Sympathy for the Devil (14 page)

       Nothing seemed right about the night. Toni disappeared and Pierce... He was the best friend I had. We’d done everything together. Not that, but you know...enough to share a bond that truly only siblings shared. Now, I could barely hold a conversation with him. I’d had an idea it’d be like this if either of us had a girlfriend. Naturally we’d have a break from one another, spend more time with the person who’d give us sex and a bedtime cuddle. But the distance? I couldn’t stand it. Maybe he knew something. And could I trust that something to be fact? It was clear as day Pierce despised Toni. He couldn’t spend more than five minutes in her company. And it had nothing to do with the support of Man U. Although Toni and I were struggling to be happy, I’d rather be with her than without.

       I sat down on the edge of a booth filled with some of my course mates and cradled a ten-quid bottle of beer, feeling quite alone until Adele Cox came to sit next to me. Speaking of people I couldn’t stand...

       “Having a good night?” she asked, and as she leaned in, I inhaled the reek of fake tan on her skin.

       “Not bad,” I said, keeping polite, because my parents raised me that way.

       “I noticed Toni and Pierce seem to be together a lot.”

       “What are you talking about?”

       “Tonight. A few other parties.”

       That made no sense at all. “I think you’re confused.”

       “Not really. I heard he was in her room a few months back.”

      
Toni isn’t the right person for you
, he’d told me at the very same time.
I don’t think she knows how to be faithful.

       “And I mean, look.” She pointed to the men’s toilets. Toni looked frantic, pulling at Pierce.

       They talked furiously for a moment before she hugged him, pulling him close. My entire world collapsed in on itself. That’s why. All those excuses about why she didn’t want to be around Pierce. All those arguments. They were together. She wanted him. Everything had been a lie.

       “I mean it’s not like she’s subtle about it. And I really don’t think Pierce likes her. I don’t think he likes anyone. Maybe he’s gay...”

       “Shut up,” I thundered, the beer bottle in my hand smashing into pieces as I slammed it into the table. “Shut up, you empty-headed, thoughtless, fucking bitch. Shut your fat mouth.”

       “West!” she gasped, her fake lashes peeling from her lids with the effort of blinking so hard.

       I had to get out of the place. Every sense of self-preservation told me to escape for all my life was worth. I felt my insides twisting in protest. I wanted to throw the glass table in front of me into the crowd. Grab Toni and ask her what the fuck she thought she was doing. Ask Pierce why he’d taken what I loved from me. Instead, I scrambled to my feet and rushed out of the club and headed for the nearest tube station.

      
Toni and Pierce. Pierce and Toni.
It made sense. So much sense that I... I threw up. Heaved up my three over-priced beers right outside the hedges of the poshest hotel I’d never stay in. Trembling, I gave up on the idea of a tube and saw the halo-rific light of an available taxi. I needed delivery to my home. Not my digs, but home. Where there were people who genuinely cared about what happened to me. Obviously, no one in that club did.

      
Not my best idea
, I realised, walking back into the club to collect my coat. I’d seen Toni into a cab. She wouldn’t talk to me. She wouldn’t tell me a bean, and how could I help her or try to make things better if she wouldn’t open her mouth? I found it very frustrating, but I knew it led back to the trauma of James and his bullshit. Part of me still bore some responsibility for how things had gone down. I hadn’t been able to stop myself from telling the utter dickhead what I thought of him —at last. God only knew how I’d held back from vocalising how much I despised him. Considering what I’d done the last time, my best friend’s relationship was off limits. Truly. Instead, it seemed, I wanted to take on a new challenge.

Whatever sympathy that boy pulled in me, the force was strong tonight. We’d only end up fighting. And yet, I wanted to give him a cuddle.
Not with your nether regions
. A human-to-human, I-don’t-get-why-you’re-in-pain-but-I-want-it-to-stop-for-you hug. He looked so fucking sad, it hurt me. I supposed it was his own fault for being such an ornery dick. My gut told me he could be saved.
Again, not with your vagina
, my brain told me firmly.
You have not been canonised between the thighs. Sort yourself out!

       I found Pierce outside, waiting for me with his hands tucked inside his pockets. Not that I’d ever admit looking, but he recalled an image he’d posed for on his agency-run blog.
Evil
, I reminded myself.
Still evil. Nice packaging, but all the way evil inside.

       “Ready?” he asked, holding out a hand to me.

       “Yeah, let’s go.” I avoided his hand altogether and marched to the taxi queue. “Where’s your place?”

       “We’re going to mine?” His tone held incredulity.

       “Of course!” Silly man. “I’m not taking you home with me.”Lord preserve me, the gossip would be unbearable. I could only hope no one had seen me leave with him.

       He nodded. “Gossip folks?”

       “I’ve got exams coming up and when I have exams, I get stressed. When I get stressed, people start losing limbs.”

       “Prison really would end a promising legal career.”

       “My thoughts exactly.”

       “You should see someone about your anger issues,” he murmured, edging me into a cab.

       “No time,” I replied lightly. “I’m already helping the less fortunate.”

       “You mean me?” He frowned. “How odd. I’ve never been the pity choice before.”

       “I’m sure.”

       Pierce gave his address to the cab driver and we sat back in silence. We sped through the streets of Mayfair to Old Street, neon lights flickering over the angles of Pierce’s face. He didn’t say anything else; instead seemed far away with his thoughts. For someone who wanted to talk so badly, he wasn’t doing much of it. I took out my phone and sent Toni a text message, asking if she’d got home okay. Standard girl protocol.

      
Fine CC,
came the return message.
Thanks for looking after me. I just need to work some stuff out. Love you.

       I didn’t throw the “l” word about. Ever. The way people used it, in such a careless manner, made it meaningless. But Antonia Bradley was the only person outside of my family I would happily maim and kill for. Exception therefore meant I replied as quickly,
Love you too.

       I tucked my phone away and found my fingers suddenly curled into Pierce’s.
What is going on with you?
I wanted to shout at him. He was weirding me out. We arrived at his building, and I was unceremoniously pushed out before I could offer to pay for the taxi. He led me inside, up an elaborate, art deco reception and sweeping staircase to the lifts. We took the first one to the sixth floor and with his hand still in mine, he opened his flat door. I tried not to look impressed, struggling to keep my face neutral.

       “Used to be two flats,” he explained. “We bought the one next door and knocked it through.”

       “Nice. So, what’s up?”

       He removed his jacket and carried it over his arm. “Would you like a drink?” he asked, draping the material over the silk-covered chairs of his dining table.

       “Dude!” I snapped. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

       Pierce paused in the archway of his kitchen and levelled me with a glance that held nothing but pure devilry. “You know, when you tell me off, you get this really pious tone in your voice. Like a nun.”

       I dismissed the very idea with a snort. “I get the strong sense you haven’t had much religion in your life. Or at all.”

       “That tone. There.” He pointed at me, lips curved in amusement. “I’m sure I’ve seen some religion. Maybe in a past life.”

       “Doubtful. Prostitution was probably more your thing than religion. It would account for your rampant nature.”

       Pierce burst out laughing. “Again with the piety. As if you’re carrying around a halo. Is this to make up for your past behaviour?”

       “As what?”

       He shrugged. “Maybe a sailor. Preaching the values of the good book while seeking pleasure with poor innocent whores like myself.”

       “Poor? Or cheap?”

       He pretended to consider. “Possibly cheap. I’m all for undervaluing oneself.”

       “Five dollar.” I quoted
South Park.

       “But you, I’m sure you were never short a quid or two for a tumble.”

       “What makes you think that?”

       “I had good past-life pussy. What else?”

       Pinching the bridge of my nose, I muffled my laughter and forced myself to be serious. “You’re out of control.”

       “Put away the habit,” he commanded, irritation in his tone. “I’m a lost cause.”

       “Where’s this coming from? It doesn’t sound like you.”

       “Why did you come here?”

       I blinked. “Because you offered.”

       “Really.”

       “Because you said you needed a friend and I’m all fucking heart, why do you think?” Pierce sighed heavily and disappeared into the kitchen. I followed him. “Why did you ask me?”

       “Because you tell me the truth. Always. There’s no bullshit with you. What do you want? Wine?”

       And mix that with the shots I had? Nah, son. “Something fizzy and non-alcoholic, please.”

       He opened the gigantic fridge and handed me a San Pellegrino water. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “Shall I get some kebabs?”

       I nearly choked on the water. “You’d do that? Get kebabs? You know what kebabs are?”

       He looked at me patiently. “You know where we are, right?”

       “Chicken doner, chips, salad, and shit loads of chilli sauce. If there are those massive green peppers, chuck them out. No garlic. Not here for that.”

       “That’s thoughtful.” He leaned down and touched his mouth to my temple before circling me to collect his jacket once more. “I’ll be about fifteen minutes. Make yourself comfortable.”

       I gave him two thumbs up, like a complete nerd. As soon as the door closed, I turned into Grissom,
CSI
original. I looked at Pierce’s wall decorations. No family photos. Check one for fucked-up individual. I opened cabinets to see delicate china I doubt he ever used. I flicked through his correspondence without even the tiniest slither of guilt. Of course he had a Coutts bank account. If one must be a whore, be expensive. I opened a few bedroom doors, done up for guests. If he had guests, they probably stayed in his room. On entering the master bedroom, that intoxicating combination of menthol cigarettes and the woodsy scent he wore assailed me. Oh, dear… Trouble, trouble, trouble.

       I heard the key in the lock and scrambled to the dining room with my water. Pierce entered with a huge carrier bag of food. As soon as I scented freshly fried chips, my stomach rumbled fiercely.

       “Yum!” I gurned at him and started to eat. With my fingers. Who eats a kebab with a knife and… Pierce nudged heavily handled cutlery towards me.

       “Hungry,” I explained around a crisp, fat chip.

       “Noted.” He grinned. “Now I get why you left Claridge’s. You didn’t want me to see you shovel food in like a construction truck.”

       “One, I haven’t eaten all day. And two I left Claridge’s because you were behaving like a testy bitch.”

       “I was testing, yes.”

       “Because?” I prodded, pausing briefly in my mastication to take a swig of water. He needed to keep talking.

       “Because,” he said after a deep breath, his fork hovering over his food, “you were right. That night wasn’t anything I would have done for any of my usual dimbos. Your words, not mine. I figured you wanted to leave as soon as you turned up…” How accurate. “So why not do you a favour and give you an excuse?”

       “You know that’s a really fucked-up way to think.”

       He lifted his eyebrows briefly in acknowledgement. “At least it was on my terms.”

       “But as soon as I left…”

       “I knew it was the wrong thing to do. Wrong tactic. You don’t respond well to those. Cari, I am fucked up. I… I am aware of how fucked up I am. Fully operational, Skynet Level awareness that I am a fucked-up human. I don’t know how to stop.”

       “Maybe,” I offered slowly, hardly daring to breathe when he’d offered such searing honesty. “Stop. How bad you felt tonight, it’ll only get worse. You don’t have to be Miss Havisham, planning your revenge, burning in a wedding dress because you can’t stop yourself pushing everyone away.”

       Pierce’s mouth curled in disgust. “Of all the literary analogies… and you use Miss Havisham?”

       “Why? It’s apt.”

       “How about Gatsby at least? My God, how do you compare me to a jilted, dried-up old crone?”

       “Were you jilted?”

       “Can you see me proposing to someone?”

       Good point.

       “What about Moriarty? The Marquise de Merteuil… Anyone. Fucking Blofeld!”

       That could work. “Do you have a cat?” I asked, fascinated by the possibility of Pierce rolling around London as a Bond villain.

       “My mother does,” he said, his voice lowering.

       “I think you should get one. Cats are solitary creatures. You could be alone together.”

       “Then what are you? A Bond girl?”

       “I suppose the dress is rather casino appropriate.” I looked down at the gold sheet dress.

       When I looked up, his eyes were on me. “Do you want to go?”

      
No!
I thought.
I want you to open up to me! I want you to tell me everything. And then maybe I’ll stop romanticising you. Maybe…
“Do you mind if I finish my kebab before you throw me out?”

       A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Of course. Don’t want to expose the shovelling to the general populace. They’ve had enough of a fright this year.”