Perhaps the middle of TK Maxx wasn’t best time to discuss this, but I carried on regardless. ‘Nothing! It’s just . . . we’re seeing Pam next week and we still have a few things to do from the . . . jar. Can you watch Molly tomorrow night?’
‘Oh, I would, but Kevin and I have plans. Grace is having a sleepover at her friend’s house.’
I sighed and put down the hideous blouse I was holding. ‘Dammit. We need to stay a night in a hotel.’
‘Ask Lucy.’
I grimaced. ‘I trust Lucy withmylife, but Molly’s? I dunno . . .’
Hazel laughed. ‘Nonsense. Lucy’s sat for Grace a few times. And Molly loves her. She might dye her hair or pierce something, though – you’d just need to take the risk . . .’
‘What?!’
‘I’m kidding. Text her. She’ll say yes.’
*
8.55 p.m.She said yes, agreeing to stay over at our place so Molly didn’t feel uncomfortable in a strange house. Why didn’t I think of this before? She also recommended a hotel she’d been to and I’ve just booked the last room available for tomorrow night. We’re all set! Bring it on!
Sunday March 19th
(Sex Jar #3 update from last night. Current state: cannot walk.)
I got to the hotel at 6 p.m. to get ready in the room before Oliver arrived at 8 p.m. But upon seeing it, my heart sank. Sure, the hotel was modern like Lucy said, but in my hurry to book the last room I hadn’t noticed that it had NO FUCKING WINDOW. We were essentially going to shag in a cell. Thankfully the shower was hot, but seriously – no direct sunlight? If we’d been role playing a couple of horny vampires, this would have been perfect.
Even though we were playing strangers, we’d decided to keep our names, as I didn’t trust him not to come up with something stupid likeRustyorTarquinand fully expect me to use it all night with a straight face. However, everything else would be invented, including jobs, home life and whatever else we could throw in to liven things up. I’d decided to keep my job the same (fuck making up too much on the spot) but I’d be unhappily married and childless.
The receptionist looked a little confused to see that I’d arrived in jeans and high-tops but was now wearing a business suit to relax in the bar on a Saturday night. Regardless, I marched through fifteen minutes early to get a table before Oliver showed up. Why was I nervous? I’ve known this man since I was sixteen.
The bar area was small but brightly lit, with dark brown, wood panelling, trendy rectangular spotlights all over the ceiling and the odd pink chair scattered around for a burst of colour. I hated it. No windows and pink chairs. Lucy’s an idiot. Oh God, I’ve left my child with an idiot.
Reminding myself that I wasn’t there for the décor, I bought a Jack and Diet Coke and picked a table beside the window so I could remember what the outside looked like for the next couple of hours. In front of me sat two women drinking hot chocolate and from what I could hear by unashamedly eavesdropping, Woman 1 had a very nice time at Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Woman 2 had a blister on her effing heel.
‘Is this seat taken?’
Fucking hell, I nearly jumped out of my seat. I turned to see Oliver, standing there in a blue suit, his dark, curly, grey-flecked hair dishevelled. He looked like he did when we did a student/teacher role play a few years ago, albeit a little older. Still as sexy as ever. If he’d worn his glasses, I’d have straddled him there and then.
I shook my head and gestured for him to sit down, getting a small frisson of excitement as he placed his drink beside mine.
‘Oliver,’ he announced, holding out his hand, which I shook in a I-have-never-met-you-before-you-complete-stranger manner, complete with a look of mild disinterest. I didn’t want to appear overly keen. Saying that, in real life I’d probably have told him tosit at one of the other empty tables, fuckface, so maybe my approach was redundant.
‘Phoebe,’ I responded. ‘Nice to meet you.’ He unbuttoned his jacket, aware I was watching him. He fucking wore that suit on purpose to throw me off my game. But he won’t win. I’ve got this.
The next few minutes were awkward. I checked my phone and stared out of the window while Oliver grabbed a newspaper from a nearby table and noisily flicked through the pages.
‘Nice evening.’
I nodded as he continued to scrunch the paper.
‘There are other tables here if you’d like to read noisily,’ I said, keeping my eyes on my phone. ‘I came here for a quiet drink.’
He smirked and folded over the paper. ‘Phoebe, wasn’t it? Yes, there are, but none of them are near you. And I’d really like to buy you another drink.’
‘Oh, that’s smooth.’ I laughed. ‘Sure, why not? Jack and Diet Coke.’
‘Be right back.’
As he went to the bar, the woman with her back to me at the nearby table turned around.
