Agent Provocateur (46 page)

‘Well, it’s done now.’

‘But I wanted her to win. Don’t you see, I kept you busy so she could have a clear go at him? I wanted him to be a cheater because then I would have known that we were the same and I was right. I’m sick and twisted and horrible and I don’t know how you can bear to look at me.’

‘Oh, Fiona, you are all those things, but I still listened to you.’

‘Is that all you’re going to say?’

‘To be honest, it’s all I can say. You might have come up with the bet but that doesn’t matter much now. All that matters is me saving my marriage. Why did I ever listen to you?’

‘I don’t know but I don’t think you should ever listen to me again.’

‘Fiona, you’re my boss.’

‘Right, but if I say anything, ever, that you don’t like, you must tell me.’ Fiona is still taken aback, not only by her confession but by Betty’s reaction.

‘I will tell you. And now I’m going to try to win Johnny back. I don’t suppose you have any ideas on how to do that?’

‘I’m keeping quiet.’

‘Fiona, that’s the first sensible thing you’ve said.’

When Betty lets Fiona out, she hugs her goodbye. The look of confusion on Fiona’s face is priceless. Betty feels better; almost calm about everything. Fiona wanted to turn Betty into a carbon copy of herself. It might have screwed up her life but at least it made sense of things. Because now one thing is clear to her: this whole business is her fault. She let Fiona manipulate her, she always did, and now she is paying the price. Johnny wasn’t at fault, nor was Grace. Even Fiona could be exonerated. The only person Betty can blame is herself and the lesson she is learning is perhaps the most painful and the most valuable of her life.

She thinks back to the times when she let Johnny come second to her career. It has happened. Fiona was always behind it. Seeing the truth, finally, admitting that she isn’t the perfect wife, gives her hope. Maybe she will get him back. And if she does, then she will never let Fiona influence her again.

Despite the way her life is crumbling she begins to see some good. She was immature, worried that single people and the word ‘divorce’ could contaminate her marriage. She was convinced her marriage was perfect but no marriage ever is. She sees it, finally, for what it is: two people in love, totally in love, but having to live together through the realities of modern life. Now she sees it she feels stronger, but she also hopes that it isn’t too late.

Grace has lunch with Nicole, wearing enough make-up to mask her misery. She can barely string a sentence together or eat as she wonders if Johnny has her letter. But all she can do is wait.

Johnny’s secretary brings him a courier delivery. He looks at the envelope and wonders if it is from her. Another bolt of unfamiliarity hits him as he realises that he doesn’t know her handwriting. He opens it, and pulls out four pages of A4. He doesn’t read it but looks at the bottom where she has signed her name. He feels sick. He takes out Betty’s letter, and he holds one in each hand. Then he quickly stuffs both into his jacket pocket before they destroy him completely. He has their letters but he is not going to read them.

He gives up on work early. The worst thing is his inability to know what to do. His thoughts and feelings are killing him, but how does he stop that? Anger, fear, hurt, all ripping through him, and he doesn’t know how to get rid of them. He needs to get out. Before he leaves, he does the ‘sensible Johnny’ thing and calls Matt. He tells him that he is going to visit a friend, to get some space, and will call him the following day. Instead, he gets rid of ‘sensible Johnny’, grabs his jacket and goes to get drunk.

The bar he chooses is unfamiliar, as is the drink he chooses, Jack Daniel’s on the rocks. He drinks quickly, hoping that each burning mouthful will help him forget. Because that is the only thing he wants now: to forget. He switches his mobile off. He buys a packet of cigarettes. He hasn’t smoked since university and that was only for a couple of months. But smoking and drinking are offering him a distraction. They are stopping him from going mad.

His head is too fuzzy. It is all too much to bear. One minute he wants revenge, the next he desperately wants to turn the clock back to before Grace. He was happy then. He didn’t particularly want to change anything about his life. But now it has changed, and he has no idea what he is going to do about it.

He buries himself in the drink but thoughts keep flowing into his head. Where is he going to live? Will he get a divorce? What will he say to them, to the two women who thought it was a good idea to turn his life upside down?

What about his own near infidelity? He failed the test, if it was a test. He nearly buckled; he was about to succumb. He might have walked away, but now he will never know. He will never know which woman he would have chosen and that just adds to his confusion.

He misses the simplicity of life. Everything is so complicated and there is no way he can start simplifying it now. It is all too much.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the letters. One half read, the other unread. He cannot bring himself to read them; he doesn’t yet want to hear their excuses or declarations of love. He doesn’t want to exonerate either of them. At the moment hate is burning its brand on to his mind. Hate is safe waters; hate he can deal with. He does not enjoy it, but along with anger it is here, and it makes him feel for a while that he knows where he is.

Without his realising it, the pub is calling last orders. Johnny panics. What is he going to do now? He lied to Matt. He doesn’t have a friend to stay with; his drink was his friend. He decides to go somewhere that ‘sensible Johnny’ wouldn’t go. He goes to a club in Soho.

When he stands up the drink seems to hit him, and he wobbles his way out of the bar. He stands straight enough to hail a cab and get it to take him to his destination. When he gets there he pays the driver and wobbles in. It’s a club that one of the guys at work talks about, it’s ‘full of scantily clad women who are all looking for a shag’. He remembers this. He walks into the club, pays an extortionate entrance fee and realises why they were all looking for shags. It is depressing. The girls are all wearing next to nothing, either standing at the bar watching the door or on the dance floor watching the door. Drunken men are wobbling around, just like Johnny, and girls are letting them breathe on them. It is not a strip club, it’s not full of hookers. It’s a club for London’s lonely young people. It is depressing.

Johnny would never visit a club like this. He hasn’t been to a club for years and his party was the nearest he’s got. But Johnny isn’t Johnny any more. He doesn’t know who he is, but he is here. He walks to the bar and orders a drink. He pulls out his cigarettes (which he cannot even taste any more), and lights one. A girl smiles at him. He offers her a drink. She agrees. As he waits for the barman to give him change he looks at her. Through his ‘drunk vision’ she is all right. Not a patch on Grace, of course, and not a patch on Betty. But she is blonde and, as neither of them is, that is a positive attribute. She also has an enormous chest, which neither have. She is actually quite enormous all round (well, she is fleshy), nothing like the other two. He immediately smiles. Now he knows what to do.

‘I’m Johnny.’ His chat-up lines are a bit rusty. ‘Sally.’

‘Cheers, Sally.’ He realises that he doesn’t really know how to talk to her.

‘So, what’s a handsome man like you doing here?’ He thinks that he might not need to do much talking.

‘I just wanted a drink and a friendly chat.’ He cannot believe how cheesy he sounds.

‘Well, you came to the right place. Do you want to dance?’

They hit the dance floor, Johnny, still a little unsteady on his feet, but that doesn’t matter because Sally is practically holding him up. She has pushed her ample chest right into him and, despite everything, he is getting turned on. She is nothing like the women he loves, but that is proving even more of a turn on.

‘What do you do?’ he asks her, when they go back to the bar for another drink.

‘I’m a waitress.’ She doesn’t ask him, but takes her drink, swallows it down in one and grabs him and kisses him. Johnny is not taken aback by the teenage nature of the snog – he doesn’t care. This is all helping him.

‘Can I take you home?’ he says, realising that the music is giving him a headache and he is really too drunk. She nods and leads him out.

The first blast of the night air injects a tiny bit of sobriety into him. He looks at her again as they wait for a cab. She is overweight, her legs squeezed into a tiny skirt. Her hair is dyed blonde, and it is not a sophisticated style. Her make-up is clumsy and too brash to compliment her. Her shoes are too high and her fat feet are pouring out of them. She is not attractive to him; therefore she is.

A cab stops and Sally gives him her address. Johnny gets in after her and puts his hand on her thigh. They go back to their kiss.

There are a number of reasons that he finds himself with her. One is that he is drunk. The second is that she kissed him. The third is that he has nowhere else to go.

Her flat is shared and reminds him of days when he first moved to London. There are no signs of any flatmates, but the place is depressing. It is messy, but she does not apologise for this. As soon as they are in the sitting room, she is sexily dancing towards him, but she is hot sexy. He knows what he needs. He walks up to her and grabs her, like he means it.

‘Your bedroom.’ It is a command. She looks delighted as she leads him there.

The bedroom has a double bed, a wooden wardrobe and a mirror in it. It is tidy, unlike the rest of the flat, but also small. He feels as if he is regressing; this is a university type of bedroom, not one for grownups. Not like Grace’s, or like his and Betty’s. The thoughts make him even more angry. He kisses her hard, and then undoes her top. It is not easy pulling it off her, and they wrestle before it is free. He unclips her bra, which is too small, and watches, with a teenage glee, when her huge boobs spring free. As he kisses and teases the nipples she squeals in delight. It is not long before they are both naked.

He tells himself that she is sexy, but he no longer finds her sexy. She isn’t attractive, but he tells himself she is. There is something sordid about the way he pushes her head to his crotch, but she loves it and when he reciprocates, burying his head in a tangle of pubic hair and thigh flesh, she orgasms for him. It is her gratitude that makes him decide to continue. He is nauseous from both her and the drink, but she thanks him over and over again for pleasing her, which makes him feel like a man. The bitches took away his balls, but Sally will give them back.

Sex is rough, both clawing at each other, in desperation rather than passion. Finally, they are finished and he kisses her and turns over.

He was so detached from the act, even when he came. Afterwards he lies close to the edge of her small double bed, wishing he were anywhere but there. But he has nowhere else to go.

As soon as the sun makes an appearance he wakes up and sees that she is snoring next to him. His head pounds and all the memories come flooding back. She is not as unattractive as he told himself she was last night, but she is no beauty. He looks at her one last time, feeling rotten, feeling awful, feeling like a cad, before he grabs his clothes, puts them on and leaves.

It is only six in the morning, and he cannot remember where he is. He walks the streets, which are eerily quiet, before he sees a postcode sign and realises that he is really close to Grace’s flat. This depresses him further. He does the only thing he can think of. He finds a taxi, and goes to Matt’s.

He uses the key Matt gave him to get in, and he goes to the bathroom, to shower. By the time Matt and Alison get up he is sitting in the kitchen drinking juice.

‘Are you all right?’ Alison asks.

‘I’ve got a hangover the size of London.’

‘Where were you?’ she continues.

‘With a friend.’ She doesn’t believe him, but there is nothing she can do. All three of them leave for work, with depression sitting in their pockets.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Johnny feels awful until he gets to the office, where a new kind of awful overtakes him. He cannot feel guilty about Sally, or revulsion at the way he used her, because it is their fault. It is time for them to pay. He calls Matt.

‘I’m doing it. I’m confronting them.’

‘OK.’ Matt has no arguments to give.

‘There’s no time like the present. I’m going to call them.’

‘Now I know you feel nervous about this. You never use wanky phrases like “there’s no time like the present”.’

‘That obvious?’

‘Transparent.’

‘Well, I am nervous, but I don’t know why.’

‘Call me after.’

‘I will.’

Betty is watching daytime TV when the phone rings. She immediately snatches it up, hoping it is Johnny. It’s been two days.

‘Hi,’ she says.

‘It’s me.’ He sounds cold, but at least it is his voice.

‘Oh, Johnny. Thank God.’ She falters. ‘Did you read the letter?’

‘I want to meet you. Tonight.’ He gives her the name and address of a bar.

‘OK. Great, what time?’ She cannot hide her excitement. She believes it must be the letter that has brought this about, even though he still sounds a little cold.

‘Eight.’ He hangs up.

Betty jumps up arid even though it is not yet lunchtime she goes to choose what she will wear.

Johnny is sweating. Despite the fact that he is the wronged man, he feels guilty because Betty obviously thought he wanted to talk to her following the letter that he’s only half read. Be a man, he tells himself as he wipes his forehead and picks up the phone again.

Grace answers the phone after the first ring. ‘Hello.’

‘It’s me.’

Despite everything Oliver said, she feels so many emotions hearing his voice. ‘Oh, Johnny.’ She has no idea what to say.

‘I need to see you.’