Chapter Fifteen

As the music built towards a climax I unhooked my bra and let it slither to the floor. I kept dancing; brazenly; as if I was used to baring my nipples to strangers, as if this wasn’t my first time. The resulting increase in enthusiasm from the three young men, who’d been plying me with tips and encouragement all evening, was evident. It was in their eyes; the slackening of their jaws and the way they adjusted themselves. I was determined to go the whole hog tonight – to get over myself and finally strip – I’d convinced myself that I was confident enough and that it would be liberating.

Of all the strippers in The Electric Fox I wasn’t the youngest or the prettiest and I certainly didn’t have the biggest boobs, but I liked to think I was the best dancer, from a technical point of view. Not that it mattered to the punters – they didn’t come here for the dancing – but it mattered to me. As one tune morphed smoothly into another I ran my fingers suggestively around the edges of my frilly knickers. They whistled appreciatively in response and I kept dancing; lifting myself high up on the pole, arching my back and pointing my breasts as I lowered myself in a slow, sweeping spiral under their combined gaze.

All three guys looked to be in their early twenties; still boys, really, with a shared celebratory mission and an eager, puppy-like excitement. Though drunk, they were not unattractive, and their avid attention was flattering. Once they had tucked more notes under the elastic at my hip, I rewarded them by shimmying out of my undies to a roaring cheer of approval. Despite all the mental and physical preparation I’d put into this moment, my cheeks flamed with embarrassment under the spotlights. But I kept moving; braving it out; focusing on the rhythm of the music and grateful for the vodka in my system.

At the next song change I smiled goodbye to the boys, gathered my tips and clothes, wrapped myself inside my robe and fled to the changing room for a break. I was proud of myself for doing it at last; I was done letting fear rule my life, and the money was good; I counted sixty quid and I was only two hours into my shift. But as I washed and re-dressed, I didn’t feel as elated or liberated as I’d expected to. Did I just need more practise? Or was this all a big mistake? I’d been sure this was what I wanted, so why was I doubting myself?

My next-door neighbour popped into my head, catching me off guard as I was freshening up my make-up. Where did he come from? Why Bay? Maybe because in his bathroom he’d shown no embarrassment about his own nakedness whatsoever, and he was the only person, outside of the club, whom I’d talked to about my new job.

That was a fortnight ago now, and I’d not seen him since, which bothered me more than I wanted to admit. I’d left him sprawled out on his bed, sleeping; looking so different. I suppose everyone did when they were asleep, but he looked markedly so; without his mocking smile and the dark glint of his eyes. And yet he didn’t look peaceful in slumber; he looked melancholic; a sadness lay between his eyebrows and at the corners of his mouth. Not that I’d observed him for long. To avoid any awkwardness I’d returned to my own bed and resolved never to knock on his door again; he was clearly unstable and the last person I needed in my life.

But it annoyed me that he had not made any attempt to see me. We’d spent hours talking; the two of us alone together on his bed, and despite our mutual dislike of each other, I couldn’t shake the sense of intimacy the memory evoked. Thoughts of him plagued my mind more doggedly with each passing day. Was I really so desperate and lonely that I now wanted to befriend an anti-social, drug-addled, self-confessed arsehole? I’d cut myself off from my old life so successfully that I had no-one else to talk to. Having downed some water and freshened up my make-up, I returned to my podium where the three young men from earlier had been replaced by a group of six sweaty, middle-aged men. Reaching out for the pole I smiled as genuinely as I could manage, spinning myself around it with gritted teeth and fresh determination.

*

It was after 3 a.m. when I arrived on the landing outside my flat, and something, or rather the absence of something, caught my attention. The day before, I’d placed a potted palm tree on the landing windowsill, along with a scented room freshener to combat the stale cigarette smoke which seeped out of Bay’s lair. But they were gone; the plant and freshener both; the landing was bare again. Surely no-one had stolen them, why would they? I could only conclude it was Bay’s handiwork.

I’d never considered myself to be an argumentative person; I despised conflict and usually went out of my way to avoid it. But a furious sense of injustice had been brewing inside me for weeks, and a missing plant was all the excuse I needed to vent.

‘Where are they?’ I demanded, as Bay opened his door to my hammering.

‘Good to see you too, Cally.’ He’d recovered since the last time I’d seen him. He was barefoot, as usual, and loosely dressed in a sleeveless T-shirt and paint-splattered combats; his short black hair in tufty disarray. But he looked fresher; clean-shaven; his inked skin glowing, his eyes bright and a teasing smile on his lips. The shock made me falter slightly, but I clung on to my indignation.

‘Where are they?’

‘What?’

‘You know what; the plant and the room freshener.’ With a pointed finger I gestured to the empty space in the window. He deliberately leaned closer to me to look and my nostrils filled with his masculine scent.

‘Oh that; I removed them,’ he said lightly, shifting his gaze to mine without moving back.

‘Why?’

‘Well for one, I don’t wanna have to look at your tedious, suburban crap every time I leave my apartment…’ I gaped at him, ‘…and two, they’re a fire hazard.’

‘What? That’s ridiculous.’

Bay kept a straight face but I could see amusement alight in his eyes as he shrugged. ‘Rules are rules, but you can have the plant back as long as you keep it out of sight.’ He smiled, which seemed to suck all the breath out of my lungs, making me angrier still.

‘You’re unbelievable,’ I muttered. In my head I was swearing and calling him names, but, as usual, an inbred sense of propriety prevented me from cursing aloud.

‘It’s over there by the window,’ he said, standing back and gesturing inside his flat with an exaggerated sweep of his arm.

Scowling, my arms crossed, I stomped my way through the gloom of his apartment, temporarily distracted by the changes; the lack of clutter on the floor, the neatly made bed and the tidy kitchen. Even the music, which I now recognised as Nine Inch Nails, was playing at an acceptable volume. But it was the panoramic view of London out of the windows – a thousand lights sparkling and St Paul’s glowing in the moonlight – which really captured my attention. Letting my shoulder bag slither to the floor, I dragged my eyes away from the view as I reached my potted plant and inspected the leaves for signs of damage. It appeared to be unharmed. The door closed, and while Trent Reznor sang softly in my ears, Bay sauntered, with that lazy swagger of his, barefoot across the vast, shadowy space towards me.

‘What about the room freshener?’ I demanded.

He pulled a face. ‘Seriously? It stank.’

‘It’s citrus scented.’

‘Smelled like loo cleaner – I tipped it down the bog,’ he said with an insolent shrug. He stopped a few feet away from me, his gaze locked on mine and my skin prickled with heat and anticipation.