The Other Woman's Shoes (23 page)

‘Thought you must have. See, I knew you’d enjoy it when you got there. What time did you get in? It must have been late because I stayed up watching some film on Sky until three.’

‘Er, yeah, I think I got in nearer four.’

‘What were you doing until that time? Did you go back to Claire’s for more drinks?’

‘No.’

‘What then?’

‘You wouldn’t believe me.’

‘Try me.’

‘I was in Holland Park giving a B-L-O-W-J-O-B.’ Martha spelt the words out, although it was impossible that Mathew would know what it meant.

‘You what?’ Eliza sat bolt upright, and this time the tea did go flying. There was a quick scrabble around for tissues, the duvet was mopped clean, but nothing could budge the look of shock from Eliza’s face. ‘Tell me you’re joking.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Who was he? Do I know him?’

‘No. I just met him.’

‘Bloody hell, Martha.’ Eliza considered what to say next. She was sure her sister would be immersed in remorse
and humiliation, and so she didn’t want to be too harsh, however knocked sideways she herself felt. ‘Look, don’t worry Martha. Lots of people do silly things when they’re drunk. Just put it down as a life experience and don’t dwell on the humiliation too much.’

‘I don’t feel humiliated.’

‘Well, self-loathing, then. That’s just as negative, more so, don’t dwell or self-loathe.’

‘I’m not.’

‘You’re not?’

‘No, I had a brilliant time,’ asserted Martha and she grinned to herself as a flashback sprung to mind: Jack picking her up and her clinging to him – ‘Cheeky monkey,’ he’d said. He was impressive, beautiful, large, in fact
huge
. He’d seemed to really like her blow job. He’d been throbbing hard. And it was so sexy to be wanted in such a crude, candid way. Martha scratched her nose and wondered how she could possibly be turning into the type of woman who was interested in beautiful cocks.

Eliza stared at her sister. She couldn’t decide what line to take. Her expression was a bewildered mix of amazement, delight and fury. Martha wasn’t supposed to do that kind of thing. Eliza never thought of herself as someone who was resistant to change. But Martha behaving like this was odd. Eliza wanted everything to go back to how it was – and this was never how it was. Or was it? Thinking right back to their school days, Martha did get her share of snogs at the church hall disco. They used to hide in their bedrooms on Saturday morning, eating toast, drinking tea, ignoring their parents and talking tongues.

But tongues, not cocks.

‘What’s he like then?’ Eliza muttered.

‘Very nice.’

‘Very nice? Sounds terrible. Give me details.’

Martha stalled by lifting Mathew out of bed and setting him on the floor with a jigsaw. She was stuck. Not only was she out of practice with the official debriefing scenario and didn’t remember that she was supposed to describe the guy and their meeting in tiny, gruesome detail, but also she didn’t have the vocabulary to describe him – and if she had, no one would have believed her anyway.

He was divine.

Absolutely perfect.

The kind of bloke you only ever came across in books or films. Not real at all.

She looked at Eliza and wondered how she would even start to explain. Eliza waited, her face now eager and aglow.

‘Well, it’s hard to say exactly.’

‘Well, start with the physical stuff: what does he look like?’

‘Divine, perfect. Like the hero in a book or film.’ Martha grinned, broadly; she couldn’t help herself. Eliza’s eager face fell; she nodded and tried to smile her encouragement, but Martha saw the caution cloud her sister’s eyes. ‘What?’ she demanded crossly.

‘Nothing, nothing. Go on.’

‘
Why
are you looking so concerned?’

‘I’m not.’

‘You are.’ Martha kissed Maisie’s head and absent-mindedly traced ‘Round and Round the Garden like a Teddy Bear’ on her foot. Maisie giggled.

‘Well, it’s just that there aren’t any men like in books and films. Not really. That’s why we buy the books and go to see the films, to fulfil our fantasy life,’ said Eliza. She was sorry to be the one who had to break this news to Martha; on the other hand, someone had to. Martha was a lamb wearing a big sign saying ‘Eat Me Alive’, and she had just wandered into a den of lions.

‘Well, Jack is. He’s gorgeous-looking, ’s got a bod to live for, he’s straightforward, dresses well and is very kind,’ maintained Martha.

Bod? thought Eliza. ‘A bod to live for’: had her sister really just said that? ‘How can you know that if you’ve just met him?’

‘I don’t know how I know, but I do.’

‘Can he dance?’ she probed.

‘Yes, brilliantly, and he doesn’t drink.’

‘See, there’s always a flaw. Why doesn’t he drink? Is he an alcoholic?’

‘Says not.’ Martha was ruffled, not least because this thought had crossed her mind too. ‘So what if he is?’ she asked defiantly.

Eliza simply raised her eyebrows. ‘So he’s a “my body is a temple” type, is he? Won’t drink because it’s loaded with calories. A control freak.’

‘He simply doesn’t like the taste,’ sighed Martha, wishing Eliza wasn’t hell-bent on pouring icy water. ‘Look, it was a great night. That’s all. I’m just saying I’m not wracked with shame or guilt. I don’t feel smutty or slutty. It was a lovely experience. It was you who told me to take some risks.’

‘Buy a suede skirt, not give blow jobs in public places, to total strangers.’

‘He doesn’t feel like a stranger.’

‘But he is. He could have been a murderer.’

‘But he wasn’t.’

‘He won’t respect you.’

‘I think he does.’

‘You are
so
naive.’

‘And
you
are a cynic.’

‘He won’t call you.’

‘Ha ha, that’s where you’re wrong.’ Martha stretched her arm and felt under her bed. She located her mobile and held it up triumphantly to Eliza. The text message read ‘Hello, Gorgeous. Want to hook up later?’

Eliza was stunned. Not least because Martha had successfully swapped telephone numbers and negotiated her way around the mobile menu.

‘I’m not proposing to marry him, just hang out with him,’ defended Martha.

‘Hang out with him’ – Martha never hung out anything other than the washing. ‘Well, you’re a fast learner, I’ll give you that,’ said Eliza. ‘Come on, Mathew, Maisie, let’s leave your mother alone, we’ll go and have breakfast.’ Eliza flounced out of the room and, really, it was a shame she wasn’t wearing a big, long skirt with a bustle to complete the effect.

Martha hadn’t expected her sister to be so censorious. After all, Martha had listened to Eliza’s countless accounts of similar exploits, and she had never passed judgement, although at the time she’d wanted to. Eliza had always
maintained that a few well-placed one-night stands give you cred; she was not the type of girl who believed that they left you tarnished. The infuriating thing was, Martha knew this wasn’t about whether Eliza morally approved or disapproved of her behaviour; she knew that Eliza’s objection was spurred by concern. Eliza didn’t think Martha could cope with this, didn’t think she was experienced enough, because sex was Eliza’s area of expertise, not Martha’s. How patronizing, thought Martha, I’ve given birth twice, of course I can give head. Besides, my husband has just left me, I haven’t got a heart to break; it’s disintegrated. I’m safe.

25

‘Will you babysit tonight?’ Martha asked Eliza. She’d been working up the courage to ask this question for about an hour. She’d given the children their tea and bath, so babysitting wouldn’t be hard work, and Eliza generally didn’t mind helping out. In fact, wasn’t it Eliza who’d said Martha should go out more? But Martha had a sneaky suspicion that Eliza wouldn’t approve of her plans.

‘Why? Where you going?’ Eliza replied, without looking up from her magazine.

Martha knew her sister well enough to know that she was entirely focused on Martha’s social life, and not on the article about detoxing. ‘Out with Jack, if that’s OK,
Mum
.’ Martha tried to make light of her little sister’s officious, meddlesome attitude, but actually she was irritated by it. She drew the curtains, locking out the winter night and holding in the happy domestic scene. Mathew was playing quietly with his train set. Maisie was drinking her milk. Martha stooped to pick up her daughter and to give her a cuddle. She breathed in the smell of her newly washed hair, the most precious perfume. Calvin Klein could never bottle this.

‘You’ve already agreed, have you?’ asked Eliza irritably.

‘No. I said yes, provisionally, but I explained that I’d have to check if you could sit for me,’ replied Martha patiently.

And dishonestly.

She’d already agreed to hook up with Jack. She’d calculated that her sister was unlikely to be going anywhere on a Monday night and therefore would be free to sit.

‘So, have you told him you have children?’ challenged Eliza.

‘Yes.’

‘And what did he make of that?’

‘He was cool with it.’

‘Cool with it’, ‘cool with it’. Eliza repeated the phrase in her head. A perfectly ordinary phrase made extraordinary because her sister had uttered it. She looked at Martha to see if her new and affected language embarrassed her. Martha seemed unconcerned. In fact, the only odd thing about Martha was that she seemed so content, so natural.

‘Well, he’s keen, I’ll give you that. He texted you straight away, and less than forty-eight hours after meeting you, he’s already taking you out,’ commented Eliza.

‘Do you think he’s keen?’ Martha threw Maisie in the air and caught her again, a bundle of chuckles and gurgles. Martha giggled too; Eliza wasn’t sure if she was giggling at Maisie or with delight at the idea of Jack’s keenness.

‘Yeah, of course he’s keen.’

‘Really?’ Martha couldn’t hide her joy.

‘Yeah, you haven’t slept with him yet.’

‘Will you babysit, or do I need to call an agency?’ asked Martha calmly, refusing to take the bait.

‘I’ll do it,’ sighed Eliza.

‘Thank you.’ Martha turned to walk out of the room.

Just as Martha was leaving the sitting room Eliza added, ‘Look, Martha, it’s not that I mind babysitting, you know.’

‘I know.’ She closed the door.

Not much had actually been said, but the sisters had spoken volumes.

Martha thought it was unnecessary for Eliza to worry as much as she was doing. It wasn’t as though Martha had spent the entire two days mooning around thinking about Jack. She hadn’t been dwelling on flashbacks of the things he said, the way he smiled, the way he moved. She hadn’t been planning what to wear and say on their first date. She hadn’t chalked his name on Mathew’s blackboard. She hadn’t punched the air when he called, or danced around the house when he suggested meeting up.

All right, she had.

Still, being this excited, feeling this alive, was a good thing, surely.

Martha didn’t have time for a long soak in a bath scented with Body Shop sensuous oil, or to exfoliate, rub on anti-cellulite cream, moisturize body and face and apply full make-up, like girls do when they have a hot date. She didn’t pay any attention to her underwear, or even her outerwear. Mathew was running a slight temperature. Nothing to worry about, but enough to make him grumpy and clingy. She ran in and out of his bedroom trying to pacify him with stories, cuddly toys and Calpol. She’d just tried on two almost identical black tops, and two very similar white tops, when Maisie threw up in bed, necessitating a change of sheets.

‘Is she very sick?’ asked Eliza.

‘No, just over-fed and over-excited,’ replied Martha as she whipped off the sodden sheet.

Eliza hovered in the doorway trying not to balk actively.

‘Mathew, have you been feeding Maisie Smarties?’

‘You said, nice to share.’ Mathew turned his huge blue eyes on his mother, totally disarming her.

‘I did, Darling, and it is.’ Martha crouched down to her son’s height and hugged him. Maisie launched herself on to her mother and brother for a spontaneous group hug. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t go out,’ said Martha, suddenly pickled in guilt.

‘Don’t go, Mummy. Stay with Mathew and Maisie,’ begged Mathew. It was amazing how he could spring from rapture to despair in the blink of an eye.

Martha looked at Eliza and waited for direction. She was late anyway and hardly looked her best. If the children really were ill she’d never forgive herself.

Eliza was sure that this Jack Hope spelt trouble. Martha was so obviously out of her depth. She could push the advantage and persuade Martha to stay in. They could open a bottle of Chardonnay and a box of chocs. They could have a lovely evening.

She sighed. ‘Come on, Mathew, let your mummy go and get ready. Leave that, Martha, I’ll change the sheets. If you don’t get a move on you’re going to be really late.’

The thing is, Martha looked so happy.

Happier than Eliza could recall.

Martha couldn’t remember what he looked like. Not exactly. She remembered that he was gorgeous but, God, what if that had been beer goggles, and he was grotesque rather than gorgeous? What if she didn’t recognize him? What if he was a prat? What if he thought she was a slut?
She had acted like a slut. Would he be able to tell that she wasn’t really, and would he care? What if he was tedious or arrogant? Maybe he only appeared interesting because Michael was the benchmark. Martha giggled at her mental dig at Michael; there was something very attractive about cruelty.

Her hair was still damp, and she was wearing a bit of mascara and lipgloss, jeans and a black shirt. Martha groaned – she could hardly be accused of going over the top. What was she doing? It was only three months since she and her husband had split up, what was she doing meeting other men? Wasn’t she rushing things? And normally she was so cautious. Surely it should feel odd.

But it didn’t.

She pushed against the heavy wooden door. Funny he’d chosen here to meet. All Bar One. She’d expected him to select some funky bar in the West End. One with a dress code that she would fail. This All Bar One was an old-time favourite of Martha’s; she used to come here a lot before the children were born. It was somewhere she felt comfortable.