trainers with holes in them. A face of thunder. Dave, a man I clearly didn’t understand as well as I’d thought.

‘I hate everyone,’ I told Duke Ellington, an hour later. Leonie and Alex, oblivious to my bizarre altercation with Dave, had continued to snog as if a nuclear bomb was about to hit the Three Kings so, shortly after Dave had stormed off, I’d followed suit. Duke Ellington and I were munching a Hawaiian pizza I’d picked up on the way and I was firing up my laptop in the desperate hope of a nice communication from Freddy. The last message I’d sent him had been five hours ago and I needed a fix.

You have one new message
, said my lurid pink homepage. I crossed my fingers.

Freddy!

Fran. You raving lunatic. I give up. Whatever. But I’m not giving up on Sunday. I’ll meet you outside the Morrisons petrol station, OK? If you’re really lucky I’ll buy you a microwavable pasty.

I’ll be the one wearing a Phil Collins T-shirt and carrying an enormous bunch of flowers.

Seriously, I can’t wait. You are properly awesome. Promise not to grope you during the gig.

Freddy X

I liked Freddy. A lot.

‘If it doesn’t work out with Michael, I’m jumping this bloke,’ I told Duke Ellington. He was wrestling with a piece of pepperoni and took no notice of me. I threw a dough ball at him and went back to my message.

Date six: Benj

Spring was definitely here. I knew that not because of the weather but because I had commenced applying fake tan every other day. It was for this reason that I was staring at my stripy orange palms as I waited for Benj-the-music-composer/producer/probably-a-bit-of-a-cock at a table outside the Vibe Bar in Brick Lane.

It was heaving with fashionable types wearing battered leather jackets, weird hats and slightly optimistic sunglasses in a variety of silly colours. While I waited for Benj I shared a table with two blokes who were discussing how much they hated their girlfriends. Moments like this reminded me of how much I loved men. So loyal, so honourable, so kind. ‘She just doesn’t understand why I need to go to a spoon-making workshop,’ one lamented, as if his girlfriend had chopped off one of his testicles.

His companion nodded sympathetically. ‘Tough, dude. Tough. But she’ll get there. She’s only nineteen.’ I balked. These guys were at least thirty-five.