Twenty-one
What are you supposed to do when you’re with someone you’re just having sex with, and yet Valentine’s Day is looming? Do you simply ignore it, and carry on regardless? Or do you buy a card, a gift, and arrange something special, and pretend you’re a couple, even though you’re not?
I decided the best thing to do was to broach the subject with Sam.
‘It’s Valentine’s Day on Friday,’ I said, and I saw Sam stiffen immediately, as though bracing himself for impact, from some sort of emotional missile.
‘Is it?’ He continued buttering the toast he’d made as if I’d said it was a plain old Tuesday or something.
‘It is. And without causing a row or anything, I was wondering if we should, sort of, celebrate it in some way. We are lovers, after all, even if we’re not actually, in love.’
Well, one of us wasn’t but I’d promised not to bring that up, so I kept silent on that score.
He looked me in the eye and he seemed to scan my face and possibly my thoughts.
‘We could do that. What did you have in mind?’
‘Oh!’ I was so surprised he’d agreed that it threw me off track. ‘I don’t know. I hadn’t given it any thought. Other than I knew it was this Friday. We could exchange cards. Funny cards, obviously, because we’re not in love, are we?’
His eyes scanned my face.
‘No, Lucy. We’re not.’
‘Right. So jokey cards. And perhaps a silly little fun gift?’
His brows knit together but then he nodded.
‘I can do that.’
‘Great!’
‘And … what about if I cooked something special. Just for fun. Or we could go out to a restaurant or something.’
‘Not a restaurant. No. That’s for people who believe they are genuinely in love. We don’t believe that, do we, Lucy?’ He was shaking his head as if he felt he needed to direct my reaction.
‘In love? Us!’ Pah! Of course not. No. I agree. Let’s just have a lovely meal here then. And a bottle of champers or something.’
He frowned suddenly. ‘You’re not expecting red roses or anything, are you?’
‘Ooh! That would be lovely. But no. Don’t worry. I’m not expecting flowers of any variety.’
‘Or chocolates?’
‘Nope.’
‘Or perfume?’
‘Na-huh. Nothing. Just two … friends, enjoying each other’s company and a nice meal and some champagne and then, hopefully, the best sex of our lives. Just to round the week off, you understand?’
He almost choked on the bite of toast he’d just put in his mouth.
‘No pressure then?’
‘None whatsoever. Are we agreed?’
‘I’ll do my best. But I’m not sure how I’ll perform under pressure. The best sex of our lives is a lot. We’ve had some pretty fantastic sex this week, haven’t we?’
‘Yeah. It’s been good.’
‘Good? Just good? Not great?’
‘Yeah. Some of it was great. But you know how it is. When couples are in love, everything is rosy. Even bad sex. But when it’s just about sex, the expectations are so much higher, don’t you think? Or maybe that’s just me.’
‘Are you saying you have complaints about my performance?’
‘No! Well. Not complaints, exactly.’
‘But you feel I could improve in some way?’
‘We can all improve, Sam. No one is perfect. Don’t worry though. I’m not keeping score. And after Friday, we’ll be going our separate ways. Probably for another ten years. Or so.’
He dropped his slice of toast and pulled me into his arms, staring directly into my eyes.
‘Tell me what I can do to make the sex the best you’ve ever had. Tell me what you need.’
‘Oh. Erm. I’m not really sure. I mean, it’s been great. Don’t get me wrong. But I have felt, on occasion, that something has been … lacking. But perhaps that’s how it always feels unless the participants are truly in love.’
‘Then … what are you saying? That to make the sex fantastic we’d need to be in love?’ Or to believe we are?’
‘Hmm. I’m not sure. But yes. I think being in love with the person you’re having sex with definitely helps. It is called, making love after all. Obviously, we’re not in love, are we? So I suppose the sex we’ve been having is the best it is going to get. Ah well. C’est la vie, and all that. What would you like to eat?’ I eased myself out of his embrace.
‘Eat? Sorry? What? When?’
‘On Valentine’s Day, Sam.’
‘Oh. I don’t really care.’
‘No. And that’s probably why the sex isn’t as great as it could be, if you did. The snow’s almost melted, so I’m going to venture out to the shops.’
I knew Sam would come after me, and he did.
‘Are you saying you think things could be better between us, sexually, I mean?’
‘Uh-huh. Don’t you?’
He fell into step beside me. ‘I didn’t. No. But maybe now I do. What do you suggest we do to … improve things? I thought it was … pretty fantastic.’
‘Yes. Men always do. Women, you’ll find, have higher expectations.’
‘You’re saying you expected more from me? What more could I do?’
‘I don’t know, Sam. Maybe, get in touch with your feelings, or something. Or pretend you’re in love with me. Truly in love with me. Perhaps that might help. I’ll leave that up to you.’
He stopped in his tracks and I knew his jaw had dropped open because I took a surreptitious glance at him as I walked away, taking extra care not to slip on the remaining snow and ice.