Читать книгу Just for the Rush - Jane Lark - Страница 7

November

‘Are you ready yet?’ Rick called from downstairs.

‘I’m just doing my makeup. I’ll be down in a minute.’

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. Into my eyes. Trying to look inside myself. Why did I feel so miserable? It was my birthday. A birthday celebration should penetrate through the darkness and dispel at least some of the shadows.

I lifted the mascara brush and swept it up along my eyelashes.

When I finished with the mascara I put the brush back in the bottle and the bottle in my makeup bag, then took out the mauve lipgloss that matched my hair.

My hand shook as I opened my mouth to apply it.

The wobbliness in my stomach expressed itself with a desire to be sick. I didn’t want to do this. I wasn’t in the mood for a quiet, romantic dinner with Rick. It wasn’t the way I wanted to spend my birthday. I’d rather be in a club with Milly and some of my other girlfriends. I’d rather spend the night sharing large cocktails with a dozen straws, jumping up and down and dancing badly because I could barely stand up.

But Rick would be upset if I told him I didn’t want to spend my birthday with him.

I shoved the lipgloss into my makeup bag, then zipped it up and looked at myself in the mirror. My hands ran over the creases of my black dress, trying to straighten the clinging material. I pulled the hem down to the top of my knees. It would ride up again when I walked. But so what? I’d have my coat on and we’d spend the evening sitting down at a table.

I breathed out, steeling myself for this. It really wasn’t a good thing that I had to force myself into going out with my boyfriend, but I was just down. I’d been down and trapped in this darkness for months, though.

‘Ready.’ As I walked downstairs, he smiled at me in the way that said you look gorgeous.

My lips lifted in a quick, answering smile.

‘You look good,’ were the words he said aloud.

‘Thanks.’

He had his coat on already, a bomber jacket. He was so broad and muscular that the fitted styles rarely fitted him.

‘Hey, cheer up it’s your birthday.’

I looked down so I could slip my feet into my sparkly gold stiletto heels. His hand ran over my hair then settled on my shoulder for a moment.

I glanced up and smiled at him. The thing about Rick was that he was so nice I could never say anything bad to him. I couldn’t tell him no, or shout at him, or argue with him. But inside I was screaming. His kindness was confining. I was trapped. How foolish was that? Other women would think their fairytale had come to life with a guy like Rick. It was selfish and mean to not be happy. I should be happy.

I wasn’t.

I was in a prison with glass walls – and comfy slippers, and soaps to watch on the TV and cardigans to snuggle up in.

‘What is so bad about that’? My mum would say on the rare occasions I dared to complain.

Nothing. Nothing was wrong. So why did it feel like this life was strangling me.

‘Come on, then.’ He held my parka coat up for me to put my arms into the sleeves. He was such a gentleman. Other women would scratch my eyes out to get at Rick if they knew about this offer of a perfect masculine package that I was not appreciating as I should. He picked up the keys, then turned and opened the door.

‘Where are we going?’ Please God tell me we were not walking around to the local Chinese that we went to at least once a month, at least let it be somewhere different.

‘You’ll find out.’

Oh, whoopee! A surprise! How fucking radical! I was such a mean bitch to him at times in my head, even though I would never say the words aloud. He was too nice to be sworn at.

A black cab waited outside our two-storey flat in a terrace in a London suburb.

Rick walked ahead and opened the door of the taxi. ‘Here.’ He held the door as I got in, then sat next to me and pulled the door closed.

Sometimes the glass walls on my prison closed in and became solid.

‘Did they tell you the address I gave when they took the booking?’ he asked the driver.

‘Yep.’

‘Great, thanks.’

I looked out at the houses illuminated by the streetlights. The year was heading towards mid-winter. Christmas. Time was going so fast. I held my clutch bag with both hands because I didn’t feel like holding Rick’s hand. We’d had loads of settling-down conversations this year, and the number of them had been building since September. ‘Do you want kids?’ ‘What would you prefer first, a boy or a girl?’ ‘Where would you get married if you had a choice of anywhere?’ ‘Do you see us always living in London?’

Maybe that was the problem – I didn’t see me and Rick always doing anything. I could never imagine the future. I only thought about now. And since I’d been depressed, I couldn’t even imagine being happy again. So why would I care about five years from now?

Rick had ignored my lack of enthusiasm every time I’d shrugged off his questions, with comments like, ‘I never thought about it.’ I’m not sure if I want kids.’ ‘I’m too young to think about that.’ ‘We’re fine as we are, aren’t we?’ ‘Isn’t living here, okay?’

The cab driver put the left-hand indicator on. There was no street to turn into. ‘Oh.’

‘Yeah,’ Rick answered.

The cab turned into the car park of the boutique hotel that was just up the street from us. The taxi had been a decoy; we could have walked. But at least it was something different. We hadn’t been here before and I’d heard good things about the restaurant.

The cab stopped and Rick got out without paying, so I suppose he’d already covered it.

When we walked up to the door leading to the reception, his arm lifted and hung around my shoulders. My heart thumped. I was so miserable I felt uncomfortable when he touched me. But possibly because I felt guilty about being such a bitch to him in my head.

Sex was the worst. Sex had become endurance, and that was cruel. Because he played rugby, so he had a good body; it shouldn’t be awful to do it with him. But it was.

I kept telling myself it was the depression, and he was really understanding, as ever. He didn’t push me if I said I wasn’t in the mood, and he kept telling me I’d get better. I’d kept telling myself that the depression would go away too. But I didn’t feel like it would.

The hotel had a fun vibe; the walls were decorated with dark glass and deep-purple colours, and there were gilt accessories everywhere.

He smiled at the receptionist as we walked past, then pointed at a door as his arm slid off my shoulders. ‘Go on.’

I pushed the door, but it didn’t open easily. I had to push both of the double doors to get either one to open. Then the music kicked in, Katy Perry’s ‘Birthday’. The room was dark but at the far end disco lights were flashing, green, mauve, pink and blue.

‘Surprise!’ The room full of people yelled at me.

I turned to look at Rick. He grinned at me. ‘You said you wanted to do something different.’

‘Yes.’ I could hardly breathe. I hadn’t imagined this. See. He was soooo nice. Sooo thoughtful. How could I not love him any more? Or had I never loved him and only just started realising it? Maybe I’d grasped at all his niceness because he’d loved me, and how could I have turned my back on that?

‘Ivy, darling.’

‘Mum.’

‘He is a clever boy, isn’t he? You didn’t have a clue, did you, when you spoke to me this morning?’

I shook my head as Mum hugged me.

Then Dad hugged me. ‘Happy Birthday, darling.’

‘Hello, dear.’ Rick had even managed to get my frail Nan here. I hugged her too.

‘Ah! You look gorgeous!’ My best friend, Milly, squealed, before wrapping her arms around me. ‘I’ve been bursting to let this slip for weeks. Steve has been threatening to stitch my lips up.’

The stream of my family and Rick’s family and our friends, who wanted to wish me well, kept coming and they all thought Rick was amazing for doing this for me. I hadn’t even taken my coat off yet.

‘Let me take your coat.’ Rick was still near me. I turned and then his hands were holding my coat on my shoulders so I could take my arms out. Soooo nice.

‘Good job, mate.’ Steve slapped Rick’s shoulder. Steve, Milly’s partner, was Rick’s best friend. It made for perfect couples’ nights out – or in, my inner voice snapped sarcastically. I was such a bitch in my head.

‘Come and dance.’ Milly grabbed my hand.

‘I’ll get you a drink! A G&T?’ Rick shouted after me.

I nodded.

I should be happy. I still felt sick and miserable. I was glad I could dance, though. Glad I was dancing and not sitting at a table facing Rick on my own, and I was going to get drunk.

Maybe Rick was right. Maybe this would pass. Maybe if I hung on, tomorrow I’d wake up and be madly in love with him and happy again.

But I couldn’t remember when I’d been truly happy. Had I ever been properly happy?

Not for years.

I danced a lot and Rick kept handing me glasses of gin and tonic.

I drowned myself in the music and gin, to the point that I didn’t care that the hem of my dress had ridden up to the top of my thighs and was way too short and probably showing off the lacy tops of my holdup stockings.

When the DJ started playing slow songs Rick came over. I’d kicked my heels off in the centre of the circle of friends I’d been dancing with. I put them back on as Rick held my arm, steadying me.

‘Are you having a good night?’ he whispered into my ear.

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

Suddenly the music stopped playing and the lights went on. I blinked.

Rick descended on to one knee.

No! No!

‘Ivy, you know how much I love you, and I have loved you for a long time.’

Shit! Shit! Why was he doing this now? Why here, in front of everyone? Oh, my God. Rick!

‘So, I thought it was time…’ His hand went down and dug into the pocket of his black trousers. ‘…to…’ he glanced up and gave me a grin as he was still struggling with his pocket. But then his hand came up and between his finger and thumb a solitaire diamond caught the electric light and sparkled.

Oh, my God.

‘… ask you to marry me. Will you marry me, Ivy?’

My mouth opened, but I didn’t say a word. My throat was dry. Shit. Shit! Why had he done this? ‘I…’ I couldn’t say yes. I couldn’t. ‘I’m sorry.’ I swallowed, steeling myself to say the word. ‘No. I can’t.’ Oh, my God.

I turned away from him, shaking all over. My mum and dad stared at me. His parents stared at me. Nan stared at me. Milly stared at me. Everyone was staring at me.

Shit.

I walked across the empty dance floor. The entire room was silent.

He knew I didn’t want to commit yet. Why had he done it? What did he think, that because everyone was here I’d be forced to agree?

Images of his slippers, pyjamas and cardigans spun around in my head.

I wasn’t ready to settle down into a quiet domesticated life. I wasn’t a dog to be sat with and stroked on the sofa every night. I wanted to live life, to see and do things I hadn’t done yet; to be allowed to go crazy when I wanted to.

I wanted to do lots of things. New things. Wild things.

I didn’t want to be sitting at home forced to look after the kids he wanted me to breed.

I hid in a cubicle in the toilet still trembling.

The door into the toilets opened. ‘Ivy.’

Milly.

The door into the toilets slammed shut behind her. ‘Are you okay?’

‘No.’ I opened the cubicle door. ‘Will you get my coat for me? I need to get out of here. I can’t stay with Rick. I can’t go home with him.’ My eyes filled with tears that ran on to my cheeks, probably smearing the mascara I’d so carefully applied before I came out. I wiped the tears away.

‘It’s okay. Wait here?’

Shit. Steve was his friend. If I went home with them, this was going to be so awkward. But I couldn’t go home with Rick.