Swan (10 page)

‘So darling, this monkfish. What do you think? It’s
one of -’

‘Just keep it simple,’ I cut in sourly. ‘Stick to the
roast lamb. It’s what you’re good at.’ I hadn’t meant to sound so cold, but she
was starting to do my head in.

‘What on earth’s the matter, Maddy? You don’t sound
like yourself.’

I hadn’t told her I’d gone for the management job,
so there was no point enlightening her now that everything had gone wrong.

‘I’m fine. Everything’s fine,’ I lied.

‘How did your date with David go? Is he still coming
to Phil’s birthday?’

‘Actually, I haven’t told him about it.’

‘Why not? Darling, I told you about this party ages
ago. Robert and Pauline are coming, Jane and Tom are coming; you’ve simply got
to bring someone. You can’t play gooseberry again. Besides, I’ve already told
them you’re bringing your boyfriend.’

‘You did
what
?
He’s not my boyfriend, Beth. We’ve only been on one date, and even that,
judging by the way things turned out, came to nothing. Oh, this is brilliant!
Just typical of you. You had to open your big mouth, didn’t you?’

Beth had gone very quiet. I could tell when my
sister knew she had overstepped the mark. When she spoke again, her tone was
sickly sweet, nurturing.

‘Darling, I’m sorry. I’ll admit, I may have jumped
the gun a bit. But really, was it so wrong for me to assume that you two are an
item?’

‘Yes, it bloody well was! I haven’t heard from him in
five days.
Five days
, Beth. If he was
interested, don’t you think I would have heard from him by now?’

‘Oh.’ The line went silent. ‘Did something happen
between the two of you?’

I rubbed my aching temples. ‘Look, Beth, let’s just
leave it, okay? It’s not you, it’s me. I’ve had a shitty day, and I’m not in
the right frame of mind to talk. I’ll call you later.’

‘Okay darling. Love you.’

‘I love you too. And, like I said, go with the roast
lamb.’ I hung up, trembling. It was all getting too much.

When I got home I went straight to bed. I felt so
drained, so dead inside. Everything seemed pointless. I lay in the grey
half-light, looking up at the ceiling, thinking about David. His snub bothered
me more than I dared to admit. I had spent days replaying our conversations
over and over again in my head; analysing my behaviour, his behaviour; my
reactions, his reactions. Trying to decipher where it all went wrong. Surely I
must have done something to put him off. But what? Perhaps he’d sensed my
desperation and decided to jump ship before it got too intense.

About eight o’clock, I got up and wandered over to
the mirrored wardrobe. Pulling open my dressing gown, I ran a critical eye over
my decidedly plump and saggy body. Sometimes when I looked at my reflection, I was
cheered by what I saw, comforted by the idea that my curves were my greatest
asset. Not today. Today everything looked wrong. My skin looked dull, my thighs
massive, my shoulders far too broad, my breasts like humongous white
watermelons. How could David, or any man come that, find this body attractive?
Who was I kidding? This wasn’t a body to be desired, it was a body to be
escaped from, a labyrinth of flesh and cellulite.

I thought back to my years of thwarted sexuality, of
the barren wasteland that was my sex life had become, and wondered how I had
survived for so long untouched, unloved, and unfulfilled. I closed my eyes,
thought of David’s laugh, his smile, the touch of those warm, capable hands. I
wanted him so bad it hurt. But I knew it was useless, pointless dreaming. Why
would he want an ugly middle-aged woman with debts up to her eyeballs and no
discernable career prospects?

I turned off the bedroom light and went into the
living room. I switched on the stereo and slotted in Sade’s greatest hits as a
soundtrack to my misery.

I wandered around the kitchen, my chest tight with
tears.
Hang on to Your Love
enveloped
me in a sad symphony of depression. I went to the fridge, poured myself some
orange juice, and downed it in one gulp. Then, out of sheer frustration, I
smashed the glass against the wall.

Everything went still.

I stared down at the broken shards and began to sob.
Loud, unashamed sobs. I was such a loser, completely hopeless at everything
– men, jobs, family, the lot. What was I here for? What was the point of
my life?

I collapsed to my knees and started picking up the
glass. The room swam before me. I couldn’t see properly. Everything became a
blur of colours lights.

Then a piece of glass cut into my hand.

‘Damn.’ I stood up, ran to the sink and put my
bleeding fingers under the cold tap. The sharp cool sensation helped to bring
me back to my senses. Helped me to reason with myself.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

Hastily wrapping my hand in a piece of kitchen
towel, I raced to the bedroom and threw on a baggy t-shirt with tracksuit
bottoms. Then, psyching myself up, I answered the front door.

It was David. Under his arm he carried a large
square package wrapped in brown paper. He saw my mottled face and his smile
vanished.

‘Have I come at a bad time?’

I shook my head. Couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.

‘You’ve been crying, haven’t you?’ David closed the
door behind him.

I looked down at the floor, shuffled my feet.

His eyes fell to my bleeding hand. The makeshift
bandage had fallen off. He sprang into action. Placing his parcel against the
fridge, he raced back to his flat and returned with a roll of gauze.

‘Show me your hand,’ he commanded.

Reluctantly, I gave it to him, feeling like a
naughty schoolgirl being told off by her teacher for having a scrap in the
playground. David marched me to the sink and washed the blood clean. Then he
took a strip of gauze and bandaged my hand up.

Placing his palms on my shoulders, he looked me
directly in the face.

‘What happened, Madeline? How did you cut yourself?
Is there anything else I can do?’

I burst into tears. I just couldn’t hold it in
anymore.

David wrapped his arms around me. Being so close to
him had an immediate calming effect on me, the fold of his embrace warm,
tender, comforting. I nuzzled my head into his chest and marvelled at how
strong and firm his arms were. Another surprise. I breathed in his scent -
masculine and inviting.

My saviour
was here.

Eventually we drew apart. David’s face was clouded
with worry.

And his eyes.
Those
eyes
. Chet’s eyes. They looked so compassionate.

‘You feeling better now?’

‘Yes.’

He tucked a stray hair behind my ear.

‘Cheer up, Madeline. I’ve brought you a present.’

‘Really? You shouldn’t have.’

We went into the living room where the Sade album
was still playing. He picked up the CD cover. ‘So you’re a Sade fan. What a
coincidence, so am I! You’ve got great taste in music.’

I nodded feebly.

Then he picked up the brown paper package and handed
it to me. ‘I hope you like it.’

I sat down on the sofa and balanced it between my
legs. It felt quite heavy and I guessed from the indentations that it was
something like a painting. Hurriedly, I tore away the paper to reveal a massive
blow-up of one of the photos David had taken of me. Encased in an expensive-looking
silver frame, the picture was almost unrecognisable from the original I’d seen
in his studio. He had given it a complete makeover: a professional colour grade
and beautifully airbrushed skin that made me look like something from
Vogue
.

I choked back tears. ‘David, this is so ... Oh I’m
speechless. I absolutely love it!’

He smiled gently. ‘I thought you’d like it.’

The music track changed and the sensual melody of
Sweetest Taboo
flooded the room. David
started tapping his feet and moving his shoulders in time to the percussion.

‘I love this song,’ he murmured.

As the music gathered momentum, he got up and
started dancing a salsa-type dance around the room. I watched him, mesmerised.
His body was so fluid, so rhythmic. I shook my head. So now David was a
fantastic dancer too. Was there no end to this man’s talent?

‘Do you dance salsa?’ he inquired, twirling round
with an invisible partner.

‘No,’ I replied, ‘and don’t tell me, you forgot to
mention that you once lived in Cuba.’

He laughed uproariously. ‘No, I took classes in New
York actually. Never been to Cuba in my life.’ He sidled over to me and took my
hand. ‘Get up. Let’s dance.’

‘No, no, I’m rubbish.’

‘Nonsense, I’ll teach you. Look, just follow my
lead.’ He wrapped one arm firmly round my waist and took my other hand in his.
Then slowly, he started grinding his hips against mine. I felt so stiff and
wooden in his arms.

‘Come on,’ he whispered, ‘no one’s watching. You can
be yourself with me.’

I blushed, feeling increasingly turned on by him. I
jerked my waist a little, tried to animate myself. He twirled me around a
couple of times, and soon I was really getting into it. Perhaps I did have some
semblance of rhythm after all. It felt so sexy having him so close to me, like
Jennifer Gray with Patrick Swayze in
Dirty
Dancing
. It was one of those moments in your life when everything just fits
together, like there is no one else in the world but you and that special
person.

Then the music stopped. We stopped. I gazed up into
his eyes, wanting so badly to kiss him, my whole body tingling with
anticipation.

But the moment passed. David seemed confused and a
little shaken. It was like he was holding something back. I couldn’t think
what.

I sighed and went rigid again. He was blowing so hot
and cold with me. Couldn’t he feel the strong physical connection between us?
What was his problem? After all, we weren’t school children in the midst of our
first affair. We were two consenting adults. Why was he holding back from
expressing his feelings?

‘Um, that was fun, wasn’t it?’ he muttered, not
meeting my gaze.

I put my hand on his arm. ‘It was amazing, David.
You’re such a fantastic mover, you put me to shame.’

He smiled tightly, adjusted his spectacles. ‘Well,
I’m just glad I’ve managed to cheer you up. That was my intention.’

For a second, my mind went totally blank. Then, I
remembered what I’d wanted to ask him. ‘David, I don’t know if you’re free this
Saturday - the twenty-sixth - it’s my brother-in-law’s birthday. Beth’s having
a little dinner party for him at their house, nothing fancy you understand,
just a couple of friends round. I wondered, if you were free, if you’d like to
come along?’

David fiddled with his pockets. He still wasn’t
looking at me. I’d never seen him so rattled before. What on earth had gotten
into him?

‘Yeah, Saturday sounds great,’ he said at last.

‘Fantastic.’ I tried not to sound too eager, but
inside I was singing. ‘It starts around seven. We can get the Tube.’

‘Where do they live?’

‘Highgate. They bought a new house a couple of months
ago. This will be a sort of a housewarming/birthday.’

‘Okay, sounds fun. I’ll pick you up around six?’

‘Fine.’

I saw him out.

Closing the door behind me, I collapsed on the sofa.
David Powell was a conundrum and a half. I rarely knew where I stood with him,
but God, was he a great dancer, and kind and lovely and probably just saved me
from topping myself. Plus he had agreed to accompany me to Beth’s awful dinner
party, so I should at least be grateful for that.

I picked up the remote control and played
Sweetest Taboo
on full blast for the
rest of the night.

Chapter Eight

Beth and Phil lived in a beautiful Victorian house
located about ten minutes from Highgate Tube station. It had a contemporary
exterior, large bay windows, three bedrooms, two receptions and an immaculately
pruned private garden. It wasn’t as big as their last home in Crouch End, but
in my opinion, it had more character.

We arrived at just after seven. I was dressed
sedately in a grey cotton dress and strappy sandals I only wore on
special occasions. David wore his usual tweed jacket with drainpipe jeans. We
rang the bell twice before a harassed-looking Phil answered. My brother-in-law
hadn’t changed a bit since I’d last seen him. He was still thin as a rake,
still wide-eyed and weary-looking. Despite being the same age as Beth,
premature hair loss ran in his family, which made him look ten years older.
When they had first started dating in their early twenties, Phil had already
lost most of it, and used to comb what strands he had left over the bald patch.
More recently however, he had vetoed this in favour of the fully shaven look,
which suited him better.