The List (32 page)

4 a.m
. Tonight was all about the booze. We played drinking games, sang drinking songs and when we'd run out of those we just drank. It felt strange watching Oliver with Ruth, and a couple of times he had to remove my hand from his leg when I drunkenly forgot I wasn't allowed to touch him.
She really is beautiful. We had my birthday cake just after midnight (one big candle) and then we all went outside and did some terrible dancing in honour of me being old. Oliver stepped into the middle of our little circle and made a speech:

‘Everyone, please raise your glass, well, your tumbler … whatever you have in your hand … to Phoebe! Whom I've known since we were seventeen. Who has no idea just how beautiful she is, but makes some cracking jokes about her own face so we all laugh anyway. Who, in fact, makes me laugh like no other person I know and who is, without doubt, my best friend. To you, Phoebe!' Of course then I had to say a few words. ‘To my lovely friends, old and new,' I said, trying to point to where Dan and Ruth were. ‘Thank you for celebrating my birthday with me and for generally putting up with me and my exploits this year. It's been quite a year, eh, Oliver?' I laughed and I could see Oliver glaring back at me, with a ‘don't say any more, Ruth doesn't know' look. I continued:

‘In other news, I might also be getting back with Alex but this hasn't been confirmed yet … But I think I love him. Again. Anyway, you're all fuckers but be assured that I love you all more than Alex.'

I remember the stunned looks on everyone's faces. Now it's 4 a.m., I've sobered up and all I can hear is moaning coming from both Oliver's and Paul's rooms. I wonder if Ruth is better than me in bed? If I don't get some sleep soon it's going to be a long day tomorrow.

Saturday September 24th

11 a.m
. Happy Birthday to me! Thirty-three and I don't look a day over thirty-three. I woke up feeling surprisingly well, considering I drank almost an entire bottle of Jack myself last night. Mum and Dad called after lunch.

‘Happy birthday, darling!' they both yelled over speaker-phone. ‘Are you having fun?'

‘Thank you. I am actually! How are you both?'

‘Oh, fine,' said Dad. ‘We're just off camping.'

‘Why?' I asked, screwing up my face at the very prospect. ‘Jesus, you're both in your sixties. Go and lie down or something.'

I heard Mum shouting in the background, ‘Tell her we're going to look for trolls.' Dad continued, ‘She's not kidding, you know. We're going to have some nature time. There's nothing quite like waking up in the morning beside a lake and skinny-dipping by moonlight. You know how it recharges your mother.'

‘Oh God, ENOUGH!' I yelled, dying inside at the prospect of my mother and father howling at the moon, dressed in nothing but Jesus sandals. ‘I remember you used to do that by the loch. Well, until the police told you to stop.'

‘We've got to go, darling, but we just wanted to wish you lots of fun on your birthday!'

Recharges. Yuck, I just know that is hippy code for ‘arouses'. Still, it could have been worse. Oliver's parents are the same age and they never leave the house. They sleep in separate beds and watch the world through twitching curtains. I'd take my crazy parents over them any day.

The seven of us spent a couple of hours this afternoon exploring the island and pretending to have adventures, like characters from an Enid Blyton novel, but a really warped one filled with swear words, smoking, gay men and characters who shag at the drop of a hat. When we got back from exploring we all congregated in the garden to sunbathe. Ruth looks amazing in a bikini; even I couldn't take my eyes off her. I played it safe with a sarong over my bottom half to avoid giving the entire troop nightmares. We all had a cheeky joint while listening to ‘Rainy Day Women' and giggled hysterically at fuck all. Ruth just read her book. ‘Let's have a bonfire tonight!' announced Hazel with great gusto. ‘It'll be brilliant. We can get wood from trees!' I giggled again.

Oliver stood up, stoned as hell. ‘Right, I will go and collect wood and Henderson will come as my wingman.'

I scowled. ‘Don't tell me what to do. YOU'RE NOT MY REAL DAD.'

Ruth looked up from her book. ‘I can help you, babe,' she said quietly.

‘With those nails?' Oliver laughed. ‘Finish your book, honey. It's about time Phoebs did something around here other than drink.' I made a face, but tied my sarong around my waist and threw on some flip-flops: ‘Right, into the trees we go.'

Hazel shouted, ‘There's rope in the shed for the twigs, makes them easier to carry!' We grabbed the rope and walked the short distance to the woods behind the house. ‘So … Ruth is nice then,' I said, kicking a stone out of my shoe. ‘Nice and thin and pretty and—'

Oliver cut me off mid-sentence. ‘You're getting back with Alex? Phoebe, don't do it. Please. You know how I feel … how we
all
feel about this. I couldn't bear to see you hurt again, none of us could.'

‘Oliver, I know. I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm confused. He says he still loves me and, well, everyone needs someone, don't they, and you have Ruth … and I don't have a Ruth and … what was I saying again?' Truly the ramblings of a stoner.

Feeling woozy, I sat down and Oliver lit two cigarettes. ‘Ruth is great, Phoebe, but it's nothing special,' he mumbled. ‘She is nice – and really clever – but she doesn't make me laugh. It's strange.'

‘You're strange,' I said, smiling at him. ‘I heard you guys last night, even with my drunken ears. What's the problem? Sure she doesn't know the words to ‘Vogue', but she's probably been on the cover and you hate that song anyway. Impressively, she manages to stay thin and eat crisps and she … Ouch!'

I had dropped my cigarette on my thigh. Oliver hurried to brush the ash away but I was left with a small red blister. He blew on it, very gently at first, gradually moving his mouth closer and closer. I closed my eyes. The next thing I felt was his mouth kissing the inside of my thigh. I opened my eyes again. ‘Oliver, we—' but he stopped me.

‘Remember the bondage challenge? It's your turn now.'

I looked at him. My heart raced. ‘Here? Now? But what about Ruth?'

Oliver didn't answer. Instead he picked up the rope we'd brought for tying the twigs and stood over me. ‘Get up,' he
said quietly, and I did what I was told. He pushed me back towards the tree and began to loop the rope around me, making sure my arms were restrained but leaving my legs free. To be honest, a five-year-old girl scout could have undone the knot he tied, but I didn't struggle. He carefully pulled down my bikini bottoms and began licking me, so slowly I felt my knees buckle and my face flush. He undid his jeans, wrapped my legs around his waist and held me up. I could feel the tree scratching my back as he went faster and faster and then he stopped, looked into my eyes and kissed me. I mean really kissed me, and all I could do was kiss him back. It was passionate and as he started to move inside me again I cried out it was so intense. ‘The thing about Ruth,' he breathed as we fucked, ‘is that she's not you, Phoebe.'

I stared back at him, trying to think of something clever to say in response. But by then I was so close to coming I couldn't focus properly. He let me come before he did and then kissed me again and pulled up his trousers.

‘Why did you bring Ruth here?' I asked as he untied me.

He sighed. ‘Why do you think, Phoebe? I hoped actually seeing me get serious with someone else would make you realize you wanted me too. In my own twisted way I hoped you'd be jealous.'

I rubbed the tops of my arms where the rope had been. ‘On my birthday? I don't get you. We agreed no strings, you've never once shown an interest in me in that way, Oliver, and—'

He looked annoyed. ‘Oh, I have, believe me I have. You've been so wrapped up in your own world and your stupid list
of challenges you just haven't noticed. It's been getting more and more difficult hearing about you with other guys. I thought maybe after taking you to that hotel, and that moment we had at the beach, you might realize … but now this thing with Alex again. I've never heard anything so foolish, even for you.'

‘You're foolish,' I said quietly, like a four-year-old who's just been told off. ‘And Alex and I have a history. It's not that simple—'

‘I give up,' he said. ‘Get back together with Alex. Do whatever the fuck you like. Christ, Phoebe, I'm standing here telling you I love you and it doesn't make any difference to you. Fuck you.'

I watched him walk away.

‘What about the sticks?' I shouted.

‘Fuck the sticks!' he yelled back. Then he was gone.

I managed to gather some up and walked back to the house, wondering what the hell to expect. But there was Oliver, sitting beside Ruth, having a beer with everyone else.

‘You took your time, Phoebs,' laughed Lucy. ‘Did you find a gingerbread house in there?'

‘Sorry I was too stoned to help,' said Oliver flatly before putting his shades on, kissing Ruth and lying back in the sun. I just smiled and dumped the sticks at the front of the house before retreating to my room to cry.

11 p.m
. Oliver and I haven't spoken much since this afternoon, just enough to make it seem like everything's normal. I faked a headache an hour ago and left them all beside
the bonfire, dancing round it like
Tales of the Unexpected
. Hazel came in about half an hour ago. She's smarter than a lot of people give her credit for. She sat on the bed and brushed my fringe from my eyes. ‘What a mess, Phoebs. I know Alex is the Antichrist, but if you decide to get back with him, that's your choice.' I nodded. ‘And if a certain Irishman really loves you, he'll accept that too.' I looked at her, wondering how the hell she knew. ‘Oh, that's been coming for a while,' she laughed. ‘Now come downstairs and finish your birthday. Please, I insist.' She got up and before closing the door she added, ‘You've spent almost a whole year taking no shit, Phoebe. Don't give up now.'

I'm just about to head back down. I need a drink.

Sunday September 25th

I'm just home and feeling rather fragile. Lucy drove and I stared out the window all the way down. So far I haven't allowed myself to actually stop and really think about what's going on, but I'll have to at some point, undoubtedly at three in the morning, when I'm obsessing over this instead of sleeping.

Monday September 26th

When asked by my colleagues how my birthday trip was I smiled and said, ‘It was the best time ever, thanks!' because telling them that my best friend ruined it all by telling me he's in love with me wasn't something I cared to share with them.

I got through the day by throwing myself into work and trying to ignore the voice in my head that kept telling me I should have handled the Oliver situation differently. Finally, on my way to the station, I gave Oliver a call, hoping to meet up and sort this mess out. It rang once and then went to voicemail, which I'm assuming was him rejecting my call. We've been friends for sixteen years – surely we can get past this?

Tuesday September 27th

As Oliver won't answer my calls I've sent him thirty-two texts today, begging him to speak to me. He'll either cave in or get the police to caution me for harassment. It's a chance I'm willing to take as this is driving me mad. I need to speak to him. I miss him.

Wednesday September 28th

At work this morning I must have looked at my phone fifty times in the hope that Oliver had texted me back. Nothing. So I tried emailing.

Staring at the computer screen for forty-five minutes seemed to generate a response, albeit not the one I was hoping for:

Ouch! That was below the belt; nothing like hitting a neurotic girl where it hurts. I feel so sad about this. I tried clicking my heels, wishing I'd never started anything with Oliver, but it didn't work. I guess now I know where I stand.

Friday September 30th

Alex called me this morning while I was on the train to work.

‘I've told her it's over. I've resigned and she's moving out. We can be together now. Can I come over tonight?'

‘If you break my heart again, I'll fucking kill you,' I said in a low voice, aware that everyone on the train could hear me. ‘But fine.'

‘I won't. I promise. I'll see you tonight.'

7.53 p.m
. He's on his way now. Of course I'm nervous about the whole thing, and it's dawned on me what a life-changing move this is. No more Oliver, no more challenges … but on the other hand, no more horrendous dating and no more missing Alex. I hope I'm doing the right thing.