God, I’m dying. I’m actually dying. The tears are coming thick and fast. Why do I always have to cry when I’m sick!? I stop for a second and look up into the dirty garden, the bushes seeming to be laughing at me.
‘Jesus, Poppy! Are you ok?’
I turn my head to follow the voice and to my horror Izzy and Grace are sitting at the breakfast table. Grace looks totally disgusted and pushes her toast away from her. Oh my God. The humiliation is too much to bear.
‘I’m...I’m sorry,’ I cry before dramatically running from the room.
I run up to the bathroom, tripping on a step on the way. I park myself down on the bathroom floor, hugging the toilet bowl. The cold tiles feel nice against my hot sweaty skin. I hear footsteps and wish whoever it was would just leave me alone.
‘Do you want a drink of water or something?’ Ryan asks me.
‘No. I’m fine than-‘
But the vomit train is passing through again. He sits behind me again. He pulls my hair back and rubs my back.
‘Please just leave me,’ I cry in agony. ‘I don’t want you to see me like this.’
‘Just shut up.’ He ignores me and rubs my back.
I pray to God to just let me die quickly.
* * *
About an hour later I’m better enough to be lying on the sofa with a cold flannel on my head. Thankfully Grace and Izzy have gone out, probably disgusted from the smell of vomit wafting through the house.
‘How are you feeling?’ Ryan asks.
‘Well, I don't think the restaurant is there anymore, because I drank it.’
‘Do you want me to put a film on for you, or something?’ He hands me a cup of tea.
‘Yes please,’ I say pathetically.
‘What do you wanna watch?’ he asks, scanning the small DVD collection in the TV cabinet.
‘I know I sound really gay, but do either of the girls have Singing in the Rain?’
He smiles. ‘You’re into old films like that?’
‘Yeah...I know it’s weird, but they always make me feel better.’
There’s no need for me to be embarrassed – he’s seen me vomit. There are officially no more barriers between us. And it could be worse, I remind myself. It's not like I danced to Simply the Best and then showed him my fanny. This was not prom.
‘Well the bad news is that neither Grace nor Izzy have anything like that.’
Oh God, I’m gonna end up watching Die Hard.
‘But the good news is that I have it.’
‘What?’ I sit up in shock and immediately wish I hadn’t. My head is still so sore. ‘You own them?’
He’s not gay is he? Is my gay-dar working?
‘Well, I don’t actually own it. It’s my Grandma’s birthday soon and I’ve got DVD versions of all of her favourites. I got her a DVD player for Christmas but she hates how she can’t watch any of her old movies on it.’
That's so nice of him. Maybe I could just handcuff him, drag him to Gretna Green and force him to marry me.
‘Which films have you got?’
‘Come and see.’ He smiles and offers me his hand.
I take it, revelling in its warmth. He leads me slowly up the stairs while I try and push my headache out of my head. We walk into one of the double bedrooms. It's clean, if not a little impersonal. The walls are painted magnolia and he has matching light coloured furniture. But his walls don't have any pictures on them and I can't see any photo frames anywhere.
It still feels strangely intimate for me to be in his room. I sit on his brown and cream patterned bed spread and check for mirrors on the ceiling. I wonder how many women have been in this room. I discreetly look at his bedpost in case there are actual notches on there.
‘Here they are.’ He takes a box out of the cupboard and places it on the bed.
I crouch over it and flick through them, my eyes lighting up like a child on Christmas morning. All of my favourites are in here. Casablanca, Brief Encounter, It happened one night, Gone with the wind.
‘You like them, then I take it?’ He sits down next to me, his smell waking my nostrils. How can he smell that beautiful after just waking up?
‘I love them. Your Grandma really has good taste.’
‘Yeah, she’s great. You should meet her some time. You kind of remind me of her in a small way.’
I blush, but then realise that he’s comparing me to an old woman. Probably not the best compliment I’ve ever had.
‘So, you and her are close then?’ I ask, trying to sound casual, when really I’m completely intrigued.
‘Real close. She raised me actually.’
‘Really? Where were your mum and dad?’ As soon as I’ve said it I wished I hadn’t.
His smiling face turns sad. Oh God, what happened?
‘My Mum had me when she was 19. She was a drug addict and couldn’t even stay off them when she was pregnant with me. My Grandma took me off her as soon as I was born and she died a few years later from an overdose.’
‘Oh my God,’ I blurt out. Well, that's hardly helpful Poppy. ‘And what about your Dad?’
‘I never knew him. He could be anyone. Apparently she was sleeping around at the time, desperate for a hit.’
Does that mean she was a hooker?
‘My Grandma tried everything to get her off them. She even locked her away in her room, but she’d escape. It just turns out that she loved the drugs more than anything or anyone.’ He smiles as he pretends to look out of the window but I can see sadness clouding his eyes.
‘God, I’m so sorry.’ I wish I’d never brought it up.
‘Don’t worry. People always say that, I’m sorry. It makes me laugh to be honest. It’s not anyone’s actual fault. It’s just life. But...I don’t really make a habit of telling people. The girls don't know and if it’s ok with you I’d prefer to keep it that way?’
‘Yeah, of c-c-course,’ I stutter, falling over my words.
‘It’s just that its no-one else’s business and I don’t want pity from anyone.’
‘Oh no, I totally understand.’
‘Thanks. That's why I could tell you’ he smiles. ‘I knew you’re not the sort to judge someone on their past. Even if you do keep calling me a man whore,’ he winks.
‘Well, you are a man whore, but of course I won't tell anyone. If I pity anyone right now, it’s me. I just spent half the morning vomiting in front of you in my bra. I’m totally mortified.’
He laughs and I’m glad my joke has broken the tension.
‘By the way, how come I was in my bra? Did I get sick on my top last night or something?’
‘No...Actually,’ an amused smile spreads on his lips. ‘You kind of took it off yourself.’
‘What?’ Oh God, the horror.
‘Yeah, you just kind of threw it off and started saying how pretty my hair was.’
‘OH MY GOD!’ I actually want to die.
‘Don't worry about it. You were drunk and I do have incredibly pretty hair.’
I cover my face with my hands, wishing I could be someone else. Some classy woman that didn’t do ridiculous things like this.
‘So anyway, which one do you want to watch?’
‘I think I’ll go with my old classic, Singing in the Rain.’ I smile at the memory of the film and already I’m feeling its calming effects.
‘Cool, that's one of my favourites too. But...don’t tell anyone that or they’ll think I’m gay.’
* * *
We spend the next few hours on the sofa watching it. He insists on me lying down and so sits with my legs on top of his lap. I do wish I was in something sexier than my pink fleece pyjamas and slipper socks. Even if he doesn’t fancy me, it’s nice to just have a friend to enjoy this with. Even if every time he moves it sends tingles down my spine. Jazz has never shared my taste in old films; in films at all to be honest. She’s says there's no point staying in and watching someone live their life when you can be out living your own.
In fact, I’ve decided. I’m going to let go of these foolish fantasies where we ride off bare back into the sunset and instead focus on being a good friend. What more could I ask for? A big hunky friend. Like a gay best friend, but smouldering with sexiness.
A knock on the door makes us both jump.
‘Are you expecting anyone?’ he asks.
‘No,’ I say, annoyed that someone has interrupted the film.
He jumps up to answer the door and I turn down the volume so I can hear who it is.
‘Oh, hi. I wasn’t expecting you today. Or...did we arrange something?’
‘No, I just thought I’d surprise you. Are you pleased?’ a loud squeaky female voice says.
‘Um, yeah of course. I just didn’t expect it is all.’
‘Well, are you going to let me in?’
‘Oh yeah, of course, come through.’
I quickly sit up right on the sofa and turn the volume back up to the normal number. I try to straighten my knotted hair down. He comes through the opening grimacing and mouthing ‘sorry’.
‘Oh hi! I didn’t know you had company,’ a big breasted blonde asks him, eyeing me suspiciously.
She looks almost identical to Claudine. All fake hair extensions, breasts and nails.
‘This is just my housemate Poppy.’
Just my housemate. Nice. My boobs suddenly feel like fried eggs.
‘Well it’s nice to meet you Poppy,’ she says insincerely. ‘I’m Tabitha.’ She quickly turns back to him. ‘Ryan, it’s so strange to see you without a suit. You look so scruffy.’ She eyes up his tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt.