so typical. Just bury your head in the sand. You need to talk about it. You’re in denial,’ she snapped.
‘Denial, schmial … you’re not a bloody psychologist. There’s nothing to talk about. You, Mum and Auntie Bren are the ones with the hang-up. Having a boyfriend who drives a Porsche and gets a massive bonus every year, is not a marker of success,’ I said, having a little dig at Kate. ‘It doesn’t mean you’ve made it.’
With that I pulled on my jacket, swung my legs off the stool and left to her parting shot that I was a stubborn pain in the proverbial.
As I stomped down Long Acre heading for Leicester Square tube I felt pissed off. Thinking about Mike always left me feeling churned up. He’d made such a fool of me.
No one was going to do that to me again and, by the same token, I couldn’t do it to anyone else. Trust. Honesty. They made up my moral compass, but Mike had sent everything West.
Striding down the platform I glared at every man whose eye I happened to catch. When the train pulled in, I threw myself into a seat and brooded on the past.
In my second year at University I’d been swept off my feet, quite literally, by the Brad Pitt of the campus. Mike was the kind of guy that everyone went ‘phwoar’ about, even though none of us had ever spoken to him. He could have had serious halitosis or a major speech impediment for all we knew.
The memories flooded back as the train pulled out of Leicester Square, plunging into the tunnel and picking up speed. I could still remember my first encounter with him, another thing I could blame on Kate. Her and her bloody Agent Provocateur knickers.
‘Don’t forget these,’ she’d said, grinning as she shoved the tiniest pair of leopard-print silk knickers through the driver’s window of Daniel’s car when he came to pick me up to go back to Norwich.
Daniel roared with laughter. ‘I’m seeing a whole different side to you.’
‘As if I’d wear them,’ I’d retorted, blushing bright pink. ‘Bloody Christmas present. I was hoping to accidentally leave them behind. Can you see me down the launderette with them?’
He wasn’t laughing when his girlfriend discovered them under the passenger seat a week later, igniting all her jealousy of our cosy chats on the M11. Determined on ritualistic humiliation, she decided to hand them back in the crowded campus coffee bar.
Luckily for me, Daniel whispered a few words in the ear of one of his rugby teammates. It was one hell of a surprise when two steps over the threshold of the coffee bar, I was scooped up by a man of demigod status. Hauling me along, he drew us away from the curious stares in the coffee bar, across the courtyard and down a walkway to a doorway hidden from view. At which point he pressed a scrap of something into my hand. Looking down I spotted the infamous pants. It was my very own Cinderella moment!
Looking around the carriage I caught the eye of a teenage girl opposite, who gave me a funny look. Had I been talking to myself while remembering all this? Even now the memories gave me goosebumps.
‘Dan asked me to give you these,’ Mike had muttered apologetically as I nodded up at him, my heart bumping. Even now I couldn’t be sure whether my breathlessness had been the result of the surprise of the ambush or the proximity of a very manly chest in a crisp, white T-shirt, centimetres from my nose? I remember gazing up into his dark brown eyes, and the magic of that first kiss, when his head dipped and I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t put up an iota of resistance. Well, you don’t when the campus heart-throb is suddenly giving your lips his exclusive attention. It wasn’t the sort of thing I normally did and certainly not stone cold sober, in public and before 11.00 a.m.
I caught the eye of the girl in the carriage again as I winced. She must have thought I was a nutter. If only the rest of the memories were as nice. At first I got the fairy tale ending when Mike and I
‘Denial, schmial … you’re not a bloody psychologist. There’s nothing to talk about. You, Mum and Auntie Bren are the ones with the hang-up. Having a boyfriend who drives a Porsche and gets a massive bonus every year, is not a marker of success,’ I said, having a little dig at Kate. ‘It doesn’t mean you’ve made it.’
With that I pulled on my jacket, swung my legs off the stool and left to her parting shot that I was a stubborn pain in the proverbial.
As I stomped down Long Acre heading for Leicester Square tube I felt pissed off. Thinking about Mike always left me feeling churned up. He’d made such a fool of me.
No one was going to do that to me again and, by the same token, I couldn’t do it to anyone else. Trust. Honesty. They made up my moral compass, but Mike had sent everything West.
Striding down the platform I glared at every man whose eye I happened to catch. When the train pulled in, I threw myself into a seat and brooded on the past.
In my second year at University I’d been swept off my feet, quite literally, by the Brad Pitt of the campus. Mike was the kind of guy that everyone went ‘phwoar’ about, even though none of us had ever spoken to him. He could have had serious halitosis or a major speech impediment for all we knew.
The memories flooded back as the train pulled out of Leicester Square, plunging into the tunnel and picking up speed. I could still remember my first encounter with him, another thing I could blame on Kate. Her and her bloody Agent Provocateur knickers.
‘Don’t forget these,’ she’d said, grinning as she shoved the tiniest pair of leopard-print silk knickers through the driver’s window of Daniel’s car when he came to pick me up to go back to Norwich.
Daniel roared with laughter. ‘I’m seeing a whole different side to you.’
‘As if I’d wear them,’ I’d retorted, blushing bright pink. ‘Bloody Christmas present. I was hoping to accidentally leave them behind. Can you see me down the launderette with them?’
He wasn’t laughing when his girlfriend discovered them under the passenger seat a week later, igniting all her jealousy of our cosy chats on the M11. Determined on ritualistic humiliation, she decided to hand them back in the crowded campus coffee bar.
Luckily for me, Daniel whispered a few words in the ear of one of his rugby teammates. It was one hell of a surprise when two steps over the threshold of the coffee bar, I was scooped up by a man of demigod status. Hauling me along, he drew us away from the curious stares in the coffee bar, across the courtyard and down a walkway to a doorway hidden from view. At which point he pressed a scrap of something into my hand. Looking down I spotted the infamous pants. It was my very own Cinderella moment!
Looking around the carriage I caught the eye of a teenage girl opposite, who gave me a funny look. Had I been talking to myself while remembering all this? Even now the memories gave me goosebumps.
‘Dan asked me to give you these,’ Mike had muttered apologetically as I nodded up at him, my heart bumping. Even now I couldn’t be sure whether my breathlessness had been the result of the surprise of the ambush or the proximity of a very manly chest in a crisp, white T-shirt, centimetres from my nose? I remember gazing up into his dark brown eyes, and the magic of that first kiss, when his head dipped and I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t put up an iota of resistance. Well, you don’t when the campus heart-throb is suddenly giving your lips his exclusive attention. It wasn’t the sort of thing I normally did and certainly not stone cold sober, in public and before 11.00 a.m.
I caught the eye of the girl in the carriage again as I winced. She must have thought I was a nutter. If only the rest of the memories were as nice. At first I got the fairy tale ending when Mike and I
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