The magic touch, p.3
The Magic Touch, page 3
I’ve got to leave Reeva a comment, this is just a classic. I type out –
Hey, good mover. At pub in Crouch End, come over!
I wish she’d join us, but I know she won’t. She only lives on the other side of London, but it might as well be another continent.
Apart from Ola, Reeva is the only friend I’m in contact with from school. We lost touch somewhere along the way, but then she looked me up on Facebook. I was divorced by then and had changed my name back to King, and we haven’t looked back since.
Oh, she’s replied.
Ta, my lovely, but having dinner in town. Next week maybe?
I’m about to reply when I see a hand curl around the top of the chair opposite. I look up, finger still hovering over my iPhone. It’s the man that was leaning against the pillar.
‘Hello,’ he smiles. ‘Would you mind if I …?’
Oh God, I think I’ve pulled. I focus on two loud couples in the alcove nearby, clinking their glasses and laughing, then avert my attention back to him. ‘Er, actually …’ I cut in, screwing my face up apologetically, ‘Sorry, but I’m waiting for some friends.’
‘Erm …’ He scratches his short beard, then looks around the pub as if searching for an answer in the crowd. He’s young, much younger than me, by ten years at least, and very good looking. I don’t defy the feeling of smugness that washes over me at being propositioned by such a young, hot guy. And particularly as my partner seems to have gone off me. I give him a reflex scan. He’s wearing a short-sleeved blue linen shirt that shows off his impressively strong forearms, and expensive-looking blue jeans held up by a worn leather brown belt. His tanned hand is still clutching the top of the chair, the other carrying a small Carphone Warehouse carrier bag.
‘I was going to ask if I could borrow this chair? I’m just over there.’ My eyes follow his hand to the small, round table next to mine. It has a pint of beer on it and a packet of cigarettes. A dwarf chair with a leather jacket draped haphazardly around it, almost touching the stripped floorboards, is half tucked beneath it. ‘Just bought a new phone,’ he explains, ‘and wanted to open the box on a dry surface. The table’s all sticky and grimy,’ he scrunches his nose. ‘Unless you’re expecting a large group, that is?’ He waves his big arm around expressively and I wonder if he’s of Italian decent. He definitely has the striking, strong features. ‘’Cos if you are, I’ll just …’
It’s a fair question. I’m sitting at a table for at least eight. I nabbed our favourite table – the one with the lime green sofa-style seating at the far end of the pub – the moment I arrived.
I feel like a complete idiot. I’ve gone red. I know I have. My face is boiling hot and despite the air-con being on full blast, my top feels like it’s welding to my back.
‘Oh God,’ I say eventually, a gormless smile starting at my lips. I move forward, pulling my slightly damp T-shirt away from my skin. ‘I’m so sorry.’ I stand up, although not quite sure why, it’s not as if I’m going to physically carry the chair to his table. ‘Yes, yes,’ I wave a hand, ‘of course, take it.’
He grins, nods in gratitude, then spins the chair to the next table. How could I have been such a bloody fool? Of course he wouldn’t want to chat me up. I gaze around the crowded pub. Not with all these twenty-something lovelies, who look like they’ve just stepped out of one of those glamorous online casino ads.
I swallow hard, regain my composure, and go back to Reeva’s post, blinking back tears of humiliation to the loud babble closing in around me. I start tapping at the keypad, but I can’t help listening to the crackling of bubble wrap as he unpacks his phone. I look up briefly and give him a quick smile.
‘A funny text from your boyfriend?’ he asks, pulling a shiny new phone out of the box. Boyfriend? Most people assume I’m married with kids.
‘No, I’m just on Facebook,’ I reply, waving the phone in my hand. I don’t bother to tell him that my boyfriend is at home, probably still fuming after our row and possibly packing his bags to leave.
‘Ah,’ he pulls out some accessories and starts fiddling with the phone, ‘I’m not into all that social networking stuff, but my ex-girlfriend used to live on Twitter.’ Ex. Hmm, I see he managed to drop that in quite casually. But he doesn’t fancy me. He can’t. Why would he, when he can have the pick of any one of the women in here? And besides, I’m definitely not interested. I’m happy with Harry. We’ll get through this blip. We’ll sort it out, I’m sure. I don’t want another man, and certainly not one as young and fit as this one.
‘Oh, I see.’ I scroll down my page lazily. ‘I quite enjoy the interaction, but mostly I use it for work.’
‘Yeah?’ He frowns as a woman’s hysterical laughter tears through the air. We both cringe as if her voice is a flying missile shooting over our heads. ‘What do you do?’
‘I’m an illustrator. Book covers, that sort of thing.’
He nods, impressed. ‘I love books. Reading them, that is. Enjoy it?’ He switches on his phone and the large, bright screen illuminates his flawless face.
‘Yes, when I can get the work. I’m just starting out as a freelancer.’ I glance quickly at the time on my iPhone. It’s almost half eight – they should be here soon.
He narrows his eyes. ‘Do you know what? I think I know you from somewhere.’
‘Really? I come here quite often,’ I offer.
‘No, no, not from here.’ He holds his chin.
‘It must be off the telly, then.’ I toss back my hair theatrically, staring up at the round, 70s-style glass lampshade. God, this pub could do with and update.
‘You’re on TV?’ he squeals, clearly impressed.
I can’t lie to the poor boy. ‘No, I’m just kidding.’ We both laugh for a few moments, his deep blue eyes twinkling mischievously.
‘I’ve got it,’ he says excitedly, clicking his fingers.
‘Oh?’
‘What school did you go to?’ This man is insane if he thinks we were in the same school year.
‘Not around here.’ I unzip my bag and slip my phone back into its compartment. I’m not going to tell him how old I am, if that’s what he’s fishing for.
‘Ah, I’ve got it,’ he wriggles his fingers in the air quickly. ‘You remind me of that actress. What’s her name now?’ He covers his mouth, narrowing his eyes.
‘Angelina Jolie? Scarlett Johansson? Elisabetta Canalis?’ I smooth down my hair in mock vanity.
‘Nah, none of those.’ I thought not. ‘It’s that ginger one.’ He pulls an apologetic face, ‘Eeeek, sorry, force of habit, hope you don’t mind.’ Mind? Why would I? I’ve had a lifetime of being called ginger nut, ginger minge, carrot head. You name it, I’ve been called it. ‘Although I do love redheads.’
‘Fiz from Corrie?’ I suggest hopefully.
He inhales deeply, as if meditating, eyes closed. ‘Julianne Moore!’ He opens his eyes and points his finger at me, as if he’s just answered the final question on Who Wants to be a Millionaire. I smile. I’ve been told this once or twice before. Only I’m nowhere near as beautiful. ‘Only younger and fitter.’ He takes a swig from his pint glass. A charmer, I see. But I’m too long in the tooth to fall for that line. ‘Can I get you a drink or anything?’ His accent is local, bordering Cockney, clearly a Londoner.
‘No, my friends should be here soon.’ I glance at the entrance. ‘They’re a bit late, but we’ll be getting a bottle of something once they get here. Thanks, though.’ I smile warmly.
‘’S’OK.’ He takes another mouthful of beer as I look up at a couple of thirty-somethings who’ve just walked in. The man’s got one of those mod hairstyles and she’s sporting a blonde beehive – obviously retro fans. They look at me and murmur something to each other. They probably want to sit at my big empty table. My companion’s voice averts my attention. ‘You wouldn’t mind doing me a favour, would you?’ he asks a little sheepishly.
‘Depends what it is.’ I fold my arms as the retro couple shuffle off to the bar.
‘I’ve just got this.’ He holds up his phone. ‘Would you mind calling it so I can see if it works? You can hang up the moment it rings so you won’t use up your minutes or anything.’
I shrug, ‘Sure. What’s the number?’ He calls it out and I punch it in. It rings almost immediately and I end the call.
‘Ta,’ he says cheerfully. ‘It’s a replacement. The last one gave me so much trouble, kept cutting out and wiped all my contacts. At least I know this one’s working.’
‘Emma!’ Ola has arrived. I stand up and we hug tightly for a few seconds. ‘Why did you get here so early?’
“Because I missed you so much, obviously!”
She smiles and looks at the young man with the phone. ‘And this is?’
‘Marc.’ He half stands, reaching out for her hand, very gentlemanly.
‘Marc, hello. I’m Ola, Emma’s other half.’ She winks at me and his face drops. Ola lets out a loud belly laugh, hands on hips. ‘Oh, relax, we’re besties.’ I grin at Ola roguishly.
He joins in the laughter, and says ‘It’s just that I very rarely get it wrong.’ He gives me a flirty look over his pint glass and I look up at Ola quickly, my cheeks tingling. Ola raises her eyebrows. That girl is so sharp, she doesn’t miss a thing.
‘So, it’s Emma, is it?’
‘Sorry,’ Ola says, sliding into the seat next to me and pulling her cross body bag over her head. ‘Have you two just met?’
‘Yeah,’ Marc smiles. ‘Emma kindly helped me set up my phone and I’ve been keeping her company until you arrived.’ He takes another swig from his glass. ‘You’re late, by the way.’ Ola pulls a face at him cheekily. She’s such a flirt.
‘Emma! Ahhh! Olaaaaa!’ Caroline has arrived with Vicky. We’re all standing up, hugging, kissing, all talking at the same time. Marc downs his pint and stands too, and as we continue to giggle and exchange preambles he gives me a little wave and a small smile as he slips away.
Chapter Four
‘What?’ Ola stares at me, mouth agape. ‘Harry? An affair? Are you nuts?’
‘Shhhh.’ I grab her bare arm, glancing quickly in Caroline and Vicky’s direction. ‘Keep your voice down, will you?’ Although I’m not quite sure why I just said that given that the place is heaving, and Caroline and Vicky are at least twenty feet away immersed in conversation at the bar.
‘What did the text say exactly?’ Ola asks, concerned. ‘Your hands are freezing, by the way.’ I release my grip. Ola’s looking nice and casual in a khaki vest and black skinny jeans.
‘It said, “Thanks so much for the other night” with a kiss at the end.’
‘Is that it?’
‘What do you mean, is that it?’ I hiss, glancing again at Caroline and Vicky, who are now leaning against the bar waiting to catch one of the flustered staff’s attention. ‘What more do you want? I said it was a text, not a sext.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Emma.’ Ola throws her hands up. ‘That could be from anyone. I thought you had hard evidence.’ She smooths down her jeans and glances around the pub as my phone pings. I ignore it.
‘This is evidence,’ I retort. ‘One text might’ve been innocent, but two! I doubt very much the one that pinged through earlier was from Mas. I think Harry was lying to me.’
‘Emma.’ Ola looks at me silently for a while with a small, incredulous smile. ‘So, did Harry say who the text was from?’ She tilts her head to one side and bites on her lips, clearly humouring me. My phone pings again.
‘A colleague, apparently.’ I wave a hand, glancing out of the window at the Costa on the corner. ‘Someone he helped out, they swapped shifts or something.’
‘Man or woman?’
‘Man.’ My phone pings. ‘So he says.’
‘It’s perfectly feasible, Emma.’ Ola rests her elbow on the large wooden table, twisting her slender body towards me to another ping from my phone. ‘I think you may have misconstrued the message. Are you still having trouble sleeping?’ We both look up momentarily at two men who’ve just sat down at Marc’s empty table with two pints of Guinness.
‘Ola, I’m not imagining it. It was there in black and white.’ White and green, actually, but you know what I mean. ‘And what bloke puts a big kiss at the end of their texts, anyway?’
‘John does.’
‘Yes, to you! His wife.’
‘Fair point.’ She juts her lips thoughtfully, staring into Caroline’s back, who is now chatting to a sweaty, distressed-looking barman. ‘Adam always ends his texts with a kiss,’she muses.
‘Adam’s an old friend, that doesn’t count. Anyway, I bet he doesn’t put kisses at the end of his texts to his male colleagues.’
‘Yes, but how do you know that this nurse didn’t just accidentally put a kiss at the end of his message without thinking? I put a kiss at the end of a staff email last week.’ She shakes her head, smiling. ‘I’ve been the butt of their jokes all week,’ she says to a sequence of pings from my phone. ‘Emma, can you get that please, it’s starting to get on my nerves now.’
I snatch the phone from my open handbag as if it’s an annoying pest. Nine Facebook notifications. ‘It’s just Facebook,’ I say scrolling through my newsfeed. ‘I commented on a friend’s post earlier, she won some kind of photography award and now she’s bombarded with well wishes.’
‘Oh, God, I hate it when that happens. I sometimes don’t bother commenting to avoid all that harassment. Just unfollow the post. I always do.’
I switch my phone to silent, telling her that I’ll do it later. ‘Oh, I dunno, Ola.’ I rub my eyes, forgetting I’ve got make-up on. ‘It’s all such a bloody mess.’
‘What, like your face, you mean? You look like a little panda.’ Ola searches inside her bag then pulls out a tissue. ‘Lick,’ she demands, pressing the tissue against my lips. I do as I’m told.
‘I mean, the text, the marriage proposal,’ I drone as she rubs a little harshly around my eyes with the tissue. ‘Our dwindling sex life. Ouch.’ I pull away, feeling my right eye tearing with pain.
‘Sorry. If you’d keep still, I’m almost done.’
She dabs at the corner of my eye as I ramble on about our troubles. How suffocating it is living on a tiny budget every month. How we barely have time for each other these days. That I can’t remember the last time we were intimate.
‘Is that why you don’t want to marry him?’ She scrunches the tissue and puts it back into her handbag. ‘Because of the sex blip?’
‘No. Yes. Oh, I don’t know.’ My brain feels frazzled, I can’t think straight. ‘He was half-cut when he proposed at the barbecue, and he seemed to take it well the next day when I told him I wasn’t ready. A bit relieved, actually.’ I stare sadly into the distance. ‘I think he just got caught up in the moment, what with all his family being there. Although according to Caroline he was quite hurt.’
‘Because if it is the sex blip,’ Ola goes on, ignoring the latter part of my reasoning, ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about it. It happens after years of being together. John and I sometimes go for weeks without sex.’ She leans back into the squishy seat, folding her arms.
‘What? But you’re PE teachers,’ I exclaim. Surely they must have bags of energy. I look at her toned arms and legs. ‘You’re fit,’ I say, almost accusingly. Although Ola and I both wear a size twelve, she’s far more toned than I am.
‘So? That doesn’t mean we’re at it twenty-four seven, you know. We’ve got Ben to look after, and he’s getting lots of homework now he’s in year five, not to mention his after-school activities. Then there’s Eric to walk twice a day. The house, our jobs. By the time we settle down in the evening we’re bloody knackered.’ I give her a small, dubious nod, my right eyebrow raised. She has a point. ‘I must say,’ she goes on, ‘the holiday did help.’ She grins, gazing into space. I know that look and I do miss it, but I’m not sure Ola is getting this. It’s not just the lack of intimacy that’s worrying me. I feel as if we’re drifting apart.
‘So, how was the holiday? Apart from the great sex, that is?’
She breaks from her lustful reverie and looks at me. ‘Really good, actually, except for John getting sunburn, as per. I did tell him to use the high factor I bought for Ben, but you know what men are like.’ I nod in agreement. ‘I spent most of the time hiding under an umbrella with my Kindle. He’s still red now. He looks like a cooked lobster.’ She bursts out laughing, and I can’t help but laugh with her.
‘Don’t talk to me about sunburn. I learnt the hard way, remember?’
We giggle as we discuss a holiday in Ibiza years ago where I ended up with sunstroke. I even had to go into the sea wearing a T-shirt. I can still feel the pain now. ‘Maybe that’s what you two need,’ she says, wiping away tears of mirth. ‘A romantic weekend away somewhere – reignite the passion.’ She nudges me with her arm playfully. ‘Make up for all those lost weeks.’
‘It’s been a couple of months, Ola, not weeks. Besides, it’s not just about the sex,’ I protest. ‘I’m not a sex maniac, you know.’ She arches an eyebrow and I slap her lightly on the arm. ‘It’s just not like Harry, that’s all.’ I shake my head, staring at Vicky and Caroline fighting over the bill. ‘I get that he’s tired. We both are, for heaven’s sake. I mean, I’m not up for it every night. I know I only do two days at the restaurant now, but I’m on my feet for ten hours each time. Then I’ve got the household chores, my book illustrations, building up my business. It’s bloody exhausting.’ Ola nods in agreement. ‘It’s just these last few weeks … something’s changed,’ I go on. ‘He’s withdrawn, disinterested, preoccupied. I talk to him but his mind is somewhere else – or on someone else.’ I run my finger along a long dent in the veneered table. ‘And now these text messages. I mean, why was he so cagey over them? I just don’t know what to think.’ I look up at Ola. ‘Something’s not quite right. I’m sure he’s seeing another woman.’
