Beautiful Mess Layout v3 Page 3

  “Oh, I will be.” Olly grinned like the Cheshire cat. “For Valentine’s on Saturday, she’s going to let me pretend to rape her.”

  Tom pursed his lips and made a hissing noise. “Yeah. Glad I’m going out.”

  “Where are you going?” I tried not to sound bothered but I failed quite miserably.

  Now it was his turn to smirk. “There’s this nurse on my rotation, she’s a redhead. Huge tits. I’m taking her to the cinema.”

  “Go on then, Linc.” I groaned. “Who are you molesting for Valentine’s?”

  He shuffled about next to me and I caught the fresh top-notes of his aftershave on the air. “I’m not doing anything,” he said gruffly. I think he was a bit embarrassed.

  “That makes two of us, then.”

  “Yeah.” He smiled at me; dimples flashed. “Fuck Valentine’s.”

  “Fuck it.” I clinked my glass to his.

  “Er, Bailey?”

  I glanced up at Tom. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Olly hissed. He threw a sharp elbow into Tom’s ribs. “Nothing.”

  I saw him mouth to Linc: Beetle Juice.

  And then I saw him at the bar.

  Him with her.

  Ohgodohgodohgod. It had only been a week and Craig was out with somebody else. In my pub, the one I went to before him. What the very fuck?

  My cheeks were scorching and I buried my face in my hands. “Has he seen me?” I demanded. “Has he?”

  “I don’t think so, Bails.” Tom nudged my wrist. “You don’t have to hide, you know.”

  “Yes I do,” I croaked. “Look at her. He’s with somebody else already. Look at her!”

  The table fell silent. We were all thinking the same thing, and it sucked the air out of me: he hasn’t just started seeing this girl.

  I took great, heaving breaths.

  “Tosspot wank-bastard fucktarded nonce captain,” said Olly.

  Trembling with adrenaline, I peered through my fingers. No, Craig hadn’t seen us. He was wearing the pale green shirt that I like on him so much, untucked and over Levis. The girl beside him had swishy chocolate hair and she was wearing a short skirt and boots. He kept stroking the small of her back as they chatted. Date clothes, date moves.

  I think I’m going to throw up.

  “Want me to go and say something?” said Olly. “Because I will. We all will, won’t we, lads?”

  Linc cleared his throat, nodding. “I’ll play him the werewolf rap. I’ve got it on my phone. See what his moo-cow has to say to that.”

  “You don’t know that he’s actually been cheating,” said Tom. “I mean, I know what it looks like, but maybe--”

  “If it looks like a prick and quacks like a prick, it’s a prick,” said Olly. “Even if he did just meet her, it’s fucking moronic to bring her here. Shall we go and say hello? Bailey?”

  “No, no.” I went to finish my wine--my mouth was so dry--but my churning stomach wouldn’t allow it. “I can’t do this, not now. Okay?”

  “Do you want to leave?” Linc nudged my knee with his.

  “Um, yeah, actually.” I eyed the pub door. “Think we can get there without him seeing us?”

  “We’ll walk around you. Don’t look at him, okay?”

  The boys downed their pints and we threw coats over our arms. I wedged myself between Tom and Linc, and we shuffled towards the door together like one of those moving bushes you get in bad films. God, I felt ridiculous.

  Craig’s new whorebag turned at just the wrong moment. Olly knocked her shoulder by accident and before they exchanged apologies, Craig clapped eyes on the boys and me.

  The last time we saw each other, he’d taken me to the park the way he always did. We sat by the river, and he broke the horrible news that he didn’t want me any more. I was a lump of heaving sobs; he looked sad and awkward, trying to rub my back while I screeched at him to leave me alone. After believing everything he said about just growing apart, I felt so fucking humiliated.

  When Craig and I looked at each other, I let out an audible whimper.

  “Twat,” said Olly, purposely shoving past him.

  Somehow, I managed to get outside and into the fresh air. I took great gulps of it and it burned cold in my chest to the soundtrack of thump, thump, thump. My battle-roused pulse wouldn’t die in my ears.

  “Want me to go back in and punch him?” Olly offered.

  I shook my head, wrapping my arms round myself.

  “You’ll get barred,” said Tom.

  “It’d be worth it.”

  “Let’s just go home, yeah?” said Linc. He offered me an arm, and I let him scoop me in against his torso. Felt strangely warm.

  “Oh, all right then.” Olly threw a scowl back at the pub. “I’m having words at some point, though.”

  Tom fell into stride with us. “Christina Hendricks, Christina Hendricks, Christina Hendricks,” he muttered.

  “Dude,” said Linc, “what are you doing?”

  “Hey. It’s worth a go!”

  Chapter Four

  The following day, I did a bad thing: I called in sick to work.

  I know, I know. I let Mila down. I let my clients down. But the memories kept heaping on top of me at home, threatening to smother, and at the shop, they’d be so much worse.

  The boys hid my mobile when we got home. At the time, I was livid; afterwards, I could see their point. Drunken texts wouldn’t solve anything. Besides, I think Olly wanted to be the one to compose those texts, what with all his righteous metrosexual anger.

  I did what depressed, moony girls do: lounged in bed. Watched Buffy on DVD. Ate random things from the fridge, like pickled beetroot with crackers. I topped up Tarquin’s kitten milk and gave him lots of smooshy snuggles--poor little guy was pining like mad. Olly said I was being ridiculous, but screw him. Ratty eyes could be albino and stricken with grief.

  When the doorbell rang that evening, I plopped Tarquin back in his hammock and went to answer it.

  Linc was doing his usual oh-it’s-you-what-a-surprise-this-is-awkward pose, half-leaning into the door frame. A cardboard box sat under his arm.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.” He nodded at me. “Can I come in?”

  “No. There’s a new rule, actually. You can’t come into the flat anymore and you have to communicate with Olly by paper plane. Or pigeon.”

  A dimple bloomed in his left cheek. “I came to see you, actually.”

  “You did?”

  He slid past, lingering by the rat cage. “I brought you a present.”

  “I don’t need sympathy chocolate, Linc. Or sympathy anything, come to think of it--”

  “It’s not chocolate, and it’s not out of sympathy, okay?” He held the box out. “Go on. Have a look.”

  I put the box on the cage and teased the card panels open. Lying in a heap of yellow bedding was a silky, sniffly black rat. “Oh!” I clapped a hand to my mouth. “Linc, he’s so gorgeous!” I reached in to stroke him, and paused. “It is a he, right? Because--”

  “Yeah, it’s a he.” He was trying very hard not to look pleased with himself, but it was cute in his oh-look-I’m-a-knight-in-YouTube-armour-how-very-awkward way. “I talked to the guy at the shop. He said he should be all right to go in with Tarquin, just have to keep an eye.”

  I slid my hand beneath the rat’s soft belly and brought him up to my chest. He was a wriggly ball of nerves and I could feel his little heart beating, but still, so cute. So cute!

  “I’ve already named him,” said Linc. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “Depends what you called him.”

  “Safety Dance.”

  “What?” I tried not to giggle; it’d shake the poor thing around. “What the hell?”

  “‘Cause he can dance. Y’know. If he wants to.” He came up behind me and his chin brushed the top of my head. “He wouldn’t stop prancing about in the shop.”

  “Very poetic.” I grinned. “Hello Safey.”

  I lowered the baby rat back
into his box. Later, I’d need to clean all of Bruce’s scent out of the cage before I introduced him to Tarquin.

  “So. Saturday,” said Linc.

  “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

  “I,um, I wondered if you wanted to do something. You know, rescue you from the rampant shagging that’s probably going to go on.”

  “When you put it like that.” I laughed. “What were you thinking of? You’re not actually suggesting that we go to yours, are you?”

  “Would that be bad?”

  None of us had ever been to Linc’s flat. It was like our own personal folklore; we never had any reason to go, and then it turned into something of a joke. Linc lives in a tent. In a monastery. With his lesbian aunts.

  “No, just…I’ll never live it down,” I said.

  “I could cook something. I do cook stuff.” He cocked his head. “We could watch a film.”

  I folded my arms. Why had I gone all coy? “Okay. Okay then. What should I bring?”

  “Dessert.” He grinned. “The gooier, the better.”

  “What are you talking about?” Tom demanded, his key still dangling in the lock. “Sounds filthy.”

  “I’m going to Linc’s flat tomorrow,” I announced. “With pudding.”

  Tom glanced between the pair of us and narrowed his eyes. “Are you two shagging?”

  I don’t know which one of us blushed harder, but the room was suddenly like a sauna and Tom’s words were steam pouring off the coals.

  “No!” we said in unison.

  Tom groaned in disgust. “I give it a week, tops.”

  ***

  Sleep did not come easily that night. When the dawn seeped beneath my curtains, it was unwelcome and prickly.

  There was the ever-present specter of Craig the Vile Betrayer and his third-rate Whore of Babylon. I still wasn’t sure what to do about that, or what to feel other than floaty in a lost, empty way.

  A bit of me thought I should feel lonelier than I did t, but I’d moved the rat cage into my bedroom to make sure that Tarquin didn’t claw Safey’s eyes out in the night. On the plus side, they got on amazingly and had a proper, squawky little gay rat party. On the downside, I could see what Tom meant about being kept awake. Still, it beat listening to Olly and Chan.

  Work could not be avoided again. I briefly considered a “purging” breakfast of Jägermeister, but one sniff put me off. I had toast instead.

  When I got in, Mila looked me up and down and poured me a strong coffee.

  “Go on.” She sighed. “What’s happened now?”

  “He’s got a new girlfriend. Already,” I mumbled.

  “Already, eh?”

  She didn’t say anything else, and I was immensely grateful.

  I had another appointment with Keith and Elizabeth that morning, and I managed to get through it without wishing seven plagues of venereal diseases on them every time she wiped a crumb from his mouth, or they both laughed together. It was the little things that got me, the echoes of an intimacy I’d lost and could never piece back together again. After seeing Craig with her in that pub, the shards were too small.

  While I waited for them to choose a design, my phone lit up with a text.

  Pasta ok tonite? Linc

  I found myself smiling as I typed back. Anything without broccoli!

  Whats 4 pudding then? he replied.

  Brownies x

  My phone vibrated again.

  Ill b telling Tom thats an anal sex reference

  “Miss Frost? I think we’ve chosen,” said Elizabeth.

  My cheeks were still flushed as I hurried over. Keith pointed to a three-tiered concoction with butterflies made of Belgian chocolate.

  “Ooh. Very nice,” I breathed. “I have loads of fun making the butterflies, you know. We pipe them out in really soft chocolate and add the details with pins.”

  “It just looks so yummy.” Elizabeth laughed. “Don’t you think so, lover?”

  “Whatever you say.” Keith patted her on the arm and shot me a knowing look. “I’m more of a cheeseboard kind of guy.”

  “The excellent thing about this cake is that it doubles as a dessert for your reception,” I said, “so it’s a bit of a cost-saver, too.”

  “Whatever. It looks delicious. Can we get the butterflies in white chocolate and butterscotch, as well?”

  I tugged out the order book from beneath the desk. “Sounds like a plan.”

  By lunchtime, I had all the paperwork signed and ready to go. There was a glow of satisfaction in it, and I can’t tell you how relieved I was that I could feel it beneath the crappy McCrappishness of recent days.

  “Bailey?” Mila swept the door open, her face pinched. “That Craig is asking for you at the counter.”

  I dropped my pen and it landed with a dull thud on the carpet. “No way.”

  “Yes way.” She straightened her apron in the way she always did when she felt awkward. “It’s lunchtime. By all means, go and talk to him, but please don’t have a tiff in the shop.”

  “Um.” I placed the pen back on the desk slowly. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do; just going out there and looking at him again seemed an exhausting idea.

  Get yourself together. Game face. You’re an imp of ass-kickery, remember?

  Okay.

  Craig leaned against the cupcake counter in his Levis. Even in the refracted sunlight, he looked tanned and Mediterranean and, ugh, handsome.

  “Hey.” He jerked up straight. “Bailey.”

  “You haven’t forgotten my name, then.” An acidic edge scored my voice, and I don’t think either of us expected it.

  “Of course not. Look. Can we go round to the park?” He nodded towards the door. “I need to explain a few things to you.”

  “Yep, you do.” Thud thud thud. I wasn’t old enough or fat enough for a heart attack, right? “I’ll get my coat.”

  It was the first time ever that Craig and I had left the cake shop together without holding hands. Surreal. I felt like I should be able to just lean over, press my palm into his--where it belonged, didn’t it?--not stand this ridiculously measured distance away. We spent the two minutes’ walk to the park in a haze of unwieldy pedestrians and heavy, unspoken words.

  Finally, we found our usual bench and it creaked as we sank back on to it.

  I couldn’t look at him. “Go on then. Do your explaining.”

  “I’m sorry that you had to find out about me and Samantha like that.” He tutted. “I should have been honest with you last week, Bails.”

  “Yes. You should.”

  “The truth is, we met through work, a couple of months ago. There was just something there, between us, I--”

  Oh God. I really wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear this. Look at the turf, look at the turf. “Did you cheat on me?”

  Silence. Craig swallowed. It seemed like hours melted into themselves before he opened his mouth.

  “Yes.”

  Deep breath. Aaand another. Look at the turf. “For how long?”

  “About two months.” I couldn’t see him cringing, but I could hear it.

  Two months. Two months, he was fucking me around.

  “You shit,” I whispered. The tears were surprisingly cold on my cheeks.

  “I was trying to spare you this, I swear.”

  “No, you weren’t. You were trying to spare yourself,” I spat.

  “Bailey, please--”

  “No. No please.” I snapped round to look at his shameful, pitiful, cowardly wince. “You…you tosspot wank-bastard fucktarded nonce captain!”

  At that moment, a couple of pensioners walked past with a cocker spaniel and their mouths dropped open like their tongues were bowling balls.

  “That was impressive,” he said.

  “You’re impressive. Impressively a twat.” I put my face in my hands. “I can’t believe you led me on for two bloody months. You let me go on holiday thinking that we’d come back engaged!”

  “I know, all right? I know what I di
d wrong.” He tugged at his hair. “I just…I’m so sorry, Bailey. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well. A lot of good that does now.” I kicked at a stone in the grass and it went sailing into the river, skidding across the surface and splitting it open. “I bet you make the effort for her.”

  He snorted. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “In bed.” Dude. I’m on a roll. “I bet you last longer than five bloody minutes with Samantha.”

  Craig turned the brightest shade of beetroot I’ve ever seen on a man. “Christ, Bails. That’s low.”

  “That’s low? I’m low?” The laughter spluttered from me in jagged chunks. “You have no fucking idea, do you?” The ground was suddenly a lot further away. I’m standing up. I’m ditching his ass! Hell yeah!

  “Where are you going?” he called.

  I glanced back over my shoulder. He was still a jaunty shade of plum. “Away from you. Have a nice life.” Wait, wait. I turned. “Oh, and you know what? I faked it,” I bellowed across the park. “Every single time!”

  Craig twisted away and pretended not to know me.

  As I trotted out, I almost went smack-bang into Samantha. She glared at me from beneath about seven layers of mascara and I leered back triumphantly.

  “Every. Single. Time.”

  Chapter Five

  Confession time: yes, I was a bad-ass at the park. I was the video game warrior of Uncomfortable Truths. I also spent the afternoon sobbing over the sugar craft swans I was making, and it was a relief when five o’clock rolled around so I could sort myself out with a cold shower.

  Three hours later, I was on Linc’s doorstep with an inappropriate amount of cleavage on show, and I wasn’t entirely sure why.

  What made me more nervous? The aftershock of adrenaline still curdling in my veins, or the fact that I was about to see Linc’s mythical flat?

  I rang the doorbell. It was a very normal doorbell, too--no Phantom of the Opera, no Super Mario theme. Hmm.

  “Me answering the door to you, huh,” he said, half-smiling. “Weird role reversal.”

  I propped myself up on one arm against the frame. “I should probably linger here for a minute and wiggle my eyebrows then, yeah?”