not sure. But the atmosphere is flat and it feels like my fault. Joshua’s eating but he’s not smiling and it’s my responsibility as a girlfriend to entertain him, to uplift him, to put him in a good mood. He can’t associate his girlfriend with any negativity.
‘Speaking of friends,’ I start, not sure where I’m going. ‘Umm, my friend Chrissy. The one whose hen do I went to. It’s her wedding next weekend, and she gave me a plus one.’
He puts down his fork. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah, I mean, I know weddings are pretty boring, especially if you don’t know anyone. But you’re more than welcome to come. If you’re not busy.’
The smile he smiles. ‘I’m not busy. I’d love to come, Gretel. Where is it?’
‘Just in Surrey. So we can get there and back on the train.’
‘And you know Chrissy from?’
I wonder if I need to invent a lie for her too, to give our friendship a more dazzling edge, but it’s too hot and I’m just … not today … so I say, ‘We temped together years ago, and just clicked. I won’t know many people at the wedding either, so you’ll be stuck talking to me most of the day.’ That wasn’t a very confident thing to say. Argh. April’s just seeping out of me, all into the stir-fry. But Joshua’s still smiling and spearing a piece of pepper.
‘Sounds great.’
‘You sure you want to come?’ Why do I keep checking?
‘Yes!’
‘But, weddings can be really dull and boring and long.’ Stop it stop it stop it stop it!
‘Not with you there.’
‘OK, if you’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Great.’
We talk and finish the wine, and time passes as Joshua tells me all about his manager in a lot of detail, and all the different ways in which he isn’t as appreciated in work as he thinks he should be, and all the ways he could do a better job if he was manager. At about nine, he crashes to a halt, and just looks at me.
‘What?’ I ask.
Then he’s out of his chair, scooping me up in his arms, carrying me to the bedroom.
‘What about the washing-up?’ I squawk. Again, so totally un-Gretel.
‘I’ll do it later.’
But I’m still too busy digesting dinner to want to have sex right now, I think. But the soy sauce will stick to the plates and take forever to scrub off, I think. But it can’t still be there when Megan gets home because that won’t be fair, I think. But I don’t trust you to actually do the washing-up later, I think.
But I’ve not been Gretel enough this evening. She doesn’t care about something like the washing-up needing doing. Not when there’s sex with her glorious boyfriend on offer, the boyfriend she wasn’t expecting to get, especially as she wasn’t really looking for one. So I let myself get carried to my bedroom and try to get myself into a sexy place, which is really hard with a stomach full of food. My head’s so not in this. It’s all over the place, cluttered with lies and guilt, and chicken that the enzymes in my stomach haven’t broken down yet. I feel almost panicked as we start kissing, the taste of my cooking on his tongue. I don’t feel aroused as he strips off his shirt, revealing his bloated belly. I almost want to push him away when he starts kissing down my own full tummy with a suggestive look in his eye. I don’t think I have the energy to fake another orgasm, let alone think about even attempting a real one. I want to be alone. I want to never touch a man again. I never want one near me again. I hate them. I hate Joshua for touching me. I hate him for loving me, for caring, when it can never be trusted. Feelings. They always wane and then you end up fucked up and bitter and wishing you’d never got going in the first place. And I don’t deserve these kisses, and I don’t deserve what he’s doing right now, with my knickers pulled to one side. I don’t deserve a man like Joshua, even though he’s still a man and they’re all awful. I don’t deserve anything good, and I want to cry but …
I let out a moan, because I don’t want to hurt his feelings, because he’s trying really hard down there.
He doesn’t do the dishes. He falls asleep clasping me in his arms, and it’s a really delicate procedure, getting