Chapter 39
39
The staff Christmas party is compulsory, because nothing says fun liked forced attendance. But this year, I can’t face it and I’ve got my last-minute work emergency ready to roll. Only I’m starting to think maybe I should go? Walking out of Monica’s office this afternoon, missing Tony hit me like a boulder. I’ve been trying to tell myself all I’ve got are withdrawal symptoms. Once they wear off, I’ll be back to how I was before, content on my own, looking out for myself. Now, I know that’s not true. Hearing that Tony plans on staying until I find someone else, for a second, it was like being back in the warmth of his arms. That felt so good, almost like being happy again. Because it turns out, I do like being taken care of after all. By Tony, anyway.
And I keep replaying Katia’s advice. Normally, I’d shrug off the whole fight-for-your-man thing as desperate, bordering on demeaning. But let’s face it, I am desperate. So, maybe I should forget self-respect and make a Hail Mary attempt to get Tony back? I mean, isn’t it possible this is the one and only time Monica’s read someone right, and Tony really does want me? And yes, I know that’s unlikely. But what’s the worst that could happen? OK, obviously, him laughing in my face. Only, honestly, I doubt that’d make me feel worse than I do already.
If I’m going to try a last-gasp thirty-yard shot at goal, tonight’s probably my best chance. For morale-boosting purposes, players are required to show their faces, so Tony won’t be able to do his usual staring at the floor, dash off in the opposite direction. But standing in front of my wardrobe, I’m struggling to find anything that says desirable.
I try the dress from Monica’s party. Where the burgundy fabric used to hug, now it hangs in unflattering bunches. That turns out to be true of most things. In the end, I settle for a black strapless baby doll dress. At least it’s supposed to skim rather than cling, even if the effect is more bin bag than haute couture. I try hair up, since it needs cutting, but I can’t get it to work. I settle for brushing it out with tons of volumizing mousse. If it’s not well-lit, it might pass for tousled rather than tangled. Make-up is even less successful. There’s only so much concealer can do. And I’m so pale, the contouring is clown-like. In the end, I take most of it off and try dark smudgy eyes and red lips.
Looking in the mirror, I guess I’ve become more consumptive nineteenth-century prostitute and less clinically depressed middle-aged spinster. But I’m nowhere near Angharad’s glossy beauty. I slump on the bed, summoning up the energy to change into something more suitable for an evening at home, feeling sorry for myself. When a text comes through, it seems like too much effort to reach a hand out to look. Only it’s probably work, and if it is, it’s late enough that it might be urgent. I haven’t quite got to the stage where I’d ignore an actual crisis, so I do check the phone. It’s Katia:
Don’t be mad. I asked Devo about Tony because LeMar’s clueless. He says if Tony is with anyone, it can’t be going well, because he’s miserable as sin under the top professional act. Direct quote. So, get here soon, before the players start leaving.
I take a deep breath and call a cab. Waiting, a drink feels like a good idea. All I can find is tequila that’s been at the back of the cupboard since forever. But it’s not like alcohol goes off, is it?
One shot might’ve been a good idea. Four on an empty stomach definitely wasn’t. Not in heels, anyway. Staggering through the lobby of the hotel, there aren’t any major disasters. But it takes super-human concentration to navigate the steps into the ballroom. I just about manage it, though not elegantly.
And of course, the first person I see is Tony. He’s lolling against the bar, in a white shirt and jeans that probably cost more than my monthly mortgage payment, they fit so well. There’s something clear in his glass. I’m betting mineral water, one of the more depressing aspects of the annual staff party being that we get to drink, but the players can’t. Officially, that’s because they travel tomorrow ahead of their Sunday fixture, but it’s more to do with regrettable incidents in the past. Understandably, they usually huddle resentfully in morose, sober groups until they’re allowed to leave.
Although Tony doesn’t appear to have the typical ghost-of-Christmas-bored expression. He’s laughing at something Katia must’ve said. Or he was, until he notices me, looking at him. He returns my gaze for half a second, then looks away. I guess tubercular doesn’t get him going. I should walk straight out, before I do anything stupid. I begin pretending to look for something in my bag. But before I can slip away to ‘fetch’ the ‘forgotten’ thing, Monica taps a glass.
That signals the start of the worst part of the evening, Secret Santa. In theory, it’s not a bad idea, each player picking a staff member out of the hat. That way, they don’t feel obliged to get something for everyone, and there’s no risk of someone being forgotten. But the price limit reflects their wages. And it feels wrong, sitting in a circle, admiring presents that cost more than most of us earn in a week, when we all know it’s loose change for the players. Or maybe I’m just churlish. Then it’s my turn, and I have to fix a smile as I unwrap a kitchen gadget.
It doesn’t matter what, it’s never something I’d use. But for the record, this time it’s an extremely fancy tin for making a cake I’ve never heard of. Objectively, that’s no worse than in previous years. Except Tony makes it harder to be politely grateful. About half a second into my fake enthusiasm, he asks Katia in a distinctly audible whisper, ‘Why does Genie get that thing?’
‘It’s a joke. I think, anyway,’ Katia hisses back.
Tony doesn’t reply. But he looks at me properly for the first time since I walked in, and his face is thoughtful. I try to work out why, but I can’t. Then Skylar brings me a bourbon. I can’t say it makes me feel better, but it does slow down the loop of ‘you love him but he doesn’t love you’. If I keep drinking, maybe it’ll stop altogether?
The alcohol catches up with me, midway through giving Skylar an intense lecture on how trust is overrated. An unclear amount of time later, Tony lounges over. ‘I’m taking Genie home.’
LeMar gives his tom-cat eyes. They only come out when he’s seriously annoyed and intent on not showing it. ‘That’s up to Genie.’
Tony smiles, but his face is hard. ‘Fine with me.’ He reaches out and runs a finger over my wrist. ‘Do you wanna go home with me, Genie?’
I’ve been too busy not putting my head down on the table to take much interest in the conversation. But Tony’s touch is enough to get my attention. ‘Yes, please.’
Tony smirks at LeMar. ‘Schoolboy error, that. Never suggest asking the lady unless you’re sure what she’s gonna say.’
LeMar ignores him, and leans forward until his face is close to mine. ‘Genie, that’s not a good idea.’
I stand up. LeMar follows but I shrug him away, putting my arm through Tony’s. ‘It’s time to go home now, isn’t it, Tony?’
He grins. ‘Yeah. It’s definitely time we got you home.’
Waiting for the car, the cold of the night sobers me up enough to realize I’ve behaved badly. ‘Do you think I should go back and say sorry to LeMar?’
Tony pulls me into the warmth of his chest. ‘Nah. Best leave it, I reckon. I’ll have a chat tomorrow. Make sure he knows there’s nothing to worry ’bout if you’re with me.’
I nod into his shirt. Then we’re in his car without me being completely sure how that happened.
I reach to stroke the white of his collar, luminous in the street lights. He pushes my hand away. ‘Not just now, Genie, love.’
‘Why not?’
‘Cos I’m driving.’
‘Would you say that if it wasn’t me?’ I want to add, if it was Angharad, but even I can hear, that would sound petulant.
‘Probably. You’re a bit of an above-average distraction, though.’
He glances at me, my legs crossed and my hands tightly clasped in my lap, and laughs.
‘What?’
‘You, looking all prim and proper.’
‘Except you know I’m not.’ I think I manage that without getting the you and I muddled, but I wouldn’t swear to it.
‘Not tonight you’re not, anyhow.’
‘Not any time, really.’ I lean back against the cool of the window and shut my eyes.
‘You need me to open that for you?’
I half open my eyes. ‘No, I’m just having a rest.’
‘That’s good. But if you’re gonna throw up, that’s OK. Only tell me first, cos I’m pretty fond of this interior.’
‘I’m never sick, however much I drink. It’s one of my absolutely best qualities.’
He laughs. ‘I’ll add it to the list.’
‘You’re in a good mood.’ My voice matches my eyelids, sleepy.
‘Right now I am, yeah.’
‘That’s nice, I can’t remember the last time I was happy.’
‘I can.’
‘Can I ask you something, Tony?’
‘Yeah, love, you ask me whatever you want.’
‘And you’ll tell me the truth?’
‘Why not? It’s not like you’ll remember in the morning.’
I point at him, or maybe miss him and point at the window behind him. ‘That is very, very true.’ I lean forward, elbows on my knees, so I’m as close as I can be without touching him. ‘Do you regret it? Coming here?’
He crinkles his brows together. ‘Honest answer, no, I don’t. I regret some of the stuff with you, though. I’ll admit that.’
‘The stuff at the start?’
‘Yeah, some of that weren’t great. But more the end bit. And how it is now.’ He keeps staring dead ahead. ‘Cos I didn’t intend on you getting hurt. But I’m coming in every day, seeing you all miserable, and getting skinnier and skinnier. And half the time, even when you’re inside, you look like you’re freezing. And it kills me, knowing that’s my doing.’
‘Actually, I’m starting to think it’s mine. Do you know what I regret, Tony?’
‘Getting sucked in in the first place?’
‘No, not getting you into bed the minute I had a chance.’
‘That’s the bourbon talking, I reckon, Genie.’
I shake my head, more emphatically than I intended, so my chin slips off my folded hands.
He ignores it, or maybe doesn’t see, he’s trying to pull into traffic. ‘Can I ask you something back?’
‘If it’s quick, I’m going to be having a nap shortly.’
‘Sounds like a plan. All I wanted to ask was, did you honestly like your Secret Santa present?’
‘Did you buy it?’ He probably can’t tell through the slur that I’m wary.
Tony’s eyes are hurt and his voice is offended. ‘No. Course I fucking didn’t. Why’d I buy you something for the kitchen?’ He clearly realizes a second too late that could be insulting. ‘I mean your food, it’s fine. Good, actually. But it’s like a knife, two pans, something to stir it with, max, yeh? Why’d you want some baking gadget? Like, have you baked anything, ever?’
‘I did, quite often, when I was married. I went through a domestic phase, but it didn’t stick. I wasn’t very good at it.’
‘I don’t imagine you was.’
‘So, what would you buy me? Running shoes?’
‘Nah. Something pretty and expensive. Like the other girls got, only better, obviously. Cos you’re my best girl.’
It would spoil the moment to add, ‘at the club’. So, I smile and say, ‘That sounds nice.’
‘It would be. So, like I asked before, why don’t you get something like that?’
‘I don’t know. I just never have. Katia’s probably right, that it started out as a joke. Most things do, don’t they?’
‘This one, I’m starting to wonder if it might pay to look into the punchline.’
‘I don’t understand, and I’m too sleepy to think about it now.’
He nods, eyes all serious. ‘OK. You leave this one with me.’
‘Genie, where’re your keys?’
‘Here.’ I hand Tony my bag and lean against the cool bricks of the porch. That way, I can drink him in without getting distracted by how everything’s starting to spin. The electric light is cold, so the lines of his face are harsh as he hunts for the keys. ‘You have such nice cheekbones.’
He keeps searching through the bag, not looking at me. But the laugh in his voice is obvious. ‘Thanks, love.’
‘You’re not driving any more, so can I touch them?’
‘In a minute. Let’s get you inside first.’ Once he’s got the door open, Tony puts his arm around my waist. I move an experimental inch from the wall. The spinning gets considerably worse. Tony’s arm tightens. ‘Big step, beauty. You gonna be able to manage that? Or do I need to pick you up?’
‘I can do it.’
‘If you say so.’
I do just fine with the step. It’s an over-enthusiastic Rouden mixed with slippery terracotta tiles that’s almost my undoing. I lurch into Tony, and even I can’t pretend that was remotely lady-like. He’s rock-solid, even under the combination of my weight and Roudie’s front paws. And I have to say, the idea of spending the rest of the night with my head on Tony’s chest is extremely attractive. But I manage to pull myself together enough to at least lift my head to look at him. ‘Sorry.’
‘Nothing to be sorry for. Do you think you could calm the pup down though? Before you get tangled up with him.’
I wrap my arm tight around Tony, kind of like lashing myself to the mast. That way, I can lean over enough to stroke Roudie’s ears. ‘Hello, sweetie, that’s enough now.’ It’s not the most commanding of instructions. But Roudie takes the hint, and prances off in front of us towards the sitting room. I inch my way up Tony until my head is on his shoulder. ‘You smell nice too.’
‘So I should, at the price this stuff is.’
‘Not the aftershave, you.’
He laughs properly this time. ‘Well, that’s good. But I’m not sure it’s relevant just now. Do I need to do something with the pup, before I put you to bed?’
‘Before you take me to bed.’
‘Yeah, we’ll discuss that in a bit. But let’s focus on one thing at a time, shall we?’
I nod. ‘Then could you let Roudie out in the garden for a minute?’
‘Yeah, I can do that.’ He walks me through to the sitting room, puts his hands on my shoulders and gently pushes me onto the sofa. His face is very close to mine when he says, ‘Stay there, OK?’
I consider kissing him, but settle for stroking his stubble, enjoying the roughness against my fingers. ‘OK, but don’t be long.’
‘Anyone’d think you were trying to lead me astray, Genie.’ He shakes his head at me, then pulls away. I lean back and shut my eyes for what I think is a moment. When I open them, Roudie’s on his bed and Tony’s sitting beside me holding a glass of water. He takes my hand, positioning my fingers around the icy glass.
I’d like to say thank you but the furthest I get is a smile. Once the water’s gone, Tony takes the glass. ‘Time for bed then.’
I try to smile seductively, but I’ve got a nasty feeling I’m swaying slightly. ‘That sounds like a good idea.’
Tony’s back to trying not to laugh as he says, ‘Yeah, I think it might be.’ He stands, then pulls me up by my hands. ‘But I’m gonna carry you for this bit, OK? Otherwise it’ll take forever.’
‘Don’t hurt your back. I’ll be terribly unpopular if you can’t play on Sunday.’
‘I reckon you’re well under my weight limit. Just put your arms round me.’ I reach up and link my hands behind his neck. ‘That’s right. Good girl. Up you come.’
Thankfully, I am easily within his lifting capacity, and he carries me upstairs as if it’s minimal effort. He sits me on the bed and kneels down, taking off one of my stilettoes and then the other. I can’t resist leaning over and stroking the back of his neck, where the hair is freshly shaved.
He looks up at me, grinning. ‘Let me guess, beauty, that feels nice?’
‘Umm, very, like a horse’s nose.’
Tony laughs. ‘I’ll have to take your word for it. What do you usually sleep in?’
‘Pyjamas, but I don’t need them yet.’ I’ve moved from his neck to his shoulders, tracing out the muscles under the crisp cotton.
Tony reaches for my hands and lifts them away as he stands. ‘Yeah, I’m not so sure ’bout that.’ He picks up the striped top lying at the foot of the bed, looks at the buttons and shakes his head. ‘I reckon it’s gonna be tricky for me to put these on you. Hang on a sec.’
He begins to hunt through my wardrobe. If I was fractionally more sober, I’d be embarrassed he’s getting a glimpse of the chaos. He turns back to me, holding a baggy grey t-shirt. It’s got to be the single least attractive thing I own, something to wear for cleaning and odd jobs. But I know why he’s picked it. And I can’t pretend I’m not disappointed, as he says, ‘Arms up,’ and pulls it over my head. Once it’s down almost over my knees, he gets me up onto my feet and reaches under the t-shirt to unzip my dress. It’s falling to the floor as I wrap my arms around his neck.
‘Tony, do you really not want me?’
He rubs his cheek against mine. ‘Course I fucking want you. Just not like this.’
That’s genuinely crushing. Everyone knows, Tony’s quite discerning about actual girlfriends, but when it comes to one-night stands, he’s not been so picky. I must be in even more of a state than I realized, if I’m below his standards. I gather together the last shreds of my dignity and let him go. Luckily, he keeps his arms around my waist. The room is seriously whirling, and dignity and falling over are definitely incompatible.
‘No, of course not. I’m sorry, I don’t usually get like this.’ My voice sounds brittle.
Tony pulls my head into his chest and strokes my back. ‘You, Genie, don’t need to tell me you’re sorry, for having a nice time with your mates.’
I pull away, enough to look up at him. ‘I didn’t have a nice time. And it’s not attractive, is it?’
He smiles, more gently than usual. ‘Nah, you’re wrong there. You happen to be a seriously adorable drunk.’
‘But not as adorable as Angharad?’
‘She don’t drink. And if she did, I can’t see her being anywhere near as entertaining as you. Or as sweet.’ I wish my head was clearer, so I could be sure I understood that right. He rests his lips on my forehead for a second. ‘But the first time between me and you, I don’t want there to be no risk of regrets in the morning. You get me?’
I reach up and stroke his cheek, thinking about Katia and the biscuits, and Tony factoring me into his transfer decisions. ‘You’re so lovely, Tony.’
He smiles, the same half-sad, half-happy smile as before. ‘That’s one thing I hope you do remember when you wakes up tomorrow.’
‘I will. And anyway, I’ve known for ages. I just got confused.’
This time the smile is almost all happy. ‘If that’s true, it’s the best thing I’ve heard in a long time.’
‘Tony?’
‘Yeah?’
‘My bed’s so big and empty.’
‘Is it, beauty?’ he asks, his face grave, except his eyes.
‘It is. So, why don’t you stay, and just not fuck me?’
‘Cos honestly, I’m not sure I could.’
‘But you could kiss me goodnight?’
‘Yeah, I can manage that all right,’ he says, his voice growly. He leans forward, one hand on my waist. The other’s light on my back, so I could stop any time I want. But I don’t want to. The kiss is exactly what I want, long and deep, his tongue hard against mine. Until Tony pulls away. ‘I think I’d better call it a day, love, or I’ll be getting carried away.’
I nod and sink down onto the bed. He waits until I’m lying down, then leans over and touches his lips against my cheek before he leaves.