14

I tried to curb my excitement as my car wound its way back to Glasgow. I was on to something here, I was sure of it. Everything was pointing to a perpetrator that had never been caught. Driving on autopilot, I speculated on who would have been capable of such vile acts, and I wondered about the last moments of the boys that were his victims. Did they see their killer? Did they know him? Did they see it coming? How terrified must they have been?

By the time I arrived home, therefore, it was a much less excited and much sadder man who opened the door to my flat. My imagination had spooked me.

I phoned Angela, got her up to speed with my search for Thomas and then arranged a date for the following evening. ‘We haven’t managed to celebrate our engagement properly yet…’ I said suggestively.

‘Down boy,’ she laughed.

‘I’m talking about making you a nice dinner,’ I replied with a butter-wouldn’t-melt tone.

‘What? You’re going to cook?’

The next evening, after we’d eaten Angela gave me an appraising look.

‘Okay, Mr Chef, how did you manage to rustle up such a delicious meal?’

‘Are you impressed?’ I asked, pleased with myself, mentally reminding myself to make sure that the bin lid was closed and that no Marks and Spencer’s food labels were visible.

‘Very,’ she said as she slowly licked the last drop of ice cream off her spoon. Her eyes closed as it melted down the back of her throat. She groaned, ‘That was lovely.’ A thousand thoughts, all of them under the title ‘Lust’, rose unbidden to my consciousness.

‘A penny for your thoughts,’ she said.

I coughed suddenly embarrassed. ‘Would you like to wash all that down with a coffee?’

‘Tell you what,’ she answered. ‘You loosen your belt and I’ll make us both a nice cuppa.’

Minutes later Angela brought through the coffee, kicked off her shoes and curled up on one of the armchairs.

‘When are we going to go into town to sort out a ring?’ I asked, pleased at how certain my voice sounded.

She beamed. ‘You don’t have to, you know. I don’t need a ring to signal to everyone that I’m taken.’

‘Call me old-fashioned, but I want to show the world that I love you.’

‘John, you are so sweet.’ She moved closer to me on the couch and pressed her lips against mine. I swear that my heart actually stopped. I sucked in some air so that it would start again. Angela rested her hand on my thigh and my pulse quickened. I was sure that the people in the flat next door would have been able to hear its pounding.

I felt a flash of doubt. I didn’t deserve this amazing woman. What would I do to fuck it all up?

‘It’s getting hot in here,’ Angela said with a small smile as she unbuttoned the top button on her blouse, pulling me out of my thoughts.

‘You have a small bit of ice cream on your top lip,’ Angela said moving even closer. I tried to lick it off.

‘Nope, you missed it completely. Here let me.’ She gently took my head in her hands and licked my top lip with her tongue. I had never felt anything so erotic in my life. My pulse roared in my ears.

With my finger, I removed a blob of ice cream from the cereal bowl that I had served dessert in and placed some more on my lower lip. ‘Oops, I’ve managed to get some more.’

She grinned and then slowly licked the full length of my bottom lip. ‘I’d better make sure I get it all,’ she murmured. She then pressed her lips lightly on mine and we began to kiss. Her tongue darted inside my mouth to touch mine. I groaned. That was delicious.

‘Time to get naked,’ she giggled. Then gracefully, like a dancer, she divested herself of her clothing, while I struggled with mine, suddenly as clumsy as a week-old puppy. Suddenly aware that this was the first time we’d make love after formalising our relationship.

‘Here, let me help you,’ Angela said as she slowly pulled down my jeans and my boxers at the same time. I kicked them off the end of my feet, she stepped in close and we then stood clasped together, her full breasts rubbing against the flesh of my chest.

Her eyes were huge and luminous in the dim firelight. We sank lower onto the rug, breathing heavy, hands moving slowly, but constantly in motion.

‘Jesus, you’re beautiful,’ I said.

I stopped moving, and savoured our connection as if it were the first time we were together.

She used her hand to guide me inside her.

Then with the abruptness of a light being switched off, I could feel nothing. It was if all of the nerve ends in my groin had been severed. One second I was in sweating, lust heaven, the next I had as much feeling as an amputee.

Burying my head in the crook of her neck, I willed all negative thoughts from my mind. I was with a sexy woman, we were naked and I was enjoying myself. We’d been in this situation plenty of times, why was this happening now?

But there was nothing.

I rolled off Angela and covered my groin with a cushion. We lay for a couple of seconds that felt like hours in silence, both of us staring at the ceiling.

‘What’s wrong, John?’ she asked in a timid and hurt voice.

‘Nothing,’ I turned my back to her.

‘We need to talk,’ Angela said to my back. Then in a small voice: ‘It’s not a big deal, you know.’ She reached for me as if to coax me back to life. But it was if that area was anaesthetised. Her touch barely registered.

I put my hand over hers to still the movement, feeling that every second her hand was on me was adding to my embarrassment.

‘Talk to me, John.’ Angela got on to one elbow and looked down over me. ‘Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.’ Her tone was sympathetic. Caring.

I said nothing. It was if the language centre in my brain had been disconnected. Emotions roiled in my head, demanding to be named, but sense was at a remove.

‘I can handle … this,’ she said as she motioned in the direction of my groin. ‘But I can’t handle the silence.’ I could hear the hurt in her voice but I was feeling too awkward to reassure her.

‘No, you’re alright,’ I managed.

Everything suddenly just felt like too much. I’d never properly grieved for my dad. My mum was seriously ill. And now I knew they’d both lied to me my whole life: I had a secret brother. And then feeling a little bit of pressure from Angela, I had proposed. What was going on in my head? ‘God…’ I sat up ‘…I’m a bloody mess.’

‘John, it’s okay. It happens.’ She stroked my shoulder.

‘That’s not the…’ The touch that only moments ago I was craving, now felt like an admonition. I inched away from her hand. ‘Get dressed. I’ll call you a taxi.’

‘John, shouldn’t we at least talk about this?’ She pulled her top close to hide her breasts. Her eyes limp with pity.

I stood up, covering myself as I did so. All the passion and electricity that was in the room had dissipated. I pulled on my underwear with my back to her. Why was this happening now? We’d made love lots of times without any problems; what was wrong this time?

I could hear her move behind me, and like two people on their way to a funeral we followed the discarded trail of clothes around the living room.

As soon as she was dressed, I stood at the door, my expression hewn from stone. I wanted to reassure her, tell her she was beautiful. That any man would be incredibly fortunate to spend time with her. Tell her it was me. That she was not the problem. But the words emained frozen under the ice of my tongue.

Back in my bed, and with a weariness that surprised me, I slipped off my clothes and lay under the covers. Curling into the foetal position I went over events of the night. How had an evening that had shown so much promise ended so badly?

I relived the successful part of our love-making and tried to assess the moment it all went wrong. What had happened? One second I was fully engaged and more aroused than I’d ever been. The next it was like I had been numbed below the waist.

She was smart, beautiful, empathic. My life was so much richer with her in it. And there was a huge attraction there. An electricity. So why was I feeling this reluctance now that our relationship had a formal basis?

Eventually I slept, and what felt like five minutes later my alarm clock rang.

Followed by my phone. Could it be her?

With a wild churn in my stomach I raced through to the living room and found my mobile. With a sense of disappointment, and some relief, I read the name.

‘Hey, Paul.’

‘Hey, buddy…’ He paused. ‘You sound disappointed. Expecting someone else?’

‘Nah,’ just tired.’ I offered a fake yawn.

‘Right…’ He drew the syllable out as if he doubted me. ‘I hoped I’d get you before you went off to work.’

‘You okay, Paul?’ I wasn’t so caught up in my own problems that I couldn’t sense something was going on with him.

‘Mum said you came round…’

‘Aye,’ I said as I rubbed at my eyes. The conversation I’d had with his mum had been relegated in my mind after the events with Angela.

‘We should talk,’ he said, and I heard a note of importance in his voice.

‘Sure. When?’

‘Tonight? I’ll come up to yours.’