LOVE PROBABLY

20.

I don’t know where I am when I wake up in the middle of the night, my mouth thick, stunned by the smell of my foul breath. I got up in search of the switch and as was predictable, I hit my foot on a piece of furniture. “Damn good evening!” I yelled. “Why don’t I have shoes or socks on my toes?” The big toe is hurting me terribly.

“Are you okay, Maddie?” asks a male voice.

“Eh? Who’s talking to me? Who’s there?” I say, terrified.

“It’s me, Jacky,” the voice replies, as light illuminates the room to reveal a matrimonial bedroom.

“Hell, but I’m almost naked here!” I say, discovering the T-shirt which, obviously, doesn’t belong to me.

Oh no! I slept with Jacky and I don’t remember anything. It’s so bad… I squeeze my temples in an attempt to remember. So… Let me think… London, taxi, Rosie, Jacky, whisky… Apart from the fact that these are words, the facts don’t come back to me. It’s a black hole. The whiskey got the better of me, no doubt.

Jacky, shirtless and with messy hair, looks at me, amused.

“First, you’re not naked! You didn’t have any clothes to sleep in so I gave you one of my T-shirts.”

“And how did it get on me?” I ask, thinking of my mismatched and faded cotton underwear, very unworthy of a first night of love.

“You undressed yourself, my dear!”

“Uh... And since when do we call each other dear?”

“Since you told me about your life. A real chatterbox, I swear. The bottle went as well. We talked until 2 a.m., at least! I know everything.”

“Everything! Everything?” I say, panicked.

“Yes, everything. You insisted a lot on the fact that you had never slept with a boy, or even with a girl for that matter, and that the only thing you inserted into your v****a was the handle of a hairbrush when you were a teenager. You just wanted to make sure you had a normal v****a. You had confirmation of this during a transvaginal ultrasound, at the age of twenty-three, if I remember correctly, following unexplained abdominal pain.”

“But nooooo?! I couldn’t tell you all that?”

“Are you suggesting that these are lies? How could I guess?”

“Did we have... You see…” I said, pointing to the bed I was sleeping in.

“You’re kidding, I hope! Who do you take me for? I don’t jump on anything that moves, especially after what you told me… You’ve been waiting all this time, might as well give yourself to someone you really love.”

Oh my God. I’m very ashamed. I ran to take refuge in the WC. And I take this opportunity to do a small commission. I wipe my tears with the toilet paper. After a while, Jacky comes scratching at the door.

“Will you come out, please? I need to use the toilet.”

“Nope! I’m here, I’m staying here!” I shouted.

“Come on, Maddie. I assure you, it’s not that bad. I’m rather flattered that you confided in me. We didn’t know each other. You didn’t have to.”

“Exactly, it’s humiliating. It’s your fault, you made me drink!”

“I didn’t have to force you much.”

“Go away!”

“Not before peeing!”

“Go in the shower, it’s environmentally friendly!”

“Really!” he said, growing impatient behind the door. “Maddie, get moving, it’s urgent!”

“Hey, I’m at home!”

“Me more than you!” he retorts. “Well, listen… We’re not going to argue over such a small thing. You come out and as soon as I’m done, you can come back and lock yourself in the toilet again if you like,” he suggests.

“Okay.”

I go out with my head down so I don’t have to face his gaze, I’m so embarrassed. The digital oven display shows the time – 5:12. It’s too early to knock on Rosie’s door. And too late to hope to go back to sleep. What a fool to have forgotten my things at Rosie’s!

I take advantage of the chance to look at the interior of my apartment. The decoration is much more modern than in our house in Wheatacre. I clearly feel that it has been fitted out by and for Londonians. It’s cramped, the spaces are small but it’s well designed. The kitchen is functional, with a small worktop for preparing meals. It’s open to the living area, allowing for a fairly convivial living space.

On the sofa, Jacky improvised somewhere to sleep. A pillow and a plaid served as his bed. He didn’t lie to me. How could anything have happened between us? A virgin at thirty-five would have frightened anyone. I’m from another era, I know. In fact, I wonder if I’m disappointed that it didn’t happen. I’m going to have to take the leap. My biological clock is ticking. Time flies. And between us, I have nothing to lose. The desire to be a mother has never seemed obvious to me, but all the same, what’s the purpose of life if not to be one?