The List (26 page)

Stunned, I watched him walk away, but not without shouting, ‘ACTUALLY, I ENJOYED YOUR MEAL MORE, YOU FUCKING ODDBALL!' I then realized shouting at an unstable man in the street probably wasn't a good idea and ran up an alley to hide.

I had a text conversation with Lucy on the taxi ride home.

Ugh, at least I get to see Oliver tomorrow. Damn I've missed him.

Wednesday August 3rd

Oliver brought me presents from Chicago. Wise move. A big present which was a bag filled with stolen hotel stuff and a smaller bag which contained a blindfold and a pair of wrist restraints. ‘Nice to see that even when you're on the other side of the world, you're still invested in helping me. That's commitment.'

‘Well, bondage is still on the list, isn't it?' He grinned. ‘Unless you're finished with me now you want a boyfriend who'll be rubbish in bed but put up with your singing.'

‘What about Ruth? I doubt she'll be too happy with our arrangement.'

‘I doubt I'll tell her.'

‘Good, because I intend to see this thing through to the end. And you love my vocal stylings; they're what get you out of my flat in the morning. Bondage is on, baby! And we still have another role play as well – any ideas?'

‘I'll think about it, but right now I haven't had sex in a
month so I advise you to remove your jeans
this instant
before I explode. I warn you. It's going to be brutal.'

So I did and I thought at one point he was going to devour me. It was like his last meal on death row. He threw my legs over his shoulders and went so deep I could hardly breathe, but it didn't last long. The second time lasted almost an hour though.

Thursday August 4th

Hugo Beale, the advertising director from London, flew up to Glasgow to meet with Frank today, which meant everyone was on their best behaviour, including Lucy, who made it into work early for once. ‘That man scares me. He smiles at you but you know that behind the smile he's planning to have you killed.'

It was true. He's a tall, thin man, well-dressed and charismatic, who has nevertheless been given the nickname ‘Satan' by his staff in London, whom he scares and bewitches in equal measure.

He arrived at half past eleven, briefly taking the time to thank each of us for our tiny contribution to
The Post's
vast empire before disappearing with Frank for lunch at Malmaison.

‘I wonder why he's here,' wondered Kelly, making sure they'd gone before taking her nail file out of her drawer. ‘Maybe Frank's getting the chop.'

Lucy shook her head. ‘It'll be redundancy talk. Seventeen sales executives were laid off last month in Manchester.'

The whole office stared at her. ‘I'm kidding!' she laughed.
‘Relax. Manchester doesn't even have seventeen sales staff. It's just his usual yearly meet with the regional managers.'

Stuart started to laugh, much to Kelly's annoyance. ‘That wasn't funny, Lucy. You're playing with people's lives here. People who—'

‘
Need people
?'

‘What?' asked Kelly, bewildered.

‘
Are the luckiest people, in the world
… Sing with me …'

By this time I was in tears at Lucy's Barbra Streisand impersonation and Kelly had stormed out of the office in her usual dramatic fashion. Lucy bowed and returned to her computer like nothing had happened. I really need to watch
Funny Girl
again.

Frank and Hugo returned two hours later with wine for everyone and a ‘keep up the good work' motivational speech given by Hugo, who more than likely didn't know any of our names and was obviously desperate to get back to That London.

After Hugo left, I heard Lucy and Frank arguing in his office just before half five. Every year Lucy books a last-minute holiday on her own – a week of sun, sea and her iPod. It's like her little ritual. This year she's chosen Greece, but Frank wouldn't sign her holiday form because it was short notice.

‘Frank, no one is off next week, I've checked the holiday board.'

‘That may be, but you're a separate department from sales. I need time to organize someone to do the admin.'

‘We had this discussion last year when I went to France and the year before that when I booked last minute to Rome.
Maureen takes over the figures and Kelly runs the reports. I DO THIS EVERY YEAR.'

‘Well, not this year,' he replied stubbornly.

‘I've already booked it. I'm going.'

‘Then I'll have no choice but to fire you,' he said, rising from his chair indignantly.

‘You said that last year. But fine. Fire me.'

‘What?'

‘I said, “Fire me.” If it's less hassle for you to find someone, interview them, hire them and train them than it is to let me take my annual leave, then go for it.' She folded her arms and began tapping her fingers on her forearm.

He sat back down. ‘You said that last year, didn't you?'

‘I've marked my days on the board. See you in a week.'

She left his office and walked past my desk, giving me a little wink. I wanted to climb up on to my desk and applaud her, but I'm not as brave as she is, and the last time Frank threatened to fire me we ended up shagging so I sat quietly and got ready to leave work.

When I got home I checked my emails and scary Alan had emailed me twice; the first included ‘fat' pictures of himself to show me his weight loss and in the second he asked me out again. Neither email had an apology for his psychotic outburst. I sent a polite but firm, I'm not interested but thanks anyway, you mentalist. And why on earth would I want to see his before-and-after weight-loss pictures? Maybe it sounds a tad harsh, but give me a fucking break.

Saturday August 6th

‘Are you awake? Let's do something today.'

‘Oliver?' I mumbled, looking at my bedside clock, ‘it's 8 a.m. Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?'

‘It's a beautiful, warm, sunny day, grumpy arse. Let's go out. I'll pick you up in an hour.'

Two hours later we were stuck in traffic, heading towards the seaside. ‘Jesus fuck,' said Oliver, banging his fists on the steering wheel. ‘Did everyone in Scotland decide to come here today?'

‘Looks like it,' I answered, turning on the radio. ‘Ooh, I love this song.'

‘Since when did you start liking Girls Aloud?'

‘Since they did this song.'

‘Fine, have it on; just don't sing.'

‘Why not?'

‘Two reasons: one – I hate this song; two – you sing in the key of pish.'

‘How dare you. I have singing skills. There's obviously something very wrong with your ears. And taste in music. How can you hate this song? That's like hating happiness.'

Twenty minutes later we arrived at the beach and found a place to park. I stepped out of the car and breathed in the sea air, which instantly took me back to beach visits with my parents when I was a kid.

‘God, I haven't been here for years. I remember eating ice cream and writing my name in the sand when I was
about seven. I made a sandcastle and put a dead crab in the wee moat around it.'

‘How chilling.'

‘Shut up. I didn't kill it.'

‘The beaches in Dublin were great. My auntie lived close to Dollymount and I'd spend weekends there with my cousins before we moved to Glasgow. We played football constantly.'

‘Sounds nice. I'd love to go to Dublin one day.'

‘I'll take you with me next time I go back. We can stay with Megan – I remember when she visited last year; you spent more time with her than I did.'

‘I love your sister. She's so pretty. Are there any ugly people in your family, Oliver?'

‘Yeah, my cousin Colin is a bit unfortunate-looking, though I think he might have been adopted. Funny as hell though, and has a huge knob so he still gets the women.'

I placed my bright blue towel on the sand and sat down. ‘God, this is bliss,' I said, closing my eyes and turning my face towards the delightfully warm sun. Oliver sat beside me and kicked off his trainers.

‘What are you smiling at?' he asked.

‘The sun. On my face. It makes me happy.'

‘You're fucking adorable. I'm going paddling.'

‘We're in Scotland. The water will be sub-zero, regardless of how sunny it is.'

‘Yeah, I know, but you have to go paddling. It's the law of the beach!' he proclaimed, opening some sandwiches. ‘Here, I brought you chicken and sweetcorn.'

‘My favourite. You are lovely.'

‘I know. You eat – I'm going in the water.'

He rolled his jeans up to his knees and walked away across the sand towards the sea. I began eating, watching families play with their children and glaring at the seagulls already circling like vultures for my sandwich crusts. This day was perfect. Looking across to the water's edge, I saw Oliver take out his phone and start texting, smiling to himself. My mood suddenly changed. I felt my temper rise and thought to myself angrily, He's texting that Ruth woman. We've only been here five fucking minutes and he's already making other plans.

Then I felt my own phone vibrate in my pocket:

The water's freezing. Get your arse over here and warm me up.

I got up and walked towards him, carefully avoiding broken shells until I was ankle deep in cold, calm seawater.

‘Arghh! I cannot believe you made me come in here. My feet are numb!'

‘Me mam always said that saltwater was good for the feet.' He smiled. ‘And the soul. Draws out all the bad energy or something.'

‘That sounds like something
my
mum would say,' I laughed. ‘Must be something about being born in the Sixties that turns you—'

My inane observations were cut short as Oliver suddenly placed his hand on the back of my neck, pulled me in and kissed me. It was firm at first but then became so slow and soft I felt my entire body tingle with pleasure. I moved my hand up to his face and kissed him back with an urgency I couldn't explain. Usually kissing Oliver was reserved for
pre-sex build up, but this time it felt different. There was no groping or expectation; it was just two people standing in the sea, making out under a bright blue sky, totally unaware that nearby the seagulls had shat all over their nice clean towels.

By six the weather finally remembered that it was Scotland and began to turn chilly. I smiled to myself as Oliver wrapped his hooded top around me without even asking if I was cold. We gathered our things together and walked leisurely back to the car, past quaint gift shops, bed and breakfasts and cafes.

‘Ice cream!' I exclaimed, spotting a large 99 poster in a cafe window. ‘Wait here.'

I ran in and purchased two cones from an elderly woman who expertly operated the Mr Whippy machine, despite quite obviously not being able to see two inches in front of her.

‘Two pounds, son,' she said, holding out the cones.

Son? I thought about protesting but the ice cream was already starting to drip so I took the cones and made my escape.

‘If you drip that in my car, you're in trouble,' said Oliver, taking his cone and licking the side.

‘What if I drip it on my breasts?' I asked, staring at his tongue.

‘Then you're definitely in trouble,' he said, raising one eyebrow. ‘You're coming home with me. It's decided.'

‘Good. I'm horny now. Drive quickly.'

He started the car and we began the journey home. We were almost back in Glasgow when he suddenly yelled,
‘FUCK! I completely forgot Ruth's flying up tonight! I'm supposed to collect her at the airport at eleven.'

I felt like I'd just been punched in the face. I'd been having such a perfect day.

‘Well, that sucks.' I pouted. ‘But it's fine.' It wasn't fine.

‘If she wasn't flying up, I'd cancel on her, but I can't now. That would be a shitty thing to do and—'

‘Honestly, it's OK. I have a million things to do anyway. We'll do it another time.'

He dropped me home and I went inside, still peeved that I'd been dropped for Ruth.

As those ‘millions of things' I had to do didn't technically exist, I slipped out of my clothes and into a yellow onesie and slumped down on the couch. As I turned on the TV and flicked through endless channels of crap, I wanted to scream with frustration. It was then that I vowed I'd never be left alone on a Saturday night again, dressed like a giant toddler.

Sunday August 7th

I've joined a new and bloody expensive, seemingly filled with hot men, dating site. I've only joined for a month though; even I'm not stupid enough to hang around on one of these sites for six months in the hope that some day my prince will log on. Still, after only a few hours I've already arranged two dates. Hazel seemed puzzled by this when she came round for coffee with Grace.

‘You've arranged them on consecutive days? Why?'

‘Because I'm determined not to mess about with this and
I had nothing planned for Friday and Saturday night anyway. Might as well use my time productively, don't you think?'

‘I suppose so. What happened to dating one man at a time? Where's the excitement? Where's the romance?' she asked, giving Grace a plastic spoon and cup to play with.

‘I'm not looking for excitement and romance, Hazel, I'm looking for a boyfriend. Those things never last anyway – that's if they even exist in the first place. I just want someone I fancy to spend time with.'

‘And keep Alex off your back too?' She smiled. ‘I'm sure Oliver would be happy to oblige there.'