Love You Better (12 page)

‘I said, the table’s booked for eight tonight.’

‘Yeah, sure. I’d better be off.’

He left the room without a goodbye or a kiss. Why had he
got
his hopes up so much? He’d made her feel pressured, and now he was making no secret of the fact that she’d disappointed him. Effie looked at the small pill again and sighed, feeling like her insides had fallen to the floor.

‘Oh, for god’s sake,’ Effie said, repeatedly clicking her mouse.

‘What’s up?’

Smith stood next to her, resting one hand on the back of her chair and the other on her desk. Effie sighed. Even if her computer were working normally, she’d still be in a bad mood. Oliver’s
attitude
that morning had thrown her off.

‘I can’t get into this bloody calendar. It keeps booting me out.’

Smith laughed, and for a moment, the black cloud over Effie’s head disappeared.

‘Yeah, I had the same problem yesterday. Here, let me.’ He moved the keyboard towards him and leaned across her.

His Hugo Boss aftershave attacked her senses. It reminded her of the way he used to scoop her up in his arms to say hello, and filled her head with memories of waking up in his bed on a sunny morning. She looked at the swirls of clouds and demons tattooed on the side of his upper arm. He had a twin version with angels on the other. How many times had she run her fingers over them? She shook her head. She should not be thinking like this. There was no room for nostalgia in her life where Smith was concerned, especially not when her husband was moody with her for not
wanting
to reproduce right away.

‘There you go – all done.’ He slid the keyboard back over to her and straightened up. ‘So, what are you up to tonight? Hubby taking you out?’

Hubby? It sounded so wrong coming from Smith’s mouth.

‘We’re going for dinner. You? TV dinner for one?’

He perched himself on the edge of her desk. ‘Actually, I’ve got a date.’

‘On Valentine’s Day?’ Effie pulled a tight smile. ‘How
romantic
.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s only a drink. I figured, why not.’

Smith didn’t
do
Valentine’s Day. Or at least, he didn’t used to. She didn’t mention that when she’d suggested they do something last year, he’d almost broken out in hives at the thought.

‘Where did you meet her?’

‘Tinder.’

Ugh. Tinder. Also known as hook-up-ville. What was the
betting
he’d be getting laid tonight? Effie pushed the thought fro
m he
r mind.

‘Nikki’s on Tinder too.’

‘I know. I’ve seen her profile already.’

‘Did you swipe right?’

Smith chuckled. ‘No. For one thing, I’ve learned not to shit where I sleep.’

‘You mean you don’t want to have to work with someone you’ve screwed over.’

‘She’s a nice girl.’ He shrugged. ‘Too nice.’

‘So you just want a shag then?’

‘Well, it has been a while. Know anyone who can help?’ He grinned and raised an eyebrow.

It was just chat. Banter. That was all. Except, coming from him, it didn’t sound as innocent as that, and the way her skin flushed wasn’t an innocent way of reacting. Effie rolled her eyes. ‘Mates, remember?’

‘Can’t blame a guy for trying.’ He laughed. ‘No, I’m not just looking for a shag. But if it happens, then . . .’

‘And this girl you’re meeting, what does she want?’

‘I don’t know yet.’

‘Let’s see her.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, why not? We’re mates after all, right?’

‘Yeah.’ He nodded with a frown and flicked through his phone. ‘I guess.’

Effie took it from him as nonchalantly as she could. It was an awkward situation, but she’d have to get used to the idea of him dating sooner or later, whether she liked it or not. She looked at the screen.

‘She’s pretty.’

And she was. She had honey-coloured hair and light brown skin, and her eyes were a curious shade of amber. Effie read
her profile
.

‘ “Claire. Thirty-one”? Bit old for you, isn’t it?’

Smith shrugged. ‘Nothing wrong with an older woman. They’re much less complicated.’

‘ “Cabin crew, always mile high”,’ Effie continued, reading the words under Claire’s Hollywood smile photo. ‘Classy.’

‘Don’t.’ Smith frowned.

‘What? I didn’t say anything.’

‘Give it.’ He held his hand out, and she gave him back
the pho
ne.

‘I’m sure she’s lovely.’ Always mile high . . . of course they were going to end up in bed. ‘Where are you taking her?’

‘The Social Experiment, some cocktail place in Chinatown.’

‘I know it. It’s a nice place.’

‘Hope so. I’d hate to be a disappointment.’

Smith’s phone rang, and he went back to his desk to answer it. Effie watched him as he reclined in his swivel chair. He was a bad boy; disappointment was to be expected.

Later that evening, she sat with a glass of wine and looked again at her watch. Oliver was late. The door opened, and she turned to look, but instead of her husband, a couple walked in, arm
in arm
.

A blend of spices trailed their scent behind a waitress walking past with plates of food. Effie picked up the menu and scanned the pages: filo pastry stuffed with chicken and almonds, tiger prawns with pimento, okra with tomatoes and coriander. Everything sounded so good. She took another sip of wine to try to keep the hunger at bay. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be much longer.

She looked up at the ceiling, draped with material to create a canopy of dark oranges and olive greens. It was a cosy place, with circular booths housing round tables and low seating wrapped in dark steel to create a nest-like effect. Understated paper hearts hung from the ceiling, the only concession to Valentine’s Day, which was just fine. It hadn’t gotten off to the most romantic of starts, but they could talk it through. She wanted Oliver to be happy, just as he wished for her.

To Effie’s left, a couple sat close together, smiling and
whispering
into each other’s ears. She looked at the menu again, wishing he’d hurry up. Was there anything worse than sitting in a restaurant alone? Sitting alone in a bar, maybe. She hated feeling like people were looking at her, wondering if she’d been stood up.

‘Can I get you anything, madam?’

Effie looked up and nodded at the young waitress. ‘I’ll have another wine, please.’

One more wouldn’t hurt.

An hour later, Effie picked up her mobile and pressed redial.
Oliver’s
voicemail came through, again. Where the hell was he? It wasn’t like him to just not show up, and she started to wonder if
something
had happened to him. She tried calling again and
disconnected
as soon as the first few words of his recorded message played out. Maybe he’d lost his phone. She was beyond hungry but hadn’t ordered
anything
, and the complimentary bowl of olives was long gone. She picked up the phone again.

‘Hello?’ Amid a cacophony of noise, Oliver’s voice filtered through the earpiece.

‘Where the hell are you?’

Judging by the sound of laughter and clinking glasses in the background, she had a fair idea. She looked up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. There was no way he’d deliberately stand her up, especially not on Valentine’s Day.

‘I’m out.’

‘I’ve been waiting for you for over an hour.’

‘Some of the guys from work wanted to go for a drink. It’s been a long day. We’ll do dinner some other time.’

Effie could almost picture the nonchalant shrug that would have accompanied his strangely emotionless tone, and when he hung up, her face burned. She stared at the phone. Had she really heard that correctly? Had her husband really decided it was
perfectly
acceptable to just not turn up to a dinner date? She swallowed back the tears as she signalled for the bill, and the waitress didn’t even blink when she handed her the card machine. She probably saw people being stood up all the time, but Effie wanted to tell her she was different. She was married. She wasn’t sat there waiting for a faceless first date.

She thought about Claire, Smith’s Tinder date. It was highly unlikely she’d be stood up. Smith was a lot of things, but he wasn’t the type to do that. Despite his rough edges, he could be the perfect gent when the time called for it. How did any of this make sense? How could Smith be out on a date while she’d been stood up by her husband?

She walked out of the restaurant with the feeling that everyone was looking at her, pitying the woman who’d been stood up on Valentine’s Day, and made her way home.

At two in the morning, the front door opened and closed, and Effie lay in bed, listening to Oliver staggering up the stairs. He’d made no attempt to call or text to apologise, and she’d spent all evening alone, trying to avoid the multitude of romantic comedies on TV.

‘Where have you been?’ she asked, looking at his silhouette in the doorway.

He tried to lean a hand against the doorjamb but slipped and stumbled a few feet forward. Effie shook her head and turned on her side, lying with her back to him. A few seconds later, he blew a raspberry and collapsed on the bed next to her. Within seconds, the stench of alcohol seeped through his clothes, and she sighed as she threw back the duvet. He didn’t even stir as she slammed the bedroom door and made her way to the spare room.

The next morning, she sat at the kitchen island when
Oliver
shuffled in, looking like death, with ruffled hair and grey,
waxy skin
.

‘Any coffee going?’ he croaked. Effie silently slid the percolator towards him as he sat on a stool and laid his head on the cold
surface
. ‘Christ, I feel awful.’

‘I’m not surprised.’

He reached for the percolator but didn’t reply.

‘Where were you last night?’

‘I told you.’ He sighed. ‘It was a long day, and I went for a drink to unwind.’

Effie shook her head. ‘But we had dinner plans. Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was being stood up?’

‘Please, not now. I can’t handle a conversation like this.’