Chapter 8

EIGHT

Zoe

Would you like to know the last time I stayed in a hotel? It was on holiday – the holiday which was the starting scene of the affair that destroyed my marriage. We flew to Seville with the plan of driving down to the Algarve and we spent a few days in this gorgeous hotel in the old town with sprawling Andalucian archways, green palms and a rooftop pool. The kids had their own room so that meant Brian and I had our own space and whenever that happened, we usually had sex to celebrate the occasion. I can't remember the sex. Is that awful? I don't think you're supposed to remember every single sexual experience when you're married, but I do vaguely remember Brian's face hovering over me, his eyes closed like he was concentrating really hard. After he came (and I had to finish myself off), he wrapped a towel around his waist and sat on a chair by the hotel balcony, one leg cocked up on the frame and I could see his balls just dangling down as he perused the room service menu and told me there was no way he was going to order a ham sandwich for ten euros. Such is marriage. There is no need for mystery or to hide one's naked self. You let it all hang out, quite literally.

I stand by the hotel room door now and stare at the bed. I guess the management assume there's still a happy couple set to arrive because the bed is covered in rose petals and there are two towel swans, kissing, perched on the pillows. I sigh deeply. Is it terrible to want to ring down and request a hoover? However, there is also a bucket at the end of the bed with a bottle of champagne and a note to the newlyweds. I bin the note, take hold of that bottle and uncork it in one swift move, pouring myself a glass. It's a spacious modern hotel room but with the heart-shaped lamps and dimmed lights, there is a considerable amount of love everywhere you look. Why is there a pole in the room? Oh. Maybe I can get drunk enough and pretend to slide down it like a fireman. I chuckle to myself. I don't know if this loved-up boudoir will make me feel worse, but maybe I just need to value the gift of space, privacy for one glorious night.

I remember this used to be the dream. When I was a young mother, I fantasised about hotel rooms, but not for sex: for escape, for rest. I longed for eight hours' uninterrupted sleep, room service, a bed I wouldn't have to make and a bath I could swim in where toddlers wouldn't invade the space announcing that they needed to do a poo and required an audience. And maybe this comes twelve years too late, but I kick off my shoes and feel the hotel carpet underneath my toes, sipping on my bubbles. Maybe this is exactly what I need.

My phone pings, and a selfie of Lottie and Dylan pops up. Obviously taken in a motorway services, and not including their father. I hope he hasn't abandoned them there. I smile at the stupid faces they're pulling, grateful for the fact they have each other. If nothing else, the last months have brought them closer together. Before, their relationship was filled with absolute love, where they'd joke about teachers from school, bond over TikToks and sweets, but then yo-yo to fights where it would sound like one of them had committed actual bodily harm when really all they'd done is stolen a hoodie.

Love you idiots, completely x

They don't reply. Deep breath, Zoe. I distract myself by nosing around the room, opening drawers and wardrobes that I'll likely not use, and then look out at the view, peering over the Thames, the dark of the city closing in over the skyline. I need to take a picture for Mia so she can share it with her aunt. Mia and Ed have outdone themselves tonight. Mia helped me pack, slipping a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates into my bag, and they drove me here to the door. I need to take lots of photos but also steal some toiletries for them as a thank you.

When I get into the bathroom, I take a step back, chuckling to myself. This really is a couple's suite extraordinaire. To the middle of the large bathroom is a circular hot tub style bath, the likes of which Ed doesn't trust. Next to it is a remote and I press on some buttons to see that it also lights up and plays what sounds like smooth jazz. Is this how couples bathe these days? People have had sex in that bathtub, haven't they? I now share Ed's worries. I once read an article in a women's magazine about someone who got pregnant from a hot tub. The sperm just hitched a ride on the jet streams into her fanny. As there is no man around, however, I remain undeterred. I give it a quick rinse and fill it, adding some of the free jasmine and honey bubble bath, fiddling with the remote. There's at least thirty jets in there. I'll allow for a bit of light bubbling and these lights are making me giggle so I'm going to go with a disco pink Barbie style glow. I then go to my hastily packed bag and remove my toiletry bag to get ready. The one thing I quite like is that I can make a mess here, can't I? I'm not sharing this room. I can literally kick off my shoes, pee with the door open, de-robe and drop my knickers in the middle of the floor without shame. I do just that.

I rest my champagne glass on a shelf next to the bath. Should I read in there? Or perhaps bring my phone? Not to take selfies, naturally, but to have something to do? I look around the room and take the hotel manuals and menus in there so maybe I can plan my evening. I'm picturing room service and watching something in a robe. As I get everything set up, I look at the large mirror in that bathroom, catching sight of my naked form. I pause. Having a teenage daughter has always made me quite conscious of how I judge my body, wanting to keep the discourse as positive as possible. These pink Barbie lights are actually quite flattering but there are still the curves and blemishes that have come to be, the pendulous quality of my breasts when I lean in certain ways, the soft lines of my stomach from having housed two children. I never used to have hang ups. Pilates helped. Ageing was a privilege rather than something to fight but having been discarded in the way I was, I sometimes have had periods of paranoia and compared myself to Liz. Blonde Liz who did wild swimming and who had those type of smaller boobs that just stayed where they were post-children. In the Algarve, she wore two-piece swimsuits and short dresses that showed off her tanned legs. I think about a time in the Algarve when she and Brian would have had sex for the first time. I bet he didn't sit in the corner afterwards showing her the curvature of his hairy forty-something balls.

But hell, now is not the time for any of that. Come on, Zoe. You're on your own in a hotel room without having to share that space, without having to dwell on any of those intrusive insecurities, so I tie my hair in a loose bun and get into the safety of the bath, looking down to see those lights really illuminate my pubes. They look like that sort of bioluminescent algae. I'm not sure that's a good look. I retrieve a razor, wading through the bubbles of the jets and feel one of them hit a place it shouldn't. I jolt and giggle to myself. This bath is huge. I feel my legs bob up and I float with all those lights and bubbles, glad for one moment that I don't have to share. This is all mine. God bless you, Mia and Ed. I wade over to the manuals and menus and open those up, too. There better be a club sandwich option. If I'm here for the night, then I also want to know about all those little things that will make my heart sing. Like a breakfast buffet with an egg, pancake and waffle station. I feel a smile creep across my face. I didn't know how much I needed that until now.

A message pops up on my phone. I doggy paddle over to see who it's from.

Well, how is it?

I don't deserve you as friends. It's amazing. I think they were expecting you though. There are rose petals on the bed. I'm drinking your champagne.

Drink away. Rose petals are a bit cheeseballs. Ignore them.

I have. I'm in the bath. It glows.

I maybe won't tell her about my cosmic algae pubes.

Look, Ed and I are just grabbing dinner at the hotel restaurant. Do you want to join us for a drink in the bar in a bit? Say an hour?

Least I could do for the joy of this room. See you in a bit xx

Jack

‘Can you believe that's what he did? It's not hard, you know? It's a decision we should make together but he just goes and does that without my input. And I was like, no. And he says I'm overreacting and I'm like, " Overreacting ? You ain't seen overreacting!"'

Oh, the Tube on Friday nights in London. Sometimes I wish I could bank half the things I've seen on here (I once saw someone with a pig on a leash) and some of the snippets of conversations. The two girls in the seats opposite me continue.

‘I can't believe he did that, hon…'

‘Right, he can eat his poxy pizza on his own as far as I'm concerned. If you don't ask me what toppings we're getting, then you can piss right off.'

I look down and smile to myself as one of them goes into her clutch to retrieve some mascara and re-applies it using her phone camera. It's a packed carriage tonight filled with the last of the work commuters and others headed out for the night, some hiding tins of alcohol in their pockets, full of energy and optimism for the night ahead. I know those nights out. It starts with the best of intentions where you head for dim sum and a bar but usually ends with you rolling out of a nightclub at least one hundred quid lighter, studying the night bus schedule because you're worried a taxi will bankrupt you. London really needs to sort out its capacity to look after its inhabitants past midnight because seriously, it's just kebabs and random buses getting us through.

I look back up and the girl opposite is smiling at me. Oh dear. I wasn't smiling at you with your big fur coat and platform shoes. I was smirking at the ridiculous notion that you've had a row with your boyfriend over pizza. Row over the important things in life, not a bit of pepperoni. Do I smile back? I can't. It'll lead her on. Instead, I squint my eyes and pretend to read the ad above her about bleeding gums and the importance of mouthwash.

Next stop: South Kensington

You see girls, I'm quite grown up now. I'm headed to a hotel. These days I frequent hotels with bars, with drinks that may have fancy garnishes. I'm going to lean against a bar and delight in conversation against the backdrop of alternative trip-hop. There will also be free nuts. It feels very mature and I'm suddenly grateful to Mia and Ed for the invitation. Maybe the two of them have elevated my social standing. I'm now a pseudo-teacher, I'm going to establishments that have dress codes about trainers. With my thirties knocking on the door, this all feels very grown up for a change. I wait for the Tube to lurch forward before rolling to a stop and skip off, headed towards the escalators.

My phone pings as soon as I'm at ground level.

Are you nearby?

I exit through the barriers before replying.

Yeah, just round the corner. You got a table?

Kind of.

So we'll be propping the bar up instead. Must mean the bar is packed but sign of a decent evening ahead if a good crowd is in there. As I approach it, I know we're in different territory as there is a doorman, a reception full of people sat on velveteen sofas, a smooth marble floor with modern mood lighting. My phone still in my hand, I go to ring Ed.

‘Hello?' There's an interference on his phone that doesn't quite sound like he's in a bar.

‘Ed, mate. I'm in reception. You here?'

‘Oh… Look…' The noise continues but I hear a siren in the background. He's not here, is he?

‘Ed, are you driving? Have you guys left?' I say, my disappointment palpable. That's worse than being stood up and not a matey thing to do. I don't know whether to be angry or not.

‘Look, this wasn't my idea. It was Mia's so blame her…'

‘You were the one who suggested the hotel.' I hear Mia's voice over the hands-free.

‘I really don't know what's going on, guys, but I'm here. Are you coming back?'

‘No. Look, can you see the signs for the bar? Just head there,' Ed tells me. ‘I want to say trust us.'

‘Ed…?'

‘I'm sorry, mate.'

And with that he hangs up. What the hell, Ed? If anything, I'm more surprised that this is coming from Ed, who's normally more reliable than this. I look at my watch. I wasn't late. Did they maybe get so randy that they had to head home for a shag? I mean, we're in a hotel if that was the case. I poke my head around the corner to look at said bar. Is it a vibe? It's a bit generic. Cushioned cubicles, low lighting, a man on a piano. It's the sort of place a travelling businessman comes to have an overpriced whisky. Well, I guess that person is me now. One drink to at least make the journey worthwhile. But as I head over to the bar, I see a person walking this way, weaving around tables searching for someone until her eyes land on me. She pauses for a moment before realising what's happening, a large smile creeping across her face. She heads towards me.

‘Were you looking for Mia and Ed, too?' I ask her.

She nods. My heart races to see her, wearing a black dress with buttons all down the front. ‘I was. I can't believe they ditched us.'

‘Unforgiveable behaviour.'

She looks different, lighter but fresh-faced. ‘Seeing as we're both here… drink?'

I beam. ‘I would like that very much, Zoe.'

‘So, this was like a set-up? I didn't realise Ed was so Machiavellian,' I tell Zoe as she sips on her gin and tonic, laughing. We've managed to secure a little booth by the window and she's sitting opposite me. It's like an upgraded version of our dinner date at Nando's.

‘I think his wife may have had something to do with it,' she explains, which makes a bit more sense. Well, I don't think I care who is truly responsible because for now, I like the company and the fact Zoe didn't freak out to see me. We take this slowly. If it's just drinks, so be it. She cradles her hands around her glass and sighs deeply. ‘You'll have to forgive me. I've had two glasses of champagne.'

‘Before I arrived?' I ask, bemused.

‘Oh no, in my room. My set-up also came with a room here that they told me was a wedding gift they wanted to pass on to me,' she admits.

‘You have a room?'

She can barely look me in the eye but giggles. ‘Oh, it's some sort of honeymoon suite. It has a pole.'

‘Like a straight pole as opposed to a Polish person?' I joke. ‘Just standing in the corner.'

She bursts into laughter, and I will admit to loving that sound, completely. Zoe and I look at each other. We kissed, you and I, and I loved that feeling. I really did. I don't know how to tell her that but there's a prolonged moment of staring into her eyes where I can hardly breathe. What is wrong with you, Jack?

‘Thank you also for checking in on me this afternoon,' she says, trying to break the intensity.

‘My pleasure. How did it go?' I enquire.

She shows me a selfie of her kids on her phone. ‘That's the last I heard from them, but I think I just need to let them go and put some trust in Brian that he'll look after them.'

‘Which must be hard when your trust in him is so broken,' I add.

‘Bingo.' That sad look re-enters her eyes and I feel desperate to take it away.

‘Well, I know it's hard, but I hope you get a moment for yourself this weekend. Have you booked in any treatments?'

‘I'm not one for facials,' Zoe says before widening her eyes and realising the other meaning of the word.

I hold my drink in my mouth, trying not to spit it out in hysterics. ‘Zoe! Look at you lowering the tone of the conversation in this very swish bar. I'm appalled.'

She laughs again. I made that happen. And she cocks her head to one side, deep in thought. Please don't be overthinking this. That kiss had chemistry, we are both attracted to each other, let's see where this can go. But I won't go there without you. She leans across and I bend over that table to meet her.

‘We need to talk about the elephant in the room, don't we?' she says, smiling.

I pretend to look around for said elephant. ‘Or not. Whatever you want to talk about is fine with me. The weather's turned, hasn't it?'

‘It has. It's fresh.'

‘Indeed.'

We both smile. She takes a deep cleansing breath. ‘The kiss was unplanned and spur of the moment and I'm sorry I put you on the spot like that.'

I don't answer, but I know my face expresses my confusion. ‘Never apologise to me. It was a very pleasant surprise.'

‘Pleasant?' she asks. ‘Pleasant is a word for wine. Like it was pleasing on the palate.'

‘Maybe the kiss was pleasing on the palate?' I joke.

‘JACK!' she squeals, then she looks serious again, like she's trying to get her thoughts straight. ‘This is… I don't know what this is, but I'm not sure if it's the best idea. We work together now. You're…'

I put a hand to the air. ‘Don't say young.'

She smiles serenely before explaining herself. ‘Then you have a very free, uncomplicated life and mine is less so. It comes with a very new separation, kids, and I'm a big bag of confused emotions. I just don't think it's fair… to you.'

I smile and lean into the table further, placing a hand on hers.

‘This is you being nice again. Thinking of other people and not yourself. What do you want?' She sits there in silence, looking down at my hand. ‘I mean, we can talk about the weather. If that's what you want. We can chat about the probability of it raining tomorrow. We can finish up here and I can leave you, in peace. We can just keep chatting. We can forget that kiss ever happened. If that's what you want.'

‘I'm just… the other option. I don't know how to do that…' she mumbles.

‘What would the other option be?' I ask curiously.

She shakes her head at me, laughing. ‘You know. It's like in a film. I'd give you a wink and my hotel key, and then we'd get handsy in the lift and then you'd come to my room… and it would be a complete debacle.'

I roar with laughter. ‘It would, would it? A debacle? That's a word.'

‘Jack, I've had sex with the same man since I was twenty-one years old. I don't know what you think I can do or what you expect but I am terrified of you.'

‘Of me?' I smile. ‘Little old me?'

‘Little?' And we both burst into giggles, still leaning over that table, our heads inches away from each other. ‘Zoe, all I would expect is to be able to share space and time with you.'

‘Space and time… Like a maths equation.'

‘Exactly. Would you like me to say something about angles now? I know maths is your thing. Maybe square roots?'

And I can't describe that feeling I get when I make her smile and laugh like that. It's addictive, to hear that sound and see her face crease into all those lines, to know I've done that. She stops laughing to lean over and downs the rest of my whisky. She chokes a little and then steadies herself.

‘That was neat.'

‘It was.'

She looks me in the eye, nervously finding her words. ‘You should come and see the bathtub, at least. It lights up.'

‘It does? Cool.'

And she nods, getting up from her chair, waiting for me to follow.