Chapter 20
Iwas delighted that Jocasta and I were in a better place. She really wasn’t such a bad old stick, just misunderstood.
She still wasn’t right for Seb, of course. That remained unchanged. And I was one hundred percent going to win him back. When all was said and done, he should be with me. It was written in the stars. All’s fair in love and war.
After all, Seb and I had been through our own love and war story over all the years we’d known each other: the times of hugs and hardships, tears and triumphs. We had history together; something real and tangible that Jocasta and he simply didn’t have. They had barely been together for five minutes. I had pairs of tights that had lasted longer.
Yes, Jocasta and I might be in a better place, and that was good. We would remain there just as long as she didn’t fight me for Sebastian. Then the gloves would be well and truly off; it would be bare knuckle brawling all the way.
I was walking past Seb’s office towards the kitchen when he called out, which stopped me dead in my tracks. I felt my heart do a sudden quickstep in my chest just to hear his voice.
“So, I hear you and Jo had a great time at your spa afternoon?”
He was out of his office now and striding towards me. So tall and strong. God, he smelled good: like lemons and lust swirled together in a seductive aroma that made me go weak at the knees. That certainly wasn’t the old Lynx body spray he used to squirt all over of a morning. He looked lean and lovely in his elegantly tailored suit. It was cut to fit his body perfectly.
I felt a sudden blush rise hotly up my cheek as my gaze dropped unwittingly down to his inside leg area. What Jocasta had said yesterday about his manly attributes was evidently still ringing in my ears. I needed to control my thoughts. My blood pressure was sure to be up, and I was prone to have a “fit of the vapours” as my mother would call it; possibly swoon on the spot and need a doctor at this rate. But Seb, alas, wasn’t going to be showing me his stethoscope any time soon, more’s the pity. I couldn’t help but think that with every day he wasn’t mine, he was becoming decidedly less Dr Who and more Doctor Woo-hoo.
I shuffled my feet awkwardly. I needed to concentrate my mind on things more tepid. I tried to recall the droning voice of Fluck as he’d berated me on my wanton waste of office stationery the previous week. He’d pointed at the stained piles of Post-it notes stuck to my desk that I’d been using as coasters for my cup of coffee, then waved his bony finger around while reminding me that “paper didn’t grow on trees”. He really was a prize pillock.
It seemed to do the trick though. Nothing could quell a lady boner quicker than thoughts of Fluck. They could market him in Superdrug as the anti-Viagra. He could be a veritable goldmine, a surefire passion killer.
I fixed my eyes on Seb’s face and smiled pleasantly.
“The spa was good, relaxing, and it gave us a chance to talk.”
He nodded, a broad smile lighting up his handsome face. It was beautiful, like the sun had just broken through the darkest rain clouds.
“Didn’t I tell you she was a great girl? She phoned me last night, told me how well you were both getting on, even the fact that she had opened up about her ex.”
His face darkened a little, as if the storm clouds had suddenly returned.
“He sounds like a very unsavoury character, and Jo’s such a sweet girl, and a good friend. It makes me angry just to think about the way some men treat the women in their lives.”
I nodded in agreement. He was right there. An image of past Lottie, all sad face and hunched shoulders popped suddenly into my head.
“Yeah, he sounds like a complete arsehole. She did well to find the strength to get away from him.”
“Indeed.”
He closed his eyes briefly and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He looked tired. It was barely 10 a.m. and he appeared completely shattered. Had Jocasta been keeping him up all night?
I felt a sharp stab of jealousy that almost made we wince. I would bet they hadn’t been drinking cocoa and playing board games. And if they had been playing Cluedo, it would probably involve Jocasta in the bedroom in her lingerie with a length of rope to tie Seb to the headboard.
I took a final lingering look at Seb, confident he wouldn’t notice as he was checking something on his phone. A look of concern flashed briefly across his face and then it was gone.
How could I have been so blind to how attractive he was? I’d always regarded him as relatively handsome, a bit squidgy around the edges, but not completely unfortunate-looking. But now it was as if a spell had been lifted from me and I could finally see his full appeal. It wasn’t just his new wardrobe either; he had always been a looker, even in his zip-up polyester cardigans and corduroy trousers.
I couldn’t help but wonder what he thought now when he looked at me. I had always been the stylish one, taking care of my appearance, and I knew he had found me attractive. But did he even notice me in that same way any more? Had I pushed him away one too many times? Friend-zoned him to the point that he would only ever see me as a friend?
Had he really fallen for Jocasta? Did his heart soar when she sashayed into the office in her short skirts and low-cut tops? I still couldn’t quite believe she was his type. I’d always thought he preferred a more pared-down look. But then again, what did I know? She was a good-looking woman, there was no denying that; and he was a hot-blooded single male. He couldn’t fail to notice her obvious charms.
But did he love her? My heart clenched in my chest. If he did, then surely I had lost him. But no, they had only been seeing each other for a couple of weeks. It was still such early days. But the way that Jocasta had spoken yesterday, in hushed tones and girlish giggles, it sounded like their chemistry was sizzling hot, not something you were likely to find in a GCSE textbook.
Suddenly our eyes met. I could feel a flicker of something pass between us. Like a sudden spark of electricity. Or was it my imagination playing tricks on me? I was so determined to find something where there was possibly nothing that I could no longer recognise the truth. But what I did know was that I needed to get a grip of myself. I was a woman of nearly fifty acting like a love-struck middle schooler, and it simply wouldn’t do.
“I…I’m going to make a cup of coffee. Do you want one, Seb?”
He smiled at me, and my heart did another little flutter. I shouldn’t be suggesting coffee in my state; a cup of camomile tea would probably be more suitable.
“Sounds perfect.”
He glanced down at his watch.
“I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes, and I could definitely do with some caffeine. The client is a nice guy, but he has the most droning voice you have ever heard. It bores me to sleep just listening to him, so I certainly need the boost.”
I nodded and carried on walking along the hall towards the kitchen. Thinking better of it, I turned back towards him.
“I’ll make one for Jo too, and this time I’ll make sure I use the right milk.”
He smiled at me again.
“That’s my girl.”
I felt the sharp stab of regret. I had been his girl, but that was in the past. Would I ever be again? And even though the past was gone, what was the future without it?
As the kettle boiled, I busied myself preparing the drinks. Meanwhile I ran through my daily calendar in my head: what meetings I had, what papers I needed to read. It was helping me feel more in control, get my head back into a more professional space.
I then heaped instant coffee into the mugs, careful not to spill any. The big deal was adding the milk: semi-skimmed in Seb’s and mine, and a generous slop of Jocasta’s milk in hers from the carton with the moronic grinning almond on it. I even remembered to add the sweeteners to her mug.
I could have gone to the trouble of making a pot of fresh coffee, but in truth I just couldn’t be arsed. This would just have to do until someone decided later in the day to do a coffee run to the Costa down the road. Meanwhile I patiently waited for the kettle to finally boil. They weren’t kidding when they said a watched pot never bloody did.
I glanced down at my nails. I needed a manicure, as my polish was visibly chipped. Then as I leaned down to pull a loose thread from the bottom of my suit skirt, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirrored door of the microwave. I didn’t exactly recoil in revulsion, but I couldn’t help but notice that I wasn’t looking quite as polished as was the norm.
And it wasn’t just my nails. Overall, I appeared a little worn out and glum: like a photocopied version of myself when the toner was running out; rather grainy and no longer in sharp focus.
I even had my suit jacket buttoned up wrongly. I hadn’t made such a schoolgirl error since Gledhill Primary, when my mother would scold me for traipsing down the path at 3.30 p.m., my satchel dragging along the ground and missing the bottom button on my blazer.
Clearly the last few weeks had taken a toll on me. I had lost my spark. Even shopping didn’t hold the same allure any more. My mind was always on something else, or I should say someone else. It just wouldn’t do. I had lost my mojo and it needed finding again. And I wasn’t going to locate it in the cutlery drawer of this cramped kitchenette, that was for sure.
I sloshed the scalding water into the mugs and gathered them onto the battered tray that was probably older than Fluck. I got ready to pick it up, before making my way gingerly back down the hall to deliver the drinks, when I felt my phone vibrate in my jacket pocket.
I was going to leave it, wait until I got back to my office, but curiosity got the better of me. I pulled it out of my pocket along with a couple of used tissues and a half-empty crisp packet. I must have shoved that in there after my night out with Lottie. More proof I was letting my standards slip.
I squinted at the screen myopically. It was a text from Lottie asking if I wanted to meet her and the girls the following night for a get-together at her house. Bring a bottle, and she would provide the nibbles. I tapped back my reply: I was definitely in. Some female company was just what I needed at the moment. And my friends always had my back.
That was the wonderful thing about having true friends: they would champion you to the world, but behind closed doors would also tell you when you were being a bit of a dickhead. And you would take it on the chin because you knew it came from a place of love.
I was just about to slide the handset back into my pocket when I saw the clearly recognisable blue and white logo of Facebook. I had been tagged into a post. I tapped on the screen, curious to see what it was.
Most probably some random meme from Thomas. My son liked to let me know he was still in the land of the living by sending me random inappropriate memes, usually involving cartoon characters and jokes about bowel movements. He found them completely hysterical, but they never tickled my funny bone in the slightest. It was good to see that university was proving so beneficial in moulding him into a well-rounded productive adult.
But it wasn’t a bad taste meme from my son. No, it was something far more disturbing.