“It's not me! It's not! I'm not this person! I won't be her!” Tears are stinging my eyes. I start tugging pins out of my chignon, suddenly desperate to get rid of it. “I'm not the kind of person who wears beige suits! I'm not the kind of person who wears her hair in a bun every day. I'm not the kind of person who pays a thousand quid for wine. I'm not the kind of person who...who sells out her friends...'' I'm gulping with sobs by now. My chignon won't come loose, so strands of hair are sticking out all over my head like a scarecrow. My whole face is wet with tears. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, and Ann whips the beige dress away in horror. ”Don't get tears on the Armani!“ she snaps. ”Here.“ I shove it back to her. ”You're welcome to it." And without saying any more, I leave. I head to the cafe on the ground floor, order a hot chocolate, and drink it while I take the rest of the pins out of my chignon. Then I order another, together with a doughnut. After a while, all the carbs have settled in my stomach like a warm, comforting cushion, and I feel better. There has to be a way, there has to. I'll work all weekend, I'll find the solution, I'll save the department A beep from my pocket interrupts my thoughts. I pull out my phone and see it's a text from Eric. How are you doing? Working late? As I stare at the words I'm suddenly touched. Overwhelmingly touched, in fact. Eric cares about me. He's thinking about me. On my way home now, I type back. I missed you today!! It's not exactly true, but it has the right sound to it. I missed you too! comes back instantly. I knew there was a point to marriage. And this is it. Someone to care about you when everything's crap. Someone to cheer you up. Just texting Eric is making me feel a million times warmer than the hot chocolate did. I'm composing a reply in my head when the phone beeps once more. Fancy a Mont Blanc?? :):) Again with the Mont Blanc. What is this? A cocktail, maybe? Well, it's obviously really special to Eric. And there's only one way I'll find out. Great! I text back. Can't wait! Then I pick up my bag, head out of Langridges, and hail a taxi. It only takes about twenty minutes to arrive home, during which time I reread three files, each more depressing than the last. Carpet sales have never been worse in the whole history of the company, whereas every other department is booming. At last I close the files and stare out the taxi window, my mind working overtime. If I could just put a rescue package together... I know there's still value in the Deller Carpet brand “Love?” The taxi driver breaks me out of my reverie. “We're here.” “Oh, right. Thanks.” I'm fumbling for my purse when my phone beeps yet again. I'm ready! Ready? This gets more and more mysterious. Just got home! See you in a minute! I text back briskly, and hand the money to the taxi driver. As I let myself into the flat, the lights are dim, in a setting that I recognize as Seduction. Music is playing so quietly I can barely hear it; other than that it's totally silent. “Hi!” I call out cautiously, hanging up my coat. “Hi!”
Eric's distant voice seems to be coming from the bedroom. My bedroom. Well... I guess, officially, our bedroom. I check my reflection in the mirror and hastily give my disheveled hair a comb. Then I head to the other side of the living area and through to the bedroom. The door is only slightly ajar; I can't see inside the room. I stand there for a moment, wondering what on earth this is all about. Then I push the door open. And at the sight before me I nearly scream out loud.
This is Mont Blanc? This is Mont Blanc? Eric is lying on the bed. Totally naked. Except for the most massive mound of whipped cream on his genital region. “Hi, darling.” He raises his eyebrows with a knowing twinkle, then glances downward. “Dive in!” 284 In? Dive? Dive in? I'm paralyzed with horror as I survey the creamy, whippy mountain. Every cell in my body is telling me that I do not want to dive in. But I can't just turn and run away, can I? I can't reject him. This is my husband. This is obviously... what we do. Oh God, oh God... Gingerly I edge forward toward the creamy edifice. Barely knowing what I'm doing, I extend a finger and take a tiny scoop from the top of the mound, then put it in my mouth. “It's... it's sweetened!” My voice is grainy from nerves. “Low calorie.” Eric beams back at me. No. No. I'm sorry. This just... This isn't happening. Not in my lifetime. I have to come up with an excuse “I feel dizzy!” The words come out of nowhere. I clap a hand to my eyes and back away from the bed. “Oh my God. I'm having a flashback.” “A flashback?” Eric sits up, alert. “Yes! I had a sudden memory of.. .the wedding,” I improvise. “It was just a brief image, of you and me, but it was really vivid, it took me by surprise...”
“Sit down, darling!” Eric is frowning anxiously. “Take it easy. Maybe some more memories will come back.” He seems so hopeful, I feel terrible for lying. But it's better than saying the truth, surely?