Read Online Precocious by Joanna Barnard - Free Book Online Page A

knew. At the weekends he would go sailing, or to watch polo matches. His friends all had the straight teeth and shiny hair of the wealthy. Not many of them worked, but he did, and that was how we met. He was destined for success, even though he used to wind up our boss by calling her ‘babe’ all the time.
    He stood out. People wanted to be near him – he was magnetic. This is a definite advantage when you work in sales.
    On a team night out, tired of the trail of low-lit, overpriced bars where everyone watched everyone else and no one seemed to ever smile, I sneaked him off to a place I knew with dirty carpets and music so loud it hammered in your chest like a heartbeat. He loved it, and in a taxi kissed me for seven whole miles while the blinking red light ticked over the cost.
    It was a classic and predictable trap. He was a rogue and I thought I could change him. It all happened faster than it should have. We lived together and, for a while, it was intense and fun and curious.
    ‘Isn’t Peter supposed to mean rock?’ I asked him once.
    He laughed.
    ‘I’m the opposite,’ he warned me. ‘Don’t try to hold onto me. I’m more like,’ trailing his hand over the side of the boat, ‘water.’
    Or air
, I thought.
Always there, surrounding me, but impossible to fix myself to
.
    Then what happened? What everyone said would happen: he got bored, I got jealous. Before long, he was kissing other girls in taxis.
    ‘I was never enough for him,’ I tell you now, ‘nor him for me.’
    I couldn’t give him enough attention – no one person ever could – and he couldn’t give me enough security. We both came out of it a little worse off, but I don’t tell you that part, because I want you to believe I am wiser, better, now.
    ‘Where is he now?’ you murmur. Your breath in my hair.
    ‘Married. She isn’t enough for him either.’
    ‘Oh? How do you know?’
    I twist around from the waist, look into your eyes.
    ‘How do I know? How do you think?’
    ‘Ah,’ you say slowly, ‘I see. Revenge. When was this?’
    ‘A while ago. After we split up, but before I met Dave. It was only … it only happened once.’ This part a lie; it was a messy affair that went on for weeks.
    ‘And did it make you feel better? Or not?’
    ‘It did,’ I shrug, ‘for about five minutes. I mean, at least I knew it wasn’t me … I wasn’t the only one he cheated on. It wasn’t anything I did wrong. I certainly didn’t feel bad about it.’
    ‘And now?’
    ‘Now I don’t feel anything.’
    ‘I don’t believe you.’ Your hands squeeze, hard, too close to my throat. Another inch and I would be choking. I hold my breath. ‘I wish I did, though,’ you say, your voice like metal.
    The reality of your touch hits me like cold air after a fire.
    I jump up, smooth out imaginary wrinkles from my clothes.
    ‘I have to go.’
    ‘Okay.’
    You don’t care if I leave or stay. I can be there, or not. I could disappear for another fifteen years. It wouldn’t upset you, or please you; it would be irrelevant. I am dizzy, overwhelmed by a need to affect you.
    What is the best way? With stories, and words? With indifference? (But this was always your forte, not mine.) I lean forward and kiss you, uninvited. I want to stake my claim, leave a print on you.
    Your lips are still, and soft. You taste of smoke. I touch your hair, run a fingernail down the back of your neck. You don’t move, and pulling away wordlessly, the threat of tears stinging my throat, I leave but know I’ll be back.
    I’m not surprised to find the drive home gets to me. Cars can be lonely places. I try to distract myself from where I’ve been, and from where I’m going.
    I follow a young guy in a blue Clio for a while. Funny, I always thought a Clio was more of a girl’s car. Those ‘Nicole’ adverts. Still. Perhaps he thinks the same, because he has tried to beef it up a bit, with big tyres and something resembling an egg-box stuck to the back.
    People flip