Read Online In Bed With Lord Byron by Deborah Wright - Free Book Online
Authors: Deborah Wright
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Disaster. There was all the cutlery for tonight; crystal glasses, candles, bottle of wine. Unmistakably
romantic.
I followed Anthony’s gaze, opened my mouth to speak, but he got there first.
‘I see,’ he said, and walked out.
‘Anthony! Wait! Look, I do have a friend coming over tonight.’
‘Female or male?’
‘Male—’
‘I see.’ He opened the front door.
‘Look, I haven’t been having an affair, if that’s what you think. I’m just—’
‘Just?’
‘Moving on.’
‘We only broke up last night!’ He turned on his heel and stormed out, ignoring my pleas to talk.
Oh God, I thought, now he’ll think I was having an affair all the way through our relationship. I watched him drive away angrily, and my heart felt as though it was a precious ornament I
had just dropped on the floor, smashing and tinkling into thousands of tiny pieces.
I wanted to cancel the
Daily Telegraph
guy but I felt too shaken to even pick up the phone. I locked myself in the bathroom and watched myself crying in the mirror with a strange
detachment. Then I washed my face and gave myself a fierce pep talk. I told myself that I was going to enjoy the evening. I had, after all, broken up with Anthony for this: for fun, for freedom,
for danger, for adventure. I had an almost hysterical determination that the evening had to be brilliant to make the sacrifice feel worthwhile, to prove to myself that I had made the right
decision.
The doorbell rang. It was him.
‘Hi,’ he grinned. He was looking utterly woof-woof in a casual, scruffy I’ve-just-got-out-of-bed way: jeans ripped at the knees, old scuffed boots, and a red Coca-Cola T-shirt.
And though he clearly hadn’t washed his clothes, he had washed his hair, which hung in a sexy fringe, brown and shiny as conkers.
‘How are you?’ he said.
‘Oh, fine. You?’ I gulped.
‘Very well, not so bad. I’ve bought some stuff,’ he said, coming into the hall swinging an Asda carrier bag.
‘Oh, wow, thanks,’ I exclaimed, taking the bag. Inside was a four-pack of Tennants Extra and a packet of Wrigley’s chewing gum.
‘It was just some stuff I grabbed from the shop.’
‘Oh, sure, it’s great,’ I enthused, putting the Tennants pack down on the table alongside my bottles of spirits and the chewing gum next to the plate of little Belgian
chocolate Florentines.
‘Well . . .’ he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. ‘So – how are you?’
‘Oh, great. Yep. Er – I’ve got vegetable risotto on the go – is that OK?’ I didn’t add that it was all out of an M&S packet; there was no way I was going
to risk cooking it myself.
‘Uh, yeah, sure. I had a big roast for lunch, so something light will be fine.’
Something light?
‘I’m a vegetarian,’ I said, and his face assumed an ‘oh dear’ expression. ‘Well, anyway, it’ll be ready in about ten minutes.’
‘Oh, good.’
His past manner had always seemed so cocky and cheeky that his nerves took me quite by surprise. Just watching him walking about, picking things up and putting them down in the manner of an
alien making notes for a thesis on human living habits was getting me jittery. I tried to look relaxed by sitting on the sofa. Eventually he joined me, though as far away as possible, a gulf of
cream cloth between us. I couldn’t help feeling disappointed. I’d been half fantasising about him walking into the house, tearing off my clothes in the hallway with helpless passion and
making love to me on the stairs. At this rate it would take six months for us to have a one-night stand, which sort of defeated the object a bit.
He broke the silence. ‘D’you mind if I smoke?’
Oh God. I loathed smoking.
‘No, sure,’ I said.
He grabbed the African pot on my table, mistaking it for an ashtray, and lit up a Silk Cut. I tried to hold my breath. He leaned forward, sifting through the pile of magazines and books on my
table. I felt a bit more cheered up when I noticed his
romantic.
I followed Anthony’s gaze, opened my mouth to speak, but he got there first.
‘I see,’ he said, and walked out.
‘Anthony! Wait! Look, I do have a friend coming over tonight.’
‘Female or male?’
‘Male—’
‘I see.’ He opened the front door.
‘Look, I haven’t been having an affair, if that’s what you think. I’m just—’
‘Just?’
‘Moving on.’
‘We only broke up last night!’ He turned on his heel and stormed out, ignoring my pleas to talk.
Oh God, I thought, now he’ll think I was having an affair all the way through our relationship. I watched him drive away angrily, and my heart felt as though it was a precious ornament I
had just dropped on the floor, smashing and tinkling into thousands of tiny pieces.
I wanted to cancel the
Daily Telegraph
guy but I felt too shaken to even pick up the phone. I locked myself in the bathroom and watched myself crying in the mirror with a strange
detachment. Then I washed my face and gave myself a fierce pep talk. I told myself that I was going to enjoy the evening. I had, after all, broken up with Anthony for this: for fun, for freedom,
for danger, for adventure. I had an almost hysterical determination that the evening had to be brilliant to make the sacrifice feel worthwhile, to prove to myself that I had made the right
decision.
The doorbell rang. It was him.
‘Hi,’ he grinned. He was looking utterly woof-woof in a casual, scruffy I’ve-just-got-out-of-bed way: jeans ripped at the knees, old scuffed boots, and a red Coca-Cola T-shirt.
And though he clearly hadn’t washed his clothes, he had washed his hair, which hung in a sexy fringe, brown and shiny as conkers.
‘How are you?’ he said.
‘Oh, fine. You?’ I gulped.
‘Very well, not so bad. I’ve bought some stuff,’ he said, coming into the hall swinging an Asda carrier bag.
‘Oh, wow, thanks,’ I exclaimed, taking the bag. Inside was a four-pack of Tennants Extra and a packet of Wrigley’s chewing gum.
‘It was just some stuff I grabbed from the shop.’
‘Oh, sure, it’s great,’ I enthused, putting the Tennants pack down on the table alongside my bottles of spirits and the chewing gum next to the plate of little Belgian
chocolate Florentines.
‘Well . . .’ he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. ‘So – how are you?’
‘Oh, great. Yep. Er – I’ve got vegetable risotto on the go – is that OK?’ I didn’t add that it was all out of an M&S packet; there was no way I was going
to risk cooking it myself.
‘Uh, yeah, sure. I had a big roast for lunch, so something light will be fine.’
Something light?
‘I’m a vegetarian,’ I said, and his face assumed an ‘oh dear’ expression. ‘Well, anyway, it’ll be ready in about ten minutes.’
‘Oh, good.’
His past manner had always seemed so cocky and cheeky that his nerves took me quite by surprise. Just watching him walking about, picking things up and putting them down in the manner of an
alien making notes for a thesis on human living habits was getting me jittery. I tried to look relaxed by sitting on the sofa. Eventually he joined me, though as far away as possible, a gulf of
cream cloth between us. I couldn’t help feeling disappointed. I’d been half fantasising about him walking into the house, tearing off my clothes in the hallway with helpless passion and
making love to me on the stairs. At this rate it would take six months for us to have a one-night stand, which sort of defeated the object a bit.
He broke the silence. ‘D’you mind if I smoke?’
Oh God. I loathed smoking.
‘No, sure,’ I said.
He grabbed the African pot on my table, mistaking it for an ashtray, and lit up a Silk Cut. I tried to hold my breath. He leaned forward, sifting through the pile of magazines and books on my
table. I felt a bit more cheered up when I noticed his
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