Chapter 11

The drive took Karen a little over forty minutes. The Satnav snaking through the twisted throng of back roads. She arrived wearing a tight, little black skirt, a matching lacy top, and four-inch heels. Just the right amount of appeal. Sirenesque rather than slutty.

Garrett opened the door, genuinely pleased to see her. She guessed his enthusiasm was down to her returning his wallet but she hoped there was more to it than her Good Samaritan routine. 

An awkward moment passed between them as he hesitated, not knowing whether he should give her a peck on the cheek as a greeting or a formal handshake. He did neither, safer to opt for an invitation to enter the household. ‘Karen, thanks for coming over.’

She handed him his wallet as she stepped in from the cold, observing the décor. ‘Nice place.’

‘Thanks,’ he replied, not knowing how much longer he’d be able to hang on to it for.

They made their way through to the open plan living area, Karen taking in the ethically reclaimed, mango wood furniture. All the time thinking that she liked this guy’s taste, acknowledging the nagging thought that it was most probably all down to his wife.

‘Would you like a drink? I know I’ve got a bottle of Shiraz kicking about somewhere?’

‘Shiraz is fine.’

Garrett ushered her to sit down on the two-seater sofa, while making busy with the drink. He released the cap and noticed the slight tremor in his hand. He pumped his fist, telling himself to get a grip, then he held the wine glass out towards Karen, conscious of the need to control the tremble in his hand.

‘You’re not having one?’

‘No, the head’s still a little woozy,’ he said, placing his hand to the ridge of his eye, ‘thought I’d lay off it for a while.’

‘What happened to your hand?’

‘Oh, it’s nothing. Looks worse that it is. Started swelling on the way home, it’ll go down in a couple of days.’

‘Not having a good day, are you?’

‘Something like that, but thanks for bringing the wallet, I’d be lost without it.’

She held his gaze, ‘least I could do, after today.’

Garrett rubbed at his hand. ‘Yeah, about that. Listen I don’t usually go around scrapping with young lads, but I couldn’t let it pass. Just his whole demeanour, and the way they both waltzed in like they owned the place.’

Karen raised her hand to gash above his eye. ‘Your cut, it’s weeping.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s just a scratch, I’ve had worse.’

‘Here, let me take a look at that.’

‘Honestly, it’s fine, really.’

Too late, Karen moved in fast. Her body pressed up against his, her smell intoxicating, her touch gentle. ‘This needs a proper clean; I didn’t do a very good job on it earlier. It’s beginning to scab over, but you don’t want it to get infected. It needs an antiseptic wipe or gauze applied to it.’

She pulled away, reaching for her bag. Garrett’s eyes following the cut of her blouse as it tightened against her chest. ‘I might have something in here,’ she said.

‘Thanks, I mean for driving out here. It’s not exactly round the corner from your place is it?’

‘Glad to get out of there that’s the truth of it, I didn’t want to be hanging round if they came back.’

‘The hoodies?’

‘Not so much that pair of idiots, I was more concerned whether or not Cullen might show up in person this time.’

‘Cullen? Al, he mentioned him earlier, like I should know the name.

‘Forget it, he’s just the local wannabe, trying to muscle in on Al’s business.’

‘Shit, I never meant for this to cause you more problems.’

‘Doesn’t matter, it’ll blow over—usually does. Anyway that little shit had it coming, I’m glad you floored the skinny runt.’

She leaned in and kissed him.

It was unexpected, but Garrett reciprocated, then pulled away.

‘Sorry. It’s been quite a day.’

Karen gave him a coy smile, her face lingering inches from his before returning to her wine.

Garrett extricated himself from the sofa. His mind awash, he sat back down in the armchair opposite, but couldn’t help himself from drinking in her svelte, size eight body from head to toe. She’d dressed to impress, he tried to push the thoughts aside.

He got up and poured himself a glass of Shiraz then sat back down next to Karen.

‘So you’re joining me now?’

He raised his glass, clinking it on to the side of hers, ‘St Bart,’

‘Saint who?’

‘The Patron Saint for all things lost and recovered.’

‘To St Bart.’ Karen took a sip. ‘I better not drink all of this though; I’ve got a long drive back.’

Garrett looked straight at her, his mind made. ‘Stay, I want you to.’

She took a sip, never taking her eyes of his. ‘You’re sure this is what you want?’

Garrett moved in, kissing her hard. In tandem, they both put their drinks to the floor. No pretence, two bodies searching each other out. New territory to be claimed and conquered.

Garrett pulled her to her feet, breathing in each other’s smell, wrapped in the moment, they stumbled around like a pair of over eager teenagers. Garrett led her towards the bedroom. They only made it as far as the worktop. He hoisted her up onto the work surface. Karen leant back allowing him easier access.

She pushed him back and slid down off the worktop, her hands finding his zipper, his trousers falling to his knees. He tried to stifle a groan as she delved deep. Garrett clawed at her lacy top. He spun her around, her hands grabbing for purchase on the edge of the faux granite. Ravenous like animals, Garrett mauled at her breasts, the immediacy of the moment outlying the pain in his left hand. He hitched her skirt up high around her waist, tugging at her thong. They were lost in the moment, both consumed by the madness.

Garrett woke in the early hours. The nausea forcing him to run for the bathroom. He locked the door and vomited into the bowl. Three retches later, he was done. He made his way back in to the bedroom, glad to see she hadn’t woken. He went to the window, his stomach lurched, then flipped, he willed it to be calm as he stood looking out in to the darkness surveying the scene.

He turned back towards the bed and Karen’s naked body, straining his eyes against the blackness, searching out the green glow of the bedside clock obscured by the edge of the duvet. Not wanting to disturb her, he decided to leave it be. He guessed it was still early. The streetlights obsolete, the latest borough council incentive to claw back money from the over-spend. He liked it that way, the cul–de–sac wrapped in a veil of blackness. Where others might find it oppressive, even dangerous, he found it to be peaceful and comforting. It provided the opportunity for clarity. He glanced back over his shoulder to the bed, listening to her light intakes of breath. A soothing melody which in that moment, in the confines of the bedroom, made everything seem okay. There he sat until the first glimmers of daylight shattered the darkness.