Chapter Thirteen
Amber’s Sunday…
Amber was awoken on Sunday morning by somebody knocking on her head.
‘Gerroff,’ she grumbled.
The rapping continued. Annoyed, she stuck one arm out of the duvet and swiped blindly through the air.
‘I said…,’ she tried hitting the culprit again, ‘pack it in.’
Whoever was bashing her bonce had a hygiene issue. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Phew, they stank to high heaven!
‘You are seriously beginning to annoy me,’ she said to the head knocker. But the head knocker took no notice. Amber could feel her temper fraying. It was no good. She’d have to punch the head knocker’s lights out. She cracked open one eye. The bedroom was in gloom. Bright January sunshine peeked through gaps in the curtains, indicating the day was well underway. With monumental effort, she managed to open the other eye. Where was the head knocker? She rolled onto her back and squinted up at the ceiling. There was nobody here. So where was the insufferable smell coming from? And then a jumble of memories collided. Clarity was restored in a second. She’d attended Cougar Kate’s psychic night, been told Matthew was having an affair, and got monumentally drunk. Once home, she’d tried to seduce Matthew and…she groaned…puked all over him. Oh dear Lord, she’d spent the night sleeping in a stinking bed.
Carefully she eased herself upright. The head knocking went into overdrive. A combination of immense hangover and pongy bedding caused her to retch. She needed to hit the shower.
Shoving the disgusting bedding to one side Amber clutched her head like a football, as if holding it tightly would stop it from rolling off her shoulders. Feeling more fragile than Kate Middleton suffering hyperemesis gravidarum, Amber tottered off to the bathroom. She couldn’t hear Matthew up and about. But then again, she couldn’t really hear anything with all this head knocking going on. Amber had a sudden desire for a bucket of water. She dithered between quenching her thirst, or drenching the horrific body odour. The latter won. Sod it, she told herself, I’ll drink from the shower nozzle while washing myself.
Ten minutes later she was clean and a little more hydrated. However, a hangover wasn’t going to be magicked away simply by gulping down half the hot water tank. Winding a towel turban around her head, she pulled on her bathrobe and inspected her face in the mirror over the basin. A grey-complexioned creature with bloodshot eyes stared back. Sighing, she cleaned her teeth and slapped on some moisturiser. She added an extra layer around her eye sockets which, according to the pot, guaranteed reducing puffiness.
Returning to the bedroom, she cupped the palm of one hand over her nostrils. How the heck had she slept in this? She whisked back the curtains, wincing at the sudden light infiltration. Pushing open the window to let in fresh air, she set about stripping the bed. Balling everything up and holding it at arm’s length, she went downstairs to the kitchen and shoved the disgusting bed linen into the washing machine. She placed two soap capsules into the dispenser hoping it would doubly do its stuff, then headed for the kettle. It was only then that she saw the kitchen clock. Half past one in the afternoon? She’d been asleep for hours and hours. She filled the kettle, wincing at the noise the water made as it splashed in, and then went off to find Matthew.
She peered around the door to the lounge. No boyfriend. She went back upstairs and checked the spare bedroom. The bed was unmade and empty, apart from Mr Tomkin nestled between folds of the quilt. The cat stood up, stretched, then re-curled himself into a tight ball. Matthew hadn’t bothered to draw the spare room’s curtains. Wet towels left in a heap on the floor told Amber he had showered. She stared at them in annoyance. Why did Matthew always presume she’d tidy up after him? She wouldn’t dream of treating him like a servant, expecting him to pick up her knickers complete with – she grimaced as she retrieved Matthew’s inside-out boxers – brown skid marks. Ewww! Well that certainly cancelled out her shame of sleeping in a vomit-covered bed.
Two hours later, Amber was still feeling fragile. Only her pale complexion gave away the fact that she wasn’t yet her old self. The house was shining after being blitzed, and also fragrant after liberal squirts from a floral-scented aerosol. She’d just collapsed into a squashy arm chair with a mug of tea when Matthew came through the front door.
From her position in the lounge, Amber was able to see her boyfriend before he spotted her. In the five seconds that Matthew was oblivious to being watched, Amber noted that her boyfriend’s face was lit up brighter than Rudolph the reindeer’s nose. He was also exuding more happiness than Father Christmas putting his feet up after a record night of delivering presents. Her eyes swept over Matthew, from his freshly washed shiny hair to his highly polished shoes. He was wearing a particularly fetching shirt under a – was that new? – Designer jacket and looked more styled than David Beckham. Her nose twitched as a whiff of aftershave wafted on an updraft of cold air. The scent overrode the floral aerosol squirts. Since when had Matthew started wearing aftershave on a Sunday? Amber took a sip of her tea and, over the china rim, regarded her boyfriend as he removed his shoes and slipped off the posh jacket.
Matthew turned to hang his coat on the stand in the hall, and caught sight of Amber watching him through the open lounge doorway. His face clouded, and the warm glow he’d been emitting notched down several degrees. Suddenly the atmosphere was chilly.
‘Hi,’ said Amber.
‘Hello,’ said Matthew tersely. He wandered over and flopped down on the other armchair.
Amber decided it was best to get her apology over and done with. ‘Sorry I chucked up on you last night.’
Matthew shrugged. ‘I’d like to say that’s okay, but it’s not. It was pretty revolting.’
‘Obviously. Sorry again,’ said Amber. ‘Where have you been?’ She had meant for her question to have a conversational tone. Instead, because she was still feeling fragile, the words unfortunately came out like a pistol-shot accusation.
‘While you’ve been sitting there drinking tea and nursing a hangover,’ said Matthew indignantly, ‘I’ve been to work.’
Amber recalled chatting with Dee and Chrissie about making today one for no-nonsense talks with their partners. The three friends had all agreed they wanted to salvage their relationships.
‘I have been working,’ said Amber.
‘Really?’ asked Matthew. ‘I’m astonished you’ve been to Hood, Mann & Derek on a Sunday when you not only look like crap, but must feel like it too.
Amber nearly choked on her tea. Matthew was being deliberately obtuse. ‘I have two jobs, actually.’
Mathew looked puzzled. ‘Since when?’
‘Since you moved into my house,’ said Amber. Ah, that had rattled him. Matthew didn’t like Amber reminding him the house was hers. It was her name on the deeds, and she was the one who paid the mortgage. She’d bought the property before she’d met Matthew. The deposit had been paid with money bequeathed by her deceased granny. Matthew didn’t contribute anything other than “keep”, which was only right and fair. He had a voracious appetite and practically ate her out of house and home. ‘My first job,’ said Amber matter-of-factly, ‘is working as a legal PA. My second job is looking after you.’
‘Me?’ Matthew laughed humourlessly.
‘Yes. You. While you’ve been out at,’ she posted quotation marks in the air, ‘“the office”, I’ve been busy. I made the bed you slept in–’
‘–because you threw up in the bed I usually sleep in,’ Matthew pointed out.
Amber ignored him and ploughed on. She began ticking off on her fingers everything she did for Matthew. ‘I pick up after you, do your washing, ironing, do the housework, clean the windows, shop for you, and cook. You rarely mow the lawn–’
‘–well it’s your bloody lawn, as you’ve now reminded me. Why the hell should I mow the sodding thing?’
‘It’s called “pulling your weight”,’ Amber retorted. ‘I do loads for you, so it wouldn’t hurt you to help occasionally.’
‘I am helping,’ said Matthew, his eyes narrowing.
‘How?’ Amber demanded.
‘I’ve been working my socks off, Amber, as you well know. How many men go into the office at weekends, eh?’
‘And what exactly are you achieving there, Matthew?’ asked Amber boldly.
‘Stacks of money, if all my number crunching and go-getting pays off.’
‘I see.’ Amber took another sip of her tea. ‘And who is benefitting from this financial increase if it comes off?’
‘Us, of course,’ Matthew harrumphed.
‘You think?’
‘What’s that remark supposed to mean?’
‘You earn good money anyway. Three times as much as me. What exactly do you do with it?’
‘I resent the line of questioning you’re taking,’ said Matthew in annoyance.
‘Really? I don’t,’ said Amber flippantly.
‘I give you plenty of housekeeping every month.’
Amber shook her head. ‘That’s not housekeeping, Matthew. It’s meant to be grocery money, but it barely covers the cost of what you eat, never mind the expensive wines you drink. You’re doing very well out of me. You must have a bank balance to rival Donald Trump.’
‘Oh don’t be ridiculous,’ Matthew scoffed. ‘You always did have the ability to talk out of your backside.’
‘Not this time, Matthew. In fact, do please explain why you spent the paltry sum of ten pounds on me last Christmas?’
‘Ten pounds?’ Matthew blustered. ‘Try putting a zero on that!’
‘I checked the Argos website. I know exactly how much you spent.’
‘I’ve had enough of this,’ said Matthew, standing up.
‘Where have you really been today, Matthew?’ A part of Amber was appalled that her mouth had spat the question out. It had certainly failed to consult her brain before going down an accusatory route.’
‘Fuck you, Amber.’
‘And fuck you too,’ Amber spat. Oh no. She hadn’t meant for the two of them to argue like this. She’d wanted things to be put right – for Matthew to see the funny side of his drunken girlfriend endearingly attempting lap-dancing in order to please him, even if she had puked up. She’d hoped he’d laugh it off and say, ‘It’s a good thing you have charms in other areas so I can overlook what happened. Come here, you ravishing creature. Let me kiss all your tiredness away, and then we’re going to sit down and talk about all the money I’ve saved up. I want us to start sharing the cost of things properly – not forgetting planning a wedding that will put more roses in your cheeks than a bride’s bouquet.’
Instead they spent the rest of the day not talking to each other. Amber felt too tired and upset to eat anything. She punished Matthew by not cooking any dinner, but he didn’t seem particularly bothered. She wondered if he’d eaten earlier. Perhaps he’d had a pizza on the go.
At bedtime Matthew took himself off to the spare bedroom for the second night. Five minutes later, Amber crawled into the double bed she usually shared with her boyfriend. The sheets were beautifully fragrant but so cold without Matthew next to her. What a horrible weekend it had been. Reaching out to the bedside table, she plugged her mobile phone into its charger, and set the alarm for seven the following morning. Thirty seconds later the mobile buzzed. Her heart leapt. Perhaps it was Matthew texting from the other side of the bedroom wall. She grabbed it, desperately hoping to read: Amber, I’m feeling so lonely without you. Fancy showing me those dance moves again? She’d fall into his arms in a flash. Instead it was a WhatsApp message from Dee. She’d set up a group chat for the three of them under the name “Secs in the City”. Amber gave the smallest of smiles. She clicked on Dee’s message.
Sorry to text late, girls, but I’m beyond miserable. I hope the two of you had a better evening than mine. Will catch up with you both tomorrow. But be warned, I might slump over my keyboard in a flood of tears! xx
Amber immediately texted back.
Your evening cannot have been any worse than mine. Matthew is sleeping in the spare room. Even Mr Tomkin has abandoned me xx
Seconds later, the mobile pinged with a message from Chrissie.
I’m in bed and crying my eyes out. Have had the worst weekend ever xx
Dee was the next to reply.
Okay, girls. Sounds like Plan A – straight talking with our men – has been a bigger flop than my tits without a bra. Hugs to you both. We’ll fully update each other tomorrow at the office and discuss Plan B. Sleep tight xx
Thanks, Dee. This from Chrissie. Don’t know what I’d do without my besties xx
Amber’s fingers flew across the screen’s keypad.
I’ll second that. See you both tomorrow xx
Feeling a smidgen happier she wasn’t alone in her misery, Amber curled into the foetal position. Closing her eyes, she wondered what Dee would come up with for Plan B.