The Piano Man Project (7 page)

‘Look. I happened to tell them that I don’t orgasm during sex and they went all batshit crazy on me. I tried telling them it’s no big deal, it’s just the way my body is, but they don’t believe me, and now they’re trying to set me up with men they think will prove me wrong and make me scream louder than Meg Ryan in
When Harry Met Sally
.’ She paused to breathe. ‘There. Happy now? My name is Honeysuckle Jones and I don’t orgasm. Is that interesting enough for you, or would you like more?’

She slumped against the wall, hot cheeked and suddenly exhausted.

After a few seconds, Hal spoke, and he sounded incredulous. ‘You mean you don’t come during sex, or you don’t come at all?’

This was turning into a carbon copy of her conversation with Tash and Nell. ‘At all. At. All. Can we talk about something else now, please? It’s your turn to tell me something I don’t know about you.’

She could almost hear Hal shaking his head. ‘Surely you can make yourself come though? On your own?’

Great. They were going to discuss masturbation and they barely even knew each other. ‘Hal. Let me spell this out.’ Honey crossed her arms over her chest. ‘My body doesn’t orgasm, not for me or for anyone else. It’s a basic, physical fact, one to which I have become well adjusted and believe it or not, am totally fine with. It doesn’t make me frigid; I still enjoy sex perfectly well. I’m pretty damn good at it, if you must know.’ Her chin jutted defiantly in the air.

He was laughing again, she could hear him. It made her glad and mad at the same time.

‘I’m sure you are, given that you’ve had more than your fair share of men and all.’

Terrific. Now she sounded like a slapper. ‘I didn’t say more than my fair share and you well know it.’ She could hear Hal screwing up his chip wrapper. ‘Pass me your rubbish. I’ll stick it in the bin outside, save it stinking out your flat.’

Would he open the door? She could hear him moving, and she balled up her chip paper and pulled herself up too. After a few moments of hesitation, the door slowly opened and Hal stood there, louche as always in his uniform of old jeans and t-shirt, his dark hair rumpled in a rock star sexy kind of way.

‘Thanks for dinner, Strawberry Girl,’ he said softly, holding out his wrapper. She took it and pushed it into hers, digesting the nickname with a half smile and pinpricks of pleasure down the back of her neck. She was almost relieved that he didn’t know that her cheeks were as pink as her shampoo.

‘I picked up some things for you from the supermarket,’ she said, bending down to the carrier on the floor. ‘Bread.’ She held out the loaf until the cellophane touched his fingers and he took it from her wordlessly, laying it carefully on the table in his hallway.

‘Ham.’ She passed the packet to him, his fingers touching hers before he placed it on the table alongside the bread.

‘Orange juice,’ she murmured, the warm brush of his fingertips stark against the cold carton.

‘You realise you’re taking the element of surprise out of this by telling me what they are, don’t you?’ he said as he accepted the cheese from her. His hand stilled over hers for a second. Did his thumb slide over the pulse point of her wrist?

‘Yeah, well. I don’t want you drinking Domestos and blaming me,’ she murmured, passing him the other items one by one, watching his hands. He had good, strong hands.

‘That’s the last of it,’ she said as he placed the milk down on the table. ‘If there’s anything special you want me to get, let me know.’

‘Whisky?’ he said, hopefully.

‘Sometimes, Hal,’ she said, gently.

He nodded and breathed in, a sigh somewhere between acceptance and resignation.

‘You better go in,’ she said. ‘
Coronation Street
starts in five minutes. I know you’d hate to miss it.’

Hal’s mouth quirked at the edges. ‘You know it.’

Dark stubble covered his jaw, and on impulse, Honey reached out and touched it. ‘You need a shave, rock star.’

Hal stilled at the contact, and Honey felt his jawbone stiffen beneath the softness of the few days’ beard growth. They stood there for a few long seconds, his face warm against her palm, neither of them letting go of their breath. To a casual onlooker they’d have looked like lovers saying goodnight.

‘Maybe you could put a razor on that list of yours then,’ he said eventually, and Honey let her hand slide away.

‘Noted,’ she whispered.

‘Night, then,’ he said, then stepped backwards and clicked his door shut. Honey stared at the pale wood, then at her still-tingling palm, and then moved across the hallway into the safety and solitude of her own flat.

Hal leaned his back against his closed door, the scent of her on his fingers when he scrubbed them over his jaw. What the fuck was it about Strawberry Girl? In his world, women smelt of expensive perfume, died a million deaths at the idea of chips, and their polished sexual routines included a perfectly executed orgasm on cue. Or women in his old world, at least. His world of fast cars and glamorous women, and a job he loved with a passion bordering on obsession. He’d only ever wanted to be a chef, and he’d worked bloody hard for more than a decade to build his reputation to the point of being able to open his own restaurant almost three years previously. Hal wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d enjoyed the trappings of his success – the celebrity clientele, the awards, the sparkling reviews from notoriously hard-to-please food critics. His life had been big, and full, and busy, and thrilling.

And now he was here, alone in this godforsaken place, and the only remotely interesting thing about his door was the girl living on the other side of it. A girl who he now knew wore knickers with the day of the week on, and who said the first thing that came into her blonde head without thinking, and who’d lived her entire life without experiencing the mind-numbing bliss of great sex. He briefly wondered whether Deano the synthesiser player would be the man to show her different, and then just as briefly hoped not. No one should have their first orgasm with a man called Deano.

‘I thought I might chain myself to the railings around the home,’ Mimi said. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time, I was at Greenham Common you know.’

Lucille nodded. ‘She was. She used her bra as a rope.’

Billy Bobbysocks grinned and skimmed a hand over his artful grey quiff. A loyal lifetime customer of Brylcreem, he still had an impressive head of hair for a man well into his eighties. ‘I rather like the idea of you chained up, my darling. May I be the keeper of the keys?’

Mimi’s dark eyes sparkled at her beau as Honey cleared her throat. It was a few days after the news about the possible closure, and Honey had called a campaign meeting now that the shop had shut for the day. They were gathered around the rickety Formica table in the staffroom. So far Honey had noted down Lucille’s suggestion to contact the local paper, and Nell’s idea to involve the residents’ families and organise a protest walk. Tash and Nell had turned up together about ten minutes previously. They’d both been eager to help as soon as they’d heard about the closure threat hanging over the home and the shop. As committees went, it was a decidedly rocky start – three women in their late twenties and three octogenarians; they sounded rather like a joke awaiting its punch line. Billy withdrew a silver hip-flask from his jacket and took a nip.

‘Anyone for brandy?’ he said, waving the bottle around the table at them, shrugging when they all declined and pushing the flask back inside his jacket. Honey’s thoughts automatically strayed to Hal, and the fact that he would have had that flask off Billy in a flash.

‘What do you reckon, Honey?’ Tash said, digging an elbow in her ribs beside her. ‘Honey?’

Honey glanced up at her friend, realising she had no clue what had been said since her mind had wandered into Hal territory.

‘Sorry, what?’

‘Are you even listening? You were miles away.’

Honey chewed the end of her pencil. ‘Mmm. What did I miss?’

‘Lucille just suggested trying to raise the funds to buy the home from the current owners. It’s a long shot, but put it down as an idea anyway.’

A long shot was something of an understatement. ‘Anyone know any lottery winners?’ Honey said as she scribbled on the list. Unsurprisingly, five heads shook around the table.

‘Thought not.’

‘I think Old Don’s son works for the local rag though,’ Billy piped up. ‘He’d be a good one to start with.’ Old Don was one of the home’s most senior residents and his son, in his sixties himself, was a regular visitor. Honey nodded. ‘Will you speak to him, Billy? Maybe ask him to swing by the shop for a chat when he’s here next?’

Billy nodded. ‘Consider it done, my angel.’

‘Anything else, anyone? Any other business?’ Honey said, mostly because it was the thing people seemed to say to conclude meetings on the television. Tash raised her hand.

‘Yes, me please, Miss Jones. What are you wearing for your date with Deano tomorrow night?’

Honey frowned. ‘Tash!’

Nell clapped her hands gleefully. ‘Ooh, Tash told me about this. Your first pianist. I wonder what he’ll be like.’

‘I can play the piano,’ Billy chimed in helpfully, and Honey felt Nell start to laugh under her breath beside her. Lucille and Mimi cast a knowing glance at each other, and then laid a hand each on Billy’s arm.

‘Not this tune you can’t, darling,’ Mimi murmured theatrically as Honey cringed into her chair. If anyone attempted to explain the whole piano man thing to Billy, she was going to die on the spot. How had it happened that almost everyone she knew had become aware of her sexual issue? Hell, it wasn’t even an issue to her anymore, not half as much as it was to everyone else, anyway. Even Hal had seemed incredulous. Hal. What in God’s name had possessed her to tell him about it all? He seemed to transmit tell-me-the-truth vibes through his solid front door like some kind of weird telepathist.

Honey pushed her chair back, signalling the end of the conversation before anyone could say anything more about the issue. Billy helped Lucille and Mimi to their feet, and then offered them each an elbow to escort them out of the back door and across the lawn to the home. The ladies blew kisses at Honey, Tash and Nell as they moved into the doorway and watched them go.

‘Christ, I hope we’re like them when we get to that age,’ Tash said.

Honey laughed fondly. ‘Let’s grow old together disgracefully, girls.’

‘Deffo,’ Tash said, pulling a bottle of red wine from her bag with a grin. ‘Time for a quick one?’

Honey reached for the glass cupboard, but Nell picked up her bag instead.

‘I can’t tonight, ladies, sorry. I need to get home.’

‘You sure Simon can’t hold the fort for just a little longer?’ Honey’s fingers lingered hopefully on the third glass.

‘Umm. It’s not that … we’ve kind of made plans for the evening.’

Both Honey and Tash turned to look at Nell; there had been a strange inflection to her words.

‘It’s not your anniversary, is it?’ Honey was sure it was too early in the year for that.

‘And it’s not your birthday …’ Tash added, raising her eyebrows at Nell. ‘What’s going on, Nellie?’

Pink spots appeared in Nell’s cheeks and she shrugged lightly. ‘Nothing really,’ she murmured. ‘We just fancied a bit of an early night.’ She glanced down at her shiny shoes and then back up again with wide, almost innocent eyes.

‘An early night?’ Tash said slowly. ‘As in you and Simon have already made plans to get down and dirty tonight? Simon’s just gone up in my estimation.’

Honey sloshed wine into a glass and thrust it into Nell’s hands, sensing from Nell’s coyness that there was something juicier to this story. ‘A very quick one,’ she muttered, pouring wine into the other glasses and handing one to Nell.

‘What gives, Nell?’ Tash wheedled as they all perched around the table with their glasses in their hands. Nell sat tight-lipped and looked slowly from Honey to Tash and then back again, and after a moment she reached for her big leather satchel and flipped it open. Honey strongly suspected that they were about to see a positive pregnancy test. Nell had gone all glowy and excitable. She was very, very wrong. Nell didn’t pull a pregnancy test from her bag. She pulled out a metallic vibrator instead. Both Tash and Honey gasped out loud at the unexpectedness of the item in Nell’s perfectly french-manicured hand.

‘He gave me this before he went to work this morning!’ Nell squeaked, breathless and bright eyed. ‘Straight after his organic muesli!’

Honey started to laugh and put her hand over her mouth.

‘I told him a couple of days ago about that store we went into the other day, you know, the sex shop? Well, we’d had a couple of drinks, and I might have given him the idea that … anyway.’ She waved the vibrator around. ‘This. This is the reason I have to get home.’ She looked like someone about to throw themselves off a bungee platform, terrified and elated all at once. She placed the vibrator down and took a huge swig of wine in the style of a parched person.

‘Go Simon,’ Tash murmured. ‘You do know what to do with this thing, right?’

Nell shot Tash a look. ‘I think we can work it out.’

‘I wonder what else he bought from the store? Brace yourself, Nell,’ Honey grinned.

Nell’s eyes opened wide. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘Maybe you should have bought those pretty purple beads after all,’ Tash laughed at Nell’s screwed-up nose.

Nell shook her head and then reached into her huge bag again, this time pulling out a fancy paper bag. ‘I nipped into town at lunchtime and got these. Thought I might, you know, be a bit more daring, seeing as how Simon has too.’

She reached into the bag and withdrew a boned demi-cup bra, ethereal wisps of black French lace stitched around the edge with pale pink ribbon. Matching briefs, barely there and black, followed the bra from the bag, along with a suspender belt and seamed stockings.

‘Are they crotchless?’ Tash asked, gesturing towards the briefs with her wine glass and earning herself a frown from Nell.

‘No they are not!’

Honey touched the expensive lace, knowing that despite the presence of a crotch, the underwear was still quite a departure for Nell. ‘They’re gorgeous,’ she said. ‘Simon is going to think all of his birthdays have come at once when he sees you in this lot.’