Page 67 of Bad Influence
In the deepest crevice of my brain, and somewhere closer to my groin, there was a stirring of an emotion I hadn’t felt for a long time. Lust.
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning, as my eyes opened, the memory of last night began to fill the room. Jimi was lodged in my consciousness.
I tried to bat away the thought of him, trying to turn my mind instead to thinking about Rob waking up in our flat. the familiar shaft of morning light above the curtains no doubt bothering him as usual.
Rob and I were really good at Saturdays. We would rise late, often after sex. One of us would bring mugs of tea back to bed, we’d bake frozen croissants, get dressed, ignore all the washing-up in the sink and go for a walk around Portobello Road, perusing market stalls crammed with oddities, and pick things out for our fantasy future home. His mum still lived in Holland Park, and Rob grew up in the heart of wealthy West London, so he knew the streets really well. It was so attractive when I first met him, because his family were part of the original Notting Hill Set. He could always get a table at Osteria Basilico, knew the Oxfam shop where you could bag an authentic designer bag if you were lucky, and exactly what time was best to beat the queue at the small Portuguese bakery selling pastel de natas thatmelted on your tongue. Sometimes we would buy a second-hand book each from the quaint back-room bookstore near Ladbroke Grove and take them to the Windsor Castle pub, ideally finding a table by the fire to settle in for a couple of hours. I didn’t question whether I was a twenty-something living a fifty-something life, because we were so comfortable with each other, and I was content with that.
At least I thought I was – until I met Jimi. There was something so intriguing about him, perhaps it was the contrast to the life I knew. Yet when I tried to piece together the details of last night, my memory was sketchy.Had he called me beautiful in a way that meant something?Blair had given me the impression he was a lothario,so why did this feel so good? Am I imagining the connection between us?
I gulped down the glass of water next to my bed and popped two pills, but it didn’t feel as though they would make much of a difference. Short of injecting paracetamol into my eyeballs, I knew this hangover was going nowhere today.
I went to lift my phone, but my arms didn’t seem to want to respond. A few twinges from the Pilates reformer had turned into full-scale delayed onset muscle soreness. Keeping my arms close to my sides, I slid my finger from WhatsApp, where there was still nothing from Rob – although, I was almost past expecting him to call – to the phone icon, where I saw a missed call from Vicky. Then I scrolled on to Instagram, noticing a high number of new followers to my profile, which had admittedly lain dormantsince I’d moved in with Mandy, because I was so heavily restricted from posting anything by the NDA I signed.
Sitting up straighter, I noticed I was tagged in a reel which had been reposted hundreds of times. It was from last night, and I was dancing in the foreground, with Mandy behind me, dancing on the coffee table barefoot, carefree. A number of the images had a red ring scrawled around Mandy’s middle. The same question was circulating widely.
Baby news for Mandy???
Is our Queen expecting?
That looks like a bump to me!
Baby Baby Baby!
I hadn’t noticed last night, or even during the photoshoot, but it did look as though there was, perhaps, a slight roundness to her middle. But it was negligible at most and could easily be the angle.
My immediate thought was how horrible it must be to have this kind of scrutiny over your body. In the online world it seemed even your own body was public property. It wasn’t right, especially if all you wanted was to become pregnant.
Poor Mandy.I wondered whether she had looked at Instagram yet this morning.
I was still pondering this thought when my phone rang.
‘Finally! I’ve been trying you all night!’ Vicky said.
‘Babe, you do realise it’s only seven a.m. here. I’ve not even had five hours’ sleep.’
‘It’s gone midnight here. I’ve been match-sticking myeyes open, I was so keen to speak to you. After that text you sent, I’ve been desperate for an update.’
‘What text?’ A foreboding feeling melted over my delicate, hungover body.
‘The one saying that you were about to do something you might regret with a hot guy from Miami? Did you really think I could just switch off my phone and go to sleep on that kind of cliffhanger?’
‘Oh. Sorry. I don’t remember sending that.’
‘Spill then – did you or didn’t you do something you might regret?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Oh, how disappointing. Who is this Miami hottie then?’
‘He’s called Jimi, he’s Jose’s brother. He’s ridiculously fit. We hung out a bit last night, but now I’m feeling stupid for fancying him and I can’t really remember what happened.’
‘Why stupid?’
‘Because he’s from Miami, a DJ, and a PT, he wears a white puffa jacket and he’s got “I’m not the kind of guy you should fancy” written all over his face. Plus – and you know this – I’m in a relationship!’
‘Listen, babe, I know you. I know you would never intentionally hurt a fly. But you haven’t said much about Rob recently – how is he?’
