Oliver had no reason to keep noise down, grunting and moaning as loudly as he liked, while I, on the other hand, was one loud moan away from waking up Molly and ruining the whole thing.
‘I can’t hear you,’ he breathed. ‘Fuck the video, I need to hear you moan, even if it’s low. Put the phone to your ear.’
We finished that way, him getting off on my quiet gasps while I did the same as he told me all the things he wanted to do to me. It felt like we were doing something we shouldn’t be – something illicit – and it was hot as hell. This is definitely one for future sex jar suggestions.
Friday August 25th
I was totally convinced someone had broken into the flat last night and with Oliver being away I decided to heroically confront the intruder, grabbing the first thing I could find, which was a hairbrush. I mean, really, what the fuck was I going to do with that?
‘Reports indicate that the intruder was found with a side parting.’
Of course, there was no one there. I think my sleep deprivation is making me go a little bit nutty. I power-napped on the couch while Molly was at school, so now I’ve not only fucked my sleep pattern, I’ve knocked it up and will no doubt be forced to marry it.
I found some videos on YouTube designed to help with sleep but I could hear the guy smacking his lips as he talked and I’d rather never sleep again than have to endure that.
Saturday August 26th
Lucy, Hazel and Grace came over for dinner tonight, which meant I was in charge of cooking for five people. After much deliberation, I called Domino’s and ordered pizza, because fuck spending my entire Saturday cooking for five people.
They arrived at half six; Lucy brought two bottles of fancy wine and Hazel brought some profiterole tower thing from Waitrose which had been badly knocked around in her car and now resembled a chocolate tumour.
After devouring dinner, the kids went to play in Molly’s room, leaving the grown-ups to sip wine and discuss wedding dresses, something that Lucy was already fed up with (and to be honest, so were we).
‘So we don’t have athemeas such but I’ll be going more Bohemian than Princess,’ she stated, scrolling to a picture on her phone. ‘I’m thinking something like this.’
Hazel and I looked at the photo and grinned. An ivory-coloured lacy wrap-around dress with long, flowing bell sleeves. It was perfect.
‘You’re going to look amazing,’ Hazel said dreamily. ‘A little garland in your hair, some simple make-up . . . you’ll be stunning.’
I nodded in agreement. Lucy was going to wear the shit out of this dress. ‘I envy you,’ I said. ‘I will never have a reason to wear something this beautiful. Have you thought about our dresses yet? Can we all wear these, like a girl group?’
She laughed. ‘I’m thinking either lilac or mint green. Maybe long, side-split dresses . . . off the shoulder. Chiffon, maybe.’
Hazel was Googling as Lucy spoke, saving photos as she went, while I had the important job of opening another bottle of wine. We had this wedding shit nailed.
Later in the evening, I voiced my concerns that I was still a little hung-up on Oliver’s kiss, even after our zillion therapy sessions and heart-to-heart talks.
‘Is this it for the rest of my damn life?’ I asked. ‘Forgiving him but never being able to forget?’
‘Have you really forgiven him?’ Hazel asked, filling up my wine glass. ‘Because it doesn’t sound like you have. It sounds like you’ve just accepted it.’
‘What’s the difference? It happened. I’m powerless to change it and life goes on.’
‘You’re still angry,’ Lucy interjected. ‘Sure you’ve accepted it, but as you said, you’re powerless. I think when you forgive someone, you take back some of the power. You haven’t done that.’
‘It’s this bloody mystery woman,’ I replied, throwing back my wine. ‘Who the fuck is she? I don’t know what she looks like, how old she is – nothing.’
‘You want to know what was so special about her that made Oliver risk losing you?’
I nodded.
‘Thing is, Phoebe, you’ll never forgive him until you realise that this isn’t about you. This was Oliver’s misguided way of dealing with his own shit. You’re both equally responsible for the relationship but onlyheis responsible for his actions.’
‘Damn,’ Lucy said, opening a can of Coke. ‘That’s some insightful shit right there.’
Hazel laughed. ‘I had a good therapist. He made sense.’
‘I’m going to call you Dr Phil.’
