The A-Z of Us by Jim Keeble Page B

sliding his bare feet under the sofa cushions, for warmth or security.
    â€˜When the ankle’s better…’
    â€˜How did you fall off the bus?’
    â€˜I slipped. I didn’t exactly plan it. It was an accident.’ He looks pained. I nod slowly, realizing I’ve confronted him with his failure because it makes me feel less of one.
    I call work from the bedroom. To my dismay, Sophie answers. As quickly and efficiently as I can, I inform her that I’m not feeling well and won’t be coming in today.
    â€˜Flu, I think,’ I add, matter-of-factly.
    â€˜Really? I didn’t know there was anything going around.’
    â€˜Summer flu. It’s quite common.’
    â€˜Well… I’ll tell Duncan.’
    â€˜I’ll know more when I’ve been to the doctor’s.’
    â€˜I hope you feel better soon.’
    â€˜I’m not pregnant, Sophie,’ I say crossly, and put down the phone. I lie down on the bed, pulling handfuls of sheets around me, tucking my feet behind me, making myself as tiny as I can. It’s my cave, my nest. I pull the Frette sheets tighter still, as I used to as a little girl, for my protection and punishment.
    All is quiet, except the angry pump of my pulse. I haven’t washed the sheets since Raj departed; not for any emotional reasons, I tell myself, but because I couldn’t be bothered. In the midst of my expensive cotton cocoon, I try to locate his smell, his musty masculine scent with the faintest hint of his father’s sandalwood. But all I can smell is myself, the sweet whiff of the Gucci Envy that Raj gave me last birthday, which I’ve been wearing recently, even though it seems too grown up and wanton compared tothe gentle Ralph Lauren scent I’ve been wearing since I was fifteen.
    I feel my tears damp and warm against my cheek. I just want to be alone, cut off from everything and everyone.
    â€˜Are you okay?’
    Ian’s voice. Words he’s spoken so many times in the past, my guardian angel. Yet this morning, for some reason, his solicitous tone irritates me. It’s as if he’s hoping I’m not okay.
    â€˜Fine.’
    I try quickly to unravel myself from the ball of sheets, but my legs are caught somehow, and I feel immediately claustrophobic. I breathe in quickly, but it’s too hot, too tight. I panic, tearing at the material as if it’s on fire, rolling forwards, kicking, cloth in my mouth and eyes. Rage rushes through me and I rip at the sheets, the expensive cloth tearing surprisingly easily and I’m jettisoned from the cocoon like a cannonball, falling heavily onto the floor.
    â€˜Ouch.’
    So much for our wedding sheets. I look up at Ian. He grins.
    â€˜Nice move. Been practising that one?’
    â€˜Shut up.’
    â€˜Sorry.’
    I hear the sound of my small breathing, which curiously reminds my of my panting during sex. I pull myself up.
    â€˜I think I could use a glass of wine.’
    â€˜At ten in the morning?’
    â€˜Who’s counting?’
    I feel a little better after the first bottle. We watch
Die Another Day
(my choice, due to the Brosnan connection)and I enjoy the sound of explosions and gunfire that remind me of childhood Sunday evenings watching television with my father. Next it’s Ian’s choice, and he thumbs along a line of Raj’s DVDs like a tailor fingering silk.
    â€˜
When Harry Met Sally
?!’ Ian roars in disgust.
    â€˜I like it. It made me cry when I was fifteen.’
    â€˜No wonder Raj hates me,’ Ian says with a chuckle.
    â€˜What? He doesn’t hate you…’
    â€˜Of course he does. He thinks I’m Billy Crystal.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜The film, Gem. They spend two hours saying they’re just friends and then they end up together.’
    â€˜No they don’t. They stay just friends, that’s the point of the film. It proves a man and a woman can overcome the whole sex