The List (31 page)

I turned my phone off and stood at the window, watching for Barry's car and finishing my cigarette. I was not going to let Alex ruin this night for me. I was perfectly capable of doing that on my own.

The film began at eight fifteen and we made it just as the trailers were finishing. Barry chose seats in the middle, which meant no back-row groping and the only time he touched my thigh was when his hand missed the popcorn tub I held on my lap (he apologized). Ugh. As hard as I tried to pay attention to the film, my thoughts wandered from annoyance that Barry was possibly the most frigid man I'd ever met to Alex's suggestion that we ‘give this a go'. Was he serious? Did he expect me to get back together with him properly? Could I?

As the end credits rolled we left the cinema and walked back to Barry's car.

‘So, my place or yours?' I smiled as he opened the passenger door of his Volvo.

‘Neither, I'm afraid,' he replied. ‘I work early during the week. But another time?'

That was the final straw. As we drove out of the car park I blurted out, ‘Are we ever going to sleep together? We've had four dates now. What's the problem? Do you just not fancy me?'

He stared straight ahead. ‘There's no problem, Phoebe. Of course I fancy you! It's just … I mean—'

‘What?'

‘I just don't see the big deal about sex. There's no rush. I'd rather wait for a few months until we … It's not that important, is it?'

And there I was, driving home from the cinema with myself from a year ago. I wanted to stop the car and show him just how important it could be if you did it right, but I didn't. I said, ‘Of course not,' and we drove home. I texted
him a few minutes ago and called it all off. Shame, he's a lovely guy, but without that spark there wasn't any point carrying on and, God help me, I need that spark. I've experienced passion this year and I'm not willing to return to an existence where that's not viewed as important. I texted Oliver:

Barry was a stupid name anyway.

Thursday September 15th

Hazel called me at work today, just as I was getting ready to leave for my appointment with Pam.

‘Just booked you in to get a facial with me on Friday at six.'

‘Oh great, my skin could use an overhaul. Where are we going?'

‘That natural-beauty place on Bath Street. I'll meet you after work; Kevin's picking up Grace for me.'

‘Great stuff. Listen, I'm just running out of the office but I'll see you on Friday. You're a star!'

Pam Potter's consulting room is located above a betting shop in the middle of town. It looks like it was once a bedsit as it's only one room with a toilet and a small kitchen, where I imagine someone, penniless and lonely, has at some point quietly made beans on toast and wept for their youth. Despite Pam's fondness for weird ornaments and purple seat covers, it's a very relaxed environment. Although the double glazing is basically non-existent, so occasionally your
train of thought can be brought to a screeching halt by shouts of ‘Get me twenty fags, ya bastard' or ‘Fuck off, ya poof from the punters smoking outside the bookies below.

‘How are you, Phoebe?' Pam asked, stirring my tea. ‘We haven't had a session since July. Has this been a problem for you?'

‘I think I've coped rather well on my own.' I laughed. ‘Who'd have thought it?'

‘I'm glad to hear that. Anything in particular you want to discuss today?'

‘I'm feeling disheartened. You know, romantically,' I admitted, feeling like I should come up with a better reason. ‘I've decided I'm ready to have a relationship again, but Jesus, it's slim pickings out there.'

We had a lengthy discussion about what I felt I wanted from a new partner and a relationship and by the end I felt like I had no idea what I wanted.

‘What about this Oliver chap you've mentioned before? Aren't you involved with him?'

‘Oliver? God no. Well, we sleep together but that's all. We're friends. He'd never date me anyway.'

‘Why not?'

‘I've seen the way he is with women. He tends to date more compliant women than me. And well, better-looking. He has a type, you know? Like his new girlfriend Ruth. The model. He tries to pretend that stuff isn't important to him, but it is. Besides, he messes women around a lot and he knows me too well. He knows all of my flaws and the kinds of hideous things that friends forgive and boyfriends dwell on.'

‘So you'd rather have someone who didn't know the real you?'

‘Yes. What? No, of course not. I'd just like to meet someone who isn't already aware of every aspect of my life. Oliver is one of my best friends. That's all we need from each other.'

She had a look in her eyes that said ‘Who are you trying to kid?' but she didn't say anything. She just nodded and looked at her notepad and then her watch.

‘That's our time up. I've scheduled you in for October, but if you need any additional support before then, just call.'

And with that I left Pam's office and headed back to the station, musing over what she'd said. Oliver as a boyfriend? With his track record? Not a chance.

Friday September 16th

Hazel was waiting for me after work and we grabbed a quick glass of wine in the Drum and Monkey before making the short walk to Bath Street.

‘Do you think they do threading?' I asked as we stood in reception.

‘Your eyebrows are fine.'

‘Not my eyebrows. The sunlight caught the little hairs on my chin this morning and I looked like Gandalf

‘Stop it,' she laughed. ‘Here come the beauty therapists.'

Two girls in their early twenties – Amy and Annie – welcomed us, took our coats and led us through to the treatment rooms. Hazel choose an anti-ageing facial and I
chose one that would supposedly get rid of the open pores I wasn't aware I had until Annie pointed them out. She pulled back my fringe and began cleansing my skin to within an inch of its life.

Forty-five minutes later I emerged into daylight with a sticking-up fringe and a freshly scrubbed pink face.

‘Oh, of all the days not to bring my make-up bag,' I moaned, keeping my head down.

‘You could have borrowed some of mine,' said Hazel, who'd reapplied both foundation and concealer before leaving the salon. ‘Might have taken a bit of the redness away.'

‘It's OK. Given a choice between wearing no make-up or having a face three shades darker than my usual skin tone, I think this was the lesser of two evils. I'm getting a taxi home though. I'm not sitting on the train like this.'

By the time I got home my face had calmed down and felt smooth and wonderfully clean. I put on some comfy clothes and settled down to watch
Mulholland Drive
, probably the only David Lynch movie I haven't seen.

10.51 p.m
. God, that scene between Betty and Rita was a total turn-on and now I need to get laid or I'm going to die. But everyone I know seems to be happily shagging someone else: Frank has Vanessa, Oliver has Ruth, and Stuart's still seeing his girlfriend. It's not that I'm envious; it's more like I'm JEALOUS AS HELL. I've had the feast and now the famine is slightly harder to swallow.

11.48 p.m
. I'm lying in bed, trying to take my mind off my
own sad, sex-free existence by listening to Ludovico Einaudi and reminding myself that my birthday weekend is coming up and I'll be able to relax with my mates and forget about everything for a while, under a blue sky and a cloud of fag smoke. I need some normality.

Saturday September 17th

‘Would you mind if I bring Ruth along to Skye?' Oliver asked. ‘She's never been and I think it'd be fun for her to meet everyone properly.'

Meet everyone? Properly? Was this serious? I was completely taken aback and blurted out, ‘Sure, if you want to. Why not? Hooray!' and then mumbled something about having bread in the oven (bread?) and got off the phone. Paul is bringing his boyfriend, so I couldn't really tell Oliver not to bring his girlfriend, could I? Will this be awkward? It's not so much that he has a girlfriend, it's more the fact that I'm not going to get a bloody shag on my birthday now, am I? For the first time it occurred to me that my time with Oliver might have finally come to an end.

Sunday September 18th

Today is a day of action. I woke up with a plan to overhaul my bedroom and start taking control. My room is a mess – neglected, and clearly the bedroom of someone who isn't coping very well with life. I texted Alex and told him to come over on Wednesday so we can talk, and now I'm off to B&Q to choose paint and a new lightshade, then Marks
& Spencer to buy new bedding and curtains.

9.14 p.m
. With a lot of hard work I have finally finished transforming my bedroom. My lovely dark red ‘feature wall' has turned my bedroom into a boudoir and I'm pleased with myself. It looks sexy. Not that I have anyone to show it to.

10.45 p.m
. I've decided that when I get back from Skye I'll get back on track with the dating plan and I'll be happily involved with someone awesome by Christmas. Part of me is still annoyed at Oliver, but he's met someone he wants to spend time with and I should be happy for him. I guess I'm just miffed that he found someone more quickly that I did.

Tuesday September 20th

Holiday meeting tonight! Guests invited to Skye: me, Lucy, Hazel, Paul, Dan, Oliver and, of course, Ruth. We've arranged to take two cars as there are seven of us (boys in one, girls in the other). The fellas have agreed to bring the booze, the girls are bringing the food. This is actually a cunning ploy as a) booze is more expensive, and b) if the boys bring the food we'll be living on crisps and toast for two days. Lucy has been politely banned from making anything with her own two hands and must only buy from supermarkets, and Hazel is bringing the cake. I made it clear that if anyone puts thirty-three candles on my cake, I'll blow them out using spit.

Wednesday September 21st

Son of Satan arrived at my door this evening carrying a bunch of flowers. More bloody flowers. Why couldn't he have brought gin?

‘Thanks for coming, Alex,' I said, letting him in. ‘We really need to sort this out like grown-ups.'

‘The flowers are for your birthday since I won't see you,' he said, taking off his coat and handing it to me before swanning into the living room.

‘Make yourself at home,' I mumbled, dropping his coat on the hall floor.

‘I'm leaving her,' he announced. ‘Is that grown-up enough for you?'

‘What? You're leaving her?'

‘I am, Phoebe, I'm leaving her. Listen, I don't know how things got so bad between us, but I'll make it right.' He pulled me in for a kiss but I pulled away.

‘You'll fuck me about, Alex, because that's what you do, and I don't think I could take it again.'

‘I won't. I promise I won't.' He sounded so sincere, just like he had in the hotel room.

We sat and talked for hours about everything. It was like when we first met, as cheesy as that sounds. There's part of me that still believes he loves me and another part that remembers what a complete shit he is. We ended up in bed and he noticed I'd been in training for the sexual Olympics. ‘It was never like this before,' he grunted while on top of me. ‘We're so good together.'

For a time we
were
good together and I wonder if it could be like that again. But could I ever trust him? I told him I'd have to think about things and would see him when I got back from my holiday. Once again I've got no idea what I'm doing. God, I hate women like me.

Friday September 23rd

BIRTHDAY TRIP!

This morning I was first one into the car, with my sunglasses on and half a croissant stuffed in my mouth.

‘You do realize it's pissing it down?' said Lucy, who still had her pyjamas on, her glittery flask of coffee in hand, ‘and not sunny.'

‘Well, you still have your pyjamas on. I might look odd but you just look mental.'

Lucy looked down at her pyjamas, then reached into her bag and pulled out some massive sunglasses and put them on.

‘
Now
I look mental. Let's go!'

2 p.m
. We're almost there! We'd probably be closer if Hazel didn't have to stop for the loo every few miles (‘Shut up, I have IBS and that bacon sandwich is killing me. Unless you want me to shit myself, you'll stop'), but the sun is shining, the sky is blue and I just know it's going to be the best weekend ever! I have nothing to do but eat, sleep, get drunk and think about where my life is going. I should do that before I get drunk.

4 p.m
. We still haven't arrived. The boys are there, of course, way ahead of us and are no doubt picking the best bedrooms and showing each other their muscles. Ruth has been eating the same packet of crisps for an hour and the rustling is driving me mad. I inhaled mine within twenty seconds and am now on to my second sandwich.

5 p.m
. We're here! I drove the last half-hour and we all sang along to
The Immaculate Collection
, except Ruth – ‘I don't know the words to “Vogue”.'

Who the fuck doesn't know the words to ‘Vogue'? Even my dead goldfish knows the words to ‘Vogue'. Despite the satnav telling us we had arrived at our destination twenty minutes ago (a field with one unimpressed bull staring at the car), Hazel managed to remember where the house was.

6 p.m
. I get my own room cos I'm the birthday girl. Hazel and Lucy are sharing, the happy couples are also sharing and probably doing perverted things to each other as I write this. Going down for dinner soon and then it'll be wine o'clock. The house is small but gorgeous and it's pretty much surrounded by nothing except some friendly sheep and a Blair Witch-style wood I'm sure I'll end up exploring when I'm drunk.