Chapter Thirteen
I was sitting on the sofa in my studio flat, my head in my hands, a hangover-headache already beginning its tell-tale throbbing.
A large glass of water sat untouched in front of me – that was the thing, I knew what I was supposed to do, I’d just failed at the final hurdle: drinking the water.
At my feet, my laptop backpack lay, forlorn.
I hadn’t even managed to take my coat off.
When I looked up at the window (I had failed to draw the blinds), I saw a woman with a desperate expression on her face, lipstick kissed away leaving a soft stain of cherry-red.
My body was like a loaded gun, and there was no way I was sleeping anytime soon, my blood shot through with adrenaline and lust. Finishing off this excellent combination was embarrassment.
I got up and drew the blinds. Then watched Pebble stuff her face with luxury cat food.
I’d set up her little machine to feed her (a new purchase which I’d hoped she’d love), but the bloody thing had malfunctioned and she’d been so angry at the sight of me, when I’d leaned down to say hello she’d tried to swipe a claw across my face.
When my phone vibrated on the coffee table I had to count to ten, steadying myself before I picked it up.
OLLY: Lizzy, I apologise.
This was so toe-curling. Was it possible to die of embarrassment?
I sat, staring at the screen as the words ‘typing’ appeared by his name.
OLLY: Things went too far. I respect you as a colleague and I hope you can forgive me.
I made a tortured ‘squee’ noise. Pebble, replete, landed in my lap like an asteroid.
The thump pushed the rest of the breath out of me.
I put my phone down on the coffee table, and gently wrapped my arms around her, submerging my face in her smoke-grey fur.
I know you’re not supposed to hug cats. However, Pebble submits to these gentle semi-hugs, it’s a deal we’ve made.
She sat in my arms, an unimpressed look on her face, but making no move to leave me.
Finally, I released her from purgatory and picked up my phone.
LIZZY: I’m sorry, do I know you? Just kidding. Please don’t worry about it, we were both drunk, it’s been a stressful week, etc etc. Let’s agree never to speak of it again.
OLLY: So you regret it then?
I bit my lip. Hard. My breathing doubled. Thank God we were doing this by text.
LIZZY: Yes, of course, don’t you? Mixing work and romance leads to disaster.
OLLY: Yes. So glad we feel the same about this. Thanks for being so understanding.
LIZZY: It’s fine, we’re both adults. Good night.
I put the phone on silent.
Of course, he considered this all a terrible mistake and if he thought I was going to say otherwise, he was out of his mind.
I was not going to be a trophy on his mantelpiece, or a notch on his (breathe) bedpost. Olly was one of the beautiful people, and he dated beautiful people.
Sure, he got on well with someone like me; could like me, respect me.
And it would work well for him if I was fully charmed by him.
But I was in no doubt that my place was in the work-friend zone, and in all honesty, this was the zone I was most comfortable with.
Swapping sarcastic quips, raising eyebrows, occasionally receiving confidences (although frankly, if Olly ever wanted to confide in me about his romantic life, I would have to stop him right there).
I’d created my persona, my barriers, for a reason.
When I ventured out of the friend zone (hey Jack!) things got messy. I didn’t like messy.
That kiss was something else though. It was absolutely fucking something else.
New tortures occurred to me. Had I lost his respect by snogging him into the middle of next week? Only time would tell.
There was no way I could sleep. I wandered in circles then went and put the kettle on. I just needed to sleep. Sleep, and wake up with all of this in proportion.
There was a reason why I always pretended to be calm, why I kept myself detached. Olly was a complication, an entanglement, in a life that had no room for either. And I’d fixed it, so I could… relax.
Although I was definitely not feeling relaxed.
Pebble had wandered off, so I went to the niche that housed my bed, and which was half-heartedly screened by a curtain.
The grey drape, in a shade called ‘Stormcloud’, had been smart when I bought it, but it had unhooked itself from some of its rings and now looked forlorn, a bit tatty and saggy.
‘I should definitely fix that,’ I said to myself, for the hundredth time, then thought how lucky it was I wouldn’t be bringing Olly back here.
To see my bed.
Unimaginable. And yet, for a moment, our bodies pressed together, our mouths rough against each other, totally imaginable, in technicolour. A high-definition vision that every single part of my body took interest in.
I took a deep breath and groaned in disappointment, then glanced to see that my phone’s message light was flashing. My heart rate spiked as I picked it up and pressed to open it.
Voice note from Esme.
Voice note from Esme.
I pressed to play them, listening to her talk about a love-themed exhibition she was planning, textile designs for an upcoming project, and whether I thought she should branch out into a ceramics collaboration.
She often sent messages late at night, and I got my laptop out to take down her thoughts and make notes on how workable her ideas were.
I could have left it until the morning, but I liked to get ahead of things and frankly, I knew I wasn’t going to be sleeping any time soon.
And in a strange way it was soothing, to do this. To switch on my working brain, to concentrate on something other than my embarrassment.
This, I could do. But handling what had happened with Olly? That might take a day or two.