Killing Cupid (17 page)

‘What? Now?’

He made an exasperated sound. ‘Of course now.’

‘No, no, it’s fine. I...’

‘Alex, I’ve got to go. I need to call Emily then get back to Nat. If you want to act on the info I’ve just given you, call her later. I can guarantee she won’t say no.’ He hung up.

Emily. Emily. I hadn’t really thought about her much since meeting her; I had been too consumed by Siobhan. I didn’t really know whether I liked Emily or not – I was just so surprised that she liked me. Shocked and flattered and excited and scared. And confused. I stared at the scrap of paper, where her name and number were written in blue biro. I ran the tip of my finger over the numbers. This girl liked me. Fancied me. I should ring her and then we could meet up and go for a drink, maybe go on a second date, do all those things that Siobhan was talking about when I was sitting on her sofa, all those things that lead to love.

But this isn’t Siobhan. This isn’t the woman I want to be with. Oh Emily, why is your timing so bad? – I’m already in love with somebody else. If I call you now, I’ll be betraying the woman I love. It will be like being unfaithful.

But Siobhan doesn’t love you, whispered a voice in my head, a voice that sounded very much like Mum’s. She thinks you’re a stalker. She doesn’t want you.

I was so confused. But staring at Emily’s number, all I could see was Siobhan’s face. Hardly realising I was doing it, I screwed the piece of paper into a ball. I walked into the kitchen and dropped it into the bin, looking up and seeing my reflection in the window, bright against the outside world, glowing like a ghost of myself in the dark.

I’d like to be able to say that the telephone rang at that precise moment – it would appeal to my literary sensibilities – but it didn’t. I wandered around, ate a sandwich, drank a can of beer that had been lurking at the back of the fridge since the summer. I went to the toilet and then watched some more TV. I was feeling numb, and so worn out that I didn’t have the energy to worry any more. I knew the anxiety would return tomorrow, or maybe in the middle of the night; I knew the yearning would come back. Maybe I would go to see Siobhan again. Try to persuade her to give me a chance. To try to get it through to her: we are meant to be together. Tell her about love and pain.

And then the telephone rang.

‘Hello?’

‘Um…hi. Is that Alex? This is Emily, Natalie’s friend.’

‘Emily.’

‘Yes. Simon just called and told me what happened. Poor, poor Nat.’

‘I know.’

Neither of us really knew what to say. Then Emily said, ‘Alex… um, I was wondering if… well… God, actually I worry that this is in really bad taste, thinking about myself when my friend’s just lost a baby… but Simon told me how you rushed Nat to hospital and how grateful he was and it made me start thinking about you and I couldn’t resist calling…’ She was really babbling; she sounded even more nervous than I felt.

She said, ‘Would you like to meet up?’

There are times in our life when it seems easier to say no. Refusal is the easy option, even though you want to say yes. Sometimes, you know that agreeing will involve more effort, a risk.

But there are other times when you can’t say no. When you can’t think of an excuse. And maybe that’s because you know there aren’t really any excuses, not good ones, anyway.

I don’t really know why I said yes when Emily asked me out. Maybe it was something about the way she asked me: she sounded so nervous, so sweet. And maybe, for a second, I forgot all about Siobhan. Whatever, I found myself saying, ‘Okay.’

And Emily sounded so happy to hear me say that word that I said it again: Okay. Yes. Yes.

We’re meeting tomorrow. I have a date. And, despite everything, I can’t help but feel really fucking excited!

Later: 4am

Just woke up from a dream and can’t get back to sleep. In the dream, I was in bed with Emily, but I knew somebody was watching us. I could feel their presence behind the curtain, even though we were on the second floor. I pulled back the curtain and there was Kathy, floating outside the window like the vampire in
Salem’s Lot
. She grinned at me, and then floated through the window, her arms outstretched, waiting to take me in her corpse’s embrace...

Chapter 17

Siobhan

Sunday

I need to find myself another tennis partner. I don’t want to play with Dennis anymore, with his big grunty serves and quotes from the Bible. Not to mention his pursed lips whenever I swear. And his legs make me feel queasy, they’re so hairless.

I can’t get over what he said to me today. We were only chatting, as we always do in between sets, and I was just telling him about Alex poisoning Biggles, and how he still hadn’t paid me my 300 quid, and that I was really worried that everything going so quiet was a bad sign, that I’d come home one night and there Alex would be, with a carving knife and a roll of duct tape…and Dennis blurted out:

‘Can’t we talk about something else?’

I mean, what is his problem?

‘That’s not very Christian of you, is it, Dennis?’ I said. ‘Here am I having a major crisis, with this total nutter stalking me, and you want me to change the subject? Well I’m awfully sorry if I’m boring you.’

I thought that would shut him up, and he did say sorry too, but he sort of muttered it, and then got up and slammed half a dozen supersonic serves past me. Then he stopped and marched back up to me. He looked quite angry, it was weird. His eyebrows went almost white, and his face was brick-red, with a little ticking muscle in his cheek.

I frowned at him. ‘What?’

‘Siobhan,’ he said. ‘You have to stop talking about this guy. You had a shock, but that was over a fortnight ago. He’s left you alone since then. You’ve got no evidence that it was him who poisoned your cat. I mean, I’m not sticking up for him or anything, what he did was awful – but you’ve got to move on. You can’t let it mess up your life like this.’

The cheek of him! I couldn’t believe it. I grabbed my racquet cover and bag, and headed for the gate, then and there, after we’d only been playing for half an hour. I hate not getting my money’s worth on those courts, they aren’t cheap, but I had no intention of letting that sanctimonious little prick talk to me like that.

‘You men,’ I said over my shoulder. ‘You’re all the bloody same. You make me sick – I thought you were my friend!’

‘I am your friend,’ he shouted, as I marched back to my car. I ignored him. Loser.

So I wasn’t in the greatest of moods after that. Maybe it’s my hormones. I’m due on any day now. I tried to ring Jess, and Paula, for a moan, but they were both out, so I left them long messages (which I did feel slightly guilty about. I hate it when people burble for ages on my answer machine, but it’s just so tempting to pour your heart out on someone else’s).

It was a beautiful sunny Autumn day, so I decided to walk down to Angelo’s and see if I could get a table outside for lunch, doing my usual trick of pretending to be waiting for a friend who doesn’t show up (so much less embarrassing than admitting you’re lunching alone). I took a notepad and pen, and thought it would be a good opportunity to eavesdrop and make a few character sketches for the novel. Not to mention eyeing up any cute men who might be out and about; maybe a nice rich divorcee taking his little daughter out for lunch – that’s what I need. A new boyfriend, to take my mind off Alex.

Anyway, I got a perfect table, on the edge of the verandah, and sat there waiting for my Greek salad (I’d told the waiter that I’d go ahead and order, because my ‘friend’ was always late). There were indeed quite a few tasty men around, including said waiter. Not my usual type, really short and losing his hair, but flirtatious enough to cheer me up. I tried to make eye contact with two guys at a nearby table, but they weren’t having any of it. Gay, probably.

So, my salad arrived, and I’d had one forkful of feta when suddenly my already bad day got a whole lot worse: I spotted Phil and a girl, presumably Lynn. Phil-lynn. Sounds like something you have done at the dentist. And it was like having teeth pulled, seeing the two of them together. I clocked them from right down the street, arm in arm, nauseatingly lovey-dovey. She was even walking with her head leaning on his shoulder – I hope she got a stiff neck. I quickly put on my shades, and gave my salad some intense scrutiny, but to my horror they stopped. How dare he bring her here? This is where we used to have lunch together! And with me sitting there like Billy No-Mates. It was too humiliating.

They sat down two tables away from me, and instantly clasped hands with each other across the table as if they’d been parted for months. I noticed that he was growing a ridiculous little beardette thing, like a joke beard, or else something that he’d drawn on with a black felt tip. Prat. I leaned my elbow on the table and hid the side of my face nearest to them in my hand, but it was too late. I saw her look at me, then lean across and say something to him. He jerked his head up and towards me, with a look of such panic in his eyes that I was seriously offended – I mean, for God’s sake, is seeing me really so terrifying?

‘Siobhan,’ he said in my direction, rather croakily, half standing up and then changing his mind and sitting down again. Lynn pressed her lips together in what I assume was intended to be a smile, but it was about as friendly as a tank full of piranhas.

Another couple came and sat at the table between us, but I thought, he’s not getting away so easily, so I stood up instead and went over to them. Might as well brazen it out, I thought.

‘Hi!’ I said, holding out my hand to Lynn. ‘I’m Siobhan.’

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I know. We met before, remember, at Phil’s office.’

I didn’t remember, but whatever. She was eminently forgettable – mousy hair, watery eyes, skinny and weak-looking. Even I, with my not-very-robust sense of self-esteem, thought
I’m much prettier than her
. Then I found myself thinking I could take her out, any day. I must really have PMT.

‘So, how are you? Did you have a nice time in Portugal?’ I chirped through gritted teeth.

‘Lovely thanks,’ said Phil.

‘Really lovely,’ added Lynn. Rub it in, why don’t you.

Phil craned around me to look at the place laid opposite mine. ‘Are you…with anyone?’ he asked. He seemed really ill at ease. I was glad that I still had an effect on him; glad that he was jealous I’d found a new boyfriend. I temporarily forgot that in fact I hadn’t found a new boyfriend at all.

‘Yes – well, he’ll be along later. Stuck in traffic – you know how bad the roadworks get around here at weekends. He went to visit his mother last night, you see.’

Phil looked even more terrified. What a complete pansy!

‘Actually,’ he said, giving the menu in front of him a nanosecond’s scrutiny, ‘You know what, Lynny?’ (Lynny! Puke.) ‘I don’t think I really fancy any of this. In fact, I’ve got a bit of a yen for a Chinese.’

He laughed nervously and said to both of us: ‘Yen! For a Chinese! Get it?’

‘The yen is Japanese currency. In China it’s the Yuan,’ I said, standing over him with my arms folded, and noticing with glee that he had a bit of a bald spot.

‘Oh well. Same continent,’ he said. ‘Ha ha.’

‘Ha ha,’ I replied. Lynn was shooting daggers at me by now. She stood up. ‘Yeah, I fancy Chinese too – let’s walk round the corner to Ho Lin’s. Nice to see you again Siobhan.’

They started to move away between the tables.

‘Did you get my messages, Phil?’ I called after them.

He half turned. ‘No. I didn’t.’ And then they were gone, not even a word of goodbye.

I went and sat down again, with Angelo’s horrible wicker chair scratching the backs of my legs, but I’d lost my appetite. My tomatoes looked half-cooked and soggy, and the feta had left an unappetising white juice all over the plate.

It’s so odd, how you can be completely intimate with a person, and then they treat you like somebody who once ripped them off in a pub. That man has had his tongue in places that I didn’t even know I had, and now he can’t even be bothered to say goodbye, let alone return my calls? It’s really depressing. I know I don’t want to get back together with him or anything, but I can’t help but feel jealous of what he obviously has with Lynn. Why can’t I find a man who loves me like that? Why didn’t Phil love me like that? What’s wrong with me? I miss having a boyfriend.

I abandoned the rest of my salad, left a tenner on the table, and trudged up the hill back to my empty house. I suddenly felt that even finding Alex there would have been better than coming home to this… loneliness.

Loneliness, and a credit card bill for £398.80 – my new tennis shoes, plus the money that Alex stole from me. Which he still hasn’t paid back, the bastard. There’s no way I’m letting him get away with it.

Later

I’ve been working on the new novel, miraculously. It’s the first time in ages I feel that I’m really beginning to get stuck into it. She’s not a bad character, this Stevie woman – I’m actually starting to quite like her, whereas at first I actively disliked her. Fear, probably, if I try and analyse it. Fear that she, i.e. my creation, won’t be good enough to get me another publishing deal.

Although I’m beginning to feel a tiny bit more optimistic about the prospect of future publication: I’ve just had an email from Patricia. She sounded a little sniffy, and said she’d been trying to get hold of me for a few weeks (well, she can’t have been trying very hard. I get relatively few emails, and would definitely have seen one from her had she, as she claims, sent one before. Why hadn’t she phoned?) Anyway, the good news was that
TLA
has, unbelievably, been selling very well in translation in Holland, and the Dutch publisher’s got in touch with Patricia to ask if I might be interested in coming over for a bit of an event: a reading, and some stock signings. A free trip to Amsterdam might be just what I need to take my mind off all this trauma.

I don’t know, though. If I had a man to take with me, it would be different; I’d be there like a shot. Amsterdam is such a romantic city, with all those kindly windows and canals. I can see myself in a – what is the Dutch equivalent of a gondola? – well, in a boat, trailing my fingers seductively through the sunlit sparkly water as a beautiful man recites paragraphs of
TLA
to me…yes, I like that. He could be a fan. He’s learnt whole pages of
TLA
off by heart, and he’s lying there with his head in my lap, reciting them. Mmm, that would be blissful. Then we’d go back to my hotel and –