is longing to throw myself into his arms and say pick me, you idiot. Because that would be completely pointless and I am not a fool. He spins round again, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his jeans so I can see his bottom (which is an exceptionally nice specimen – just saying, purely objectively). Well, perhaps I am a little bit of a fool.
Because the thing is, I can’t help thinking that if I hadn’t gone on that bloody skiing holiday, which was admittedly lovely, perhaps Alex wouldn’t have got off with the beautiful, effortlessly glamorous, high-flying Emma the night before I got back. And instead of lying with my head under two pillows gritting my teeth and trying not to listen to the sounds of them definitely not being a couple in the room next door, I could be in there. Literally.
As it is, I feel like a complete fool. And Alex hasn’t a clue. He’s so sweet. Whenever he’s got time off, he’s taking me on adventures around London, showing off his favourite places to me. And he loves this city so much that even if I didn’t already, he would have converted me.
And he’s got no idea I know something’s going on with him and Emma. The weird thing is, they’re perfectly civil to each other in the house the rest of the time, so it’s like nothing’s going on and it’s all in my head. Except I’d have to be pretty screwed up to be imagining that.
‘It’s called fuckbuddies,’ Gen said to me on the phone earlier in the week, as if she was explaining something very simple to a child of about four years old.
‘I know what it is,’ I said. ‘I just didn’t think it was actually a thing.’
‘God Jess, you are so naïve sometimes. Of course it’s a thing. Look at me and Marco.’
‘Marco from the Ballet?’
‘Yes.’ I could picture her rolling her eyes.
‘I thought you two were just friends.’
‘With benefits,’ Gen said, with a dirty sort of chuckle. ‘When it suited me. Or him.’
‘But what if it suited you and not him? How did you know when he’d be in the right mood? What happened if he turned up and you were like, “No thanks, I’m wearing a face mask and watching reruns of Gilmore Girls”?’
‘Jess, you are illustrating precisely why you have never been, and probably never will be, the sort of person who has a friend with any sort of benefits.’
‘I could,’ I said, feeling a bit injured. ‘If I wanted to. Which I don’t.’
‘Sure, Jess,’ said Gen, laughing, but not unkindly. ‘You’re a total hearts and flowers romantic. And that’s okay.’
After we’d ended the call, I looked at myself in the mirror. I tried a sexy sort of pout, and held my hair up off my face to try to imagine what it’d be like to be the sort of person – someone like Emma – who can just have sex with whoever she feels like and then get up the next morning and ask them to pass the cornflakes without feeling even the slightest bit awkward. I pulled a face at the thought, and let my hair drop back down to my shoulders. You know what, I said to myself, maybe it’s okay if I’m just not that sort of person.
‘And here we have the lesser-spotted tourist,’ Alex says in a David Attenborough voice, turning around on his heel and walking backwards, facing me.
It’s a Sunday afternoon and miraculously he’s not working. A week has gone by and I’ve hardly seen Alex because he’s been working nights and sleeping in the daytime. He’s not just doing his placement, but he’s doing some bank work as a healthcare assistant as well to earn a bit of extra money. He looks hollow-eyed with exhaustion.
Right on cue, he yawns widely. ‘God, I’m sorry.’
‘You should probably be asleep,’ I point out, reasonably. ‘Not wandering around showing me slightly interesting parts of London.’
‘Yeah but I can’t just work all day and sleep all night,’ he says, then bursts out laughing realising his mistake.
‘You could. Like the rest of the sane world. Only you’ve decided on a noble vocation where you get precisely no sleep and work ridiculous hours instead.’
He laughs, his bright eyes twinkling in a way that is disturbingly sexy, and I look down at the squashed, end-of-winter grass and scuff it with the toe of my boot. I know how it feels.