Chapter 17
How do I get myself into these situations? I wondered. Do I have ‘gullible’ written on my forehead in invisible ink?
At this point in time, Jeremy was undressing and expecting me to come back from the bathroom, ready for a session of horseplay—and I was to be the horse.
The ‘artefact’ had turned out to be a tortoiseshell-handled riding whip. Surprise, surprise. My life was starting to mirror Mercy’s to the point I could practically predict what was going to happen to me.
‘Circa 1740 to 1750,’ Jeremy had said when he’d brought it out from his top dresser drawer. ‘Look at the workmanship.’ He’d turned it over in his hand, showing me. The silver mount had a Rococo scroll and flowers.
‘It’s a lovely piece,’ I’d said politely (naively, as it turned out).
‘Yes, I thought we could have a bit of fun with it.’
‘Huh?’
‘You know.’ He’d reached around and tapped me lightly on the behind, and I’d drawn a sharp breath. Taking my shocked silence for excitement, he’d started unbuttoning his shirt. I’d muttered an excuse about needing the loo and scuttled off down the hallway, nearly breaking my ankle when I’d kicked over a pile of old newspapers.
Standing in the middle of his grimy bathroom (I was right—the toilet needed serious disinfecting before I could be enticed to use it), I hovered on the fence.
Apart from the fact that Jeremy’s bedroom was as unkempt as the rest of his house, expecting me to frolic around naked while he whipped my backside was taking things a bit far. But then again, if I turned him down flat, he probably wouldn’t offer any kind of intimacy again. This could be my first and only date with him.
I had no idea what to do.
Fuck it.
I rang Thomas before I could chicken out. It was either him or Isabel, and I knew she’d laugh more than offer helpful advice.
He answered on the second ring. ‘Hey! What’s up?’
‘I need some help,’ I said in a low whisper, tucking my chin into my chest so my voice wouldn’t carry.
‘What’s going on? Where are you?’ Thomas asked, his tone laced with concern.
‘Bathroom. Slight problem. Jeremy wants to whip me with his eighteenth-century riding crop.’
There was a crackle as the mouthpiece was covered, but I could still hear the sound of muffled chortling.
‘It’s not funny! I need advice!’
Thomas came back on the line after a few seconds. ‘Well, the question is, do you want to get neigh-ked with him?’ His voice brimmed with mirth. ‘You just have to say yay or neigh.’ He made a whinnying noise, but I was in no mood for jokes.
‘Thomas! Honestly, this is serious. What should I do?’ I paced around in my heels, trying to keep away from a grubby-looking towel that had been left strewn on the floor to fester.
‘Sorry, I couldn’t help it. Look, the fact that he’s wanting to role-play is a good thing, right?’
‘No!’ I hissed. ‘It’s moving too fast. I need to work up to that sort of stuff.’
‘You seemed fine with the vibrator ...’
‘That was different. I’d had a few drinks, and it just sort of progressed naturally. I can’t go from drinking a cup of tea in the kitchen to being whipped in the bedroom five minutes later.’
‘Ah. Well, you best take control of the situation then. Try to slow things down so you feel more comfortable.’
‘How?’
‘Maybe give him a massage.’
I wasn’t sure if I was confident enough to give Jeremy a full-body massage. I’d once given my ex-boyfriend, Ben, one; and he hadn’t been complimentary or asked for one again. I wasn’t sure what I’d done wrong as we hadn’t discussed things like that. Probably part of the reason he’d run off with my sister.
‘What about a foot rub?’ I suggested. ‘Or is that too weird?’
‘Oooh yes. I’m sure he’d love that,’ Thomas said, sounding wistful, as if he might quite like one himself.
‘Well, OK. Thanks,’ I said, glad to have some sort of game plan. ‘And sorry for bothering you.’
‘No problem. Good luck, and if he gets impatient, tell him to hold his horses!’
When I re-entered Jeremy’s bedroom, I was disconcerted to see him lying under the bedcovers with his hands locked behind his head and, judging from his bare chest, obviously naked. For some reason, I’d pictured his chest to be smooth and hairless like Thomas’s, but it was covered with thick brown hair and looked a lot like a bear pelt. It wasn’t a problem. I was just taken aback. Who knew that had been hiding under his shirt?
‘Who were you talking to in the bathroom?’ he asked.
‘Oh, er, my mother.’ She was being used as an excuse a lot today. Her ears would be burning.
Jeremy looked me over, his gaze lingering on my boobs.
‘Do you need help with your zipper?’
My eyes flicked to the whip that was resting on his bedside table and panicked. ‘I ... I thought maybe I could give you a foot rub before ... anything else.’
Jeremy’s eyes shifted to the end of the bed, then swivelled back to me. ‘Okaaaay, I guess so. There’s some lotion in here somewhere.’ He leaned over and opened the bedside drawer, pulling out a box of condoms labelled ‘Magnum BareSkin’ and placing it on top. ‘For later,’ he said, winking at me, and I gulped. Why did I suddenly feel like I was one in a long line of women?
He handed me a bottle of moisturising lotion. Right! I perched on the end of the bed and pulled up the end of the duvet to expose his feet. So Jeremy’s face was bordering on perfection. His feet—not so much. They were large and bony with strange knobbly toes, and the skin on the heels was dry and cracked.
I didn’t want to be judgemental. It wasn’t like I was a supermodel, but I did put a lot of effort into grooming myself from top to toe before any kind of meeting with him (doubly intensive for this date). Yet it seemed he didn’t think it necessary to do the same.
But I’d said I would give him a foot rub, so I supposed I had to go through with it. When I thought back to all my daydreaming about what it would be like going on a date with Jeremy, I wanted to burst out laughing. Massaging his manky feet had never once featured in the scenario.
I squirted a liberal amount of lotion on one foot and half-heartedly did a few swirls on his instep.
Jeremy sighed. ‘That feels nice. My ex-wife used to massage my feet.’
‘Oh, did she?’ I felt a bit better that I was reminding him of his wife and started to think of this as more like a project. Instead of working on his book, I was now working on his feet. It was an easy transition and a good bonding experience for us. The first of many evenings we would spend together ...
‘Yes, before we got married,’ Jeremy continued, now placing his hands on his hairy chest. ‘Ours was a bit of a whirlwind romance. Perhaps that’s why things fell apart after only a year. It’s been ... hard. We tried getting back together once or twice, but it didn’t work. Along with the whole cleaning thing, apparently, I have some idiosyncrasies that annoy her.’
My eyes flicked to the whip.
‘Really?’ I said nervously. I did some stroking up his ankle and then around his knobbly toes.
‘Yes, I guess that’s why I always go out with women once or twice now—I can’t seem to commit to anyone after her.’ He laughed self-deprecatingly. ‘It’s a failing, I know, and I suppose I should go to a therapist.’ He shrugged. ‘But they’ll tell me what she told me: I’m too selfish.’
‘That’s a bit harsh,’ I said, rubbing my knuckles down the side of his foot. ‘Maybe you haven’t met the right person ... The One.’
‘Nah, I don’t believe in that rubbish,’ he scoffed. ‘The One? That’s a fairytale.’
‘Oh.’
‘Besides, now that I’m back on the market, I find I quite like sex with a lot of different women. Mind you, I’ve never brought anyone back here. I usually have sex with them in my car or go to theirs, so you’re a bit special.’
I balked at that, remembering the hand towel and how it stunk of stale perfume. Ick. But he’d called me ‘special’. That was something at least? I did some thumb sweeps on his arch, but his comment about having sex with random women in his car was too hard to ignore and really off-putting. The foot massage was a bad idea; it was making him relax and open up to me, and I wasn’t liking what I was hearing.
Plus, for some reason, my mind kept wandering to Thomas. It must’ve been because I’d just spoken to him. The horse puns were quite funny. And I did enjoy our practice sessions. He made me feel sexy, yet comfortable, and he didn’t mention using whips. Plus he was hot ...
‘Anna, are you listening?’
I’d been making vague patting motions with my hand while Jeremy was warbling away.
‘Hmm, sorry?’
‘I said if we’re going to have a one-off tonight, you need to keep it hush-hush afterwards.’
I lifted my hand off his foot entirely.
‘What?’
Jeremy made a zipping motion across his lips. ‘I don’t want it getting around that I sleep with my staff. However, as soon as you walked into my office in that dress, I knew, on this occasion, I was willing to make an exception. But it might be a good idea not to wear it again. Go back to your normal attire so I’m not tempted.’ He chuckled.
Wow. He had some nerve telling me what to wear. And this was a one-off?
It seemed it had never entered his head that there was going to be another date. I would indeed be one in a long line of forgettable women for him—even if I could hold my own in a conversation about smallpox.
The veil partially lifted, and I got a flash of who he really was: a handsome slob with commitment issues. And it all felt extremely wrong, me being there.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t do this. I think I’m going to leave.’ I wiped my sticky hands on the cover and moved towards the edge of the bed. ‘Don’t get up. I’ll book an Uber.’
In the end, after multiple failed attempts to locate an Uber or get hold of a taxi, Jeremy got dressed while I waited in the kitchen; and he drove me home. The conversation on the way was awkward and stilted. He parked outside my flat.
‘Good night, Anna,’ he said in a clipped tone, as if he was embarrassed or I’d inconvenienced him—I wasn’t sure which. He didn’t attempt to kiss me good night, even on the cheek. Jeremy, his house, the whole evening, in fact, had completely bewildered me.
The only bright spot was my conversation with Thomas, which had me giggling to myself in the shower as I washed off the grungy feeling of being in Jeremy’s dirty home and, surprisingly, of touching him.
***
At work the next day, I was still going over the whole thing in my mind. It was so weird and slightly bizarre. The Jeremy of last night wasn’t matching with the image I had been cherishing inside my head. What had happened to the Jeremy I loved? Surely, he still existed?
On my way to the kitchen to grab a coffee, I veered past his office with the intention of clearing the air. Before I could think too much about it, I knocked, and Jeremy said, ‘Come in.’
I had my speech already planned, something along the lines of ‘Maybe we should try that again ...’ But I found that he wasn’t alone. A slim blonde girl was sitting in my chair. She and Jeremy broke off from some kind of intense discussion when I entered. My heart sank as I recognised her. Irish Lucy—even more beautiful and bosomy in the flesh, wearing a scoop-necked black-and-white polka-dot dress with a slit up the side. God, he’d be loving that!
‘Sorry, I can come back later,’ I said, turning to go, but Jeremy waved me in.
‘Anna, this is Lucy Flanagan. We were about to finish up, but I think it went really well.’
‘You do? Oh, great,’ said Lucy, simpering at him. ‘And thank you so much for the coffee. I adore espresso.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Jeremy, grinning. ‘Well, I’ve got one other interview, but I’ll be in touch as soon as possible to let you know the outcome.’
Lucy beamed, her blue eyes sparkling, and I clenched my fists. I hated her already. How was I going to bear sharing an office with her?
‘Did you want to discuss something, Anna?’ Jeremy asked, but I couldn’t speak. If last night wasn’t bad enough, now he was interviewing someone who was going to worm her way into his affections any chance she got. It was like he wanted to put me in one of those medieval torture devices and twist the screws.
‘No, it’s fine. It can wait,’ I said, gritting my teeth.
‘Nice to meet you, Anna. Hopefully, see you again,’ Lucy said with a knowing look.
I turned on my heel and left them to it. It was a done deal. He was going to hire her—I just knew it.
Fuming, I went back to my office, strode over to the waste paper basket, and kicked it as hard as I could across the room. Then I had to bend down and collect all the scrunched-up bits of paper that had come flying out of it.
Becca stared at me as if I’d gone mad. ‘What’s with you? Did they run out of chocolate digestives?’
I sat down and grabbed hold of my mouse, bringing up the faculty vacancies page. ‘You were right. I think I should look for another position—something with better pay and a female boss.’
Becca didn’t ask anything else, but I heard her say quietly under her breath, ‘You go, girl.’
After firing off several job applications with my CV attached, I felt slightly better, if still a little manic. Jeremy was about to make my life hell, so the least I could do was make his life uncomfortable too, namely by removing myself from his project. Let Lucy edit and footnote his blasted smallpox book. While I was at it, why not schedule in some extra practice sessions with Thomas? Fuck it, why not invite him to my mother’s house?
Me:Hi, I know this is out of the blue but would you be interested in coming to London with me on Saturday afternoon? It’s a family dinner at my mother’s flat in Bayswater. I’m warning you, it could be a shit show. My sister and my ex will be there. And we’d have to stay overnight.
Thomas messaged back five minutes later.
TTTE:So you need me to be your fake boyfriend?
Me:Something like that. I know it’s a lot to ask but I can pay for your train ticket and you’d get a free meal. I’m dreading turning up alone and having to face them.
TTTE:I would. But I’m supposed to be working at the castle on Saturday afternoon.
Me:Ah, right! I forgot about that. Don’t worry about it then.
TTTE:What about Jeremy? Can’t you ask him?
Me:No. Fuck Jeremy!!!!!
TTTE:What happened?!
Me:Let’s just say I’m starting to see him more clearly and the picture isn’t as pretty as I thought it was.
There were a few minutes of nonresponse. Then I got,
TTTE:Actually, I will come. I’ll tell them I’m detained this weekend. A family emergency.
Me:Are you sure? That would be amazing if you could but I don’t want to put you out.
TTTE:Yup, I’m sure. Count me in for the shit show on Saturday.