Page 43 of Textbook Romance

Like some saviour, someone who knew I was destined to be alone tonight comes to the rescue. Ed.

Can be? You out tonight?

We’ve ventured into town for some drinks. Come join?

He drops me a pin. It’s actually only five Tube stops away so do-able once I have a quick shower, but the location is a tad confusing.

Are we getting massages? Spa hotel?

There’s a pause.

We just had dinner here and we’re hanging around. It’s a nice bar. There are free nuts.

You are full of innuendo tonight. Stop flirting with me.

I can’t. Are you coming? This is not innuendo by the way. Mia needs to know if she has to nick a chair from the next table.

To be honest, it could be just what I need. Not sure I could handle something too raucous this evening. Just a civilised drink with mates with some sort of bar snack involved because my own brother couldn’t shout me a burger.

I can be there in an hour?

Excellent. See you in the bar. Wear nice shoes because I don’t know the rules in these establishments anymore.

Can’t wait

I text him, then I send him the chicken emoji. He doesn’t reply which is no fun.

EIGHT

Zoe

Would you like to know the last time I stayed in a hotel? It was on holiday – the holiday which was the starting scene of the affair that destroyed my marriage. We flew to Seville with the plan of driving down to the Algarve and we spent a few days in this gorgeous hotel in the old town with sprawling Andalucian archways, green palms and a rooftop pool. The kids had their own room so that meant Brian and I had our own space and whenever that happened, we usually had sex to celebrate the occasion. I can’t remember the sex. Is that awful? I don’t think you’re supposed to remember every single sexual experience when you’re married, but I do vaguely remember Brian’s face hovering over me, his eyes closed like he was concentrating really hard. After he came (and I had to finish myself off), he wrapped a towel around his waist and sat on a chair by the hotel balcony, one leg cocked up on the frame and I could see his balls just dangling down as he perused the room service menu and told me there was no way he was going to order a ham sandwich for ten euros. Such is marriage. There is no need for mystery or to hide one’s naked self. You let it all hang out, quite literally.

I stand by the hotel room door now and stare at the bed. I guess the management assume there’s still a happy couple set to arrive because the bed is covered in rose petals and there are two towel swans, kissing, perched on the pillows. I sigh deeply. Is it terrible to want to ring down and request a hoover? However, there is also a bucket at the end of the bed with a bottle of champagne and a note to the newlyweds. I bin the note, take hold of that bottle and uncork it in one swift move, pouring myself a glass. It’s a spacious modern hotel room but with the heart-shaped lamps and dimmed lights, there is a considerable amount of love everywhere you look. Why is there a pole in the room? Oh. Maybe I can get drunk enough and pretend to slide down it like a fireman. I chuckle to myself. I don’t know if this loved-up boudoir will make me feel worse, but maybe I just need to value the gift of space, privacy for one glorious night.

I remember this used to be the dream. When I was a young mother, I fantasised about hotel rooms, but not for sex: for escape, for rest. I longed for eight hours’ uninterrupted sleep, room service, a bed I wouldn’t have to make and a bath I could swim in where toddlers wouldn’t invade the space announcing that they needed to do a poo and required an audience. And maybe this comes twelve years too late, but I kick off my shoes and feel the hotel carpet underneath my toes, sipping on my bubbles. Maybe this is exactly what I need.

My phone pings, and a selfie of Lottie and Dylan pops up. Obviously taken in a motorway services, and not including their father. I hope he hasn’t abandoned them there. I smile at the stupid faces they’re pulling, grateful for the fact they have each other. If nothing else, the last months have brought them closer together. Before, their relationship was filled with absolute love, where they’d joke about teachers from school, bond over TikToks and sweets, but then yo-yo to fights where it would sound like one of them had committed actual bodily harm when really all they’d done is stolen a hoodie.

Love you idiots, completely x

They don’t reply. Deep breath, Zoe. I distract myself by nosing around the room, opening drawers and wardrobes that I’ll likely not use, and then look out at the view, peering over the Thames, the dark of the city closing in over the skyline. I need to take a picture for Mia so she can share it with her aunt. Mia and Ed have outdone themselves tonight. Mia helped me pack, slipping a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates into my bag, and they drove me here to the door. I need to take lots of photos but also steal some toiletries for them as a thank you.

When I get into the bathroom, I take a step back, chuckling to myself. This really is a couple’s suite extraordinaire. To the middle of the large bathroom is a circular hot tub style bath, the likes of which Ed doesn’t trust. Next to it is a remote and I press on some buttons to see that it also lights up and plays what sounds like smooth jazz. Is this how couples bathe these days? People have had sex in that bathtub, haven’t they? I now share Ed’s worries. I once read an article in a women’s magazine about someone who got pregnant from a hot tub. The sperm just hitched a ride on the jet streams into her fanny. As there is no man around, however, I remain undeterred. I give it a quick rinse and fill it, adding some of the free jasmine and honey bubble bath, fiddling with the remote. There’s at least thirty jets in there. I’ll allow for a bit of light bubbling and these lights are making me giggle so I’m going to go with a disco pink Barbie style glow. I then go to my hastily packed bag and remove my toiletry bag to get ready. The one thing I quite like is that I can make a mess here, can’t I? I’m not sharing this room. I can literally kick off my shoes, pee with the door open, de-robe and drop my knickers in the middle of the floor without shame. I do just that.

I rest my champagne glass on a shelf next to the bath. Should I read in there? Or perhaps bring my phone? Not to take selfies, naturally, but to have something to do? I look around the room and take the hotel manuals and menus in there so maybe I can plan my evening. I’m picturing room service and watching something in a robe. As I get everything set up, I look at the large mirror in that bathroom, catching sight of my naked form. I pause. Having a teenage daughter has always made me quite conscious of how I judge my body, wanting to keep the discourse as positive as possible. These pink Barbie lights are actually quite flattering but there are still the curves and blemishes that have come to be, the pendulous quality of my breasts when I lean in certain ways, the soft lines of my stomach from having housed two children. I never used to have hang ups. Pilates helped. Ageing was a privilege rather than something to fight but having been discarded in the way I was, I sometimes have had periods of paranoia and compared myself to Liz. Blonde Liz who did wild swimming and who had those type of smaller boobs that just stayed where they were post-children. In the Algarve, she wore two-piece swimsuits and short dresses that showed off her tanned legs. I think about a time in the Algarve when she and Brian would have had sex for the first time. I bet he didn’t sit in the corner afterwards showing her the curvature of his hairy forty-something balls.

But hell, now is not the time for any of that. Come on, Zoe. You’re on your own in a hotel room without having to share that space, without having to dwell on any of those intrusive insecurities, so I tie my hair in a loose bun and get into the safety of the bath, looking down to see those lights really illuminate my pubes. They look like that sort of bioluminescent algae. I’m not sure that’s a good look. I retrieve a razor, wading through the bubbles of the jets and feel one of them hit a place it shouldn’t. I jolt and giggle to myself. This bath is huge. I feel my legs bob up and I float with all those lights and bubbles, glad for one moment that I don’t have to share. This is all mine. God bless you, Mia and Ed. I wade over to the manuals and menus and open those up, too. There better be a club sandwich option. If I’m here for the night, then I also want to know about all those little things that will make my heart sing. Like a breakfast buffet with an egg, pancake and waffle station. I feel a smile creep across my face. I didn’t know how much I needed that until now.

A message pops up on my phone. I doggy paddle over to see who it’s from.

Well, how is it?

I don’t deserve you as friends. It’s amazing. I think they were expecting you though. There are rose petals on the bed. I’m drinking your champagne.

Drink away. Rose petals are a bit cheeseballs. Ignore them.

I have. I’m in the bath. It glows.

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