Grace was excited, jittery. So jittery she’d forgotten her phone and had to go back for it. She needed it for Google Maps. There had been a strange man on their street, leaving Imogen’s drive. She hadn’t seen his face, but according to Imogen men from the gas company now sported suits and ill-fitting grey hoodies. Very strange. Still, she couldn’t concern herself with that now. She was on a mission. She was on the brink of starting a wonderful new relationship. Farewell James and his cheating bastard heart for good! She’d found someone better. Someone better-looking, nicer…someone who would be faithful to her and treat her right. She couldn’t wait to get to Greg. She would put away her purse, he would put away his escort plans and they’d start the rest of their lives.
He lived on Chelsea Road, in Chelmsford. He hadn’t told her the number but he’d told her the street when she’d asked him. Escorts didn’t usually give out their addresses, she was sure, but he’d told her. He was different. She was different.
She’d go to his street and look for his car.
To get to Chelsea Road, Grace had to drive through the centre of town. She made steady progress – traffic wasn’t too bad on a Sunday. Turning right at the roundabout by the university, she passed the Pacific Hotel. Greg’s car was quite distinctive: an electric blue Beetle. He’d dropped her to the end of her road in it, after the roller-skating. It was there, in the hotel car park. She was sure it was. She had no choice but to swiftly put on her indicator and turn at lightning speed into the car park. A car beeped behind her angrily; she’d braked quite suddenly.
She parked two rows behind Greg’s car and instinctively – feeling like a ridiculous rookie cop on a stake-out – ducked and peered up through the windscreen. She could see the doors to the hotel lobby.
An older couple with matching rucksacks came through them. Then a giggly group of young women wheeling those hand luggage cases. Hen night – one of them was still wearing pink fluffy deely bobbers. Then, in a flurry of huge leopard print scarf and laughter, a blonde fifty-something in a black maxi dress emerged. She had an expensive-looking red patent bag over her shoulder, leopard print shoes to match the scarf, and her hair was flicky blonde and mid-length.
Greg appeared behind her, in the trousers and shirt he’d worn to Ascot. The woman, mid-laugh, stepped forward and planted a kiss on his lips. It was a long peck, almost a smooch. Then she reached behind and, although Grace wasn’t sure, seemed to squeeze his bottom. They laughed. Oh God. A client! Grace felt sick.
The woman turned and skipped down the lobby steps to a red sports car parked close to the lobby. With a swish of a fancy key fob thing, she got in, fouffed her hair in the mirror, put on some shades and sped away.
Greg started walking down the steps to his car. Without daring to look over at him again, Grace took off the handbrake, slammed her car into reverse, and got the hell out of there. As she drove away, hot, stupid tears ran down her cheeks. She’d been a bloody fool, all over again. A bloody idiot. Why had she thought for a minute that dating Greg was her being controlled and in charge? What a joke! She hadn’t been protecting her heart. Her heart had come way off the rails and was careering down a one-way track on one of those pushy-pulley things. She was way, way out of control.
Gutted wasn’t the word. How could he? Somehow, between saying goodbye to her at the station last night, and now, he had managed to sleep with his first client. Well, congratulations, Greg! How much did he get for it? £200? £500? She angrily googled his agency website again, when she got in. It didn’t say, but everything he did had a price. Everything was fake. Everything he’d done, all those nice things he’d said. Fake, fake, fake. How could he kiss her like that and then go and make some cold hard cash shagging Mrs Fifty-something Leopard Print?
It was a done deal. Greg was a proper escort now. He was initiated.
And it was all over for him and Grace. She was absolutely gutted.