Girls’ Night In. Jessica Adams
Bryce whispered back. ‘A three second close-up of my face before the camera cuts to the clinch.’
‘Oh for goodness sake!’ Ros shoved the key in the lock, twirled into her room and slammed the door.
‘Hey,’ Bryce was muffled but unbowed. ‘You ballsy English girls, toadally like a Judi Dench thing! Y’ever met her? I just thought with you both being English …’
‘Go away,’ she said, her voice trembling from unshed tears. This was the worst that Ros had felt. Wretched. Absolutely wretched. Was this all she had to look forward to? Boring, self-obsessed narcissists?
Bib had been against the idea of a drink with Bryce from the word go. He just hated those men that thought they could fell women with one devastating smile. He’d tried to warn Ros that Bryce was nothing but a big, pink girl’s blouse, but she wouldn’t listen and – now what was going on? Someone was outside their room, pounding and demanding to be let in. It was a man’s voice – perhaps it was Bryce back to try his luck again?
‘Open the bloody door!’ A voice ordered, and as Bib watched in astonishment, Ros moved like a sleepwalker and flung the door wide. A man stood there. A man that Bib recognized. But he wasn’t any of the would-be film stars, he was …
‘Michael!’
Though it killed him to do it, Bib had to admit that Michael was looking good. With his messy curly hair, rumpled denim shirt and intense male presence he made all the wannabe Toms and Brads look prissy and preened.
‘Can I come in?’ Michael’s voice was clipped.
‘Yes.’ Ros’s looked like she was going to faint.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked as Michael marched into the room.
‘I wanted to kiss you,’ he announced and with that he pulled Ros to his broad hard chest and kissed her with such lingering intimacy that Bib felt ill.
Finally he let Ros go and announced into her upturned face, ‘I’ve come to get this sorted, babes. You and me and this job lark.’
‘You flew here?’ Ros asked, dazedly.
‘Yeah. ‘Course.’
Hmmm, Bib thought. Hasn’t got much of a sense of humour, has he? Most normal people would have said something like, ‘No, I hopped on one leg, all six thousand miles of it.’
‘I can’t believe it.’ Ros was a picture of wonder. ‘We’re skint but you’ve travelled halfway around the world to save our relationship. This is the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me.’ And Bib had to admit that Michael did cut a very Heathcliffish figure as he strode about the room, looking moody and passionate.
Bad-tempered, actually, Bib concluded.
‘You come home with me now,’ Michael urged. ‘You knock the job on the head, we get married and we live happy ever after! You and me are meant to be together. We were terriff until you got that promotion, it was only then that things went pear-shaped.’
With his words, the joyous expression on Ros’s face inched away and was replaced by an agony of confusion.
‘Come on,’ Michael sounded impatient. ‘Get packing. I’ve got you a seat on my flight back.’
But Ros looked paralysed with indecision. She leaned against a wall and made no move and the atmosphere built and built until the room was thick with it. Bib was bathed in sweat. And he didn’t even have perspiration glands.
Don’t do it, he begged, desperately. You don’t have to. If he loved you he wouldn’t ask you to make this choice.
To his horror he watched Ros fetch her pyjamas from under her pillow and slowly fold them.
‘Where’s your suitcase?’ Michael asked. ‘I’ll help you.’
Ros pointed and then began scooping her toiletries off the dressing table and into a bag. Next, she opened the wardrobe and took out the couple of things that she’d hung up. It seemed to Bib that her movements were becoming faster and more sure, so in frantic panic, he summoned every ounce of energy and will that he possessed and zapped her with them.
You don’t need this man, he told Ros. You don’t need any man who treats you like a possession with no mind or life of your own. You’re beautiful, you’re clever, you’re sweet. You’ll meet someone else, who accepts you for all that you are. In fact, if you’re prepared to be open-minded and don’t mind mixed-species relationships, I myself am happy to volunteer for the position… He stopped himself. Now was not the time to be side-tracked.
‘I’ll fetch your stuff from the bathroom,’ Michael announced, already briskly en route.
Then Ros opened her mouth to speak and Bib prayed for her words to be the right ones.
‘No,’ she said and Bib reeled with relief.
‘No,’ Ros repeated. ‘Leave it. I can’t come tonight. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow.’
‘I know that, babes,’ Michael said tightly, as if he was struggling to keep his temper. ‘That’s what I mean, I want you come with me now.’
‘Don’t make me do this.’ Misery was stamped all over Ros’s face.
‘It’s make-your-mind-up time.’ Michael’s expression was hard. ‘Me or the job.’
A long nerve-shredding pause followed, until Ros once again said, ‘No, Michael, I’m not leaving.’
Michael’s face twisted with bitter disbelief. ‘I didn’t know you loved the job that much.’
‘I don’t,’ Ros insisted. ‘This isn’t about the job.’
Michael looked scornful and Ros continued, ‘If you love someone, you allow them to change. If marriage is for life, I’m going to be a very different person in ten, twenty, thirty years’ time. How’re you going to cope with that, Mikey?’
‘But I love you,’ he insisted.
‘Not enough, you don’t,’ she said, sadly.
For a moment he looked stunned, then flipped to anger. ‘You don’t love me.’
‘Yes, I do. You’ve no idea how much.’ Her voice was quiet and firm. ‘But I am who I am.’
‘Since when?’ Michael couldn’t hide his surprise.
‘I don’t know.’ She also sounded surprised. ‘Since I came here, perhaps.’
‘Is this something to do with Lenny? Are you having it off with him?’
Ros’s incredulous laugh said it all.
‘So have I got this right?’ Michael was sulky and resentful. ‘You’re not coming home with me.’
‘I’ve a job to do,’ Ros said in a low voice. ‘I fly home tomorrow night.’
‘Don’t expect me to be waiting for you, then.’
And with the same macho swagger that, despite everything, Bib admired, Michael swung from the room. The door slammed behind him, silence hummed, and then – who could blame her, Bib thought sympathetically – Ros burst into tears.
No more Michael. The thought was almost unbearable. She lay on the bed and remembered how his hair felt, so rough, yet so surprisingly silky. She’d never feel it again. Imagine that, never, ever again. She could smell him now, as if he was actually in the room, the curious combination of sweetness and muskiness that was uniquely Michael’s. She’d miss it so much. As she’d miss the verbal shorthand they had with each other, where they didn’t have to finish sentences or even words because they knew each other so well. She’d have to find someone else to grow old with. It