It Had to Be You (2 page)

I saunter miserably towards my car, juggling a tin of Foxes chocolate biscuits under one arm and a box of Roses under the other.

‘
A little something from the company,’ Brian, our office manager had said proudly. ‘Everyone gets something at Christmas.’

It would be my luck that my little something turned out to be Ben Newman
’s erect penis wouldn’t it?

‘
Yeah, like another stone overweight you mean?’ Sophie had quipped.

‘
An extra fifty quid this month would have been better,’ Sally the receptionist had moaned. ‘I’ve just started dieting.’

Honestly, who starts a diet before Christmas? That
’s plain self-torture isn’t it?

‘
Well,’ a confused Brian had said, ‘a couple of days off your diets won’t do any harm will it?’

Men honestly, what do they know about diets? I
’d accepted my biscuits gratefully, after all, in the next few weeks that may be all we have to eat with me not working and us coping on just Oliver’s salary. I’d discreetly swiped the photo of Oliver and me from my desk, along with the M&Ms I’d kept in the drawer, and said brightly,

‘
See you all after the holiday.’

Well, I don
’t want everyone knowing do I? Not just yet anyway. I can just picture their sympathetic smiles while knowing they are thinking,

‘
Poor cow, and at Christmas too.’

I sigh at the sight of a traffic warden hovering by my Kandy and hurry towards him.
Kandy
is my lovely little Ford
KA
by the way.

‘
Excuse me,’ I call. ‘I work here, so I am allowed to park there. I have a pass.’

Honestly, it comes to something when you get booked for parking in the office car park. What is it about the sight of a traffic warden that brings out the murderous in even the most placid of people? I don
’t know the guy but already I want to throttle him.

‘
Sorry love,
you’re nicked
,’ he says in a bad Sweeney imitation. ‘The pass is not clearly evident and you’re in a disabled parking space,’ he adds bluntly before slapping the ticket onto the windscreen. I feel like he has just mugged me of my little brown envelope.

‘
Oh come on,’ I say in my
let’s be mates about this
voice. ‘It’s the festive season. Goodwill to all men and all that,’ I trill, accidentally dropping the box of Roses
at his feet.

Blimey, I sound like Ben Newman. Not that I
’m asking the warden to get out his thrill drill just in case you thought I was. God, the end of my day is becoming more sordid by the minute. But seriously, who gives parking tickets on Christmas Eve? He steps back feigning a surprised look.

‘
Are you trying to bribe me miss?’

What? I didn
’t mention thrill drills did I? I only thought it. He tips his head towards the Roses.

‘
Because it won’t work I’m afraid.’

‘
I dropped them,’ I say innocently, ‘but if …’

He holds his hand up.

‘I’d stop there if I were you miss. The ticket is on the windscreen now,’ he says, and I swear he clicks his heels. Bloody little Hitler, don’t you just hate them?

So now, because it is on the windscreen, it can
’t be removed. Has he stuck it on with superglue or something? I look at my pass which is, to be fair, upside down but …

‘
The pass is in date though,’ I argue. ‘Couldn’t you have just twisted your neck a bit then you would have seen it was in date?’

‘
Not with my ankylosing spondylitis,’ he says dryly. ‘I’ll end up in a neck brace.’

He may still end up in a neck brace if he carries on like this. I was only asking for a small twist, not a full 360 degree turn like Regan Mcneil in
The Exorcist.

‘
What if I put it the right way up?’ I suggest hopefully, giving him my nicest smile.

‘
That won’t take you out of the disabled space will it?’ he says gleefully.

What a pig. I hope he isn
’t expecting a chocolate after this. He takes a tube of fruit pastilles from his pocket and sucks on one slowly. I find myself wishing he would choke on it. No, that’s awful Binki, stop it.

‘
I only like the black ones,’ he says, offering a red pastille to me.

It
’s all right for him but if I’d said that I’d be hauled in for making a racist comment.

‘
I’m actually not in a disabled space,’ I say patiently.

He points nonchalantly and I follow his grubby finger to a rusty sign.

‘But no one takes any notice of that,’ I argue. ‘Look, I’ve just lost my job,’ I say appealing to his human side.

‘
Huh,’ he scoffs, ‘If I had a pound for every time I heard that. I suppose your mum is
sick too.’

‘
Actually she is,’ I say tearfully. ‘How did you know?’

Well, OCD is a sickness isn
’t it? So it does count.

‘
It’s on the windscreen now, so that’s it.’

He makes it sound like sodding bird shit. I sigh and unlock the
door.

‘
I hope you can sleep at night,’ I quip before climbing into my car.

‘
I take Boots extra strong sleeping pills, works a treat.’

Bastard. I start the engine, give him the finger and drive out of the car park. God, I hope the saying that things come in threes that my mum rants on about isn
’t true. I don’t think I have the energy for a third calamity on Christmas Eve.

I’m winking at everyone, including the bloody greengrocer. What’s worse, I’m standing under a huge sprig of mistletoe. I look like I’m giving the biggest come on ever. I’ve just dragged a heavy Christmas tree into the shop, practically poking my eye out with the stupid needles in the process. My hands are blue with cold and I can barely feel my toes. Christmas trees, who invented them? They’re lethal, they really are. Whose bright idea was it to put a tree inside your home? Now, I’m stuck with this needle in my eye, and I can’t get it out for love or money. Brian, the greengrocer, gives me an odd look as I continue to wink in a
say no more, say no more
manner.

‘
Something up?’ he asks
as I knock over a tray of satsumas.

‘
No, everything’s fine,’ I say, fumbling to retrieve the little suckers while hanging onto the tree and winking at the fifteen-year-old behind me. Christ, I’ll be arrested for consorting with minors next.

‘
You sure?’ pushes Brian.

‘
Absolutely,’ I smile through a watery eye.

Oh yes, everything is dandy. I
’ve only just lost my job and what now feels like my eye, not to mention half of my bonus on the exorbitant fine for parking in the right place. I reach the front of the queue.

‘
I did put a tree by for you,’ he smiles. ‘I thought you weren’t collecting until after six.’

‘
Early finish,’ I lie.

‘
That’s nice of your boss,’ he grins.

‘
Oh yes, he’s all heart,’ I say through gritted teeth.

I pay for the tree and schlep it, with great difficulty, to the car, cursing bloody Christmas the whole time. My eye is so red I look like Arnold Schwarzenegger in
The Terminator
, without the muscles of course. It is seriously horrific. I almost expect my eyeball to burst out along with an unexpected alien. I lift the bags of fruit into the boot and blow onto my hands. Snow begins to sprinkle and I pull my scarf tighter around me.

‘
Merry Christmas,’ says a passing lady with a white poodle who cocks its leg up against my tyre. I try to tell myself it is good luck, you know, like when the bird shits on your head and everyone says,

‘
That means you’re going to have good luck.’

I don
’t imagine the good luck started with the bird actually shitting on your head did it? Because that is the shittiest kind of luck ever isn’t it? I want to ask her what is so merry about it, but of course I don’t bother. I smile, wish her one too and drive the short journey home with the Christmas tree poking out of the passenger side window. It’s only four o’clock and Oliver’s car is there already. Maybe he got let off early too. Christ, I hope he didn’t lose his job as well. I heave the Christmas tree from the car and drag it to the front of our block. The doorman rushes out and relieves me of its burden.

‘
Merry Christmas Miss Grayson,’ he smiles.

Why is it at Christmas no one greets you with
Good afternoon
or
Good evening
? Only bloody
Merry Christmas
? God, I’m becoming a real bah humbug.

‘
Hi Taylor. How are you?’

‘
Very well,’ he says gawping at my eye. God, the eyeball hasn’t gone and popped out has it? Heaven knows I can’t see bugger all.

‘
What happened to your eye Miss Grayson?’

‘
Christmas tree attack. There’s a lot of it about this time of year.’

‘
You should get that seen to,’ he says walking to my car. ‘I’ll bring your bags up shall I?’

I nod. I so love my flat and all that goes with it. I hit the lift button and fall against the wall, grateful for the blast of hot air that blows from the vents. Oh well, at least the needle in the eye thing means I no longer have to fear the dreaded third catastrophe. I get to the flat and fling open the door. The hot air from the heating system hits me. The windows are steamed up and I make a mental note to open one as soon as I have showered.

‘I’m home. Let out for good behaviour,’ I call, throwing my bag and scarf onto
our new John Lewis couch and kicking a parrot underneath it. Not a real one, obviously. I’m not that cruel.

No reply. I hear a scuffling sound from the bedroom and the faint sound of music. He must be in the shower. There is a light tap on the front door. I open it to let Taylor in with the bags and tree.

‘Merry Christmas,’ I smile, giving him a twenty-pound note from the brown envelope. I must remember to get that back from Oliver later.

‘
Thank you, Miss Grayson and a good one to you and Mr Weber too,’ he grins.

I close the door and stroll to the bedroom.

‘You’re bloody quiet, what the hell are you up to? Wrapping my very expensive present I hope,’ I say flinging open the door.

What was that I said about a third thing? No one ever mentioned a fourth. I stand frozen in the doorway. In front of me, in my, no our bed, is Oliver and some woman I don
’t recognise. Mind you I’m only looking at her huge brown nipples which are bouncing up and down. I don’t normally recognise people by their nipples. Oh God, what am I thinking? What the hell is happening? Why do I suddenly feel guilty, like I’ve walked in on my parents having sex? I feel the words ‘I’m sorry,’ forming on my lips and nearly turn back but instead …

‘
What the fuck,’ I utter in a disbelieving voice.

Oliver throws the woman off him so roughly that she almost tumbles off the bed, our bed. I can
’t bear this. I’ve never felt so humiliated. Maybe I’m seeing things; it’s this bloody alienated eye, that’s what it is. But no, I’m not seeing things. That really is Oliver’s penis, rapidly diminishing admittedly, but his nevertheless. I don’t believe this. Please God, Jesus and Santa say this isn’t happening, please don’t tell me Oliver is giving the bitch her Christmas bonus? Oliver attempts to stand but gets caught in the sheets, our sheets. Oh my God. He falls from the bed and I’m left staring at her. Her long black hair hangs sensually around her face. She looks vaguely familiar but I can’t remember from where. I can never achieve that kind of look, in or out of bed. She’s extremely pretty and looks stunning. I suddenly feel ancient. I’ve always wanted hair like that but I’ve been blessed with fine wispy honey-blonde hair instead. This certainly proves the saying
blondes have all the fun
is totally crap. Her make-up is flawless and her lashes are long and thick. I need three coats of mascara to get that look. If there was a knife close by I swear I would kill her and all because she looks so good.

‘
Binki,’ Oliver says, crawling pitifully towards me, and dragging our Laura Ashley throw behind him like a wedding train.

‘
How could you?’ I say kicking at him.

I turn to the door. My legs feel like jelly. Damn it.

‘Binki, it didn’t mean anything. It’s just because it’s Christmas,’ he says, a pained expression on his face. What the fuck has Christmas got to do with it? Bloody Christmas, I fucking hate it. He stands in the doorway with the sheet wrapped around him like a Roman emperor and looks pleadingly at me. I feel my heart melt.

‘
You look bloody stupid,’ I say, feeling tears running down my cheeks. ‘And you are bloody stupid. How could you do this to us?’

‘
I had too much to drink at work. I didn’t know what I was doing. Come on Binki, please.’

He lurches towards me. I quickly sidestep and he stumbles.

‘You knew enough to bring her to our flat when you thought I was at work,’ I yell.

‘
It isn’t what you think and …’ says Brown Nipples.

‘
And you can shut it,’ I snap, grabbing the tissues from the bed and wiping my snotty nose. The soft smell of her fragrance wafts across and I feel suddenly sick.

‘
Come on Binki, don’t throw everything away just because of a little Christmas indiscretion,’ Oliver says while grabbing my arm.

‘
I didn’t throw it away. You did.’

Why is everyone allowed a little Christmas indiscretion is what I want to know? First Ben Newman and now Oliver. I mean
, what the hell? If this is Christmas then you can stick it. That is of course if you haven’t already.