Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow? (40 page)

‘Christ, Annie, you’re such a bloody worrier! No need to fret about this chick any more. I’ve gone cold turkey and the strongest drink you’ll see pass my lips is Diet Coke. Trust me, the strongest thing going up my nose from now on is a Vicks inhaler. That’s a promise.’

And she just picks up where she left off and is as amazing as ever in the show. Not only that, but she apologises personally to Blythe, Chris and Alex too, swears that she’s on the
straight and narrow from now on and no one need ever worry about her again.

Which is terrific. Which is great. Which is a massive relief all round. I just find it all a bit too good to be true, that’s all. That she just snapped out of an addiction and went straight back to work like nothing ever happened. Can it really be so easy? Is life really like that?

Which brings me to a sneaky confession I have to make here. Early the following morning, I call her doctor at the Albany rehab centre, Dr Goldman, who’s in a meeting but who eventually does get back to me right before I leave for work. I tell her I hope I’m worrying unnecessarily about Liz, but that I’m just wondering what her take on this miraculous turn-around is? About her checking herself out of the programme so fast, I explain.

Dr Goldman’s answer chills me to the bone.

‘Annie, I appreciate that you’re concerned about your friend. But remember, I can’t help those who don’t want to be helped.’

And as if all this wasn’t enough, on top of everything else there’s the constant, sickening worry over Dan. But could it be that he’s got his happy ending too? I’ve become expert at schooling myself not to indulge in the torture of thinking about him and Lisa and their ready-made family unit, but sometimes I can’t help myself.

Back from Paris by now, I figure, but beyond that, I don’t want to know any more. The minute I got in the door of my little blonde apartment, I deleted every single message on the answering machine, ignoring the whole lot of them. What’s more, while I was unpacking, I realised I’d left my mobile in the spare room back at Mum’s. Ordinarily, I’d feel like I was missing my right hand, but right now, it’s
the least of my worries. Frankly, if there’s any more bad news from home, I don’t need to know and don’t want to know.

Occasionally a tiny sliver of hope will find its way into my heart: maybe Lisa drove Dan nuts when they were away, maybe now he sees for himself what an absolute Hammer Horror story the woman is, but then…maybe not. For one thing, Dan always sees the good in people, never the bad…and maybe now he’s found a woman who actually is prepared to put up with a life of never seeing him. And my cross in life is that I’ll have to live with the fallout.

Then there’s Jack. A part of me is and will always be attracted to him and what’s more, he knows it. Knows it and plays on it all the time. A part of me admires him, but if I’m being really honest, there’s another part of me that still shrivels up at the tough, insensitive, merciless side to him.

Funny, but if there were ever two sides to a coin, it’s most definitely Jack and Dan. Both are gifted at what they do, both are driven almost to the point of obsession, but whereas Jack is ruthless, Dan is kind. And where Jack is unrelenting in pursuit of what he wants, Dan just lets things happen, all in their own good time. Both are strong, but Jack thunders around the place till he gets his way with the full force of his blast-furnace personality, whereas Dan is one of those people that makes you realise what a colossal mistake it is to confuse calmness with weakness. Because calmness often belies huge strength, and so it is with him.

Jack has asked me out on a date tonight, a proper date. After the show, just the two of us, and after much bludgeoning on his part, I eventually give in. Honest to God, it’s like he pursued a kind of scorched earth policy:
every time I’d say no to him and explain that I needed time out, he’d plant a seed in my head of Dan in Paris with Lisa, over and over again, till he eventually wore down all resistance on my part.

So I suppose this is a happy ending then.

It just doesn’t feel like one, that’s all.

And now, here I am, stepping out of a cab, picking my steps through lashing sheets of rain, outside The Plaza hotel. The show’s over and the rest of the night stretches ahead of us. Dinner, Jack said, at my hotel. Just dinner, I said firmly, but you don’t need to be a mind reader to know what he’s thinking. That this will be our first night together. The first time in my life that I’ll sleep with any man other than my husband.

I think of Dan in Paris, I think of Lisa, I think of the two of them together in The Moorings right now…and all I feel is numb. Anaesthetised. Like I’ve already worked my way through the A to Z of every conceivable emotion known to heartbroken women till there’s nothing left but this cold, empty shell, wearing a borrowed dress and shoes.

If I’d thought we’d be having dinner downstairs, in the Oak Room restaurant maybe, I was all wrong. Jack has everything pre-planned, like a true master of seduction. He’s already waiting for me in the lobby, wearing his off duty gear of designer jeans and a jet black cashmere sweater, crisp black shirt peeping out from underneath. He lights up when he sees me, kisses me lightly, then slipping an arm around my waist, leads me towards the elevator bank. No messing around, it would seem, this is a private dinner for two.

The express elevator shoots skywards and all I can think
is…can I really do this? Because right now, I just don’t know.

I say none of this to Jack of course, instead we talk politely about the show tonight and how great Liz was. He was at the theatre, of course, but some latent prudishness in me insisted on our leaving separately, even though gossip about the two of us has long since died down as everyone, right down to the ushers and the staff who sell programmes at the interval, have all long since assumed that Jack and I are a foregone conclusion. Including, it would seem, the man himself.

Two minutes later, we’re up on one of the hotel’s private floors, where all the apartments are. His arm is tight around my waist now as he steers me towards the entrance door and inside.

Funny but I always wondered about his living space; Jack struck me as one of those guys who although meticulous about his own appearance would be slovenly about all else. Might even be something we could possibly joke about, to lighten the mood a bit. As usual though, I’m wrong. The apartment is flawlessly tidy, exactly like a hotel suite, but with a few little personal touches, added purely because he’s been here for so long. It’s a stunning room – if you happen to like the colour grey, that is. Absolutely everything’s decorated in shades of it: carpets, furniture, wallpaper, windows, the whole works.

In fact the only touch of actual colour is a painting Jack proudly shows off to me, one he bought from an art gallery in Hell’s Kitchen awhile back, of…I’m not kidding…a red Ferrari. He swaggers a bit as he shows it off to me, smirking at my reaction when I hear the price – more than I’m being paid for the entire run of the show.

Then he proudly takes me to the window to show off the view, which stretches all the way over Central Park. I can see how on a clear day it would be stunning, but right now the rain is really bucketing down, drumming against the windows and we can’t see that much. A right storm is brewing, as a gale force wind starts to wallop itself off the building and normally weather like this makes me feel snug and warm and glad to be inside, but not tonight.

A discreet ring at the door and it’s room service with dinner. A table for two is set up in the middle of the room and Jack goes to the minibar to crack open a bottle of champagne. Funny, but it’s as if he’s single-handedly orchestrating the whole scene without actually saying or doing anything. He nods at one waiter and the curtains are drawn, raises his eyebrows at another and the lights are dimmed. He’s got this all meticulously planned out, I think detachedly, like he’s directing the entire evening. Like it’s one of his stage productions.

He hands me a glass of champagne, then guides me to the table. A hefty tip is discreetly slipped to the waiters and we’re left alone.

This is it then, I think, no turning back now. From where my chair is positioned, I can see right through to the bedroom: a sleigh bed big enough to sleep an entire family, scented candles dotted around the room, and a bouquet of red roses relieving the dull monotony of the grey.

What in the name of arse am I doing? Why am I here? Out of revenge? To get my own back at Dan? To try and feel something other than the awful emptiness that’s inside me?

It’s like watching a master class in foreplay, is all I can think, like I’m completely distanced from the whole thing.

We eat, or rather, he eats and I pick at my food; no appetite.

And then, crunch time. He leads me to the sofa, puts on classical music in the background and slowly moves in towards me, arm around my shoulder, lips at my ear. We both know what’s coming next and I’ve run out of excuses to put him off.

His kisses my hand delicately, then stops to fiddle with my wedding ring.

‘Why do you insist on still wearing this, my dear? Don’t you think it’s a travesty? Or do you wear it as a lucky charm to stave off wolves like me?’

‘Don’t touch it,’ I say and it’s only when I see his reaction that I realise I almost snapped the words at him.

Then, wordlessly, he starts to nibble my earlobe and I let him, staring straight ahead, completely tuned out. I can’t imagine, I am trying really hard not to imagine what’s going on at The Moorings right about now. Is someone else kissing Dan too? Is someone else lying beside him, wanting him, making love to him?

Breathing more heavily, Jack moves down to my neck, kissing every square inch of it, his hand moving up the crushed velvet of my dress and cupping my boobs, gently pressing down. Now he’s moving up a gear, his whole body is stiffening and his hands feel that bit rougher, as he lays me backwards onto the sofa, stretching me out and caressing up and down every inch of me. He’s on top of me now, pressing down hard on me, biting into my neck and expertly undoing the zip at the back of my dress.

And all the time, I’m miles away.

Three thousand miles away. In county Waterford, to be exact. At home.

His icy hands are under my dress now, working their way downwards and lightly grazing my thighs as he starts to moan more urgently. It’s only when he kisses me full on, slipping a darty tongue in my mouth…. and I pull away from him, that he eventually realises something’s up. That somehow I can’t access that animal attraction to him that was there before. That I’m just lying here, utterly un responsive. Like a corpse, present in body but not in spirit.

‘Annie? Annie, what’s up?’

Gone is his sexy toffee-voice, now he’s beginning to sound gruff, impatient.

‘Answer me. Is something wrong?’

I haul myself up onto my elbows, brushing hair out of my eyes and fumbling to pull the zip of my dress back up.

‘Jesus Christ, what are you doing? Where are you going?’

‘Jack, I’m sorry, I can’t do this…’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous, you’re not going anywhere.’

He’s on his feet now, cold and angry. I look at him and see all the desire that was there a few seconds ago quickly drain from his face.

‘I’m sorry,’ is all I can repeat over again. ‘I just can’t. Not now and maybe not ever. If Dan did this to me, I don’t know what I’d do, so it doesn’t seem right that I leap into bed with you just to get even.’

‘Dan
is
doing this to you, my deluded little idiot, at this very minute possibly.’

‘
WHAT
did you just say?’

‘Oh please, it’s all over the theatre. Your ex has moved on and you’re still in this ridiculously protracted mourning period for him? Have you taken complete leave of your senses?’

‘I can’t explain,’ I say, groping to get my arms into the sleeves of my coat. Only the truth too, I couldn’t explain if I tried. It’s like I’m stuck in this no man’s land. I wasn’t able to make it work with Dan and now I can’t seem to move on either.

Jack is lighting up a cigarette and holding it exactly level with his lips, realising that sex is firmly off tonight’s agenda.

‘You do know that you’re making a huge mistake, my dear?’ he says, exhaling deep blue cloud puffs. ‘Because walk out that door and I’m telling you right now that you and I are over.’

But I don’t answer, mainly because there’s nothing left to be said. We look at each other for a long time, like two actors in a play who’ve forgotten their lines and it’s a case of who’ll blink first. In the end, I give up. So I just grab my shoes, slip them over my bare feet and wordlessly leave.

I wait by the elevator bank, half wondering whether he’ll come after me, but he doesn’t. He lets me go and what’s more I’m glad of it.

No cabs outside the hotel and by now the rain is buffeting down so heavily it’s like a slap in my face, but I don’t care.

And when I do eventually get home, drenched right through to my knickers, the temptation to call Dan is so overwhelmingly huge that it hurts.

Chapter Nineteen

The minute I cross the threshold of the theatre for work the following evening, I swear I can practically smell trouble brewing in the air. It’s everywhere; it’s in the nervous glances the wardrobe mistress throws me when I meet her coming out of my dressing room, it’s in the discreet eye-roll the stage director throws me; even the perpetual good cheer of Hayley, Queen of the Box Office, seems to have dimmed a bit this evening. As much as to say, fasten your seatbelts, folks. Tonight’s going to be a bumpy ride.

It’s only when I throw open the dressing room door and head inside that I realise exactly what’s going on. Liz is already here ahead of me and one single look from her tells me just about everything I need to know. The wildly dilated pupils, the restlessness, the agitation, the aggressive energy.

Sweet Jesus, I do not be-fecking-lieve this. She’s only twenty-four hours out of hospital and already out of her head. No question. My heart sinks like a stone as the penny doesn’t so much drop as fall thudding to the floor. Here’s the reason why she was in such a mad rush to check herself out of the Eleanor Young clinic. Here’s the reason she wanted her freedom back so desperately, so urgently. So she could get out and start scoring all over again.