Lawrence, she thought and held her glass out for another vodka.
‘OK, you have to go now. I’ve hit a wall,’ Donna announced suddenly, slumped in the armchair, her eyes fluttering closed.
Brian chuckled. ‘We are all lucky we haven’t hit walls.’
Jo wasn’t sure what he meant, but she laughed anyway. Donna just batted her arm towards the hall. ‘Go, go. Shut the door on the way out.’
‘Don’t go to sleep in the chair,’ Jo cautioned, as she bent to kiss her friend’s cheek.
‘See her home!’ Donna shouted to Brian as they both weaved through the furniture, and Brian raised his hand in acknowledgement.
‘I live next door,’ Jo giggled as they shut the front door and began to walk down the path to the gate. The night air was cool and refreshing on her hot cheeks and it was beginning to spit with rain.
‘I know, you told me.’
‘Did I?’ She felt his hand steadying her arm as they reached the pavement.
‘Which way?’
Jo indicated the house on the left. Brian followed her up the path.
‘You don’t have to come all the way.’
‘I said I would see you home.’ Brian’s diction had become more precise the drunker he became, as if he were holding on to his English with great care.
Jo put her key in the lock and pushed the dark blue door open. For a moment they hovered on the doorstep.
‘Well, that was really fun. Thank you.’
‘I enjoyed it too. I’m very happy to have met you,’ the Swede said, then lurched drunkenly towards her and gave her a kiss, full on her lips, which seemed to last for ever. Jo was surprised – no one had kissed her on her mouth for years, except Lawrence of course – but she made no move to push him off. She found herself welcoming his kiss, testing it as you might the appropriate firmness of a new mattress.
Brian pulled away, seemingly unaware that he had done anything unusual. ‘I hope I will see you soon?’
‘That would be good.’
She watched him to the road, then gently shut the door.
*
The next thing she was aware of was the persistent ringing of her landline beside the bed. She automatically reached for it.
‘Hello?’
‘Jo, it’s me.’ Lawrence’s voice shocked her upright in bed. The room looked chaotic, her clothes, which she’d obviously stepped out of as she staggered to bed, were strewn all over the oatmeal carpet, her bra still inside her T-shirt, the patchwork quilt lying in a twisted lump by the door. She was naked, the effort of putting on her nightclothes clearly a step too far. She didn’t reply to Lawrence. Her head pounded and her mouth was sticky and dry, prompting the inevitable and immediate regret about the last two shots of vodka.
‘I’m outside. Can I come in?’
‘Now? Why?’
‘I need to pick up some things.’
His voice wrenched at her gut. It had been weeks since she’d spoken to him and she didn’t know how to react.
‘I won’t take long . . .’ he was saying.
She began to drag herself out of bed, the phone still clutched in her hand.
‘Yeah, OK. Just a minute, I’ll come down.’
Pulling on her T-shirt and pyjama trousers, then her dressing gown, she glanced in the bedroom mirror. She looked like a recent arrival at rehab: her face was drawn, her eyes red, her hair squashed and tangled. Her dull, dehydrated skin was saved only by the edge of a tan. She groaned. Of all days, she thought as she quickly downed the glass of water she always kept by her bed – which was definitely the day before yesterday’s – brushed her hair and slapped a dollop of moisturizer around her face.
Lawrence was standing on the path, texting on his phone when she eventually opened the door. He looked well; tanned and fit, his white shirt rolled to his elbows. She noticed his bike propped against the wooden fence and it was seeing this, the machine that had been for ever joined at the hip with her husband, his obsession, his uncomplaining companion, that made her want to cry.
‘Hi.’ He glanced at her and she
‘OK, you have to go now. I’ve hit a wall,’ Donna announced suddenly, slumped in the armchair, her eyes fluttering closed.
Brian chuckled. ‘We are all lucky we haven’t hit walls.’
Jo wasn’t sure what he meant, but she laughed anyway. Donna just batted her arm towards the hall. ‘Go, go. Shut the door on the way out.’
‘Don’t go to sleep in the chair,’ Jo cautioned, as she bent to kiss her friend’s cheek.
‘See her home!’ Donna shouted to Brian as they both weaved through the furniture, and Brian raised his hand in acknowledgement.
‘I live next door,’ Jo giggled as they shut the front door and began to walk down the path to the gate. The night air was cool and refreshing on her hot cheeks and it was beginning to spit with rain.
‘I know, you told me.’
‘Did I?’ She felt his hand steadying her arm as they reached the pavement.
‘Which way?’
Jo indicated the house on the left. Brian followed her up the path.
‘You don’t have to come all the way.’
‘I said I would see you home.’ Brian’s diction had become more precise the drunker he became, as if he were holding on to his English with great care.
Jo put her key in the lock and pushed the dark blue door open. For a moment they hovered on the doorstep.
‘Well, that was really fun. Thank you.’
‘I enjoyed it too. I’m very happy to have met you,’ the Swede said, then lurched drunkenly towards her and gave her a kiss, full on her lips, which seemed to last for ever. Jo was surprised – no one had kissed her on her mouth for years, except Lawrence of course – but she made no move to push him off. She found herself welcoming his kiss, testing it as you might the appropriate firmness of a new mattress.
Brian pulled away, seemingly unaware that he had done anything unusual. ‘I hope I will see you soon?’
‘That would be good.’
She watched him to the road, then gently shut the door.
*
The next thing she was aware of was the persistent ringing of her landline beside the bed. She automatically reached for it.
‘Hello?’
‘Jo, it’s me.’ Lawrence’s voice shocked her upright in bed. The room looked chaotic, her clothes, which she’d obviously stepped out of as she staggered to bed, were strewn all over the oatmeal carpet, her bra still inside her T-shirt, the patchwork quilt lying in a twisted lump by the door. She was naked, the effort of putting on her nightclothes clearly a step too far. She didn’t reply to Lawrence. Her head pounded and her mouth was sticky and dry, prompting the inevitable and immediate regret about the last two shots of vodka.
‘I’m outside. Can I come in?’
‘Now? Why?’
‘I need to pick up some things.’
His voice wrenched at her gut. It had been weeks since she’d spoken to him and she didn’t know how to react.
‘I won’t take long . . .’ he was saying.
She began to drag herself out of bed, the phone still clutched in her hand.
‘Yeah, OK. Just a minute, I’ll come down.’
Pulling on her T-shirt and pyjama trousers, then her dressing gown, she glanced in the bedroom mirror. She looked like a recent arrival at rehab: her face was drawn, her eyes red, her hair squashed and tangled. Her dull, dehydrated skin was saved only by the edge of a tan. She groaned. Of all days, she thought as she quickly downed the glass of water she always kept by her bed – which was definitely the day before yesterday’s – brushed her hair and slapped a dollop of moisturizer around her face.
Lawrence was standing on the path, texting on his phone when she eventually opened the door. He looked well; tanned and fit, his white shirt rolled to his elbows. She noticed his bike propped against the wooden fence and it was seeing this, the machine that had been for ever joined at the hip with her husband, his obsession, his uncomplaining companion, that made her want to cry.
‘Hi.’ He glanced at her and she
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