SEPTEMBER
SITTING IN THE BACK of a black taxi, chugging slowly across Waterloo Bridge through the rush hour traffic (when is it not rush hour in central London?), I smooth down my gorgeous skirt and let my mind wander back over the last few days.
The drunken text, realistically, should have been a massive mistake. I sent it, passed out into the deepest sleep and woke up to not one, not two, but three messages from Theo.
I’m so glad you texted.
I miss you too.
Let’s chat soon. Properly.
And so we did. I went downstairs (in aforementioned grotty dressing gown), poured the biggest glass of water, took a paracetamol, smiled as I dialled his number and forgot all about my hangover. It’s like everything that went before was water under the bridge, and something inside me switched. That jolt of loneliness in bed triggered me into wanting him again. Life’s too short. I want to be happy. After our long call and an intense exchange of messages I finally agreed to meet him. He asked me to dinner, and with a new wave of hope, I accepted.
The taxi slows and comes to a halt. We’re on the South Bank, and I can see the bold red sign glowing on top of the OXO Tower.
Here goes …
WITHOUT SKIPPING A BEAT, Theo jumps up to pull out my chair. As always, he looks fantastic. He’s styled himself perhaps on a magazine model, and I’m completely dazzled by it. Sharp navy trousers, expensive-looking leather belt, crisp white shirt with the top few buttons undone. On his chair hangs the navy suit jacket, and I can see a red pocket handkerchief just peeping out. I’m not sure if it’s sexy or pretentious, but before I have a chance to mull it over, he speaks.
‘You … you look incredible. You look so different. I can’t get over it. Just beautiful,’ Theo stutters in shock.
I think about how amazing it is that he can see how great I look. I mean, I thought I looked all right all the time we spent together, and I know I look a bit better now, but I wouldn’t go as far as to say ‘so different’. They say the sexiest thing you can be is confident, and lately, thanks to the success of the job in New York, the one-night stand, work life back in the UK going so well, I do feel more confident. I’ve shown myself how much I can achieve when I work for it, when I put my own mind to it. Maybe that’s it. Or maybe I just contoured the shit out of my cheeks. Thanks, though, Theo. I guess.
In the glow of the golden fairy lights I realise Theo looks nervous. It’s weird. The man who is usually cooler than Kanye is actually fidgeting a bit. It’s like being on a first date, or perhaps this is what the start of a proposal feels like.
Oh my God, is he going to propose?
Is he going to actually get down on one knee and whip out a tiny box with the engagement ring of my dreams in it?
Hmmmm … I wonder if it’s brand new, or an exquisite family heirloom from his mother’s side? Oh, God, I’m so glad I painted my nai—
‘Look. Robin. Darling. I’m sorry we’ve not spent much time together recently. Things at the office have been insane with the acquisition. I wish I had more time for just hanging about at home with you.’
Oh.
He’s not going to propose. Of course not. Why did I go there?
‘I don’t just “hang about at home”, Theo,’ I say, slowly, because I’m silently kicking myself for going to Proposal Land in my head.
‘No, I know that, I just mean, your life, it’s more … flexible, isn’t it?’ he says carefully, reaching out his perfect hand and placing it on my non-bejewelled fingers.
He’s got me there. It is.
‘Theo, this is all lovely, amazing actually, but haven’t you noticed? The reason we haven’t spent a lot of time together is because I’ve been really busy. I know you’ve been tied up with this new deal, but since I’ve been back from New York Natalie has been putting so much extra trust in me and loading more and more on, and I never thought I’d say this, but I’m really enjoying it. It feels good to have my own thing and to be managing everything else as well. I feel happy. I feel like I’m actually living life. Properly. For the first time in a long time.’
Theo sits toying with the stem of his wine glass, as if I’m boring him and he needs something to do.
‘I’m sure you’re doing a great job. Natalie’s so lucky to have such a keen and efficient assistant,’ he says with his head tilted in a sympathetic fashion.
I flinch a little in frustration. I don’t want him to sense my irritation and know how much that bothered me, so I clench my thighs a bit and try not to let my eyes narrow.
‘Yeah.’ Time for a conversation change, I think. ‘Well, it’s nice we’ve both got a bit of time together now. This menu looks great. What are you going for?’ I ask in a high-pitched, overeager voice that I silently pray he doesn’t pick up on. I still have a glimmer of hope that we have something here. Why does he always make the assumption that we haven’t seen each other because of his life? But then, a man doesn’t rent out an entire freaking patio unless it’s love. I’m sure it’s fine. It’s a new start.
Everything’s going to be fine. Yes. Fine.
Pleasingly, there’s a change in the air. He seems so much more … here. His phone is away, he’s looking into my eyes, he’s present. Now feels like a good time to explain to him that things need to be a bit different if we’re going to try this again. To gently nudge him into treating me more like his equal and less like an afterthought. I think he’d do that for me. I think he wants to, actually.
This whole set-up is breathtaking. We are completely alone; even the staff are inside, patiently waiting for Theo’s signal. The candles are gently flickering and the river looks beautiful, reflecting all the lights of the city.
I turn my head away from the view and look back at Theo’s wonderfully chiselled face. ‘Theo, why did you do all this for me?’
Theo shifts uncomfortably in his seat and starts. ‘I’ve missed you, Robin, you know this. I texted you this. I’ve really fucking missed you. I did all this to show you how special you are to me and I wanted to impress you, to win you back, to have you as mine.’ As he says it, I detect a very slight waver in his voice. I think he actually does mean it. I think he does want me in his life, as a permanent fixture. He seems so heartfelt that I can barely breathe; it’s like all the wind has been knocked out of my sails by hearing him be so sincere. Must still try to remember what Brain said, instead of just letting Heart take over and completely melt any resolve. I need to stand firm here.
I allow myself to lean back in my chair and take a deep, long breath, as if the extra oxygen will help keep my head clear and stop me from spiralling into him, giving myself into everything he says.
‘I’ve missed you too, Theo. The last few weeks without you have been so different. I’ve missed being able to call you or text you with little updates. Lyla’s missed having you around to play with. I just … I just need things to be a bit different this time, to feel more like your actual girlfriend, maybe; to spend proper time with you – not just in the slots where you can squeeze me in.’ I’m hoping my very gentle tone will help him see this in a positive light, and not feel backed into a corner. Natalie always says ‘a threatened man is a useless man’.
He looks at me so intently, so sincerely, I feel butterflies in my tummy. I watch the cogs turn in Theo’s brain.
‘I get it; you want more time with me. Why don’t you come to my annual work party? It’s in Paris this year at Hotel Banke, and it will be fucking amazing, Robin. We have one every year to thank the staff and boost morale on the final leg till Christmas. They’re always epic dos. I’d love to have you there.’
Whoa. Was not expecting that. An actual invite to an actual thing with actual other people at. What a turnaround!
‘OK, so, we could spend the weekend together, maybe make a minibreak of it …’
Not missing a beat, Theo very quickly says, ‘Yes! Amazing!’
Oh my God, a proper minibreak with Theo Salazan, my actual proper boyfriend. I’m stunned. Thrilled, but stunned.
I lift my head up to meet his gaze and open my mouth to say how incredibly happy I am, but before I can get the words out, Theo shifts around in his seat again and says, with a pained look on his face, ‘Well, probably not this time, actually. It’s on the Thursday, so we’d go in the morning. I need to see a couple of people about the contracts, and then I probably need to be back in the office on Friday afternoon. Obviously I’d love to spend it just with you, but these contracts, you know how they are. There’s a spa, though; I’d book you in, give you some pamper time.’
I’m starting to feel like things haven’t changed – this isn’t a trip for us to spend time together. Why is he always trying to buy me?
Tensing my whole body again, but this time not trying to hide my narrowed eyes, I begin: ‘So, we’d fly out, I’d spend the day alone, then be your plus one to a work function and then fly home the next morning? And that’s meant to be a special treat for me?’
His eye twitches in the usual way that it does when he’s getting annoyed.
‘I’m offering to take you to Paris, Robin.’ He takes a sip of his wine and puts the glass down a little too heavily, causing a tiny splash of red to hit the clean white tablecloth.
I watch the red stain spread out and suddenly I feel very angry. ‘Er, no; you’re offering to have me accompany you to a day I’d have to spend alone and then be introduced offhandedly to people you don’t even care about before you pack me off home again!’
Twitch, twitch.
‘Are you kidding me? This is such an amazing gift for someone like you!’ he says, exasperatedly hitting the palm of his hand on the table, making the cutlery jump.
I’m not going to be intimidated. He’s no match for Langston, and I stood up to him.
‘“Someone like me?”’ Wow. What a prick. He hasn’t changed. I can’t believe I thought he might have.
‘Yes, Robin, someone like you. I hate to break it to you, but not a lot of guys like me would be interested in a single mother with a part-time job in applying lipstick! A lot of girls in your position would LOVE to come to this with me!’
Ooof, that hurt. That really fucking hurt. I feel like I’ve been punched in the middle of my chest and the wind has been completely knocked out of me. I can feel my skin burning and my eyes stinging at the indignation. He’s revving up for more.
‘Robin, you make no sense,’ he says, leaning forward with both hands flat on the table as if he’s having to steady himself. ‘I’m offering you an amazing night in Paris, and you’re turning it down because you think you’ve got something better to do, or what? Are you going to have your own party in Paris? You’ve spent the best part of this year hinting to come along to things like this with me, desperate to be by my side, desperate to be treated to things like this, and now you’re saying no! One glamorous “work” trip to New York and you’re a changed woman, are you?’ He laughs at his final sentence, as if me being a ‘changed woman’ is such a hilarious concept to him.
‘Wow, Theo. That was really nice,’ I practically spit, struggling to let the words work their way over my tongue, I’m so furious. White-hot rage pours over me and I clench my hands in my lap, digging my fingers into my thighs just to keep myself from reeling. ‘As it happens, I do feel different, and New York was glamorous. I worked my arse off, achieved more than anyone expected and, unlike you, the men there treated me like something they actually wanted!’
‘You’re not changed, Robin,’ he says so quietly I can hardly hear him. His eyes are furious; I don’t suppose he’s ever been rejected before, especially not by someone ‘like me’. Louder now, he continues: ‘You might have flounced in here in your crazy-for-your-age dress and high heels, thinking you’re something special, but you’re not. You’re a mess!’ He gestures his hand to me as if I don’t know who he thinks is a mess. Bastard. I get it; there’s no one else fucking here. ‘You rush around in a state of absolute frenzy not knowing your arse from your elbow, you message me every time you can’t cope, you barely know how your car works, your idea of organisation is papers slung all over your kitchen table and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you in something pressed! I’m amazed you can manage anything in your actual fucking life! Do you know how many men want to take on a woman like you and her poor offspring that gets thrown at every Tom, Dick and Harry you decide is flavour of the week? Not many, Robin, not many! You want to walk away from all this, do you?’ Theo spits as he gestures at the twinkling surroundings.
I blink back tears. I always knew Theo had a ruthless streak, but this attack feels much more vicious than I thought him capable of, full of pure spite.
‘Robin, I’m telling you this because I care.’ His voice softens in alarmingly stark contrast to the one he used only a second ago, and he reaches out for my hand. Limply I let it stay there, shocked to feel how cold his hand is compared to my hot, sweaty self, flushed with horror at the way the evening is going. ‘You’re not as special as you think you are. Anybody with half a brain can do a bit of blusher on someone, and you don’t even have Lyla all the time – Kath has to rescue you every time something pushes you over the edge. Oohhh poor, poor Robin, she’s crying again. Lyla’s spilt some milk and Robin can’t handle it! Call Auntie Kath to save the fucking day, as usual!’ He takes his hand off mine and sits back, clearly happy to have control of the conversation and relishing my distraught expression. ‘And then, once you’ve dried your pathetic, snivelling face, you just come running to me for comfort and a good time, don’t you? You don’t want to come to Paris as my plus one, but I didn’t hear you complaining about being my plus one when I paid for every dinner we’ve ever eaten together and treated you like a fucking princess.’
I pause to take a breath. A year ago – three months ago, even – I might have burst into uncontrollable tears or run for the hills. But now? Today? No. Not without saying my piece. ‘You might view me as a big mess. And you might think I’m just pissing around with a bit of mascara and blusher, but that pissing around actually earns me decent money.’
I push my chair back to give myself some room. I feel like I’m suffocating, but can’t let him know how close I am to vomiting/crying/fainting or all of the above. I’m going to bloody well stand my ground. My good, decent ground.
‘Money that enables me to take care of myself and my daughter. And actually, Theo, I’m pretty fucking good at it. I’m not perfect, but I try every day to get my shit together. I’m doing my best and I’m managing – succeeding, actually! And at least I have the strength to be honest with myself about that. I haven’t spent the last few years of my life trying to fix all my life moments – I’ve accepted the repercussions and I’m facing up to them. I’m just trying to move forward and better myself, for Lyla and for me.’
‘Life moments?’ he guffaws. ‘So you meant to be a lonely single mother living in her granny’s house, did you? You’ve got no real plan, Robin, and no aspirations. You’re just happy to trundle on, fucking your life up and showing no backbone to your child and hoping to God that someone like me will come with a new life on a silver fucking platter. More fool me – I’m offering you all this and you don’t want it? Are you fucking kidding me?’
He’s getting louder and louder, and as my eyes fill up with hot, heavy tears, I can’t handle it any more. I didn’t mean to be a lonely single mother, but I wouldn’t change it. Lyla is everything. Every little insecurity I’ve ever felt is pouring out of his mouth and flooding over me. I’ve never felt more attacked, and not just me but my little girl too. He knew that using Lyla would break me, but I blink back the tears, not wanting him to have the satisfaction. The fairy lights and the river are dulled through my blurred vision. Everything feels disgusting and dirty; I can’t quite breathe, and my hearing starts to blur along with my vision.
I’m drowning in his cruel words, and before I know it I’ve tipped my chair back onto the floor and I’m standing up, looming over the table with my hands resting flat on it, arms straight.
I’m wounded, and my head is spinning but, somewhere in me, there’s a drop of strength – strength I didn’t even know I had, strength I’d never found before now.
I look Theo dead in the eyes and say, ‘You don’t scare me, Theo Salazan. Your opinions don’t define me. This is over.’
And with that last moment of valiance, I turn on my heel and walk out.
Not the graceful walk of a runway model, but an urgent stomp, knocking my hips past corners of tables and throwing my arms out in front of me to burst through the patio doors and escape all of this. I just want to get out, get away from this, run back through time to a place where I never knew Theo, where I never fell for him, thought I loved him and then felt completely and utterly destroyed by him.
As I leave I can hear him bellowing, ‘Don’t you do this, Robin, don’t you dare do this!’ I feel a burning sensation up the back of my right calf. Assuming it’s the physical exertion, I despise myself briefly for not using that extortionately priced gym membership. I carry on to the lift, hit the down button so many times I almost induce RSI and hurtle into it before anyone has the chance to stop me. The doors close mercifully quickly, but it takes an eternity to go down. I take a deep breath. I’m shaking. In the brief calm, I have a moment to catch my reflection in the thankfully dimly lit mirrors. I’m crying. I thought I could hold it together, but obviously not. There’s dried wax all up my tights. I must’ve kicked one of those floor candles up myself, for fuck’s sake.
Fuck.
THREE HOURS LATER – one Uber, one painfully bright train, one black cab and a slow walk up the front path – and I’m home. The house is quiet and empty without Lyla. My heart is heavy, and I’m suddenly more grateful than I thought I’d ever be for the brushed cotton tie-dye nightie Kath kindly customised for me. I pull it off the drying rack and over my head; it feels like a cuddle from someone who loves me. I fall onto the sofa with smudged black mascara and a still perfectly painted pink lip. I let out a slow, quiet laugh.
Just a few hours ago I’d imagined an entirely different night. Gentle chatter about missing each other; exciting plans for the future; his hand on mine, eyes locked, delicious wine, then back to his for slow, perfect, loving sex and falling asleep wrapped up in his perfectly tanned arms. I wanted so much more from this evening, and now it’s all gone, shattered, like I’ve been robbed. I replay his words over and over again in my head on a hideous, unstoppable loop. But the deepest cut is the hopelessness: for the first time since I met him, all the hope I had for ‘Theo and Robin’ is gone.
He’s not in love with me.
And I feel empty, vacant.
‘He’s not in love with you.’ I say the words out loud to make it feel real. To get my stupid head around the idea that no man like Theo could ever really love someone like me. I told him his opinions don’t define me, but actually, very quietly, I wonder if they do.
I feel worthless.
‘He’s not in love with you, Robin.’ I repeat it again to myself before getting up and standing in front of the speckled (wow, I should clean more) mirror above the fireplace. ‘He does not love you.’ I laugh, hysterical and overwhelmed with emotion. I let myself fall into this painful and oddly exhilarating moment.
I let myself laugh at silly old Robin and embrace the cruel hilarity of the evening, pushing aside the fleeting thought that the next emotion that’ll seep in will be rage. An emotion far more exhausting.