A Compromising Position by Carole Matthews
‘Where have you been?’ Cara immediately wants to know. ‘I was starting to get worried about you.’
‘Oh, just out and about,’ I say. Cavorting on a sheepskin rug with no togs on. I haven’t quite decided how to broach the subject of my new career as a nude model with my censorious chum.
‘Looking for a job?’
‘In a manner of speaking,’ I say, and try to stop myself grinning and fail. ‘So where’s Adam taking you?’ I ask in an attempt to side-step any further questioning. Cara is in her element when the subject of the conversation is the lovely Adam.
‘I don’t know,’ Cara says with a huff. ‘What do you think I should wear?’
‘What about the pink creation?’ I suggest, nodding at the dress I borrowed to go to Temptation in, which is now hanging from the living-room door, all clean and fresh, in its Perkins dry-cleaning bag.
‘Too tarty,’ Cara says dismissively. ‘Although it did look very nice on you,’ she adds as an afterthought.
‘Thanks,’ I say, and try to look as if I don’t want to punch her.
‘Knowing Adam, we’ll probably go somewhere quite casual,’ she says with a sense of cosy possessiveness. ‘I don’t want to be overdressed.’
‘Is he coming here to collect you?’
‘Mmm,’ Cara nods, her mind distractedly flicking through the contents of her wardrobe for something suitable. I know the look very well.
‘My goodness, after all this time I might finally get to meet him.’
‘Yes,’ Cara says, looking up sharply as a frown puckers her forehead. ‘This is a very auspicious day for a second date,’ she announces. ‘I’ve checked my Panchang energy forecast for today and it’s a swift-supportive time.’
‘What does that mean when it’s at home?’ I say, burying myself in the TV Times to sort out my night’s entertainment.
‘It’s the perfect time for advancing elusive relationships and facing challenging issues concerning the future.’
‘Ooo.’ This sounds a bit of all right. ‘Does that count for me too?’
‘Yes,’ Cara confirms.
‘Perhaps The Hunk from the wine bar will turn up on my doorstep,’ I say brightly. So I won’t be needing the TV Times after all. ‘I’d better go and have a shower.’
‘Don’t be long,’ Cara warns. ‘I want to get into the bathroom too.’
I put down the magazine and study my little mad friend. She is looking very worried. ‘This is very important to you, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ Cara goes all dreamy. ‘I’m crazy about him, Emily.’
I smile.
‘And don’t make any clever comments about me being crazy, anyway,’ Cara snaps.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ I insist. ‘I really hope that this works out for you.’
‘Me too,’ Cara says. ‘I’ve been floating on cloud nine since Adam asked me to meet him. It’s silly, isn’t it?’
‘It’s love,’ I say.
Cara snorts. ‘Even the sweet revenge of seeing Chris splashed all over the inside pages of the Hampstead Observer has been tempered by a general feeling of goodwill to all men.’
She tosses the newspaper at me and I abandon the TV Times to have a glance at the grainy image. So this is the guy who wrote the story about me. I grin as I scan the piece about his unfortunate incident. Well and truly caught with his pants down. Serve the bastard right! ‘Couldn’t happen to a nicer man,’ I say.
‘Chris is all right,’ Cara says. ‘For a half-wit. This might make him stop and think about what he’s doing to other people.’
‘I doubt it,’ I say, showing my rather cynical side. Did I used to be like this? ‘His type are all the same.’
‘That’s why I like Adam so much,’ Cara says. ‘He’s a very nice man.’ She sighs a melancholy sigh. ‘I’ve been on my own for too long, Emily, and now it’s time to do something about it.’
‘Good for you,’ I say as I jump up and make for the door. I need to get in the shower before Cara. Once she gets in there she’ll be gone for hours. I just use the shower to wash, de-stress, that sort of thing. Cara carries out all manner of unnatural practices in there involving chanting and oils and volcanic mud. Not for Cara a quick rub round with Tesco’s shower gel.
And then I remember something important. ‘Cara,’ I say, turning back. ‘Are you still going to give Adam the spell we made?’
‘Oh,’ Cara says. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’
‘It’s still lurking in the fridge,’ I remind her. ‘Does it go off?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Cara says.
‘You won’t want to poison the poor bugger,’ I point out helpfully.
Cara chews on her lower lip. ‘Do you think I should give it to him? I don’t want to overpower him.’
I roar with laughter. ‘I thought that was the whole point!’
‘Emily,’ Cara says indignantly. ‘You never take any of this stuff seriously. The universe is a very powerful force.’
‘Sorry.’ My laughter subsides to a suppressed giggle. ‘I keep forgetting.’
‘I wonder if we’ve done enough,’ Cara confides. ‘He has asked me out, after all. Perhaps I ought to see how things develop.’
‘Cara, you had me trekking up the garden terrorising half the tarantula population of these leafy environs,’ I say huffily. ‘The least you could do is try the bloody stuff on him.’
‘OK,’ Cara nods in agreement. ‘I will.’
‘Not until I’ve seen him though,’ I say. ‘I don’t want him to turn into a toad before I’ve had the chance to give him the once-over!’
‘Emily,’ Cara scolds, ‘sometimes you can be such an air-head.’
She’s a fine one to talk! ‘That’s why we’ve stayed friends for so long,’ I say, smiling and blowing Cara a kiss as I head out of the door.
‘You’re very perky for someone who’s had a knackering day,’ Cara observes.
‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ Cara says, wrinkling her nose. ‘And why are you wearing so much make-up?’
‘Better dash,’ I say. ‘Otherwise you’ll still be stinky and scruffy when he gets here.’
And before I’m required to provide any further explanation, I duck swiftly out of the door.
Chapter Eighty-Nine
‘He’s here!’ Cara shouts up the stairs. ‘He’s here!’
I force my eyelids open. I’m lying on my bed having a lovely reverie involving two hundred thousand pounds and The Hunk from the wine bar and it was definitely X-rated.
Earlier, when Cara and I were talking, I wanted to tell her about my good fortune, but wasn’t sure how she’d take it. No, that’s not true. I know exactly how she’ll take it and that’s why I’ve chickened out of telling her. She’ll read me the riot act and go on and on about morals and ethics and feminism – but I bet you she’ll still accept my rent cheque. Sometimes it’s very difficult having a friend whose head is filled with finding a solution for world peace when mine rarely extends beyond finding a solution for unwanted flab.
‘He’s here!’ Cara yells again. ‘Aren’t you dressed yet? Are you coming down?’
The answer to the first question is no. I’m still wearing my dressing gown after my shower and extreme jet-hosing of my face to get rid of the perma-layer of foundation. As I catch sight of myself in the mirror, I know that the very first thing I will do with my cheque is go out and buy a luxurious silk wrap and throw this tatty Fozzy Bear-style creation out on its ear despite my emotional attachment to it.
‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ I shout to Cara and swiftly tiptoe over to the window to get my first, long-anticipated view of the lovely, elusive Adam. I can feel myself tingling with nerves, so I can’t imagine how Cara must feel.
I turn off the light and peer into the enveloping darkness. People who say that it never truly goes dark in London haven’t been down Cara’s road. Adam is fussing about locking his car and I strain to get a peek of him. He looks nice. Tall, dark with mad curls.
Adam straightens up and stretches. He heads towards Cara’s front door and as he does so, he looks up. I gasp. It pops out of my mouth from nowhere. This isn’t Adam! It’s The Hunk from the wine bar! Gaspgaspgasp! What the hell is he doing here? How did he know how to find me?
I look down at myself. God, I can’t see him looking like this! I check the window again and I can just see the top of his head. My knees have gone weak – and my heart. It’s struggling to beat, really it is. He’s every bit as gorgeous as I remembered. And he’s found me! He’s found me!
I jump up and down a bit and manage to stop myself shrieking with joy.
The Hunk rings the door bell.
‘WhatshallIdo? WhatshallIdo? WhatshallIdo?’ I mutter to myself, rushing round my bedroom like a mad dog chasing its own tail. I start stuffing my dirty clothes under the bed. What am I doing? He’s not going to want to come up here the first time we meet, is he?
‘Emily!’ Cara shouts. ‘Where are you?’
In hell, is the short answer, but I’ve no time to say anything before Cara wrests open the front door.
‘Hi, Adam,’ I hear her say.
And then my world goes all peculiar. I shrink to about two inches high, like one of the cartoons on Ally McBeal. I’m a tiny little person focused only on the word ‘Adam’ which is sort of fizzing in echoey repeats in my ears.
‘Emily,’ Cara shouts again. ‘Adam’s here!’
I’m crouched on the floor. This is a terrible mistake. Cara must have finally gone mad. How can I tell her that this isn’t Adam, it’s The Hunk from the wine bar that I’ve been telling her all about. The Hunk, who wears very small white underwear in my dreams and not a lot else. The Hunk, who has turned my insides to a slow-motion ocean. The Hunk, whose babies I want to bear. The Hunk, for whom I would lay down my life. Oh my word! And then the ground does, in fact, open up and swallow me. If this is Adam, then it’s me who has made a terrible, terrible mistake. Ooo! Ooo! Ooo!
I have no idea what to do. There’s no way I can go down there. I can’t face Cara ever again. I’m going to have to emigrate. Preferably in the next thirty seconds. Whatever happens, I’m going to have to get out of here now. This minute. This second. I stand up and cross to the window, flinging it open and gaze down into the front garden. It is a very small strip of scrubby green with the insubstantial remains of long-dead summer flowers. Tentatively, I heave myself up onto the windowsill. There is nothing down there that looks like it would cushion a fall. Bollocksbollocks-bollocksbigbollocks!
‘Emily!’ Cara shouts up the stairs again. She is losing patience with me. What a shame that patience isn’t like virginity. Something that can only be lost once in a lifetime rather than with alarming regularity. ‘What are you doing?’
I swing my legs out of the window. Bloody hell, it’s cold outside! The ground is rushing up to meet me. I wonder if I can jump onto the porch roof from here and then shin down the drainpipe.
‘If you don’t come down in a minute, I’m going to come up and get you,’ she calls.
It looks like I’m going to have to give it a try.
Chapter Ninety
‘I’ve no idea what she’s doing,’ Cara trilled lightly at Adam who was sort of fidgeting from foot to foot. The rose aromatherapy oil she’d been burning for the last half hour clearly wasn’t having the relaxing effect on Adam it was supposed to. ‘She’s been out job-hunting today. I think the strain might have taken it out of her.’
‘Oh,’ Adam said and fidgeted a bit more.
‘Would you like a glass of wine while you wait?’ Cara offered.
‘Best not,’ Adam said. ‘Designated driver.’
‘Oh,’ Cara said. ‘It’s very nice. I made it myself. Specially.’
‘You make your own wine?’
‘Well, in a manner of speaking,’ she said. ‘It’s really good.’
‘No, thanks.’ Adam waved a hand. ‘I actually had a beer at Toff’s before I got here. I don’t usually drink at all if I’m driving.’
‘Sure?’
‘Positive,’ Adam said and he sounded it. He glanced at the pink dress hanging on the door and Cara wished she had tidied it away. She could have sworn his face went pale. ‘Is that your dress?’ Adam said with a frown.
‘Yes,’ Cara said.
‘Oh.’ He looked disappointed.
‘Would you like me to put it on?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Oh, no. No. No,’ he muttered. ‘It’s just that well, I thought I recognised it. Never mind . . . mistake.’ He lapsed into silence.
This was not going well. They were uncomfortable with each other, tense outside of the familiar world of the work environment. Perhaps Adam was thinking about the last time he was here, Cara mused. Blokes were hopeless with intimacy. Although she had to admit, she wasn’t great with it herself. Put it down to lack of practice.
‘Do you want to sit down?’
‘We’d better go,’ Adam said. ‘I’ve booked a table.’
‘Just wait a minute or two,’ Cara said. ‘Emily won’t be long.’
Adam sat down and then looked up at her. ‘We’ve got a lot to talk about.’
‘Have we?’ she said.
‘Well . . .’ Adam faltered. ‘Yes.’
‘I’ll go and get her,’ Cara said briskly and marched out of the room.
Adam sighed and looked very much like he needed a drink.
Cara hadn’t missed a stride of her march when she clomped into Emily’s bedroom. Where the hell had she got to? It was rude. Emily knew that Adam was downstairs waiting to meet her. Emily’s window was open, the cold night air streaming in. Cara went over to the window and peered out. Nothing. She slammed it shut. Her friend couldn’t have just disappeared.
‘Emily?’ Cara hissed. ‘What are you playing at? Where are you?’
Nothing.
Cara stomped out of the bedroom and checked the other rooms, but there was no sign of her friend. Back in Emily’s room, she looked round again. She checked under the bed, but it was simply piled high with debris. Finally, she flung open the wardrobe – and there was Emily, curled up in a ball, squashed between the shoes and the bottom of her skirts.
‘Hi.’ Emily waved weakly.
‘Why are you hiding in the wardrobe?’ Cara said.
Emily gulped. ‘I’ve got a headache.’ She rubbed her temple dramatically. ‘I thought the dark might help.’
Cara nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’m going to close the door now, and when I open it again and ask you the same question, I want you to have a more convincing answer prepared.’
‘OK,’ Emily said.
Cara closed the door, counted to three and then opened it again.
‘I’m having a nervous breakdown,’ Emily said. ‘I’m not responsible for my own actions.’
Cara’s eyes narrowed. ‘This has something to do with Adam, doesn’t it?’
The mechanism that produces blushes clicked into operation. Cara could see it whirring in her friend’s brain. It was working up to be the mother of all blushes. Cara watched it starting from Emily’s toes, spreading over her knees, disappearing beneath the hem of her disgusting dressing-gown until it surged in full flowing colour over her neck and face.
‘No.’
‘Are you lying to me?’
‘Yes,’ Emily said.
‘Are you going to tell me now what it is, or are you going to force me to sit through an evening of polite conversation with him until such time as I can return home and murder you?’
‘Er . . .’ Emily gulped.
‘I’m waiting,’ Cara said, tapping her foot to indicate that she wouldn’t be prepared to wait much longer.
‘Laryngitis,’ Emily croaked, holding her throat.
‘Very well,’ Cara said crisply. ‘If that’s how you want to play it. I may be late, but I won’t forget.’ And with that she closed the wardrobe door very firmly and left.
Chapter Ninety-One
So, the mystery Hunk in the wine bar turns out to have been Adam, the love of Cara’s life, all along. I can’t believe it. How can fate be so cruel? There are millions and millions of people out there. How can my best friend and I have set our sights on the same man? Oh, this is a complete disaster.
Cara thinks Adam is a caring, sensitive, sexy man. I think he looks like a bagful of trouble, although I’d go along with the sexy bit. They’ve made love in the room right next door to me and I didn’t even hear one twitch from the headboard. That can’t be right, can it?
Given my previous history, a particularly nice bottle of red wine would help to ease my troubled heart, but in deference to my liver, I’ve opted instead for the Cara route and have already ingested enough Rescue Remedy to drown me from the inside out. I’ve sprinkled myself with some sort of smelly oil from one of the least dangerous-looking coloured bottles on her bedside table and I have before me a range of Love Tarot cards. I have no idea how these work, but I can tell you that it’s not looking good.
I’ve shuffled them three times and cut them different ways and each time I’ve turned up three cards that say in big letters at the top UNREQUITED LOVE. Cara would find something positive in this, but at the moment it’s eluding me. I wonder, have we got any wine in the fridge?
I toss the cards to one side. I think this is all total bollocks anyway, it’s just that I’m not quite sure what else to do. I hope Cara can put a hex on me to forget all about him. They say that in the world you have just one soulmate; it’s frightening to contemplate that by turning the wrong corner, missing the bus or staying just five minutes longer at work, you could have lost the chance to meet them. What are the odds against your paths crossing again? But then, what are the odds of walking into a wine bar and, despite all rationale, thinking you’ve met the man you’re supposed to be with for ever? All my fibres, my DNA, all the whirly things that hold me together, they have decided, absolutely, that Adam is The One. Perhaps I’ve just got a chemical imbalance.