his leg.
‘How do you feel?’ Thea asks him.
‘I tell you, Thea,’ Mark says, shaking his head in wonder, ‘that was just what I needed.’
‘Good,’ Thea says, ‘but you should have a little osteo too.’
‘Can’t you teach Alice how to do that?’ Mark asks her, laughing. ‘Go on, do me a favour.’ Thea doesn’t think it funny at all, but she’s not going to show it so she gives Mark a kiss and tells him to book in with Dan or Brent. As she tidies her room, she reflects on the bizarre parity. Alice doesn’t ever think of giving her husband a massage though he’d love it. And Saul never wants Thea to massage him, because he says he simply doesn’t get it.
It was strange for Thea to experience something as momentous as exchanging contracts yet have no Alice to effervesce and celebrate with. And it was peculiar for Alice to be totally disinclined to contact Thea though she knew she could well benefit from her advice and support. As high as Thea felt, Alice was low. This zipless-fuck concept wasn’t as carefree and uncomplicated as she’d planned. She was unnerved that her sassiness could have been so easily replaced by irritable insecurity directly accountable to the time it took Paul to send a text, to the length and tone of his abbreviated words. She’d even started feeling jealous of Paul’s new groups, imagining some gorgeous woman or other sashaying across the Pont du Gard in front of him, or seducing him in the Cathédrale d’Images, or sharing knowledge about the dietary preferences of the flamingo. And though she’d urge herself to practise what she preached, or obey the editors of Lush at the very least, she often found herself forsaking the ‘play hard to get’ or ‘treat him mean, keep him keen’ philosophies to send Paul texts that sometimes simply said did u get my last txt?? Her mood towards her staff depended entirely on whether or not Paul had replied. If she was awaiting a response, she was impatient and unfocused. If he replied, she fizzed with energy and creativity. Mark, though, bore the brunt of the length and frequency of Paul’s messages. If Alice was expecting a reply, she was sullen and distracted. If his reply was of pleasing length and raunchy content, she’d be offhand with Mark because she resented him for not being Paul. If Paul’s text was short and mundane, Alice was even more moody with Mark, begrudging him for being all she had.
Alice needed Thea, she knew how she’d benefit from the two of them ‘workshopping’ her dilemma through, blasting away unreasonable misgivings, deciding on a constructive way of thinking, a realistic path forward. More than that, Alice just missed Thea. It was lonely confiding to her own reflection; she couldn’t give herself any astute answers and if she didn’t want to hear certain advice, she could just turn away from the mirror and strop off. Without Thea, Alice didn’t have the confidence or the motivation to confront the state of her relationship with Mark, the situation now developing with Paul and what to do with one, the other or the both of them.
Thea quite simply missed Alice; she wanted to have a second opinion when she browsed around the White Company store on Marylebone Road, she wanted Alice to take her to that place she knew near Westbourne Park that did stunning antiqued mirrors. However, Thea was still bristling with indignation that Alice should behave like a careless tart. And Alice was exasperated at what she perceived to be a sanctimonious arrogance and complete lack of understanding on Thea’s part. How could they be best friends if their moral codes were indecipherable to each other? What connection could they truly have if their ethics and standards were so diametrically opposed? There was absolutely no attraction in such opposites. The only comfort to Alice was that, despite feeling detested by Thea, she knew her secret was safe. Even through the silence and dislike, she knew Thea was unwaveringly loyal. She doubted whether Thea would even confide in Saul.
Mark and Saul both knew their partners had fallen out. But neither of them knew the reason. Even without a reason, it seemed so daft for two grown women, two childhood friends, two soulmates, not to be speaking. But when Mark tried to ask Alice, and when Saul asked Thea, both men were given such short shrift that they decided not to mention the friend until she was back in favour again. Mark, who came back to Thea for another massage on the osteopath’s advice, dared to begin: ‘Thea, why aren’t you and Alice—’ at which point it felt as though his skin was being pinched into corduroy and he thought better of finishing his sentence. Certainly, he didn’t dare voice his concern for his marriage to Thea. Anyway, if she wasn’t on speaking terms with his wife, she probably wouldn’t know why Alice’s temper was as it was. Saul, over a brainstorming lunch with Alice, filled her wineglass for the third time and said, ‘When the fuck are you and Thea going to kiss and make up?’ but Alice had narrowed her eyes and shot steel-cold daggers which told him most emphatically to back off.
Sally knew her two friends weren’t speaking but neither Alice nor Thea would tell her any more than a non-committal shrug would permit. Pilates became a place where Alice and Thea, if their sessions had to overlap, tried to out-Pike, out-Elephant, out-Mermaid each other. Sally could only watch – and actually wish her roll-ups were half as good as Thea’s, her Swan-dives anywhere near as fluid as Alice’s. So everyone around them kept quiet about the situation though they all thought it was bizarre and really quite childish.
It was one of those balmy May days when the dull drag of winter is forgotten and the promise of summer is at last plausible. Under opalescent skies of Wedgwood blue, gluts of flowers burst from bud and juicy foliage unfurled in a gloss giving the air a clean freshness and warmth that could be tasted and smelt. The day had a clarity which bestowed splendid humour and a spring-cleaned joie de vivre on everyone. Alice strode into work in a fabulous mood actually dictated more by the weather and the wearing of sandals for the first time that year, than the kinky message from Paul which had just arrived on her phone. Saul had rattled off an article for the Evening Standard, filed his copy for the Observer early and banked a number of long-awaited cheques, all ensuring a smile of the broadest dimensions. Mark arrived at work to be called into a meeting with the CEO, VP and MD where he was promoted, given a whopping pay rise and the assurance of more staff and less travel. Thea awoke alone in her flat and turned her face towards a kiss of sunlight filtering in through a gap in the curtains. What a gorgeous day, she thought, what a gorgeous day.
‘Morning!’ It was Saul.
‘I’m on the bus!’ Thea tried to whisper into her phone while steadying herself over the bumps and lurches of Kentish Town Road. ‘Let me phone you when I’m at work.’
‘Is the bus crowded?’ Saul asked.
‘Yes,’ Thea bemoaned, ‘standing room only.’
‘Do you want to give your fellow passengers something to smile about?’
‘Saul,’ Thea chided softly, ‘let me phone you when I’m at work. It’s ever so jolty.’
‘Thea – our offer has been accepted. We stand to exchange and complete simultaneously – in a month.’
Suddenly, the pretty passenger with the gamine crop was jumping for joy and whooping with delight, proclaiming ‘We’ve got it, we’ve got it!’ breathlessly to everyone. ‘Our offer’s been accepted!’ she was singing. ‘We’re buying this great flat!’ Her fellow passengers grinned at her spontaneous emotion. Just as Saul anticipated they would when he envisaged her reacting in precisely the way she did.
Thea out-talked Peter Glass when he came in for a session at ten. He knew the development Thea spoke of and assured her that the agreed purchase price was a good one. He couldn’t really comment on her tumble of ideas for a colour scheme on a theme and variations of taupe but he let her gabble on in the hope that she’d soon return her undivided attention to his frozen shoulder.
‘Well, good morning, Gabriel!’ Thea greeted a somewhat taken aback Mr Sewell an hour later. ‘And how are we, this gorgeous day?’
‘I’m