Jemima J. (7 page)

“Darling, I can’t wait to hear.”

“Well first of all we wouldn’t bother going to a restaurant, I’d want you all to myself at home, so I’d cook a gourmet meal, and we’d eat by candlelight on my terrace overlooking the swimming pool to the sounds of soft jazz playing on the stereo.”

Geraldine makes gagging noises.

“Go on.”

“After dinner I’d lead you into my bedroom and I would give you a massage. I’d unbutton your shirt, and dribble some baby oil on to my palm. I’d warm the oil between my hands and then I’d make you lie on the bed while I slowly rub the baby oil into the smooth, tanned skin of your back.”

“How do you know it’s tanned?”

“Sssh. You’re spoiling the atmosphere. After you’re completely relaxed, I’d move my hands lower, pulling down your skirt until I’m rubbing my palms over your bare buttocks. I’d move lower and lower, pulling your panties down as I go, slipping my hand in between your legs, where it’s warm, dark, and moist with longing.”

“Oh my God! I don’t believe this!”

“What a perv!” shrieks Geraldine.

“Let the guy finish!” says Ben.

“Then I’d turn you over, and slowly stroke the oil on to your bare breasts. Your nipples would be erect by now, aching for me to take them between my fingers and rub them gently.”

Geraldine and I shriek with laughter, and for the first time in my life I stop feeling intimidated by her, and start to think that actually she’s really very nice. Ben doesn’t say anything.
_p. 48
He’s smiling, but one look at his face and we can tell he wants to hear more. Unfortunately, he won’t.

I sit there and cover my face in mock horror. “I can’t do this anymore,” I say, “this is too horrible,” and I quickly type in,
“Okay, thanks for the massage. Must do it again some time. Bye.”

“Sorry. Did I put you off?”
Poor Todd, he
’
s blown it and he
’
s hardly started yet.

“Just ignore him,” says Geraldine. “Let’s try someone else.”

“My turn, my turn,” says Ben, reaching for the mouse.

“Hi Suzie,”
he types.
“I’m Ben. I’m with two female friends. Now it’s my turn.”

“Oh. Okay. How are you, Ben?”

“Good, thank you. But the burning question is, what are you doing with [email protected], who evidently has no money because he lives in a really grotty area, when you could be with me.”

“Ben!” I start laughing. “Like you live in a palace?”

“Sssh,” he says. “What difference?”

“Are you rich then, Ben?”

“Richer than [email protected], and better looking.”

“LOL.”

“;-)”

“How do you know what he looks like?”

“Trust me. I know these things.”

“So what do you look like?”

Geraldine groans at me. “God, he’s off. Shall we go and get a coffee?”

And they do. They go downstairs to the cafeteria and leave Ben sitting at the computer, chatting animatedly to Suzie, the babe of his dreams. The babe that’s as different from Jemima as, well, as a typewriter and a computer linked up to the Internet.

_p. 49
I can’t get the bloody Internet out of my head. Truth to be told, I think it’s brilliant, everything. The World Wide Web, the chat forums, the possibilities.

Not that I’m looking for anyone, I mean, it’s me, for God’s sake, the woman who never has any boyfriends, and, although I know what a nice person I am, I’m not the most sociable of creatures. I wish I were, I wish I could be more like my roommates at times, but unfortunately my size dictates my social life, and my size is the one thing I can’t control. I know what you’re thinking, go on a diet, but it’s not as easy as that, I just can’t stop the cravings when they come, and somehow living on the Internet seems a far easier option than giving up chocolate.

I mean, this could open up a whole new life for me, a new life that doesn’t care about looks, about weight, about expanses of flesh.

Or perhaps I should say, doesn’t
know,
because I’m not stupid, if I had described myself accurately to Todd, he would have been off faster than you can say megabyte.

But I really can be anyone I want on the Internet. After all, who could ever find out? What harm could there be? And, let’s face it,
_p. 50
up until now the only fun thing in my life has been fantasizing first about being thin, and then about Ben Williams, but even those fantasies have been so tame that they’re hardly worth repeating.

Are we interested? Okay, let’s take a peek into Jemima’s daydreams. When Jemima Jones goes to bed and closes her eyes, this is what she sees: she sees herself struck down with gastroenteritis, a bad bout, not so bad as to be seriously threatening, but bad enough for her to lose huge amounts of weight.

She sees herself decked out in little suits, tight fitted jackets, short skirts just skimming her thighs. She sees herself bumping into Ben Williams, who has by now left the
Kilburn Herald,
as in fact has she.

She sees herself going up to Ben at a crowded party, and saying hi, with a cool look in her eyes and a casual flick of her now blond hair. She sees Ben’s eyes widen in shock, replaced seconds later by admiration, respect, lust. She sees Ben driving her home, and coming in for coffee. She sees her roommates fall over themselves trying to flirt with him, but she sees that Ben only has eyes for her.

She sees Ben moving closer towards where she sits on the sofa, unable, even for a moment, to take his eyes off her face. She sees his mouth in close-up detail, as he bends forward to kiss her. When they have kissed, and, incidentally, it is a kiss that instantly propels her up to a cloud, Ben looks in her eyes and says, “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I love you and I want to be with you for the rest of my life.”

Ridiculous, isn’t it, but Jemima Jones never gets beyond that first kiss and the declaration of love. Occasionally the kiss takes place elsewhere, sometimes at the party, sometimes in the car, sometimes on the street, but his words are always the same, and, as far as Jemima’s concerned, those words are the beginning of her happy ever after.

So I think we all agree that right now, at this stage in her life, Jemima Jones deserves a bit of fun.

_p. 51
The first step in my new life is to stop at the bookshop on the way home from work. Actually it’s not really on my way home, it involves a massive detour to Hampstead, but, despite this being a break from my daily routine, I’m beginning to realize that my life is changing, and by the looks of things so far it would appear to be getting infinitely better.

The evidence? Well, as far as I can see, seven important, life-changing things have happened. First, I went on a course to learn the basics about the Internet. Second, after the course I went for a drink,
I actually went out for a drink,
and, not only that, the drink lasted all evening. This, as far as I’m concerned, is the definite beginning of a social life. Third, it wasn’t just any old drink, it was a drink with Geraldine and Ben Williams. Geraldine, with whom I had never, until that drink, socialized after work, and Ben, about whom I fantasize every night. Fourth, I was actually able to relax in Ben’s company! I wasn’t the tongue-tied teenager he occasionally joins for lunch in the canteen, I was almost, almost, myself. Fifth, I had a good time. No, forget that, I had a
great
time! Sixth, Ben joined me on the Internet today, and yes I was embarrassed by the sex, but more importantly I showed Ben I have a sense of humor, at least I hope I did. Seventh, I haven’t had any chocolate for two whole weeks.

Is it any wonder that Jemima Jones feels that life is taking a definite turn for the better? Never mind that the drink she shared with Ben Williams and Geraldine was two weeks ago. Never mind that she hasn’t seen Ben Williams properly since their brief sojourn on the Internet. Never mind that neither Geraldine nor Ben has suggested a repeat drink. That one evening was enough to set a chain of events in progress. Cause and effect, except Jemima doesn’t quite know the full effect just yet. Nor do we.

But nevertheless, two weeks have passed and still Jemima’s feeling so happy, so high, so full of excitement at her new life, she treats herself to a taxi to Hampstead. She stands on the corner outside the
Kilburn Herald,
eyes full of hope, hands full of bags, and she hails a black cab.

_p. 52
“Hampstead, please,” I tell the driver, climbing awkwardly into the back.

“Whereabouts, love?” he says, a middle-aged man with a kind face.

“Do you know Waterstone’s?”

He nods, and off we go. Up through West Hampstead, passing the hordes of young people on their way home from work, zippy suits, designer briefcases, aspirations in their eyes. Up across the Finchley Road, up Arkwright Road, cut through Church Row as I stare with envy at the houses that once contained bohemian artists and writers, and now contain wealthy businessmen, and right at the tube, down Hampstead High Street, he pulls up, double-parking, for of course there are no spaces in which to park, and clicks his meter.

“Keep the change,” I say, handing him £6, for today is the beginning of my new life, and I can afford to be a bit extravagant. I might even do a little shopping, because it’s only 5:45
P.M.,
and the shops will be open for a while yet, tempting me with their glamorous window displays.

But first into Waterstone’s, dark, cool, calm, I breathe in the air of reverence and feel a sense of calm wash over me. Books are my special treat, and today I’m going to treat myself. I’ve decided that I’m going to buy at least three books, and I’m going to browse for hours and soak up the atmosphere, enjoy the anonymity, revel in the fact that no one in here is looking at me or passing judgment on my thighs rubbing together as I walk because they too will be immersed in books.

I start with a table near the front, and gently brush the piles of hardbacks. No, I tell myself, that really would be extravagant, and today is a paperback day, so I walk over to another table. Covers, so many covers, so many different, delectable pictures, and although, metaphorically speaking, it is the thing I hate most, when it comes to literature I always judge books by their covers. First the cover will catch my eye, then I read
_p. 53
the back of the book, and then finally the first page. I pick up one, a new novel I’ve read about in a magazine. “A modern romance that puts all other romances to shame,” says the back cover. I open it up to the first page and start reading. Yes. This is the first book I’ll buy.

Then I pick up another book. No picture, just a bright yellow cover with large purple letters, the author’s name and the title. Hmm, interesting. I read the first page, where I meet Anna, an eighteen-year-old girl about to embark on a university degree. She is going to meet her future lecturer, who will, she suspects, quiz her about her reasons for taking an English degree. It is beautifully written, the sentences so clear, so concise, so vivid, I almost forget about adding it to my pile. I forget I’m in Waterstone’s, to be honest I seem to forget about everything, and, as I read on to the fourth page, the fifth, I become Anna’s invisible acquaintance, a secret shadowy figure who lurks silently in the background, looking in on Anna’s life, holding her hand as she meets the gruff professor.

Jemima is so immersed in Anna’s world she doesn’t see that on the other side of the room, standing almost exactly parallel to where she is now, is Ben Williams. Ben is also immersed in a book, back to the room, facing the bookshelf; he is reading the first few pages of a thriller, rocking gently on the balls of his feet as he reads.

But before we start assuming this must be fate, I have to point out that although Ben likes Jemima, he doesn’t
like
Jemima, so perhaps now is not the time to start jumping to conclusions.

But it is rather strange that both of them should be in Waterstone’s at exactly the same time. Ben, it has to be said, comes to Waterstone’s once every couple of weeks, but rarely does he take advantage of the fact that Waterstone’s is open until 10
P.M.
, rarely does he venture into this bookstore after work. Ben usually makes his journey on a Saturday, he will pop in on his way to meet some friends for a drink at a sidewalk café.

_p. 54
Tonight, however, Ben is not going out. Nor is he watching the news. Tonight Ben has nothing to do, and this is why he is in the same place as Jemima Jones, at the same time. And because Ben didn’t jump in a cab, he got the tube, Ben has only just arrived.

So here they are, Jemima and Ben, these two colleagues, both with their backs towards one another, both lost in their respective handheld worlds of academia and dodgy dealing in the City, both completely unaware of their proximity.