Honeybee, page 19
‘I love this,’ he says. I tell him I love it too. ‘So, does Flo know?’ he asks, catching me off-guard. I wasn’t expecting him to care, really. It’s not like she’s my wife.
‘No way,’ I say, sitting up. ‘I wouldn’t do that to you, I promise.’
‘It’s OK. I wondered if you’d told her. What will be will be. I know that nothing’s off limits in the realms of true female friendship.’ He smiles at me, as if he would have just accepted it. He’s cheating on his wife but he’s not trying to pretend this is right, or make me lie, or talk about this like it’s the dirtiest secret. ‘What will be will be.’ He’s right, it will.
‘Flo has no idea, and I want to keep it that way. She’s not in a great place right now, and …’
What am I saying? This is Flo’s boss. I can’t talk to him about her. I stop.
‘Oh, why?’ he says, sounding concerned for her. Or maybe for his business. I can’t believe I said that.
‘Oh nothing, really. She’s fine.’
‘I have to say, I noticed she was being a bit off this week. She seemed distracted. I was going to ask her about it but, well, Flo doesn’t give the impression she wants to be asked questions. She’s quite private, isn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
‘What’s the matter?’ he asks, now concerned for me. ‘You look worried, is Flo in some sort of trouble?’
‘I don’t know’, I say, giving into the warmth of his body. And the warmth of his heart. ‘She’s been drinking, I think …’ Ben sits up quickly.
‘Drinking? How much?’ He looks really concerned.
‘A lot. And all the time. I shouldn’t have said anything, it’s her business, not mine. Shit Ben, please, forget I said anything.’
He gets out of bed. He seems far more upset about this than he should be.
‘It’s OK, Ben. She can still do her job. I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘OK, OK, but we need to keep our eye on it. Where’s your bathroom?’
I tell him and fall back onto my bed. I smell my sheets, they smell of sexy Ben.
I then I hear the toilet flush and the front door slam at the same time. No no no, surely not. Please no. Please say I imagined that slam. I stand up and pull the duvet off the bed, it’s been squashed down the side of the mattress. I wrap it around me and hide underneath it. I don’t want to face this, I don’t want this to happen, but if that door slamming was Flo coming home … oh shit! I hear her pounding up the stairs. She bangs on the bathroom door.
‘Renée?’ she says, ‘Are you in there? Let me in.’
I stay quiet. Maybe she’ll get bored and go looking for me somewhere else.
‘Renée, open the door.’ She’s slurring and getting annoyed. ‘Renée, please. What are you doing in there? I need to talk to you, I need to talk to someone. I just had an awful argument with Mum and I think I tried to put something in Phil’s bum-hole. I need you, come on, please open the door.’
I wrap the duvet around me and open my bedroom door slowly.
‘You’re in there?’ she says. ‘Well then, who is in the bathroom?’
Ben opens the bathroom door slowly. He is holding our pink hand towel in front of his dick. ‘Hi Flo,’ he says. ‘We should probably have a chat?’ She backs away.
‘Oh my god. When did this start?’ she asks, looking like every last modicum of happiness has been squeezed out of her. ‘You shagged Matt and Ben from the office. Wow, Renée, a personal best.’
‘Flo,’ I say, horrified. Ben looks at me in a way I didn’t even think he was capable of.
‘You shagged Matt?’ he asks, softly.
‘No, I didn’t shag Matt. OKAY? We didn’t shag. Can we not use the word “shag” anyway, it’s horrible.’ Ben is still looking at me. Does he think I’m a slut now? It turns out there is shame in one-night stands when the guy you think you’re in love with finds out about them. ‘It was in the first week of being at Magic, I didn’t know you and I … fucking hell I don’t have to explain myself. I didn’t shag him. You’re fucking married, Ben.’ He buckles at that. I feel horrible. But also, get lost with the one-way shame.
‘Flo, I was going to tell you,’ I say, lying. I should have told her when it started. After the power cut, when Ben and I started flirting, I should have told her.
‘You were?’ she asks. Not believing me. Ben steps back into the bathroom and reaches for a bigger towel to cover himself with. He’s so gorgeous; even when things are this dramatic, his body is so distracting.
Flo looks devastated.
‘Flo, what happened with your mum?’ I ask, softly, realising something bad must have gone down because it’s only 8.30. Tears start to pour down her face. They must have had a fight, it’s usually why she turns like this.
‘What is happening?’ she says, gently, obviously referring to the greater picture of her life as if it’s all just come crashing down in front of her. Three people on a tiny landing is too many people. None of us knows what to say next. You can’t be prepared for a moment like this, you just have to wing it. Flo flips: the sides of her mouth drop, her eyes soften and then close. The depths of her innocence suddenly so vivid. Her sorrow becomes unbearable to share a space with. She turns around and runs down the stairs. A few seconds later, a slam.
‘If you need to go, it’s OK,’ Ben says, suggesting I follow her. But I don’t. I stay.
‘Ben, about Matt, I …’
‘Renée, I’m in no position to tell you who you can and can’t sleep with outside of this relationship,’ he says, being reasonable. But I don’t believe him. He looked winded when Flo said it. Just because he knows he has no right to be hurt by it, doesn’t mean he isn’t.
‘All right, but I didn’t have sex with him. It’s important to me that you know that.’
‘Now I know. Let’s move on?’ he says, nicely pushing past me to get his clothes. ‘Shouldn’t you go after Flo?’
‘I can’t leave you with this in the air. I can’t. Flo is impossible right now; she doesn’t want me to follow her. She’ll walk around and blow off steam for a bit, then come home. I’ll talk to her tomorrow, on the way to London. It will be better, please don’t go.’
‘If she has a problem with alcohol, she won’t realise it herself. You’ll need to help her Renée, she’ll need you.’
‘I know, and I will. But just for now. While I have you here, please come to bed and fuck my brains out. You’re driving me wild just wearing that towel.’ I pull him towards me, and we fall back onto the bed.
Part Three
Queen Bee
It’s December 1999. A letter arrives on Flo’s doormat. It’s from Renée in Spain.
Flo, you haven’t answered any texts or calls. So I’m trying an old-school letter because up until very recently you really liked sending me those. My address is still the same, I AM STILL THE SAME.
I know you think you hate me, but you don’t. I was a dick when I came to stay, I’m sorry, but you can’t ignore me forever. I can’t keep saying sorry. Here it is one last time: SORRY. Now can we move on?
I’ve been thinking a lot about the things I said and why I said them. I came to Nottingham hoping that we would have a really nice time together. But there was no ‘together’. All you talked about was how busy you were. Really busy with your course, really busy with your job, really busy with literally everything except wanting to be really busy with me. I guess I got jealous. It took me months to save for the flights and get some money together so we could have fun. I was desperate for fun. I wanted to go out, drink stupid amounts, snog boys I didn’t know. Do silly things with you. But we couldn’t because you were … yup, TOO BUSY.
See it from my point of view Flo? Or are you too busy for that too? I was upset. I’d missed you and then you didn’t seem to care that I was there.
I see it clearer now I’m back here. We’re not the same Renée and Flo that we used to be. Our lives were so entwined in Guernsey. We did everything together, we couldn’t escape each other. We were part of the same world, and now we’re not. You have your world, I have mine. You’re at uni and want to have a career, and I still work in a bar in Spain and dream of being a writer. We are on totally different paths. We are our own women. Aunty Jo said the day you realise you are your own woman is the day you become an adult. She’s right, that’s what we’re doing. We’ve changed. I can’t expect you to behave how I want you to any more, and the same goes the other way around. But do you know what I think? No matter how much we fly off in different directions, there is no Renée without Flo, and there is no Flo without Renée. We need each other to survive. (Stop rolling your eyes Flo, I can see you doing it.) You know it’s true.
The fundamental route to our survival as women is our friendship. So answer your fucking phone when I call you and stop being so busy that you’ll throw away the best friend you could ever have. THAT’S ME BY THE WAY.
I love you. You’re my number one.
Friends Forever?
Renée.
P.S. SORRY (OK that really IS the last time).
SEPTEMBER 2001
17
Renée
Aunty Jo has just dropped us off at the airport. Flo and I are off to London on our own, alone in the city to do whatever we want. As we walk into departures, I get two egg sandwiches from the fridges. At the counter I also grab us crisps and ask for two muffins, one blueberry, one chocolate. Aunty Jo gave me £100 for the trip, I feel loaded.
‘Party time,’ I say to Flo’s miserable face. She’s been talking to me in monosyllabic grunts all morning.
‘You didn’t get any wine?’ she says, looking at the egg sandwich like it’s the worst thing she could possibly imagine. I had thought about getting some miniature bottles, that’s what we’d usually do, but it feels wrong giving alcohol to Flo at the moment.
‘You need to eat, you’re very pale,’ I tell her. ‘Are you feeling sick?’ She shakes her head. I unwrap the sandwiches and put one in front of her. I tear open both packets of crisps and put them in the middle so we can share. I fill my sandwich up with some salt and vinegar than make orgasmic noises as I take my first bite. ‘Ahhh nothing better,’ I say, masticating. Flo just stares at hers.
‘Look Flo, I was going to tell you about Ben. I was. You were going to be pissed off whether I told you at the start or now, so I just wanted to enjoy it for a bit before I got a bollocking.’
‘Of course you’re going to get a bollocking, Renée. He’s our boss. I knew something like this would happen when you got the job. I knew, and you acted like I was the crazy one. I saw my boss wearing just a towel and now I have to work in an office with him. How could you bring him to our flat?’
‘Where was I supposed to go? I can’t exactly go to his house, can I?’
‘Aren’t people who have affairs supposed to go to hotels and rent rooms by the hour?’
‘Well not us, it’s not seedy like that. We really like each other, it’s special.’
‘Sure.’
She can get lost with this pure angel routine. ‘So how come you need to go back this weekend anyway? It’s a bit weird that all your stuff has just been in that flat in London, isn’t it?’
‘Not really,’ she says, loading a sandwich with crisps as a distraction. ‘I’d paid up until the end of the month and so Katrina was really chilled about it when I moved out. She was gutted when I said I was moving back to Guernsey, she didn’t want me to go.’
‘Oh, well, I’m sure she will be really happy to see you.’
‘She won’t be there. She’s going to her mum’s.’
‘Oh, why are you going when she’s away?’
‘What is this, Renée? Ask Flo as many questions as possible to distract from my affair?’
I stop there. She doesn’t know I read Katrina’s messages. Something weird happened and I will get to the bottom of it, but Flo is in no mood to talk about it. I can wait, if she lays off me as well.
‘Flo, can we just try to have a fun weekend? This is my first proper grown-up trip to London; I’m so excited. I don’t want this dark cloud hanging over us. I’ll end it with Ben, OK? I know I have to and I will, but let’s not think about it this weekend, yes? Can we just have fun?’
‘OK, we can move on, for now.’ She takes a bite of her sandwich and chews it for ages before eventually swallowing like it’s a brick. ‘I’ve got knots in my tummy for some reason, like something awful is going to happen.’
‘Something awful? Like what? We’ve got three days in the big smoke. We can pack up your stuff, party, walk around, see the sights, and I’ll go blow everyone’s minds with my creative genius in the London office on Monday. It’s going to be great. I love saying that: “The London Office”. “Hey Flo, I’ll be in the London office if you need me.”’ I’m making myself laugh. Trying to cheer her up whilst hammering through the snacks.
The flight is so quick. Forty minutes from little Guernsey to Gatwick. I’ve only ever passed through Gatwick before, on my way to Spain. I’ve never actually left the airport and followed signs to London itself. Flo hardly said a word on the flight. I had no idea she was a nervous flyer. Her hands were trembling. ‘I don’t know why,’ she kept saying. ‘I just feel really anxious. Something weird is in the air, I can feel it.’
‘The only weird thing in the air right now is you,’ I said, trying to calm her down. She smiled, but then locked her stare out of the window, as if the clouds were going to explode and she didn’t want to miss it.
‘It’s probably just moving all your stuff out,’ I said, reassuring her. ‘Moving is always hard. But we can pack what you want to keep and donate the rest, it will be fine, I promise,’ I say, knowing there’s more to the story than she’s telling me. I’m hoping this trip opens her up a little, but I have to play it well for that to happen. Flo is like a wild animal: if she feels unsafe, she’ll defend herself. Approach her in the right way, and she’ll cuddle up and surrender.
‘We’ll get the train to Victoria then jump on a bus to get to Dalston. It’s a bit of a mission but the cheapest way,’ Flo says, leading me down an escalator towards the Gatwick Express. We only brought hand luggage so that we can load up with all her things on the way back. It’s a good job, I’m not sure how we would manage with cases. There’s so much walking and we’re not even out of the airport yet.
Flo seems happier now she is out of the sky, more confident. I, on the other hand, feel suddenly aware of how lost I could get. ‘Flo, slow down,’ I say. She turns and laughs. ‘It’s OK, Renée. I won’t abandon you. But you’re in London now, you have to keep up.’
The Gatwick Express is quick and exciting. I love trains, a novelty when you come from somewhere like Guernsey. Victoria Station is like something out of a film. It’s huge with so many people. ‘If we ever get lost,’ Flo says, ‘meet me under the clock. OK?’
‘Can I just call you?’
‘Yeah, but isn’t it romantic that people had to say that and if they didn’t show up, they’d never meet?’
‘I suppose.’
We line up at a machine to get what Flo has referred to as a ‘travel card’. Apparently, it will last us the whole time we’re here and we can use it on buses and trains. It costs £27. Why is everything so expensive? ‘Can we not walk?’ I ask her, finding all this quite stressful. There is something very disconcerting about being surrounded by so many strangers. No one makes eye contact; they all seem to know exactly where to go. They’re all so … busy.
‘No, Renée, we can’t just walk. But as long as you don’t lose this, you won’t have to spend any more money on transport. It’s a pretty good deal when you look at it that way.’ She takes my money and feeds it into the machine. A ticket pops out. ‘Put it in your pocket, the one with the zip. Do not lose it and you’ll be fine.’
I look at the Tube map on the wall. ‘Jesus, you’d need an A level in Geography to work this out.’
‘You’ll get the hang of it. Just remember, millions of people travel to London on holiday every year, and they all work it out, don’t they. And don’t worry, like I said, we’re getting the bus.’
Flo walks off and I follow inches behind her. I cannot let her out of my sight. Outside the sound of traffic is so loud, why aren’t people walking around with their hands over their ears? And the smell, it’s like being stuck in a garage with a car that’s on and leftover pizza boxes. It stinks. There are so many buses, what if we get the wrong one?
‘That’s the number thirty-eight stop right there,’ she says, and we run towards it. Soon, we will be on the bus and out of this mayhem, and it will all look like it does in the movie Notting Hill. Pretty, tree-lined streets with cute bookshops and lots of posh people in nice clothes. It will be fine.
I follow her, ducking in and out of people’s way. Trying to stay away from the kerb for fear of getting smacked in the head by one of the many bus wing-mirrors. How many people die by being thwacked by a bus mirror every day in London? Thousands, I imagine. I keep hold of my bag and suitcase, certain someone will snatch it off me any minute.
When the bus pulls up, I stand staring at it in disbelief. Flo gets on and turns back, realising my feet have not left the concrete pavement. ‘Renée, come on, it will leave without you.’
‘But … there … there’s no door?’
‘No, you just hop on, and hop off. Come on, quick, they don’t hang about when it’s this busy. Renée, come, it’s fine, honestly, it’s just a bus.’ A river of people have ignored my anxiety and piled onto this vehicle. Flo reaches out her hand. ‘Take a big step, come on, you have no choice.’
I close my eyes and take the big step. Suddenly I feel the rumble of the engine beneath my feet. Flo pulls me in, where she sits me down on a long bench. She sits on the bench opposite and laughs. ‘Wow, Renée. You’ve been the biggest fish in every room we’ve ever been in, and look at you now. My little island girl, out and about in London and all afraid.’
