Blokebusters Read online

  “I beg your pardon!” Elaine tried to sound indignant but she only managed humiliated.

  “Can we calm things down, ladies?” the DJ interrupted.

  “How dare you sit there moralising about my relationship with my husband when only a few months ago you were willing to come along and listen to your husband drooling over one of our women!” The colour rose in Georgia’s cheeks as she grew angrier. “Protesting about us! Why? Don’t you mind shutting us down now you’ve used us?”

  Matt’s head fell into his hands.

  Dan chuckled and shook his head at what a bitch she could be.

  Fiona gasped.

  “I’ve never heard her so livid before.”

  Georgia stood up before plonking back into her seat, realising that she needed to be near the microphone.

  “For the listeners at home, I have in my hand a piece of paper which is the questionnaire submitted to Blokebusters by Elaine Rogers to have her husband tested. Are you denying it? Should I read it out to refresh your memory?”

  “No!” Elaine shouted, tearfully.

  “So why are you sitting there as the voice of morality? You’re no better than some rock star stuffed full of heroin warning the kids not to do drugs. You make me sick.”

  “Right! Let’s leave it there for today. Thanks for coming in ladies. That was today’s big debate sponsored by StayCalm – your herbal remedy to a new stress-free you. I’ll be right back after these messages.” The DJ flicked a switch and an advertising jingle filled the airways.

  Georgia stalked out of the room without saying anything.

  “What happened?” Matt asked, his face pale and drawn.

  “She started on you. I don’t care what she says about me but I’m not letting her take pot shots at you.”

  “But you promised!”

  “I know. But she wasn’t just attacking the business – she was attacking us personally. I didn’t mean to mention it but when she started saying you were prostituting me I snapped. What was I supposed to do? Sit back and take it? She needed to learn some respect.” Her whole body twitched with anger.

  “Listen to yourself! Talking about respect like you’re the Godfather! You promised,” Matt said. The quietness of his voice was emphasised by Georgia’s aggression. “I don’t care about her slagging me off – she doesn’t know me. I do care about you breaking a promise to me.” He shook his head. “What’s happened to you? Where’s the Georgia I fell in love with – does she even still exist? You’re becoming a nasty, spiteful, vindictive little —” He didn’t get to finish the sentence because Georgia, still bristling with adrenalin, cut it short with a stinging slap across his cheek. His sunglasses shot off his face and flew across the room, landing with a small clicking sound on the table. Time stood still. Neither moved, frozen mid-pose like a Victorian tableau. Eventually Matt rubbed his cheek and the room whirred back into life. He was surprised at how much it smarted and shook his head at her in disbelief, words eluding him. He took his prescription glasses from his pocket and put them on. Georgia tried to speak but couldn’t. She’d slapped him. Hurt him. It was unforgivable. She should have her hands cut off.

  “Matt – I care about you. I may well be a horrible person but I’m doing this for us. For our future.”

  “You haven’t even asked me if it’s what I want.” His voice was loaded with sadness.

  “Isn’t it?”

  “I know you think I’m some wet idiot – too nice, too soft. And maybe I am. But I know what’s important. People’s feelings are more important than winning a snide point – or making a few quid.” He looked so disappointed with her that she wanted to cry, only her pride refusing to let her. “You’re fast becoming someone I don’t understand – or like very much. You wouldn’t have slapped me three months ago.”

  “Matt, I —”

  “Don’t. I don’t want to hear it.” He took his hat off and passed it to her. “I’m going for a walk. I don’t know when I’ll be home. You go home – or do whatever you want – you will anyway.”

  “Matt – don’t go. I’m sorry. We can talk.”

  “I don’t want to. Go home Georgia and think about what’s truly important to you. And then try and think if it’s too late to save it.”

  He walked past her. She knew better than to follow him.

  He walked quickly, his long legs settling into a loping stride. It was easier to internalise it, have it fester in his stomach than take the plunge and vocalise what he felt. He didn’t know where he was going. It didn’t matter. In barely eight months his life and everything he believed in had changed, and for the worse. Whatever happened, he’d always known he could trust Georgia; she may be strong-willed but she’d never break a promise to him. And now she had. Maybe it wasn’t the first time. His mouth was dry and sticky. A Starbucks appeared like an oasis and he went in, ordering a cappuccino. He hated what he considered trendy coffee but fancied something he could sprinkle chocolate on to. He emptied half the chocolate pot on to his foam, causing it to implode like a failed soufflé and sat at an unoccupied table. The previous occupant’s spilled sugar was yet to be sponged away and his saucer made a grinding sound as he put it on the table.

  Two women behind him were in animated conversation.

  “And then she called her a hypocrite and said she’d used the service!”

  “No way!” the other woman answered in a high-pitched voice.

  “Yeah – she exploded as soon as Miss Prim started disrespecting her husband.”

  “Good for her.”

  “Yeah. I wouldn’t let anyone diss my man.”

  Matt picked up his cup and moved to a table on the other side of the coffee shop. The last thing he needed to hear was a meeting of Georgia’s fan club.

  Georgia got the Tube back to Liverpool Street and a train home. She had no more tears; they weren’t productive anyway. She couldn’t rid her brain of Matt’s words and what he meant by them: “think about what’s truly important to you. And then try and think if it’s too late to save it.”

  Did he mean their marriage? Was he coming home? Had he left her? Had things really got that bad without her noticing? Why wouldn’t I notice? she thought, suspecting that perhaps she was the true victim. Because you were too busy with everything but Matt, a little voice nagged back at her. Good old Matt, he’ll always be there – push him down your list of priorities – he won’t mind. Concentrate on your career, Blokebusters, Fiona’s problems. Matt doesn’t matter, he’s a grateful lapdog – he’ll never leave or protest.

  “God, what have I done?” she gasped and the man sitting opposite her eyed her uncomfortably. She took her mobile out and called Fiona.

  “If you answer that I’ll be forced to punish you,” Leo said, pinning Fiona to the mattress.

  “Would I like it?”

  He tutted and launched a series of kisses from her mouth to her knees.

  “Fi – I need to talk – call me. It’s Matt. I think he might’ve left me – please call,” Georgia sobbed down the phone. But Fiona’s mind was elsewhere.

  Georgia got home, sat on the sofa and drew her knees up to her chest. Gyp stared at her and, sensing a combing wasn’t in the offing, stretched out for a sleep. She heard their neighbour’s car come back and their front door open and slam shut. Why was Matt so anti-success? Why couldn’t he see that they were building good foundations for their future together? No one got anything gifted to them these days. Hard work and initiative was what mattered. Maybe his comfortable background made him unable to see it; maybe he thought she was vulgar. Dan Goldstein would understand. The very thought of his name released a wave of burning shame within her.

  It was dark by the time Matt got home. As he hung his coat up the phone rang. He wasn’t sure where Georgia was so he answered it.

  “Fiona – what? Oh. Yeah – we’ve had a falling out.”

  Georgia appeared in the doorway, relieved he was home but appalled that her handiwork was still visible on his cheek.

>   “Look Fi, I don’t think you should get involved in this – Georgia will call you tomorrow.” He hung up while Fiona was still talking.

  “I wasn’t sure you were coming back,” Georgia said.

  “Nor was I. But I have.”

  Gyp trotted into the hallway to see who’d arrived, his tail upright as an aerial. Matt scooped him up and hugged him.

  “Is that ‘cos you’d miss me or Gyp?” She smiled weakly.

  “At the moment, Gyp.” He walked past her into the living room.

  *

  “Can I watch you do one of your jobs?” Leo asked, as Fiona got ready to head out for the evening.

  “No.”

  “Why not? It’d be a real turn-on watching you act all sexy for some poor sap who doesn’t know what’s hit him.”

  “I said no.” Fiona couldn’t quite dampen the suspicion that Leo was only with her for a story. She trusted him but he’d been asking lots of questions about Blokebusters; it put her on edge.

  “You do know you’re irresistible when you adopt that stroppy tone?” He kissed her neck and she pushed him away in the rough way that only lovers understand.

  *

  “It’s nice ice cream, isn’t it?” Georgia asked, unable to stand the silence any longer. They sat at opposite ends of the sofa quietly eating bowls of mint choc chip.

  “Yes.” His tone was bland – not exactly friendly but not sulky either.

  “I know you don’t see it the same as me but I only broke my promise because I love you and wanted to defend you.”

  He held the loaded spoon towards his mouth before changing his mind and dropping it back into the bowl.

  “I’m trying to understand, but a promise is a promise – you know that’s what I think.”

  “You seem so down lately, I wish you’d tell me why. It isn’t just Blokebusters, I’m not a fool. Talk to me Matt.”

  He opened his mouth but no words came. He couldn’t do it. How could he explain that he felt threatened, superfluous, excess to requirements without it sounding pathetic? And to the only woman who’d ever slapped him?

  “I’d better wash these bowls up.” He took her bowl from her and paced to the kitchen. Her eyes followed him out of the room, pleading with him to stay and talk.

  *

  It was an odd atmosphere; they weren’t arguing but they were aloof with each other. If one asked a question the other answered politely but there wasn’t the normal flowing back-and-forth chatter.

  When Georgia went into the bedroom, Matt was packing a bag.

  “Matt! What are you doing?”

  He felt a thrill at her horrified expression and smiled.

  “Calm down. It’s just for one night. Billy’s invited me for a lad’s night out tomorrow – I think it might do me good, let my hair down a bit. It’s going on into the night so I’ll stay at his.” Billy didn’t know any of this yet. In truth, Matt hoped he’d be hanging out with his crew so he’d have the place to himself. He reckoned that a night away from Georgia would give him time and space to think things through, regain a sense of proportion.

  “Promise me you’ll come back?” she said her mind racing as to whether she’d driven him away – was he scared of her now she’d become violent?

  “I’m not going to get very far with one pair of pants am I?”

  “Promise!”

  “I might break it – people do,” he added pointedly, but then softened. “Promise.”

  He woke in the night and rolled over to watch Georgia. She looked so young when she slept, innocent and still. So utterly unlike her gobby waking self. Two fabulous sides of the same coin. He’d never felt so torn. He wished that someone would sit him down and tell him everything he should do to get what he wanted. But he didn’t have anyone other than Georgia and he seemed completely tongue-tied around her.

  *

  Georgia was surprised that a lad’s night out should be arranged for a Sunday but didn’t mention it to Matt; Billy had always been a weirdo. Matt left late afternoon. He came into the office, where she was organising the latest batch of emails. Business had boomed overnight after the radio debate. Women assumed that if Georgia made mincemeat of a moral campaigner she could easily sort out their potentially delinquent partners. The debate may have distanced Matt but the women of London loved her for her ruthless display. He dropped a pile of newspapers on the table, making her jump.

  “The debate gets mentioned in most of them – there’s even a couple of photos of us driving into the building.” He smiled but it looked tired, like it had faded in the sun. “I’m off now, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He kissed her hair.

  She nodded and watched him leave.

  “Matt?”

  He turned in the doorway.

  “I do love you. I may get sidetracked or carried away with other things but I’ll always love you.”

  “I know,” he said not even noticing that, for the first time in his life, he’d managed a perfect Han Solo moment.

  Billy was delighted to see Matt on his doorstep; it spared him another night alone with only the TV for company. Matt tried to breathe through his mouth. It was the only way to avoid the musty smell in Billy’s flat, like something had died a long time ago and hadn’t been discovered yet.

  “This is terrific!” he laughed, passing Matt a beer. “Like being back at uni – the glory days before you became a sad sap mooching about after Georgie. Have you two had a row?”

  “Not really.” He knew it sounded vague but it was the truth.

  “Is she making unfeasible demands on you?” Billy nudged him. He’d always taken a prurient interest in Georgia’s sexual needs.

  Matt ignored him and stared out of the window at the stars. Bloody stars, he hated them as he only ever seemed to notice they were there when he was miserable.

  “D’you fancy a pizza?” Billy asked. “I can go and get one – there’s a great place not ten minutes walk from here. I like to go in person ‘cos the bird behind the counter fancies me – I’m stringing her along, letting her think she might get some. She puts extra pepperoni on my pizza – can’t make it plainer than that. Gagging for it.”

  “Yeah – whatever you’re having.”

  “I’d ask you to come with, only you’d cramp my style.”

  Billy slammed the door behind him and Matt tried to capitalise on the quiet. What did he want? It certainly wasn’t bachelor-squalor. He glanced around Billy’s kitchen. It was funny how you could tell when a woman didn’t live in a place. It was the absence of homeliness and knick-knacks. Everything in Billy’s flat was utilitarian; there was no style, no softness. Nothing matched, nothing looked overly hygienic. The stacked boxes of kettles didn’t help but it was more than that. There was no femininity. He thought of his own kitchen with the kitchen roll dispenser shaped like a cow, the set places their mugs went – Matt’s on the left, Georgia’s on the right. It was things like that which made a place home. The sponge by the sink was a giveaway. Matt’s sponge was always clean – not like Billy’s; his looked like it had cress growing out of it. But for Georgia that could be my sponge, Matt thought. Nor did he fancy acquiring bachelor ways. He noticed that men without a woman to correct them picked their noses and ears with abandon and thought nothing of dedicating ten minutes to chewing their fingernails. Georgia told him off if his fingers went within an inch of his mouth; she had a sixth sense for it, sometimes even shouting from another room. Men left alone developed disgusting habits. He couldn’t recall whether this had always been his opinion or a result of being brainwashed by Georgia’s propaganda. Either way, he liked Georgia keeping him wholesome and female-friendly. He’d never imagined his future without Georgia in it. Now, the way things were going, it was a possibility.

  It couldn’t be all her fault. OK, she was ambitious but it wasn’t like she’d hidden it from him. She’d accepted him as he was; he’d made no such effort with her. He expected her to change. He was doing Dan Goldstein’s work for him. The name made his shoulders
twitch.

  “Ask yourself,” he said out loud and realised it sounded silly. Ask yourself what it is you truly want. Georgia – it had been his answer from the moment he set eyes on her. Be realistic. Would he pick Georgia and Blokebusters or a life without either? Georgia with Blokebusters every time. Great. Now he was getting somewhere. Maybe her slapping him was a good thing, knocking some sense into his brain. So why was he sitting in Billy’s – Billy of all people – kitchen moping? Pushing her into that Yank’s arms? Good question. But what if it was too late? Stuff and nonsense – too late! Woo her. Make her remember why she became Mrs Brown in the first place. But he wasn’t sure he ever knew why she became Mrs Brown. Don’t be an idiot! She loved him. She still did. Show her some understanding – clean up. Show Dan Goldstein he didn’t have the monopoly on acting smart and slick. Surprise her. Think outside the box. Barring four days a month she wasn’t an unreasonable woman; she was waiting for a sign that she was still loved – was she loved? More than anything in the world. More than everything in the world added together and multiplied by ten.

  “What about multiplied by infinity?” Billy asked.

  “What?”

  “You – muttering to yourself. Reminded me of when that hot bird took me to a Beckett play.”

  “That was your English teacher. You were fifteen.”

  “She was a hottie.” Billy put the pizza box on the wobbly table. “Tart behind the till was undressing me with her eyes again – I’m lucky to get home with all my clothes intact.”

  Matt guffawed loudly.

  “D’you know what, Billy? You are just about the best friend a bloke could have. You always cheer me up and make me feel better about myself.”

  “Part of the service buddy,” he smiled, Matt’s meaning sailing a mile over his head. “Can I be honest?”

  “Yes.” Matt wondered what drivel was about to launch from Billy’s mouth.

  “You need to toughen up, stop being a chick with a dick… ”