Vic groaned. As much as she still did fancy him, she really wasn’t in the mood for sex. In fact, she had been so stressed about her mother and worrying about the future, she hadn’t been in the mood for it a lot lately. Realising that she was beginning to run out of excuses, she frantically thought back to when she’d last been menstruating. ‘I’ve got my period, Nate. Sorry.’
‘Quelle surprise.’ Nate turned up the radio. Victoria’s jaw clenched as he began singing along to the Arctic Monkeys, then he stopped, and said, ‘No betting required here, Iknowyou look good on the dance floor. Ruthie at work said she thought I looked a bit like a more rugged version of Alex Turner, too. I’ll take that.’ He started dancing around her. ‘Love this track!’ Nate gently smacked his girlfriend’s bottom, headed for the bathroom and shouted back, ‘At least come and join me in the shower.’
Who the fuck is Ruthie – or Alex Turner, for that matter?Vic thought as she turned off the radio and resumed washingup.
It would be six years this Christmas since she had first met her quirky boyfriend in the queue at McDonald’s in Waterloo station. They were both drunk, had simultaneously ordered a Big Mac meal with ‘fat Coke’ and then proceeded to chat about the joy that was McDonald’s after a bender and the hell that was families at Christmas. He had insisted that she write her number on a serviette, which she had thrown back at him as she sprinted for the platform to find the train that would take her home to Windsor. And the rest was history.
She had been twenty-nine then, and had just moved back in with her mum after breaking up with Steady Stuart, an accountant five years her senior, who created spreadsheets to back up spreadsheets and who had insisted they had sex on the same days at the same time every week. They also had a weekly meal planner stuck on the fridge. Initially, she had liked having spaghetti bolognese every Monday and doggy style on a Saturday, for it created the order that she had never had growing up. And it helped that Stuart was extremely good-looking and hung like a racehorse. But after two years, she realised that she had just been desperate to make it work. That the magic had never been there, and as much as she craved order, order had never really craved her. And that as much as size did matter, spreadsheets did not.
Prior to that, her love life had mainly been drunken flings followed by prolonged periods of being single where she would flit on and off match.com, not really knowing what she wanted apart from occasional no-strings sex.
The spontaneity of Nate had been just the tonic she had needed after Steady Stuart. They were opposites in every way. Nate had been working at a call centre when she had first met him, then went on to be a garage forecourt attendant, a delivery man and recently a pot washer promoted to sous-chef at arestaurant in Putney. He paid his way – well, a two-thirds-to-one-third ratio on the rent, as she earned more than him. Their once-regular holidays together now consisted of Nate going away on some kind of annual mountain-biking holiday with his mates, whilst she’d have a spa break with the girls. Then, as Nate respected that his girl preferred sitting on a quiet quay or beach and painting to partaking in the more energetic pursuits that he enjoyed, together they would have the odd weekend or week somewhere picturesque and hot. So, with compromise, everything had been ticking along nicely. Until Mandy had announced her upcoming nuptials, that was.
Vic got into bed and plumped up her top pillow. Nate was already in and fiddling about with his iPod. He didn’t move or look at her as he spoke. ‘We used to always have a shower together on a Sunday night.’
Vic snuggled into his side and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I know. I’m sorry I’ve been so preoccupied lately.’
‘I do sometimes wonder if you still love me,’ Nate replied solemnly.
Vic sat up abruptly and propped herself up on her elbow. ‘Where’s all this come from?’
Nate continued with his music search. Victoria put her hand over the screen, and he batted away her hand, frowning. ‘Vic, stop it.’
‘Boo, look at me.’ Victoria’s voice had softened.
Nate turned to face her and gave one of his sexy lopsided smiles that still made her heart skip a beat. ‘What’s up, my little Sharpie?’
She gave him a quick peck on the lips. ‘It’s not that I don’t love you, Boo. You know I do.’
‘Are you trying to convince yourself of that, or me?’ Vic stayed silent as he continued. ‘I tell you what, let’s promise thatafter Mandy’s hen weekend, we make more time for us. OK?’
Vic nodded.
‘A date night at least once a month, and we start having our Sunday showers again.’ He began to tickle her. ‘Or how about we cut out the middleman and have a Sunday shag right now?’
Vic squealed and wriggled away from him. ‘Oh, baby. I told you. I’m knackered and it’s day one of coming on and…’
‘It’s OK, I can wait.’ Nate kissed her nose. ‘But be warned: it’ll be the longest shower you’ve ever had. Or saying that, maybe the quickest.’ He laughed aloud. ‘Come on, let’s get some sleep.’
Vic snuggled back down under the covers and held Nate tightly to her, covering his back with butterfly kisses as she did so. There was no doubt she loved him – but in what capacity? She realised too that on top of worrying about her relationship and family troubles, she couldn’t shake the niggling discontent that her conversation with Jake about not fulfilling her potential as an artist had fuelled. And she had no idea how she was going to address any of it.
THREE
BRIGHTON
The Hen
Mandy Burgess waved frantically at Vic from the train window as it pulled into Clapham Junction station. Once Vic and her wheelie case were successfully bundled on, they sat opposite each other, grinning.
‘You look lovely,’ Vic said. Mandy’s long, black velvet coat accentuated her voluptuous curves. Vic reached forward and touched her friend’s tonged blonde locks. ‘And did you curl this yourself? Impressive.’
‘I did indeed. And lovely maybe, but I’m so bloody fat. Every time I think I really must try and diet before the wedding, I seem to cram more in my mouth because of the nerves. The dress has had to be taken OUT two inches already. You should have seen the seamstress’s face at the wedding shop. She was like, “Well, this is rare – very rare indeed.”’
Vic grinned. ‘Stupid cow.’
‘Yes, that she was. Thank goodness my Steve loves me just the way I am.’
Vic giggled. ‘We all love you just the way you are. Andimagine if you were too skinny – how disproportionate would those tremendous breasts look on you?’
