Chapter 20
Friends and Lovers
“It might be a good idea,” I say later that night when Effie is safely tucked up in bed, “if I see you by myself for a while and not when Effie is around.”
My daughter hasn’t said much since we got home, but I know better than to believe not talking about something implies not thinking about it.
Effie gets very attached to things: toys, clothing, mementos.
It stands to reason that she also gets very attached to people.
I am absolutely certain she will grow up to be the truest friend anyone could want.
That is, if she ever finds her tribe, the people with whom she wants to be friends and who want to be friends with her.
“I’ve already told you my intentions,” he says. “I’m not going to break Effie’s heart. But I understand if you want to be cautious. You are her mother, after all. You’re the best person to judge what is the right pace for her.”
His confidence in me feels unwarranted. If only I had as much faith in myself as he seems to have. As Effie’s mother, I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing most of the time. I feel like a blind woman with a stick tapping her way through a minefield.
Choosing not to address the meaning of what he’s just said, I fall back on good manners. “But thank you for today. Effie had a good time.”
“Effie was not the only person I was trying to impress.”
“Well, then you got full marks. I had a good time too.”
I initiated this call. I could have sent a text, but I wanted to hear his voice one more time before the day crawls to its end. But now I can't think of anything to say, at least nothing that doesn't lead further into troublesome areas. Anders has no such restraint.
“I would like the chance to show you an even better time,” he says, and my breath catches. We both know what he means. I'm glad this is only an audio call so he can't see my face burning, my pupils growing, my lips parting.
“When can I see you?”
I play innocent. “You know you’ll see me tomorrow at work.”
“And you know that's not what I mean.”
I do. Anders and I have never pretended with each other. If I'm not happy with something, I tell him, and vice versa. Mostly we fix it, sometimes not, but whichever way it ends up, there's never been any pretence. Maybe now’s not the time to be disingenuous.
“Friday evening. If everything goes according to plan.” If Dana is still good for her promise, if Effie is well, if Max doesn’t fall sick, if I’m not on my period.
But Anders has no concept of the logistical mountain that has to be scaled for one small date.
He misinterprets my condition. “You're the one who's in charge of my diary. Move anything that might interfere with Friday night and block out the slot.” He pauses.
“I must admit, I can't wait to see what you put in as a placeholder this time.”
“What if I put 'sperm donation'?”
If I expect him to be embarrassed, I'm disappointed. He laughs. “It would be accurate.”
My stomach tightens at his words. I bite my lip.
“Goodnight, Anders,” I say softly and force myself to disconnect.
I’m eager to see him on Monday morning, but when I get in, Piotr and Scarlett are already with him. I’m not surprised; there is an important meeting this morning with the Mayor of London’s office, hopefully wheedling a funding grant out of them. They’ll be out most of the day.
The door to his office is ajar so I pop my head around it, just to let him know I’m available if there is anything urgent.
The three of them are sitting together at the sofa end of the office.
I’m just in time to see Scarlett lean forward, ostensibly picking up her coffee.
But as she does, she slides her thigh against Anders’s leg.
It’s so blatant, I’m speechless. Oblivious, Piotr carries on talking, but Anders notices.
And he moves, shifting further along the couch. It’s quite deliberate, a clear shutdown. And it’s not lost on Scarlett. She looks disconcerted. Good.
I clear my throat and everyone looks at me. Anders’s eyes momentarily meet mine as I deliver my message but at the end, I nod. A message: I saw. I’m happy.
Leaving them to their preparations, I sit at my desk and log in.
The first thing I do is block out Anders’s diary for Friday evening.
With a grin, I mark it Swedish massage. Then I start my day with my heart singing.
When lunchtime rolls around, I contemplate a lonely five minutes of rushed food, eaten with one eye on my computer, and decide to treat myself to a whole half-hour off.
I head to the break room. Nur, Chloe and Ginny are already there, lunchboxes open and food half-consumed.
“Haven’t seen you for a while,” Chloe remarks as I take my place at their table.
“Crazy busy,” I huff out a breath. “I’ll be glad when this game launches.”
“It’s mental,” Chloe agrees. “But I love it. Everyone’s pulling together.”
“Yeah, right,” Ginny says. “We’re sweating our butts off and Piotr’s swanning off to lunch at the latest swanky restaurant.
” Her criticism is not entirely fair as he is on the job but she’s still struggling with working with her ex, so I let it pass unremarked.
But then she narrows her eyes. “But what's going on with you?” she asks. “You look different.”
Nur lifts her eyes from her food, glances at me and drops them back. “She looks exactly like she usually does.”
“No, she doesn’t. She’s all glowy.” Ginny waves her sausage roll in a circle.
“Is it a new moisturiser?” Chloe asks. “I’ve heard you have to buy special products as you get old.”
“Gee, thanks. I’m not even thirty. But no new moisturiser. Just Effie has a new friend, and the weather is good and nothing bad has happened.” And I’m going to have three orgasms on Friday.
“I feel you, girl.” Chloe was still nominally a child, and yet both a carer for her mum and a single parent to her brother. That’s even harder than my life.
“But while we’re on the subject of ‘glowiness’, you seem more cheerful. Did you spit in Piotr’s coffee and he drank it?” Something about Ginny has changed. She’s got her badass back.
“No such luck. But yes, I think I’ve turned a corner. Piotr is in my rear-view mirror and I’m moving on with my life. I’m not going to let him drag me down.”
“Well done, you,” I tell her, and Nur and Chloe chime in too. Maybe it’s the summer, maybe it’s the vibe but it for once, life is good.
“Your place or mine?” Anders asks me as I pack up on Friday afternoon.
He’s leaning over me, ostensibly looking at my computer screen, which is ludicrous because I’ve already logged off.
His mouth is so close to my ear, I could turn my head and kiss him.
The urge is strong, but I beat it down. Later.
I think of my home with signs of Effie everywhere. “Yours.”
Sliding my chair back and away from him, I stand. Act normal. I try, but I can’t stop a stupid grin breaking out when I think about tonight. I feel bubbly and giddy.
Picking up my bags, I call out, “Have a good weekend.” This is what I do every Friday.
I want to skip to the lift, but I force myself to walk sedately.
On the drive home, I keep reminding myself there's no urgency.
I left before him. He's still got hours of work to do.
But I abandon Stormfly in the first parking space I find and let myself into my home.
As I climb into the shower, I'm already planning what I will wear.
I can't make up my mind whether to go for easy access — a tie-front dress — or whether I prefer the feel of him running his hands down my back as he slowly unzips me. Both have their advantages.
Or would it be too forward to wear nothing at all under a belted mac, with the highest heels I own? I give a little shiver at the thought. Then I think of the walk of shame in the morning, and the shiver turns into a shudder. Maybe not.
In the end, I find a little black dress in the back of my wardrobe.
I'd forgotten about it. I haven't worn it since before I had Effie but there's enough elastane in the fabric that I think it will still fit. I try it on. It clings tightly, leaving nothing to the imagination. I add a push-up bra. It's not the sexiest item I own, but the effect is amazing and I’m hoping it won’t stay on long.
I leave off my knickers. Not only would they spoil the line of the dress, but I also like the idea of giving Anders a little surprise.
Slipping on strappy black sandals, I check myself in the mirror.
Almost there. I release my hair from the towel and blow dry it, brushing it through and leaving it loose.
Finally, I do my make-up. Not the polished professional look I usually wear.
Tonight I’m going sultry, heavy on the mascara and eyeliner, light everywhere else.
I add my bloodiest lipstick and I'm done.
I'm a short, mixed-race, long-haired True Lies Jamie Lee Curtis about to enter a hotel room. Perfect.
I take a taxi to Anders's building because I'd break an ankle if I had to walk any distance in these shoes. I use the time to text Dana to ask about Effie, but she tells me all is fine and not to worry.
Finally, I’m standing outside his door, half convinced that even now, some disaster will crop up to end this enchantment. I undo my coat and take a breath. Three orgasms, here I come.
I press the bell.
Anders opens the door. He's cheating; he's already shirtless, his belt is off, and his jeans are riding low on his hips.
Placing my fingers in the centre of his chest, I push him firmly to one side, step into his hall, and turn to face him.
Legs apart, I slide my raincoat off my shoulders and let it drop.
Anders stares.