Never Google Heartbreak (24 page)

‘Oh, hi, Donna. It’s Vivienne Summers here from Barnes and Worth.’

‘Hi.’

‘Hi there. We met at the B & W Valentine’s do. I don’t know if you remember?’

‘Oh yeah . . . it was a good night.’

‘All that pink champagne had to be drunk by someone, right?’

‘Hmm, it was fun.’

‘And how’s that gorgeous fiancé of yours?’ There’s silence and I wonder if I’ve accidentally cut her off. ‘When’s your big day?’

‘He . . . er . . . I . . . er. We’re not together.’

Oh shit. I draw exclamation marks next to her name. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

‘Yeah, turned out he didn’t want to get married.’

‘Oh no.’ This is going horribly wrong. How can I turn the conversation around to edible pants?

‘But he’s getting married to someone else now. I mean, five months after we split up.’ Her voice is taut.

‘That’s exactly what happened to me!’

Forty minutes later, Donna from
Sunday Read
has agreed to do a story about nevergoogleheartbreak.com. Great news! But it’s not work. It’s almost lunchtime and I jot down possible headlines: ‘B&W gets saucy this winter’, ‘Knickknacks, knickers and B&W’. I call Graham from the
Weekend
. I’m sure he’d be interested in the story, especially if we did a photo shoot with male models in pants.

‘Graham Jackson . . .’

‘Hi, Graham! It’s Viv Summers from Barnes and Worth.’

‘. . . is unable to take your call at the moment. Please leave a message or try again later.’ I leave a message about two possible stories, but realise after I’ve hung up that again I spent a bit more time talking about my website than B&W. I’m becoming obsessed. I think we need a thread about dating two men at the same time – maybe I’ll start one. I’ll break for lunch now and then phone every paper on the list this afternoon and really push the Barnes and Worth thing.

The phone buzzes. Lucy. I bet she’s thought of somewhere amazing for lunch.

‘Hi, Viv. Listen, do you mind if we do lunch another day?’

‘Yes, actually, I really do mind. I need to talk.’

‘It’s just . . . I have a lot of work to do and I can’t stay late tonight. I’m meeting the Love God.’

‘So you’re putting your own sexual fulfilment before our friendship.’

‘Yeah, I suppose I am . . . sorry.’

‘You’re a crap friend.’

‘I know. I am. I’ll make it up to you, and anyway, you only want to talk about Rob, don’t you?’

‘Yes, so?’

‘Well, all I would have said is get rid of the jerk. What else?’

‘Well, Max.’

‘Go for it.’

‘Oh well, fine, then. I’m obviously over-complicating things.’

‘Don’t be cross with me. I think I’m in love!’

‘Good for you.’

‘It’s a big deal! He’s amazing, Viv. Sexually he’s the male equivalent of me, except he has lubricant and cock rings.’

‘That’s great! Is that great?’

‘It’s like he brings you to the brink so many times and when you finally come, your eyes nearly pop out.’ I’m about to get a running commentary, and I’m not sure I can face it. ‘He does this thing with his tongue—’

‘You know how you don’t want to hear about Rob? Well, I don’t want to hear –
again
– exactly how and where you’ve had a multiple orgasm. I don’t care what he does with his tongue or how big his cock is. It’s just . . . boring!’ There’s a long pause. I wonder if she’s still there.

‘No.
You
are boring, Viv.’

‘I’m in the middle of a crisis and you don’t seem to give a shit.’

‘Of course I give a shit, Viv. I’ve been trying to support you for months. But now I’ve found someone, finally, and I want to talk about it. You’re always in the middle of a bloody crisis!’

‘I am not.’

‘You
like
being in a crisis.’

‘You take that back!’

‘I won’t.’

‘God. You are just so selfish! I know you don’t exactly like Rob, but I thought you at least liked me.’

‘You know what? At the moment I really don’t.’ She hangs up.

I can’t believe she just hung up on me. Shit, shit, shit. I think I might cry. How selfish is she? But I knew that, didn’t I? All through our friendship it’s always been me fitting in with her. She’s the successful one. She’s the one with the more important love life. My issues are just amusing to her. She . . . she just belittles me. She dismisses my feelings, that’s what she does. Well, I’m not ringing her back. Always in the middle of a crisis? At least I don’t use sex like a drug! I grab my purse, deliberately leaving my phone behind, in case she calls. That’ll teach her. I won’t answer. I take the lift down, spin through the revolving doors and trot down the street to the flagship Barnes and Worth store.

Mooching about the make-up department, I immediately feel better. Pah, bloody Lucy! I need a new lipstick for tonight. I fancy something a bit sparkly, actually. A man at Chanel with unbelievable eyebrows convinces me to go for a purply red with matching nail polish. Next I spot a lingerie display. One navy satin bra with bright pink ribbons and matching panties later and I’m ready to go back to work. In the lift there’s a woman with something of my nana about her. I think of chatting to Nana about Max versus Rob, but I know what she would say, and anyway she hasn’t been too well recently so I don’t want to worry her. I must call and see how she is, in fact.

I’m at my desk writing, ‘Ring Nana,’ at the top of the press list and underlining it when my phone flashes a message. That will be Lucy apologising.

‘
Hi, Viv. Forget about tonight, then, I guess. M
’

That’s weird. What does he mean? I call him.

‘It’s Max. Leave a message.’

‘Hi, Mr Mysterious. I don’t understand your text. Where are you?’

I hang up and call again in case he didn’t hear the phone, but still no answer. Forget about tonight? We haven’t even spoken today. Is he sulking because I didn’t reply to the text last night? I really wanted to see him and I really need to talk to him. I call again, but it goes straight to voicemail. I hang up. A strange dread creeps over me. I wonder if he knows about Rob . . . I leave another message.

‘Max, call me. It’s urgent.’

I’m sitting at my desk trying lipstick on the back of my hand when Christie returns, plonking down a paper cup full of foul-smelling brown broth.

‘What the hell is that? It looks like drain water.’

‘Ah-ha! Miso soup with seaweed and tofu jelly. It’s sooo good for you.’

‘It’s making me gag.’

She slurps from a plastic spoon and shiny green tendrils slither over her bottom lip. I look out of the window, worrying about Max. I hope he’s okay and not pissed off with me. God! This whole situation is a mess and I have no one to talk to. I turn back to Christie.

‘Rob came back last night.’

‘Oh my God!’ She gives up with the spoon and lifts the paper cup, momentarily obscuring her face, then leaving a gelatinous line on the bridge of her nose.

‘You have something there.’

She dabs her face with a tissue. ‘What happened? He was marrying that model girl, wasn’t he?’

‘They split up. He wants us to get back together.’

‘Oh my God, and he’s really rich, isn’t he?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And totally gorgeous, isn’t he?’

‘Yeah.’

‘God. Lucky you, Viv.’

‘You think?’

‘Yehuh.’ She scrapes globs of jelly from the bottom of the cup. ‘I wish I could find someone like that. I mean, it’s every girl’s dream, isn’t it?’ I smile at her. She produces a mirror and checks her teeth for seaweed. ‘So you’re getting back with him, then?’

‘Don’t know.’ I sigh.

‘Oh my God, I’d bite his hand off !’ She applies sparkly beige gloss, making her lips look sugar-coated. She peers over the top of the mirror.

‘Would you?’ I ask her.

‘Yeah! I mean, it’s a no-brainer,’ she says without a trace of irony.

I’m wearing a new clingy black jersey dress and high heels, trying to fasten the diamond necklace. The taxi driver buzzes the intercom, making me jump. Calm down, calm down. It’s just a date. Right, check my teeth for lipstick and pull on a jacket not long enough to reach the hem of the dress. No, Rob won’t like that – go without. I step carefully down the stairs and settle into the back seat of a waiting Mercedes, adjust the gusset of my new knickers and ask where we’re headed.

‘No, no, ma’am! The booking says it’s a surprise.’ He smiles in the rearview mirror. A little pine tree dangles there, giving off the synthetic smell of toilet cleaner. We pull out into the traffic and head towards the West End. ‘Is it your birthday, ma’am?’ He smiles, showing teeth like a burnt-out forest.

‘Uh, no.’

‘He just wants to impress you, then!’ I imagine Rob waiting somewhere, wanting to impress me, but I can’t see it. This kind of thing is second nature to him. He never doubts his ability to impress. A random thought pops up about sending the taxi to Max’s. It’s unnerving that he’s not answering any of my calls or texts. He never doesn’t answer – he’s much too nosey. I bite the side of my thumb and rack my brains. I haven’t done anything to upset him, so actually he’s just being bloody rude.

I’ll concentrate on Rob. I’ll try to relax and enjoy the evening with the man I love – well, used to and might still love.

The car pulls up at the double doors of a Soho restaurant. Someone in a navy suit opens the door. I find my purse to pay.

‘No, ma’am,’ says the driver. ‘It’s been taken care of.’

‘Oh, right,’ I mumble.

‘Have a nice evening.’ He smiles. I climb out onto the pavement and the someone opens the restaurant door. I step onto a walkway of industrial steel overlooking a cavernous room packed with tables and echoing with voices and laughter. There are huge spotlights highlighting pipes that snake up the walls and over the ceiling. A ridiculously good-looking guy smiles at me from the cloakroom. The walkway curves to the right and forms a balcony spanning the length of one wall. A bar of brushed steel is tended by sleek men in starched white linen. Rob is sitting at one of the tables. I feel a bolt of nervous energy as he puts down his glass and stands to greet me. As we kiss hello I wish I’d worn lower heels; we’re embarrassingly eye to eye. As usual I’m shocked by the beauty of him as he looks up from under his eyebrows with that little-boy charm.

‘You look beautiful,’ he says, pulling out a chair. ‘Two vodka martinis.’ He speaks to the hovering waiter without taking his eyes from me.

‘Actually, I’ll have a white wine, please!’ I call to the waiter’s retreating back. ‘Can I have a dry white wine?’ I ask Rob.

‘No. You’re not down the local. I want tonight to be special.’ He takes my hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of my fingers. ‘I wish you were wearing the ring.’

I pull my hand away, feeling told off already. ‘I can’t.’ Then seeing his disappointment, I add, ‘I will . . . soon.’

‘I want the world to know you’re mine, Viv.’ He reaches for my hand again, stroking it as if a genie will appear. I smile. I’m not his, though, not any more, and this thought makes me so sad I bury it quickly. It will take time, that’s all, to love and trust him again.

I look down into the pit of diners. White-jacketed waiters scurry between the tables and an open-plan kitchen. In the centre, a maître d’ on a kind of podium conducts the whole thing.

‘This place is amazing. I’ve never been before.’

‘It’s members only.’

‘That’ll be why, then.’

‘Eight grand a year.’

‘Wow. When did you join?’

‘Uh, about two months ago, I think.’

Our drinks arrive in heavy dimpled glasses. The waiter arranges them and sets down dishes of dry salted almonds and some sort of curly baked biscuits.

‘
Salud!
’ Rob says, lifting his glass.

I sip the ice-cold liquid. The chemical smell of it nearly knocks me out and pure alcohol grabs me by the windpipe. I take a handful of biscuits to compensate, but they’re powdered with hot chilli. I hold the martini, taking a deep gulp, and swallow the hideous mixture with my eyes watering. I smile at Rob and he laughs.

‘An acquired taste, no?’

‘Actually, I really like it.’ I smile and take another gulp of martini to show him. I have a sophisticated palate – I once ate oysters. I swallow it down with a shudder. His eyes are full of amusement; he pushes the biscuits towards me.

‘Want some more?’

I glance at the bowl, spotting the thick red powder now.

‘No, thank you.’ I smile.

‘Oh, Viv, you are hilarious!’ He takes my glass and looks into my eyes as he downs the drink in one. With his other hand he signals to the waiter. I watch the perfect skin of his throat tighten as he swallows. He licks his lips, staring at me, before turning to order. ‘The lady will have Sancerre.’

‘And a glass of tap water!’ I add. The waiter nods and actually backs away before turning round. Rob looks at me and shakes his head.

‘What?’ I ask.

He lifts my hand to his mouth, turning it and smelling my wrist. ‘You smell amazing,’ he murmurs, and I want to laugh. I must focus. He takes my diamond pendant between his finger and thumb. ‘This looks exquisite on you.’

‘Thank you. An old friend of mine gave it to me,’ I joke.

‘He must be a very, very good friend,’ he croons, and I get a weird, hunted feeling.

The wine arrives and we’re escorted down the staircase and handed over to the maître d’. He lets his eyes trail over me before smiling knowingly at Rob.

‘Good evening, Mr Waters. We have your usual table ready.’

‘Thanks, Patrick.’ Rob winks and presses a folded banknote into his hand. We follow a mincing waiter, picking our way through tables, and are ushered into a booth at the far side. Rob slides onto the artfully aged leather seat opposite me and immediately orders more wine and starters for us both. I gaze around at the coliseum-like space, feeling faintly irritated. I know he’s only trying to impress me, but since when did he belong to a place like this, with a ‘usual’ table?

‘It’s a great table,’ he says, closing his menu.

I smile. ‘Your usual, it seems.’

‘Well, I am a member here, as I said, so I come all the time. I mean, it wouldn’t be worth it otherwise.’