The Men in her Life

she was.
    ‘How about a selection from the cheeseboard?’ he said finally, and they both burst out laughing.
    ‘I’m sorry about Mum’s friends, you know, all that crap about us being the next and everything...’ Holly told him.
    ‘That’s OK. That’s how people are at weddings…’
    ‘How come you’re so sweet?’ Holly asked him.
    ‘Did you know that sweet is about the worst compliment you can pay a man?’
    ‘Sorry. I just meant, you know, you’re nice, pleasant, reasonable...’
    ‘All nearly as bad as sweet...’
    ‘Sorry. I would love it if somebody thought I was sweet...’ Holly said, toying with her beer bottle.
    ‘Only because you’re not. Well, you are, but, you know, it’s underneath. Shall we have another beer?’
    ‘I think the combination’s beginning to catch up on me. I’ve had gin and tonic, champagne, now beer... oh, all right then.’
    Simon waved the waiter over.
    ‘The trouble is, I’m a cow,’ Holly said, suddenly gloomy.
    ‘You’re not a cow. You’re incredibly bright, tough and difficult...’
    ‘Oh. And I love you too.’
    ‘I’m sure there’s a soft centre there somewhere.’
    ‘Don’t count on it.’
    ‘Actually,’ Simon took a long slug of his beer, ‘I do.’
    ‘Count on it?’
    ‘Love you.’
    Mr Kong just wasn’t the kind of place you said things like that. It was too bright and the tables were too close together, and it smelt of spring onions and hoisin sauce. Holly felt a little panicky.
    ‘Are you saying that because you’d like to fuck me, or is it one of those I love you but we’re no good for each other kind of admissions, or was it just a joke?’ Holly asked, calculating that she had covered all angles.
    Simon laughed. ‘None of those,’ he said, ‘well, except the first...’
    ‘What about Tansy?’
    ‘Tansy didn’t like me going to the wedding with you...’
    ‘Oh, Simon, I’m sorry. You should have said...’
    ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he told her, pushing some rice around with his chopstick in the awkward silences.
    ‘So, did you hear what I said?’ he asked her eventually.
    ‘Yes,’ she told him, ‘I just don’t know what to say. I mean, it’s lovely, but we’re friends and I don’t want to lose you, I really don’t...’
    Simon sighed and took a sip of beer.
    Holly remembered him two-stepping and tried to rekindle the rumblings of desire that watching him dancing with Sonya had aroused.
    ‘Oh what the hell?’ she suddenly said, ‘things will always be a bit awkward after this conversation anyway, so we might as well give it a go...’
    ‘You’re so overwhelmingly romantic...’ Simon exclaimed laughing and waving at the waiter for the bill.

    The pavement of Lisle Street seemed narrower than usual. It was impossible for them to walk along beside one another without touching and yet every time their sides bumped Holly felt embarrassed, not knowing whether the agreement they had just entered into meant that they should be holding hands, or arm in arm, or just walking determinedly single file like two grown-ups who had struck a deal. Neither of them had said a word since except to thank the waiter. She could still get out of it, Holly told herself. And so could he. Maybe it was just a joke. She didn’t know now whether she would be relieved or hurt to find out that it was. It might have been better, she thought as they turned into Wardour Street, if he had waited until they were back home with a bottle of wine, and then they could just have fallen into sex without either one of them really acknowledging what was going on. But at some point in life you had to grow up and stop using drunkenness as an excuse for a decision. Alcohol made it easier at the time, but afterwards there were still all those terrible unasked, unanswered questions about whether it had just been a one-off, or the start of something) and all those hazy memories about what you had done and hadn’t done and whether either of you had enjoyed it.
    ‘Your place or mine?’ Simon said as they reached the entrance.
    ‘Yours,’ Holly said immediately, not wanting the memories of what might be a big mistake to haunt her own flat for ever, ‘no, mine...’ She changed her mind as she envisaged Tansy and Simon making out under Simon’s maroon and beige duvet, knowing that it would be almost impossible for her to get turned on in that colour scheme.
    ‘It’s up to you,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders.
    ‘Don’t pressure me!’
    His face