“That’s better,” he says, kissing me again and then kissing my neck and stroking my hair, and I know what this means. Yup. Move number two is hand up to my breast.
“Mmm,” he says into my hair. “Libby smells sexy.”
And then move number three is hand under the sweater, hand under the bra, bra strap undone (amidst much fumbling, I’ll have you know).
“Shall we go to bed?” Ed says as he’s pulling off my sweater.
“Why? What’s wrong with the sofa?” I say.
“Oh no!” He looks horrified. “If we’re going to play bouncy castles we have to do it in bed.”
“Right. Bouncy castles. In bed. Okay.” And I pick up my sweater and walk up the stairs, wondering how I’m supposed to be turned on by the words “bouncy castles.” Wondering whether sex is ever going to improve with a man who refers to a fuck as “playing bouncy castles.” Whether “bouncy castles” is as dirty as it’s ever going to get.
And for a second there I do think about Nick. Well, okay. A few seconds, actually. I think about how sexy he was, how it was fucking, how it wasn’t playing anything other than very dirty indeed, how incredibly turned on I was by the fact that we fucked our way all over his flat and all over mine.
Oh, and did I mention that once we did it in the car? Bit embarrassing, that one. It was at King’s Cross. We’d stopped off to get the late-night papers one Saturday night, and both of us started feeling really horny once we got back in the car. An hour later there was a knock on the steamed-up window, and I rolled it down breathlessly to find a policeman standing there.
“Everything all right, madam?” he said, smirking.
“Oh yes. Fine.”
“It’s just that you’ve been here for an hour and this isn’t the safest place, you know. All sorts of strange people here.”
“Oh. Er. Sorry.”
“Kissing your boyfriend good night, were you?” The smirk got bigger. Bloody cheek.
But no. Enough about Nick. Where was I? Oh yes. Playing “bouncy castles” with Ed. In bed. Which is fine. Not great. Not even good. Just okay. And for your information I do have an orgasm, but I suppose if someone, anyone, rubs long enough in the right place it’s bound to happen, isn’t it?
I try to do something different. I think it might be quite nice to go on top for a change, and as I clamber on top and guide him inside me, Ed looks completely baffled.
“What are you doing?” he booms.
“Just trying something new,” I whisper back.
“Are you sure about this, darling?”
“Ed, shut up. You’re destroying the moment.”
“Sorry,” he booms again. I give him a look.
I move on top of him for about a minute, and then he starts shaking his head and pulls me off him. “Sorry, darling,” he says. “I don’t think I like that at all,” and then he gets back into his favored missionary position and starts pounding away, while I look at the ceiling and try to picture my wedding dress.
“That was gorgeous,” he says, when he’s finished.
“Mmm? Good,” I murmur, halfway down the aisle once again.
“Libby? Was it, umm, good for you?”
“Yes, Ed. It was lovely,” I lie, turning to kiss him as he gives me a grateful smile.
Ed gets up to go to the bathroom, and when he comes back I tell him about my idea for an introductory pre-engagement-party dinner. I do say it was mine, because I’m not entirely sure what reaction I’d get if he knew Jules came up with the idea.
“Excellent idea,” he says. “I’ll take everyone out for dinner.”
“Don’t be silly,” I say. “Everyone will pay for themselves.”
He looks at me in horror. “Libby, you can’t invite people out for dinner and then expect them to pay. That’s very bad form.”
“Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Okay,” I say, shrugging. “If you don’t mind.” I tell him who I think we should invite and he says fine. And what’s more, he doesn’t even ask who Nick is.
Much as I hate to admit that my mother’s ever right about anything, I can see that she does seem to have a point, that bit about me being in a bad mood, but the problem is the only time I’m really in a bad mood, other than when I’m at my parents’ of course, is when I’m with Ed.
I just don’t understand why all of a sudden he seems to irritate me, and there seems to be a bit of a pattern developing which is beginning to worry me. Ed constantly smothers me with affection, attention and love, and the more he smothers me the more claustrophobic I find it. Eventually I snap at him, and then he gets that look, and then I have a bit of breathing space, until I feel so guilty at hurting him I apologize and then he starts smothering me all over again.
You would think, given that I am one of the most self-aware people I know, that there would have been a book written about this syndrome, but I’ve flicked through all the usual ones, and I can’t find anything that pertains to this particular problem.
And the thing is, maybe it isn’t a problem. Maybe deep down I don’t believe I deserve to be happy, so now that I have found a really good man who treats me well, I’m deliberately trying to sabotage it because I don’t think I deserve someone who treats me well.
Or maybe he just irritates me.
But I don’t want to consider that as an option because it’s just too damn easy. It’s too damn easy to say that I am irritated with Ed because he is an irritating person. And if I admitted that, then I couldn’t marry him, and I so badly want to marry him, I so badly want this to work.
I suppose I’ve never had anyone treat me like this before, worship me in the way Ed does, want to do anything to make me happy, and I suspect I just don’t know how to deal with it. Sometimes I feel as if I’m almost testing Ed. The more loving and giving he is to me, the more it pisses me off, the more I push him away. Sometimes I think I’m just seeing how far I can push him, because when, eventually, he dumps me, as he’d have to if I continued treating him the way I have been, then I can turn around and say, “See? I told you so?” Because everyone else has always dumped me eventually, and maybe part of me expects that, so in a sick sort of way I’m trying to create that situation.
I know it sounds complicated, but it makes sense to me. I ran it by Jules the other night, and she nodded in all the right places, but then didn’t say anything at the end, so I just went into overdrive explaining why I was so convinced this was the case.
“Are you absolutely sure you should be engaged to him?” was all she said.
“Absolutely,” I said, as I tried to explain that the only way out of this one, as far as I could see, was to work through it, and work through it with him. There would be no point in breaking off the engagement, being single again and then trying to deal with it. I have to be in it, experiencing it right now if I’m ever going to come through and learn how to really love.
Although I suspect learning how to really love isn’t an issue for me. I’ve always felt that I’ve had masses of love to give. Before Ed I was always the one doing the smothering. I’d do whatever I could to make myself indispensable to whoever was the current man in my life. And I was always the one who drove them away. I suppose it’s a bit like that old Groucho Marx saying—I wouldn’t want to join any club that would have me as a member.
Perhaps the main issue, for me now, is actually learning how to be loved. All the men with whom I’ve been involved before Ed treated me appallingly, and the worse they treated me, the more I wanted to make them change, the more I’d shower love, affection and attention on them.
Much like Ed is doing to me.
God. I feel like I’m having a breakthrough. That’s exactly what’s happening. The roles have been reversed, and I’m doing to Ed exactly what has always been done to me. I remember Jon growing more and more distant. I remember him turning round at the end of the evening and saying, “I’m sorry, do you mind if you don’t stay the night, I’d just r
eally like to be on my own.” I remember covering Jon with kisses as he became less and less affectionate.
Thank God I’ve realized this now. Before it’s too late. Because I will work this one through, and I will walk down that aisle if it’s the last thing I ever do.
“So come on, then, sis. Tell me all about him.”
“Olly, you’re going to be meeting him in about six hours. You’ll see for yourself.”
“He’s definitely a big hit with Mum, but I’m never sure if that’s a good sign or not.”
“Tell me about it. Has Dad said anything to you?”
Is it my imagination or does Olly suddenly sound slightly shifty? “Nah,” he says. “You know what Dad’s like. Conversation isn’t exactly his bag.”
I laugh.
“Wait until they meet Carolyn,” I say. “Then you’ll know just what I’ve been going through.”
“I know,” he sighs. “I think I’m going to have to get it over with. I’ve told them about her, so now Mum’s driving me mad.”
“Ha ha! Good. Shit, someone needs me. Listen, I’ve gotta go, but you’ll be there on time, won’t you?”
“Yup. I’ll see you then.”
“All right, darling. Bye.” I put the phone down and turn to Jo, who’s been making worried faces at me while I’ve been chatting. “What’s the matter, Jo?”
“You’re going to kill me,” she says. “I’m really, really sorry.”
“Please don’t tell me you can’t come,” I say slowly.
“I’m really sorry,” she says, wincing. “My friend Jill called to check I was coming to her birthday party, and I completely forgot, and she went bananas when I said I couldn’t make it, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry,” I sigh, completely pissed off but not enough to shout about it, because I probably would have done the same thing. It’s what single women do. We’ll make arrangements, and then if something better comes up, i.e., some event where we’re more likely to meet Mr. Right, we’ll cancel our first arrangements without even thinking about whether we’re upsetting anyone.
And I’m not upset, it’s just that the numbers are now uneven, and who the hell will I put with Nick? Thankfully, my phone rings, so Jo takes the opportunity to slink back to reception while I sigh a “hello” into the receiver.
“Darling! It’s me.” Now “me” could be any number of me’s, but in this case I know, instantly, it’s Amanda Baker, and a lightbulb in my head switches on.
“Amanda! I was just going to call you! I know this is incredibly short notice, but basically, umm”—time for a little white lie here—“Ed and I decided to get together with a few friends this evening and I know how horribly busy you are, but I really want you to come. I can’t believe you called, I was literally, just this second, picking up the phone to call you.”
“How lovely!” she exclaims, as I wait with bated breath. “Actually, I’m not doing anything tonight. I was going to have a bath and give myself lots of face packs and things, but I’d love to come out for dinner with Ed McMann. And you.”
“Wonderful!” I exclaim, mustering up some enthusiasm from somewhere. “That’s great!”
“Just tell me,” she interrupts, “is it going to be couple hell?”
I laugh. “Sort of. But there is a single man there, although I don’t think he’s your type.”
“That’s okay, as long as I’m not the only single person there.”
“Nope. Don’t worry,” and, as I tell her where to be and at what time, I breathe a sigh of relief because I never have to be ashamed of being single again.
I remember clearly all those times I’d turn down invitations to dinner parties because I’d always be the only person on my own, and those times I’d turn up to find I’d been fixed up with someone awful, and how inferior I felt to those cozy couples, how I vowed I’d never go again until I had a partner.
And now I do, and I never have to ask those questions, and even though my friends said I was being ridiculous, how could I possibly feel inferior to them just because I was single, even though I believed them at the time, as I put down the phone to Amanda, I realize, and I know this is not exactly a nice thing to realize, but I realize that I do feel slightly superior to her. I’ve got a partner. A fiancé. I’m now, officially, a grown-up.
Jules says there are three things that make you a grown-up: an eight-piece set of matching dishes, gin, vodka and whisky in the house; and making your bed every morning. But I disagree with her. I think you’re officially a grown-up when you’ve got another half. When you don’t have to live in fear of other couples. When you don’t have to feel you’re not good enough.
I make sure that Ed and I are early, the first to arrive, and we order champagne as we sit down. Ed kisses me and tells me how beautiful I am. Just as the champagne arrives, so does Jules, followed swiftly by Olly and Carolyn.
Ed kisses Jules, and shakes hands with the others, telling Olly how delighted he is to meet him, having heard so much about him.
“We’re all thrilled Libby’s finally settling down,” Olly says, winking at me. “We’re just slightly surprised at how quick it’s all been.”
“Ha ha!” laughs Ed. “I’m surprised myself, but when it’s right, it’s right.”
Right.
“So where’s Jamie, then?” Olly asks, looking at Jules quizzically. “Got a big case on again, I suppose?”
Jules manages to pull off a shrug that looks genuine to everyone but me, but then again I’m the only one who knows the truth. “You know how it is,” she says with a sad smile. “Bloody barristers.”
“You could have asked him, you know,” I whisper, sidling up to her and pulling her to one side.
“I know,” she says. “And he phoned today, and I so nearly asked him, but he hasn’t suffered enough. Not yet.”
“So what did you say?”
“Well, I told him you were having an engagement do tonight, and I think he thought I was going to invite him, but I changed the subject.”
“How do you feel?”
“Lonely as hell.”
I put my arm around her shoulders and give her a squeeze, and then I hear, “Libby!” and Sal comes bustling through the restaurant. “I’m so excited for you!” she says, throwing her arms around me and giving me a huge hug. “Paul and Nick are parking the car. They’ll be here any second.” She looks at the others, who are now standing by the side of the table making small talk, and seems to do a double take when she sees Ed. “Is that him?” she says finally, sounding surprised.
“Yes. Why? You sound surprised.”
She shakes her head. “Sorry. God, I’m really sorry, Libby. It’s just that, he’s, well, he’s not really what I would have thought you’d go for.”
“You mean he’s not good-looking?”
She leans forward and whispers, “I thought you hated mustaches.”
“I do,” I whisper back. “I’m working on it.”
“You must think I’m really rude. He looks lovely. It’s just that I’ve only ever really seen you with—” and she stops, checking that no one hears as she mouths “Nick” at me.
“And?”
“And I suppose I assumed that was your type.”
“Sal, I don’t have a type. I never have had a type. And Ed’s lovely. You’ll see.”
“Of course he is!” she says, squeezing my arm. “He’s marrying you, so he has to be!”
“Ed?” I call over to get his attention. “Come and meet Sal.”
Ed walks over, smiling, and extends a hand, looking a bit taken aback when Sal reaches up and gives him a hug. “Lovely to meet you,” she says. “We’ve heard all about you, except I suppose you’re sick of hearing that, aren’t you?”
Ed chuckles. “Not at all. Not at all. And how do you know Libby?”
As Sal’s explaining, I see Paul walk into the restaurant with Nick at his heels, and for a second my heart catches in my throat. He’s in his old chinos with his DMs and a scruffy old raincoat
, but he looks so familiar, so gorgeous, that for a second I think I’m going to start crying.
“Libby. You look lovely,” he says, giving me a sedate kiss on each cheek. “Congratulations.”
“I’m so pleased you’re here, Nick,” I say, and I am. “I was a bit worried about, well, you know.”
“Don’t be silly. We’re friends, aren’t we? I wouldn’t miss this for anything. I’m dying to know what the infamous Ed’s like.” Nick turns and sees Ed talking to Sally.
“That’s not him, is it? Please tell me that’s not him.”
“Nick! What do you mean? Why not?”
“Libby, he’s old enough to be your grandfather.”
“Crap,” I laugh, suddenly remembering Nick’s sense of humor. “He’s only ten years older than me.”
“Nice ‘tache,” Nick says. “Hmm, I’ve always fancied one of those.”
“Oh shut up.” I slap him. “Anyway, hopefully he won’t have it for much longer.”
“If I were you I’d wait until he’s asleep, then shave it off. The less painful the better.”
“I might just do that,” I laugh. “Come and meet him.”
“Umm, is there a reason you’ve left an empty seat beside me?” Nick leans over the table to me. “Has my personal hygiene problem become that bad?”
I laugh. “No. Amanda Baker’s coming. She’s late, she should be here any minute.”
“Amanda Baker?” Nick’s eyes widen. “Here? Tonight? Sitting next to me? Phwooargh.”
“I might have known you’d know who she is,” I laugh. “You’re the only person I know who watches daytime TV on a regular basis.”
“When it comes to Amanda Baker,” he drools, “the word salivate comes to mind. Is she my blind date, then?”
“No,” I say sternly, suddenly feeling slightly nauseous, because what if they do get on? What if Amanda decides Nick’s just her type? I’m not sure I could cope with that, seeing Nick and Amanda together. Oh shit. What have I done here?
“Speak of the devil,” whispers Nick, as Amanda sashays toward the table.
“Libby!” she kisses me, then kisses Ed, moving back round the table to sit next to Nick. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she says. “I had to do another bloody interview.” She waits for someone to comment on the fact that she’s famous, but no one does, until Nick steps in to fill the void.