Phoebe Smith’s Private Blog: A Romantic Comedy Page 17

  *

  Three hours later and I’m singing along with the band and Mak and Jasper are doing backing vocals. I’ve donned Mak’s hat and am feeling very like Janis Joplin. I’m singing, or should say screeching, Piece of my Heart but after a few more drinks I don’t think anyone is caring. I’d taken loads of photos using my selfie stick. It really is the best thing. Harry, I have to say is great company. Of This may have something to do with the fact that I’m seriously wasted and in this state even Donald Trump would seem like good company.

  ‘We’re off darling, are you coming?’ asks Mak.

  ‘Already?’ says Harry.

  ‘Already,’ Mak laughs. ‘It’s two in the morning love. Some of us have to work tomorrow.’

  Shit, I never stay out this late on a week night.

  ‘I’ll take you home,’ says Harry. ‘After all, it’s not out of my way.’

  ‘Well …’ I begin, and feel myself sway.

  ‘It would save us, petal,’ says Mak, kissing me on the cheek. ‘See you at the store tomorrow bright eyed and bushy tailed.’

  I watch them leave. I don’t have the energy to call them back. Harry arranges a cab and escorts me, and my rose, to the door. It feels very odd sitting so close to Harry in the cab. I can’t help thinking his thigh is closer to mine than it needs to be. I can’t deny it feels quite nice though.

  We enter the block and Harry escorts me up the stairs. I must say he’s very tactful. I’m sure I’m swaying all over the place but he just holds my arm lightly and says, ‘here we are,’ when we reach my door.

  ‘Thanks, I bet your dog has missed you.’

  God Phoebe, is that the best you can do?

  ‘He’s with my parents for a few days. I don’t like to leave him for long periods so …’

  The mention of his parents reminds me of his father and that reminds me that Bloom Properties want my flat and I shake myself angrily.

  ‘Right, thanks for …’

  I don’t want to say nice evening do I? I don’t want him thinking he’s won.

  ‘Thanks for the lift home. I should pay my share of the cab.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ he protests, but there’s no stopping me now. I fumble in my overstuffed handbag, scattering a razor blade, tampons and a sanitary towel on to the floor. I pull out my purse, along with a pair of spare knickers. Well, you never know when you might get caught out. He catches them before they fall to the floor.

  ‘Nice colour,’ he smiles.

  I fish around in my purse.

  ‘It really doesn’t matter,’ he says.

  ‘I can’t be in your debt again,’ I say.

  ‘It was only ten quid.’

  He hands me the knickers and I take them, pricking his hand with a rose thorn as I do so.

  ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry,’ I say, rummaging in the bag for a tissue, except it’s the one thing I don’t have. I dab at his hand with my spare knickers and then wrap them round his finger like a bandage.

  ‘Night Phoebe,’ he says softly as he leans over to kiss my cheek, except he doesn’t kiss my cheek. His lips land on mine and I sigh. I grab the door handle to support myself. Blind me, who’d have thought Harry Bloom could kiss like this? He pulls my hand from the door handle and wraps it around his neck and kisses me harder. My knees buckle and I push him away gently.

  ‘Goodnight Harry,’ I say, and turn to open my door.

  ‘I’d like to see you again,’ he says hoarsely.

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ I say, while thinking what a super idea that is.

  ‘If you change your mind you know where to find me.’

  ‘I won’t change my mind,’ I whisper, watching his face come closer to mine.

  I quickly turn and step into my flat.

  ‘Night Harry.’

  I close the door behind me and take a deep breath. It’s not right that Harry Bloom should kiss like that. Not right at all.

  *

  Thursday 15th February: Late

  Oh my God, cannot believe I kissed Harry Bloom. Must have been as pissed as a newt as there’s no way I would have kissed him had I been sober. Seriously, it’s not right for someone like Harry Bloom to kiss like that. It quite took the wind out of my sails. I’m not supposed to enjoy kissing Harry Bloom. Truth is I very much enjoyed kissing him. Couldn’t believe he asked to see me again. It was just a momentary weakness. Cannot allow it to happen again.

  Dragged myself to work and then had to fight off bloody Henry. Really didn’t have the strength. Thank goodness Giles came into the staffroom or else I’m sure Henry would have had his wicked way with me over the table. Popped to Imogen on the way home to see how she was.

  Holy shit, I couldn’t believe it when she told me. Imogen’s upset stomach only turned out to be morning sickness. Poor Gem, she looked dreadful. Daniel had gone apeshit. It was Imogen’s fault. She’d forgotten to take her pill the night we’d all got wasted at Julian’s gay bar a week before Christmas. Bollocking fucktard Daniel had only given her three hundred quid and an address in Harley Street for an abortion. She begged me to go with her. Couldn’t get over the shock. Imogen said she hadn’t told Mak, Malcolm or anyone. Felt so sad for her. I think she finally saw Daniel for what he really was. Imagined she thought that he would leave his wife but all he did was accuse her of trying to trap him. Poor Imogen. I couldn’t believe that missing only one pill could do it. I said I would go with her. Not looking forward to it. Have booked the day off work. God, this is far worse than being sexually harassed at work so didn’t mention that. Showed her the photos of our night at The Blue Note and told her how Harry Bloom had kissed me. She seemed very excited, said what a lovely guy he was. I have to keep reminding her that the bastard is making me homeless. I don’t think a kiss and a rose is going to make that better is it?

  What a strange Valentine’s Day. Not one text from Ashby. Not sure what I expected but had expected something. I must put the photos from last night on Facebook. That will make Ashby jealous, surely. I won’t put them on Instagram. I don’t want Harry Bloom seeing them and thinking I had a great time. Although if I’m totally honest, I did. Mak was well hungover and could barely string two words together. I’m glad I didn’t buy a pair of glasses he measured up today. God knows what the customers will end up with. Thought about what the psychic had said. Just because she said ‘there’s music around you,’ doesn’t mean it has to be Harry. I have music around me all day at the store, she probably meant that. But she did mention musical notes. Does seem a bit coincidental that the club is called The Blue Note.

  I wonder if Essex Earring got roses. I must take a picture of my rose and post that on Facebook. Better hurry before it totally wilts.

  Anyway, should stop thinking about me. Poor Imogen. Couldn’t believe how awful she looked. What a hideous shock. Never for one minute imagined it was anything other than a stomach upset. Bastard Daniel. Good mind to tell his wife. Of course I won’t. Thank goodness Valentine’s Day is over. That was a funny day. Must focus on supporting Imogen and forget about men. It doesn’t matter if there isn’t one in my life. I’m a 34-year-old emancipated woman. I don’t need a man. It would be nice to have a date for the Guildhall though.

  Must stop thinking about the Guildhall and get on with organising the social media page for our cause. Some activist I am, consorting with the enemy. Must get my act together.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  ‘It will be okay won’t it?’ Imogen asks as we stare at the heavy oak door of the Harley Street clinic. I so wish she had let me tell Mak and Jasper. At least we’d have had support. I’m sure I’m more nervous than Imogen.

  ‘Do you think they’ll judge me?’ she asks.

  ‘God, of course not,’ I say. ‘Women aren’t judged for having abortions these days. It’s your body. It’s your choice.’

  Imogen fiddles with the bangles on her wrist.

  ‘I thought Daniel would have phoned,’ she says, checking her phone for the hundredth time. �
��I know he has a lot of meetings but …’

  ‘Shouldn’t we go in?’ I say.

  Frankly I want it over and done with. I feel sick with nerves so I can’t imagine how Imogen is feeling.

  ‘I’m doing the right thing aren’t I?’ she asks. ‘I mean, you’d do the same thing wouldn’t you?’

  ‘We’re already five minutes late for the appointment, Gem, we should go in.’

  She grasps my hand. God, it’s a bit like an upmarket Vera Drake. At least I know there won’t be gin and knitting needles involved. How horrid that must have been.

  The interior is very posh. All shagpile carpets and expensive couches. For some reason I find myself wondering why they’re called shagpile. It can’t have anything to do with shagging, surely? It would be a bit off having them in an abortion clinic if that were so, kind of making a point as to how we got here. I hear Imogen giving her name and then we’re being taken to a waiting room that is even nicer than the reception. It has a coffee machine and a notice saying ‘Free Wi-Fi’, although I can’t imagine many will be logging on to Facebook to upload their photos … Just popped in for an abortion and here’s a pic of the coffee machine …

  ‘Miss Mitchell?’ says a nurse with a cheerful smile.

  If she can’t put you at ease, no one can. Imogen nods nervously and I feel her shaking beside me.

  ‘No need to be nervous,’ she says. ‘If you’d like to come with me, there are a few questions I need to ask you. Are you taking Miss Mitchell home?’ she asks, turning to me.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay, come back in an hour. There’s a cafeteria on the ground floor if you want to wait there.’

  ‘Right,’ I say, kissing Imogen on the cheek. ‘I’ll see you in a bit. It’s going to be fine.’

  I find the cafeteria and sit watching the clock. My heart thumps and I drink two cups of tea to calm myself. I check my phone and want so much to text Mak but I know Imogen will kill me if I do. Oh God, what if something awful happens? I chew my nails and check the time again. I’m about to walk back when my phone rings. It’s an unrecognised number. I bet it’s bloody Daniel.

  ‘What do you want?’ I snap.

  ‘Phoebe, it’s Nigel Taylor-Lynworth.’

  Shit. Why is he phoning? I’m entitled to a day off. My heart beats as fast as Harry Bloom’s bongo drums. Oh God, surely Henry hasn’t been telling lies about me.

  ‘Hello,’ I say hesitantly.

  ‘I’ve just got out of a meeting. What time is your lunch break? I thought we could go for a coffee.’

  Gobsmacked isn’t the word.

  ‘I’ve got the day off,’ I say.

  ‘Even better.’

  I can’t say I’m in Harley Street waiting for my friend to finish her abortion can I? Sounds just a touch sordid you have to admit.

  ‘Erm, I’m with a friend at the hospital at the moment,’ I say instead.

  ‘Sorry to hear that. I hope it’s nothing serious.’

  ‘No, she just needs someone to take her home.’

  I can’t believe he’s asking me out for coffee. Feel very flattered. Can’t help thinking what a great date he would be for the Guildhall ball. After all, you can’t do better than attending with the star of the show can you? If that doesn’t make Ashby jealous then nothing will.

  ‘How about this evening then?’ he asks. ‘We could have champagne and cake at The Ritz.’

  Champagne and cake at The Ritz? This surely isn’t happening. The smell of hospital disinfectant must be making me hallucinate.

  ‘Erm …’ I begin.

  I’m totally speechless.

  ‘Are you busy tonight?’

  Nothing I can’t get out of for cake and champagne at The Ritz with my gorgeous boss.

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Great, I’ll pick you up about eight. I’ve got your address and maybe you could wear that perfume I like so much.’

  Before I can answer he has hung up. Oh God, it’s been over the hour. I throw my phone into my bag and hurry back to Imogen.

  She’s waiting where I’d left her. Blimey, you’d think in Harley Street they’d at least have a nurse with her.

  ‘Jesus, Imogen, why didn’t you text me. I was only in the cafeteria. Are you okay? Are you bleeding? I’ll phone the cab.’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘I didn’t want to hassle you. I knew you’d be back.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. Isn’t there a nurse to tell us what to do when we get home? Didn’t they give you a leaflet or something?’ I say, looking around. Blimey, three hundred quid for this kind of treatment.

  ‘I didn’t have it,’ she says softly.

  ‘You didn’t have it?’ I repeat.

  She shakes her head.

  ‘If you were that afraid couldn’t they have put you out?’

  ‘I wasn’t afraid Phoeb, I just couldn’t do it. I’ve decided to keep the baby. I know it’s my body and all that but my baby was conceived out of love. It’s not the baby’s fault his father’s an arse is it?’

  I sigh with relief.

  ‘Oh Gem,’ I say, hugging her. ‘You know we have to tell Mak, or he’ll just keep telling you how fat you’re getting.’

  ‘I know,’ she laughs. ‘I’ve no idea how I’ll cope, but I guess I will. I’ll have to tell Malcolm. He’s been very keen on me and it wouldn’t be fair.’

  I nod.

  ‘But a baby, Phoeb. Can you believe it? We’re having a baby.’

  ‘We are,’ I smile.

  Fortunately Imogen will be doing all the hard work.

  ‘You’ll be my birthing partner won’t you,’ she says. ‘You’ll be awesome.’

  ‘Sure,’ I say.

  I feel queasy at just the thought but I can’t really say that.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ I say.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  I must stop eating. Not completely, obviously, but I really must lay off the pork pies. I’ve totally given up on the diet. I swear I’ve eaten the equivalent of a small house. I’ve consumed more Besties in the last week than I did in all the weeks since New Year. That’s probably an exaggeration but I feel fatter than a hog. Correction, I am fatter than a hog. Still, I can’t be that fat if Nigel Taylor-Lynworth wants to take me out for champagne and cake. I creep up to my flat, hoping not to see Harry Bloom. I’m mortified at our kiss and hope very much he hasn’t remembered. I check my Facebook page and see that Ashby has commented on my pictures. ‘Like the hat, where is this?’ Yes, a result. He’s curious and maybe a little bit jealous. Perhaps I should post one of me with Harry, or better still, one taken at The Ritz. That might be a bit hard. What am I going to wear? Blind me, I never thought I’d have this problem. I’m about to raid my wardrobe when there is a knock at the door. It can only be Harry. Shit and double shit. I open the door a fraction and there he is, Harry Bloom, and I don’t believe it, lub a dub goes my heart and several times at that.

  ‘Hello,’ I say, opening the door wider.

  ‘Hi,’ he smiles.

  And then we just stare at each other with embarrassed looks on our faces. Finally, I raise my eyebrows and he nods.

  ‘Ah yes, this came for you. I took it in.’

  Ooh must be my Calvin Klein top. I can wear that tonight. God, hope it goes over the bulge.

  ‘You’ve recovered then?’ he says.

  I look up.

  ‘Recovered?’ I repeat.

  My body seems to grow hot and I feel my face turn red. He’s blatant and bloody arrogant come to that, if he thinks his kiss affected me that much.

  ‘I only had a mild hangover myself,’ he continues.

  ‘Oh, hangover,’ I say relieved.

  Maybe he has forgotten the kiss. Well that doesn’t surprise me. He’s most likely the love and leave them type.

  ‘Yes, I’m fully recovered. I should go,’ I say, stepping back. ‘I’m going out in a bit.’

  ‘Ah okay,’ he says.

  I go to close the door.

/>   ‘I was wondering if you’re free tomorrow? I’m doing a little gig at the Zodiac. It’s only for about an hour and I usually get fish and chips afterwards. I just wondered if you fancied coming along?’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, fighting back the urge to say yes.

  The truth is I do like Harry Bloom. I suppose that’s because he’s unattainable in a way. I guess that’s what women like about married men. Not that I’d ever go out with a married man. That’s immoral in my opinion. But Harry Bloom isn’t married is he, but he does have a girlfriend and that’s almost the same thing. Bugger it. Why did Harry Bloom have to be the enemy? I can’t go out with the very man I’m activating against can I? It would be all wrong.

  ‘I’m busy tomorrow night,’ I say, remembering his lips on mine.

  ‘Right, not a problem, but if you find yourself at a loose end then pop along. I’m on at eight.’

  ‘Okay, thanks I will.’

  I almost bow my way back into the flat and close the door. I exhale and rush to my ringing phone.

  ‘Imogen’s only pregnant,’ yells Mak.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘We’re only going to be sodding godparents. Can you imagine you and me as godparents? I mean, shoot me a monkey.’

  I check the time and gasp.

  ‘I’ve got to go Mak. I have a date.’

  ‘Ooh who with petal?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later.’

  I hang up and rip open the package. The top is gorgeous. I throw it on and survey myself. Yes, this will do nicely for The Ritz. I’ll wear my Chanel’s too. I want Nigel Taylor-Lynworth to know that I have class and taste.

  An hour later I’m ready and smelling of Paul and Joe perfume. My stomach is churning with nerves. I wonder if I should wait downstairs but I don’t want to bump into Harry Bloom again. Before I can decide what to do my phone pings with a text.

  Waiting in the car outside your flat. N x

  I get downstairs to find the car is only a chauffeur-driven stretch limousine. Mr Tyler is just walking back from the corner shop and stares in disbelief.

  ‘We got bloody royalty visiting?’ he asks.

  ‘It’s for me,’ I say proudly and climb into the limo as the chauffeur opens the door.