Chapter 4
Later that afternoon, after dropping Pim off for a Michelin-starred dinner with the Fox family dynasty, I headed to Holborn for a much cheaper meal with Josh.
Josh was an extravagant Londoner, who considered kitchens purely decorative. Whether from laziness or lack of culinary skill, I could never truly tell. Either way, he was great company, and since my palate had barely scratched the surface of London’s food scene, I was more than happy to indulge.
I arrived at the restaurant early, a habit I’d picked up from managing Pim’s schedule.
Producers, directors, and casting agents despised tardiness, so my running early often ensured she was on time.
At the restaurant, the hostess informed me, ‘Your table will be ready in twenty minutes,’ and gestured towards a plush sofa in the bar.
Sitting down with my enormous bag, I pulled out my trusty iPad to review the CVs sent over by a recruitment agency.
So far, the calibre for the ‘new me’ wasn’t inspiring hope.
There were a few too many PAs jumping from client to client, clearly unable to handle big personalities – an instant no when hiring for Pim.
Then there were the few promising ones I knew she’d detest: a West End ensemble actress-turned-assistant, a veteran PA no doubt set in the ways of an old client after twenty years of service, and the aimless university graduates treating this job as a stepping stone.
I’d started in the latter way, but my no-strings lifestyle and bulletproof ego had made me surprisingly well suited to wrangling a dramatic, jet-setting performer with an ego the size of Sheffield and a bank balance to match.
Basically, I needed to find someone like me: low-maintenance, low-fear, and low on attachments. Not easy.
‘What’re you reading?’ Josh’s voice startled me as he appeared behind me.
I yelped, clutching the iPad to my chest.
‘Ha! Gotcha!’ he said, kissing my cheek before sliding onto the sofa beside me. He glanced around, frowning slightly. ‘This isn’t where we’re eating, is it?’
‘No, our table’s being prepared,’ I said, hastily stuffing the iPad back into my bag.
‘What are you hiding away?’ He peered curiously at my bag.
‘I was trying to find the “new me”,’ I said, using air quotes.
Josh scoffed. ‘There’ll never be another you. Just hire someone who can get the job done, bail, and then leave the mess behind.’
‘I’m not doing that,’ I replied, quietly appalled at the thought of leaving Pim stranded. She wasn’t a friend, but she deserved better than that.
‘She’s a tyrant,’ Josh added.
‘She’s an ageing star; she’s earned a little tyranny.’
‘She acts like Katharine Hepburn on-screen, but off-? She’s more Katharine “Kay” Francis.’
‘Who?’
‘Exactly.’
Josh flagged down a passing waiter, who stopped instantly, drawn to Josh’s chiselled jaw and dark, smouldering eyes.
With his thick stubble and unruly hair, Josh was the quintessential tall, dark, and handsome cliché.
Once, he was mistaken for Oscar Isaac and didn’t know whether he should be delighted to be associated with such an attractive man or aghast that someone thought him fifteen years older than he was. I told him to take the compliment.
‘I’ll have a Peroni,’ Josh said with a flirtatious smile. ‘No rush; we’re enjoying the ambience.’
Josh might as well have been alone. The waiter barely acknowledged me as I added, ‘I’ll have a Peroni too.’
As soon as the waiter had left, still pausing to glance back for a few lingering seconds to stare at Josh, I hummed Mendelssohn’s ‘Wedding March’ under my breath.
‘Stop it,’ Josh said, sitting back. ‘He’s nice to look at, but there’s nothing behind the eyes.’
‘Really? How can you tell? I say ask for his number.’
Josh rolled his eyes and smiled as if he had been waiting for a comment like this so he could say, ‘Darling, I’m spoken for.’
I sat bolt upright – not easy on this kind of loaf-like sofa. ‘You’re what? Since when?’
‘Since last month,’ he said, beaming. ‘It’s been blink-and-you’d-miss-it kind of quick.’
‘Clearly! Last month, you were crying over the lack of decent Grindr dates. Now you’ve found someone?’
‘Maybe the one,’ he said, his eyes sparkling.
I bit my tongue, resisting the urge to remind him that all his last six boyfriends had been ‘the one’ at some point. ‘Exciting! Who is he?’
‘His name’s Zach. He’s an accountant.’
‘Please tell me he looks like Richard Armitage circa Vicar of Dibley?’
‘I wish. He’s not quite that good-looking, but close.’
‘Tell me everything.’ I scooted closer, eager for details.
‘We met trying to get into the same taxi at Charing Cross. I said he could have it – being polite and all – and he said he hadn’t realised I was waiting, so it was mine. In the end, we just decided to share it.’
‘Oh, my God, that’s such a sweet meet-cute,’ I said, feeling a warm glow spread through me.
‘It’s so Hallmark movie, I love it.’ The only meet-cute I’d ever had was when I ended up going on a date with a man who accidentally trapped my wrist in a sliding door at a butcher’s in Italy.
It was more meat-cute than meet-cute, but he did introduce me to tiramisu gelato as a way of apology, and as a date, before getting distracted by another woman’s extremely long legs as we walked across the Ponte Vecchio.
I ended up making out with the gelato rather than the man.
‘It really was,’ Josh continued. ‘Anyway, we were both heading to Piccadilly, not far, I know, but it was raining, and you know I’m a martyr to my hair.’
I nodded solemnly, resisting the urge to pat his head.
‘So we’re in the cab, chatting and flirting, and by the time we got to Eros’s statue, we’d exchanged numbers. The taxi driver even joked, “When’s the wedding?”’
We laughed as the waiter returned, placing our drinks on separate napkins on a side table. I thought it was odd – beer bottles on napkins? – until I noticed a phone number scribbled on Josh’s.
‘Oh, poor guy,’ I said, watching the waiter walk away with a hopeful glance back. ‘And to think I encouraged it.’
‘It’s fine,’ Josh said, pocketing the napkin casually. ‘Just because I’ve already ordered doesn’t mean I can’t look at the menu.’
We clinked bottles and relaxed. Josh took a small sip before diving into a rhapsody about his new boyfriend.
‘The symmetry of his face is ridiculous. And the way he smells; like nutmeg cookies mixed with mulled wine.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘He smells like Christmas?’
‘Christmas with a hint of cherry vape and a touch of Tom Ford.’ Josh grinned. ‘And the sex, Evie. The sex!’
‘This I don’t need details for,’ I laughed, taking a long draught of my beer to give myself the time to do the mental maths on when I’d last had sex.
Three years? Maybe more. The longest dry spell of my life; nothing worthy of an existential crisis.
As a graysexual, my interest in sex was more of a polite curiosity, like wondering how the stock market’s doing while rarely investing.
Occasionally I’d reap a reward, but it had been a while.
‘You’re getting the details anyway.’ Josh leaned in conspiratorially. ‘It’s vulgar, I know, but my God! I never thought sex could be so quick and yet still be A+, spot on, would come again.’
‘Quick?’ I asked, blinking. ‘Are we talking… premature enthusiasm or—’
‘Oh, it’s all him,’ Josh interrupted, a little too defensively. ‘But not in a bad way. He just – he can’t wait for the pleasure, skips right to the good stuff. It’s magical.’
‘Is it, though?’ I asked, doubtful. Josh had never been one to equate brevity with brilliance before. I knew his preference was long and slow, more a marathon than a sprint.
‘We’re both busy! It’s on-the-move sex, not gymnastic stay-at-home sex,’ he explained, as if this clarified every-thing.
‘Okay,’ I said, thinking that was more my speed than Josh’s, but people can change.
Although it felt… off. But this was Josh, and his taste in men had always been unconventional: from the Mancunian circus performer who set up a pole in Josh’s living room (and left it!) to the Latvian rock guitarist who enjoyed strumming his guitar during fellatio or the architect who designed prison cells and would do anything sexual, so long as they did it outside.
‘So when do I get to meet him?’ I asked.
Josh flushed, looking suddenly uncomfortable. Oh wow, was it that serious?
‘Come on,’ I urged. ‘I want to meet him.’
‘It’s not that I don’t want you to. It’s just… complicated.’
‘Complicated how? Does he work abroad? Not into exclusivity? Are you keeping it casual?’
‘None of the above,’ Josh said firmly. ‘I want it to be serious. But… it’s complicated.’
‘Why? Spit it out. Or don’t.’ I shook my head quickly. ‘I don’t want to push.’
Josh hesitated, then sighed. ‘Maybe I do need to talk about it. I can’t tell Megan, though.’
‘Why not? She wouldn’t tell anyone.’
‘She’d judge.’
‘Doesn’t everyone? Secretly anyway.’
‘Now you’re making me doubt telling you,’ he said, retreating slightly.
‘You know I don’t judge.’ I gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘As long as you’re happy and not hurting anyone, I’ll support you.’
Josh went quiet.
‘Oh God, what?’ I asked, my chest tightening as scenarios flooded my mind. His bitter smile only confirmed my worst theory. ‘No. He’s married, isn’t he?’
Josh’s eyes scrunched shut as though bracing for a blow.
‘Josh…’ I whispered, leaning closer. ‘You can’t date a married man.’
‘He’s not happy,’ Josh said, almost whining.
‘That doesn’t matter. If he’s separated, fine. But if he’s married married, then no. You’ve got to end it.’
‘But he doesn’t love him,’ Josh insisted.
‘Josh, you can’t be the other person.’
‘I’m not! I’m his person,’ he said stubbornly.
‘And his husband might disagree when he finds out. Which he will. Think about what happens then.’
Josh shook his head as if to dismiss my warning. ‘This is why I shouldn’t have told you.’
‘I’m not judging you; I’m warning you,’ I said firmly.
The disaster waiting to happen played out vividly in my mind.
Zach’s husband finding out, Megan finding out, Josh’s workplace finding out.
Adultery is never a good look, especially if you knew and stayed.
‘Babe, there’s someone out there for you.
But if Zach’s taken, you need to move on. ’
‘What if this is one of those tests God sends?’
I cringed. Josh only referenced religion when he knew he was in the wrong. But I also knew better than to argue theology with someone who was brought up as a Jehovah’s Witness. Josh’s relationship with religion and homosexuality was a complicated one, even he hadn’t dissected it yet.
‘Just think about what I’ve said.’ I held up my hands in a gesture of peace. ‘Our table will be ready soon.’
‘I really like him, Evie,’ Josh said softly, a rare vulnerability in his voice.
‘I know.’ My heart was aching for him. ‘I just wish that it wasn’t so complicated.’ Or uncomplicated, as to me there was really only one option when it came to sleeping with someone else’s husband.
‘Me too,’ he admitted, but I could tell he sensed my judgement, though I tried hard to maintain a lid on it. With a sudden slap of his thigh, he pushed the conversation aside. ‘Let’s see if our table’s ready.’
‘They’ll call us.’ But Josh was already standing and grabbing his beer.
‘Oh, screw that! I’m starving. Excuse me!’ he shouted, weaving through the crowd to the hostess, who was already picking up the menus.