Chapter Six

‘YOU HAVE TO understand how important it was to keep it secret. Their relationship could never be made public. Have you never had a secret, Kacey?’

‘’Course.’ Kacey shrugged, then made the elementary mistake of moving her jaw in a manner that betrayed the chewing gum within. Patrick pointed long-sufferingly to the wastepaper basket and she trudged over to throw the offending gum away.

‘How do you expect to be able to sing and chew at the same time?’ he scolded. ‘Anyone would think that stuff held your bones together. You seem quite incapable of going without it for more than ten minutes.’

I grinned, watching the little scene from the piano. Chewing gum has been one of the top ten bugbears of my life, ever since I had to write off a school violin whose strings were coated in the stuff. Hilarious joke.

‘Anyway, returning to my original point – you’ve got to give the audience some sense of the risk that’s involved for you when you start seeing Tony. Sure, you’re loved up and full of the joys of spring – but there’s danger too. It’s a love that dares not speak its name.’

‘You what?’ Kacey stared at Patrick as if he had asked her to rip out her hoop earrings and frisbee them across the hall.

‘Like if a Somerstown Crew started seeing a Buckland Boi,’ I suggested. Really, it was such an obvious parallel, I wondered why it hadn’t occurred to Patrick.

A lightbulb pinged over Kacey’s head. ‘Oh, right, I get you,’ she said. ‘They’ve gotta keep it quiet or …’ She mimicked the loading and discharge of a pump-action shotgun.

‘Exactly.’ Patrick looked over at me and smiled, causing my heart to melt all over the white keys. ‘Thank you, Ms Delaney. But which are the Montagues and which the Capulets, eh?’

Be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be a deviant.

Stupid, stupid crush.

Besides, I had other fish to fry now, big, fat kink-fish with snappy jaws and whip fins. I had my piano lesson scene with Justin and Maz to set up, and there was talk of the three of us signing up for a big event in London at the end of the month. I hadn’t made up my mind whether to go through with it yet, but I expected my new friends’ arguments in favour to be persuasive.

Kacey and Tunde ran through their balcony scene once more, then the rehearsal was over and I prepared to leave.

‘Secret love,’ said Patrick, unexpectedly and rather alarmingly, having crept up to some spot just behind my left shoulder while I was rummaging in my bag.

Was there an answer to that? Did he expect an answer?

‘Those were the days,’ I said vaguely, though they weren’t really. I’d never had a secret lover, as far I could remember. I suppose you could count Justin as one, though “lover” didn’t seem quite the right word. What did love have to do with it?

‘Really?’ Patrick’s voice blended curiosity and melancholy, but I had no elaboration for him. ‘No secret lovers stashed in the instrument cupboards, then?’

‘Er, no. You?’

‘Not one. Actually, I was wondering whether you were free –’

A basketball crashed deafeningly across the floor, making the pair of us jump.

‘Sorry, headmaster,’ said Gareth insincerely. ‘Just checking the place out for the match tomorrow. I need to ask you about a few things, actually. Are you available?’

Patrick masked a sigh. ‘Of course.’

A dull conversation about team bibs and after-match refreshments broke out. I picked up my bag, nodded my excuses and left.

What had he been about to ask me? His manner had been quite intimate, almost diffident for such a confident man. Was I going mad, or did he seem to be approaching me for a – a date? An adulterous liaison! Was he really that kind of man?

The excitement of it was outweighed heavily by disappointment at his lack of integrity. But perhaps they had separated? A divorce was on the cards? She had cheated on him and he wanted revenge? They had an open marriage? But he had said that thing about “secret love” – that pointed a rather damning finger towards the adultery theory.

A million scenarios flew through my head between school and my flat, but I didn’t dare pursue any one of them. I wasn’t going to be any man’s mistress. If I was a mistress, how could a man be my master? No, it was a hopeless case. I would keep exploring my sexuality in an emotionally safe setting and keep the love stuff for another time, if another time ever came.

We had negotiated the scene beforehand this time. We knew exactly who was playing what role, and what body parts were going where and in whom afterwards.

Maz, in severe tweed and a tight bun, was my piano teacher, tapping my knuckles with her baton whenever my fingers strayed on to the wrong keys. Once I had made three successive errors, I was told to bend over the piano stool while she lifted my skirt and petticoat, lowered my old-fashioned bloomers and spanked me hard with the conductor’s baton. It didn’t hurt very much, being similar in length and width to a knitting needle, so she switched to using her hand, which was pretty hard considering it lacked the size and firm quality of Justin’s.

Once my arse was reddened to her satisfaction, she pulled the bloomers back up and I sat back on the stool and continued with the piece.

But it still wasn’t good enough. My hands were wrenched off the keys, the lid put down and I was led by the hand to the next room, where “Professor Stern”, the head of the conservatoire, kept his office.

‘Enter,’ said Justin.

I had to freeze my facial muscles to avoid smiling when I saw him. He had found a dusty old black schoolmaster’s gown from somewhere and was holding it at the lapels, pacing up and down my hastily-rearranged bedroom.

‘What appears to be the problem, Miss Cross?’

‘This lazy girl hasn’t practised since our last lesson,’ said Maz.

‘That’s not true,’ I protested, but their combined wrathful looks soon drove my rebellious spirit back inside me and I listened mutely while they discussed my poor performance.

‘I’ve spanked her once already today, but it seems to have done no good,’ complained Maz. ‘The girl has had to bare her bottom every day since we started – she is by far my laziest student. I think stronger measures are called for, Professor.’

‘I see. Well, Miss Delray, it’s a very long time since I’ve had such a recalcitrant student as you. I’m not sure the conservatoire is the right place for you any more.’

‘Oh, please, sir, don’t expel me! The shame would kill my mother!’ I exclaimed, hamming it up for the non-existent gallery.

‘I’m going to offer you another chance,’ said Justin.

‘Oh, thank you, thank you.’ I wondered about sinking to my knees, but held myself in check as Justin opened my wardrobe door.

‘Don’t thank me, Miss Delray, until I’ve finished with you. I might not be expelling you, but it’s clear that some extraordinary measures are needed to encourage you to develop your self-discipline.’ He emerged from the wardrobe wielding a rattan cane.

My first caning. I goosebumped all over, curling my toes inside the Victorian lace-up boots.

‘I haven’t used this in many a year,’ he said, bending the cane reflectively. ‘I hoped I would never have cause to again. But you have brought it out of retirement. Miss Cross, I will need your assistance. Please pin up her skirts for me.’

‘Oh no,’ I wailed miserably as Maz crouched to grab my hem and lift it up, taking some pins from her hair and using them to tack the material up at my waist level.

‘It’s a sound six of the best, or you leave this place for good,’ Justin reminded me, whipping the cane through the air. The sound was terrifying, alluring, terrifying again. ‘Bend over, please.’ He pointed his cane at the footboard of my bed, and I gripped it hard, watching my knuckles whiten.

‘I’ll practise, I promise,’ I whimpered, listening to the tap-tap-tap of the rattan in Justin’s palm.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You will. Miss Cross, kindly lower her drawers for me.’

For the second time in that half hour, my bottom was exposed, pushed out and positioned high, the focus of everyone’s attention.

‘I see you had to spank her quite hard,’ said Justin. His hand touched my right bum cheek, finding it warm. ‘Your arm must be tired.’

‘It is,’ said Maz.

Humph. All the sympathy for her arm – how about my backside? I twinged and let out a hasty breath as the long, thin rod was laid against the plumpest section of my cheeks. It felt so innocuous, just a whisper of cool, a light, sweet thing …

Its soft kiss ended and Justin drew back his arm.

I clamped my jaw and tensed my shoulders.

The air split and sang and a streak of heat branded my behind.

It hurt. A second passed, and then it hurt much worse. I couldn’t hold back my cry. This was pain beyond imagining, beyond expectation, and yet I didn’t say the word. Instead, I let the agony sear its path through my skin and tissues until it became pleasure – the process took no more than half a minute.

And then I wanted another.

‘Please, sir,’ I whispered.

‘Yes,’ said Justin. ‘You may have another.’

He gave me it. And again, laying them on swiftly and briskly until six angry lines barred my bottom.

‘Good shot!’ said Maz on the sixth, while my knees buckled and I let go of the footboard, spouting some incoherent noise that might have been swear words. I was red hot and throbbing, at my outer limit, my fingers pressing anxiously into the expanding welts, as if touch could soothe them, which it could not.

‘Hands on your head,’ barked Justin, grabbing my wrist and yanking it away from my rear.

I stood – just about – by the footboard, skirts up, drawers down, presenting my freshly caned and scorching hot arse to whoever cared to look at it.

‘That’s a job well done, Professor,’ said Maz, in a passable cut-glass accent.

‘Take a closer look,’ invited Justin.

I winced as Maz ran her long fingernails across each sensitive mark, pushing them in, pinching cruelly.

‘That should concentrate her mind,’ she said.

‘Yes. You know, Miss Cross, I’m thinking that we should make this a regular fixture. Perhaps on a weekly basis. I imagine it would improve her concentration no end.’

‘What a good idea, Professor. Six of the best at the beginning of each week, to start our sessions off as they mean to go on. Extras as necessary, throughout the course of the term.’

‘That’s agreed. You’ll present yourself in my office every Monday morning at nine o’clock sharp, Miss Delray. And from now on, all piano practice is to be done bare-bottomed, so you’re ready for extra spanking when required. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir,’ I snivelled.

‘Good. Now march back into the practice room and let’s try that piece again. No, don’t pull up your drawers. Like that will be fine.’

I shuffled haltingly, ankles constricted by the linen bloomers, back into the living room. Arriving at the piano I could not quite believe Maz meant for me to sit down on the stool. Couldn’t I play standing up?

But my glance of appeal was met with a firm shake of the head and I lowered myself gradually on to the uncomfortable velvet pile, whimpering with pain as my sore bottom made contact.

‘Now, let’s have that Étudeagain from the beginning, Miss Delray.’

I began to play, heat and pain raging through my arse while something else raged in my pussy. I needed to be fucked. Oh God, let this piece be finished so I can get fucked. I played it so fast I missed out half the notes, squirming furiously on the unforgiving stool.

Maz laughed as I reached the end and slumped forward, plunging my forehead on to the keys with a grand discord.

‘To be honest, Keris, I don’t think that caning worked at all. That was awful!’

But she stood beside me and bent down to kiss the back of my neck, indicating that we were out of role and ready for the real fun to start.

‘It worked,’ I muttered into the ivories. ‘Oh, it worked a treat.’

‘Can I check?’ whispered Maz, a flirtatious hand on my thigh.

‘Uh-huh.’

Her fingers skimmed my bare pussy and she giggled.

‘I see what you mean. Wanna come through to the bedroom? I bet Justin’s ready for you.’

‘Damn right I am.’

I looked up and screamed at the sight of him – stark naked but for the dusty old black robe, his cock pointing optimistically at the ceiling.

Maz, quick as a flash, was back in role.

‘Professor Stern!’ she rebuked. ‘Now, if I remember correctly, there is a further task for Miss Delray. Go through the bedroom, Miss, and disrobe. Wait for us in the corner.’

I heard Justin and Maz kissing and giggling from beyond the bedroom door while I took off my drawers, my high-necked Edwardian blouse, my chemise. I took my naked body to the corner, still preoccupied by the scorpion-sting pain in my bottom. I rested my forehead against the wall, dreaming of cool lotion, a cold flannel, anything to take the heat away. But I knew that the heat was the point. I had to keep the heat and the sting, or the sex wouldn’t hit the heights I wanted and needed.

The door opened and closed behind me and their footsteps moved softly over the carpet.

‘Good,’ said Justin. ‘Now get on to the bed on all fours please, bottom raised nice and high for us.’

I obeyed immediately, my heart racing, remembering what we had agreed over IM during the week.

‘Miss Cross, take up your position.’

I heard Maz unzip her skirt and let it fall to the floor. She climbed on to the bed and sat down in front of me, spreading her legs in their sheer stockings and nude suspenders so that her pussy gaped wide just beyond my nose. Her upper body was fully clothed in a mint green twinset and pearls and she’d managed to achieve a hair and make-up look that aged her by about twenty years.

I swallowed hard. I knew what I had to do, but it was my first time. I hoped she would be firm with me.

‘Well, girl,’ she said. ‘What are you waiting for? Service me or the cane comes out again.’

Exactly right. Gratefully, I bobbed my head down, pushed out my tongue and gave her lower lips a tentative lick.

Maz put her hand in my hair and pressed my face into her hot spread.

‘Don’t hold back,’ she said gruffly. ‘Eat it.’

I breathed her in, my nose squashed into her clit, my tongue working at identifying her taste. It was far from unpleasant, a salty, subtle tang, and I began to relish my task, poking and probing into her intricate folds of flesh.

‘Good girl,’ she said heavily. ‘Don’t you dare stop.’

Her free hand reached down to cup a breast and fondle it.

Then there were larger hands, on my hips, and I knew from the tipping of the mattress and the approaching warmth that Justin was at my rear, ready to fulfil his part of the plan.

He gave my sore bottom a few hard slaps, causing me to moan into Maz’s cunt, then lined his cock up, quickly and neatly, with my wet pussy and pushed it in without ceremony.

‘Aaaah,’ he gasped appreciatively. ‘Nice and tight, and so hot. Nothing like fucking a girl who’s just been caned. Nothing better in the whole world.’

He proved his point by thrusting brutally so that his pelvis slapped my bum, exacerbating the sting in a way that drove me half-mad.

Maz, bucking her pussy hard into my damp face, laughed and kissed him over my bent spine. They seemed to hold the kiss, on and off, for most of the time it took Justin to fuck me, breaking off to call me a slut or tell me I needed this and it would be my arse next time.

I cowered beneath them, their creature, their slave, existing to satisfy their sadistic urges, their whipping girl, their fucktoy.

Justin powered into me, over and over, pushing me further into Maz’s greedy quim until I came, my muffled grunts lost in my mistress’ clit, and then she spent into my mouth while Justin’s cock emptied its load inside me.

I lay curled on the duvet, feeling utterly submissive and used, my bum still burning, my pussy stretched, nipple sore, face shiny with Maz’s juices. I felt good. Ecstatic, even. This was all I had hoped for, and more.

So why were there tears rolling down my face?

‘Hey, babe,’ said Maz softly, cradling my head in her lap and stroking my hair. ‘Was that too much?’

Justin returned from disposing of the condom and sat on the other side of me, looking down with sad brown eyes.

‘Melissa was like that too, remember?’ he said to Maz. ‘The first time.’

‘Yeah, I remember. Hey, talk to us, Keris. Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine, I’m fine, ignore me, just … You know. A reaction.’

‘A good one or a bad one?’

‘That was incredible. My mind’s blown. I think this is what happens to me when my mind is blown.’

‘Hey, J, you get the lotion and I’ll make Keris a drink. Maybe a brandy. Do you have brandy?’

‘An ancient bottle in the kitchen somewhere.’

‘Cool. Hold it right there.’

Justin, in the meanwhile, found me a tissue and then rolled me on to my stomach before retrieving a bottle from his bag. Oh, the lotion was heavenly on my cane welts, calming and soothing. I began to sniff less and sigh more.

‘So what were the tears for?’ he asked, circling a lotioned fingertip around the hot spots.

‘I think … gratitude,’ I said. ‘I’m doing things I’ve only dreamed of and finding them even better than fantasy. I expected it to be sordid and awkward, but it’s even more powerful than I imagined.’

‘It’s addictive too,’ commented Justin. ‘I’m pleased we’ve opened this world up to you. Another job well done. Perhaps we should ask for a testimonial.’

‘How many people have you done this with?’

‘Oh God, I don’t know. Dozens. We’re part of a wider scene, like I’ve mentioned.’

Maz came back in with the brandy, which she put to my lips as if I were a child and she my nurse. It was instantly comforting and I sank back into the pillow, floating on a sense of being cherished and cared for.

‘So it was OK?’ she asked anxiously.

‘Honestly, brilliant,’ I mumbled.

‘We haven’t put you off?’

‘Quite the opposite.’

‘Oh, I’m so glad.’ She clapped her hands and sat down beside me on the bed. ‘You’re really a born submissive. I know so many doms – male and female – who would just love to play with you.’

That wider scene thing again. Was I ready for it? Could I consider it?

‘And I can’t believe you’d never gone down on a girl before,’ she babbled on. ‘That was awesome! Right up there with the best.’

‘Wow, thanks.’ I was genuinely flattered. And it was true, I had enjoyed it.

‘It’s us that should be thanking you,’ said Justin. ‘Another outstanding scene. Listen, it can be hard to come down from intense sex like this – we’ll stay with you as long as you like, OK? Maybe run you a bath. Put on a DVD.’

I wanted to cry again. It felt like an age since anyone had considered my needs. Gareth, the selfish fucker, had been one for rolling over and snoring immediately after his substandard version of The Deed. These people were like sex fairies, granting my every wish.

‘I’m so glad I went to that Munch,’ I yawned.

Later on, all curled up together on the sofa watching some Friday night nonsense, the talk turned to the Big Event in London.

‘So what is it? Do you think I’d like it?’

‘You might,’ said Justin. ‘You might not. But it’d be interesting to find out, don’t you think? Besides, you don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. If you just want to watch, that’s fine.’

‘There’ll be all kinds of people there,’ said Maz, ‘into all kinds of different versions of kink. Some of them live it as a lifestyle, others just play now and again. Some are into big group scenes, others strictly couple-focused.’

‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘You said some of them live it as a lifestyle. What, you mean, they have kinky sex all the time? How can that be?’

Justin lifted my wrist and kissed it. ‘Of course they’re not having sex 24/7. But they’re living a Total Power Exchange lifestyle.’

Total Power Exchange? It sounded like a hair metal band.

‘What’s that when it’s at home then?’

‘A master/slave dynamic,’ said Maz.

‘Really? Like, real life master and slave?’ I was fascinated. ‘That would be …’

‘Would you like to do something like that?’ asked Justin.

‘No. No, I couldn’t, could I? How could I work, or just, you know, go to the shops or … anything?’

‘I guess people work things out in their own way,’ said Maz with a shrug. ‘I’ve got a couple of full-time slave friends. One of them sleeps in shackles in a cage, every night. She loves it. Each to their own, right?’

‘Of course. It’s just, well, hard to imagine.’ But interesting to imagine. And to fantasise about.

‘You seem to like obeying orders,’ commented Justin.

‘Well, yeah, in role play. Not in real life, though. I have to give orders all day long …’ I trailed off, not wanting to reveal my real job. ‘And if I’d had a piano lesson like that for real, I’d have called the police.’

Maz laughed.

‘I’m quite drawn to a 24/7 contract, to be honest,’ she said. ‘But it’d never work for me. Like you say, it just wouldn’t fit around work. And I’m usually so knackered from working shifts, I’m playing scenes less and less.’ She sighed. ‘That’s why tonight was such a great release. Not having to be a nurse. An “angel”, as we get called. If only they knew exactly how angelic I really am.’

‘You’re my angel,’ said Justin gallantly, stretching his neck behind me to kiss her.

‘Aww, honey,’ she said. ‘So! The Gathering! Are we all going together or what?’

I bit my lip and considered it for a moment.

‘Count me in.’

Justin and Maz applauded my decision and began making plans immediately.

‘OK,’ said Maz. ‘We’ll need tickets – that’s easy, I can get them off Madam Malfeasance on Wednesday night. Transport, accommodation, costumes ­’

‘What sort of costumes?’

‘Oh, whatever you like. Preferably something a bit kinky, but up to you. What do you fancy?’

‘I don’t know. I liked you in latex last week.’

‘We’ll have to go shopping! Tell you what, I’ll take you to the fetish outfitters in London before the Gathering, sort you out with a costume that’ll get all the doms circling you like a pack of whip-wielding wolves.’

‘Wow.’ This sounded better by the minute. ‘I’m in.’

‘You’ll love it. I always get a bit overexcited and end up doing something a bit closer to my limits than I intended. I managed to go home with pierced labia last time.’

‘Christ!’

‘But nobody forced me! You just do what you feel, hon, what you’re comfortable with. It’s all about personal taste.’

‘How many people will be there?’

Justin spoke up. ‘Last year there were more than five hundred. It’s held in a stately home just outside London that the promoters have hired for the night. You can book rooms there, if you can afford it.’

‘Oh, let’s do that this year, J! I know we can stay with friends, but I think it’d be nice for Keris.’

‘Well, why not? OK.’

Maz squealed and clapped her hands.

‘They have everything – a torture chamber, a flogging room, tattoo and piercing room, a massive orgy chamber, cages, a giant ballroom … Oh, it’s just heaven.’

A paradise of perversion, with all the accoutrements of the Other Place. I had to see this for myself.

‘And it’s at the end of the month, you say?’

‘Last weekend of November. Saturday night right through till Sunday morning. Last year I went as a nun.’

‘A nun?’

‘A latex nun. Justin was a priest. He looked so hot. I think this year I’d like to be a courtesan. Or a burlesque dancer. Maybe a pony girl.’

Decisions, decisions.

‘Are you busy this weekend?’

Yes, thanks for asking, Headmaster, as a matter of fact I’m very busy. I have latex slutwear to choose and a fetish party to attend, probably followed by an orgy. Yourself?

‘Actually, I’m visiting friends in London.’

‘Oh.’ A pause, pregnant with …something. Maybe disappointment. ‘Well, I hope you have a good one.’

A good one, eh? Better than the one I’d have as your mistress, you mean?

‘Thanks. Are you busy?’

‘Not especially. Well, when I say “not especially” I mean, no more than usual – no such thing as a quiet weekend for a headteacher.’

‘That must be hard on your wife.’

He blinked.

‘Not especially. Not since the divorce.’

‘Divorce. Oh.’

Let me rewind, take everything back, go to the beginning and start all over again.

I wondered if this was one of those occasions when an awkward “I’m sorry” was called for. What is the correct response when a man you fancy like mad tells you that he is not, as you suspected, married and actually appears to be making a tiny play for you, much too late, because you are now fully embroiled in the BDSM scene?

I settled for, ‘I didn’t realise.’

At that point, the cast and crew trooped through the hall doors and I retreated to the piano.

The lacklustre November weather seemed to be affecting everybody’s mood. Our gangs couldn’t muster much aggression, the Latinas’ flirtatious joie de vivrewas too low-key and as for Tony and Maria, I’d seen more passion in the sloth enclosure at Marwell Zoo.

‘This is ridiculous.’ Patrick acted, interrupting a rendition of There’s a Place for Usthat wouldn’t have been out of place on a nursery rhyme CD. ‘This is supposed to be tragic, Tunde. Kacey, your one true love is dying. You look as if you’re resigned to the fact that you’ve missed the bus to town. We need agony here.’

Kacey shrugged. ‘I ain’t never known no one what’s died, innit? Except my nan and I was only three then.’

‘Well, then, think about it. How do you think you’d feel?’

‘I dunno.’

‘Look, it’s like this … Ms Delaney, perhaps you could help out. Why don’t you be Maria and I’ll be Tony and we’ll try to give Kacey an idea of what she should be aiming for?’

Me? He wanted me to grieve dramatically in song over his pretend dead body?

The chorus sniggered as Patrick feigned a long, slow stagger, clutching at an imaginary bullet hole in his chest before thudding to the woodblock flooring.

Trying not to laugh, or cry, I hurried over and crouched at his side, searching for the opening note in my head and hoping this gave me enough of a preoccupied air to make me look convincingly devastated.

His hand, large and long-fingered, lay across his expensive shirt and rumpled tie, chunky watch weighing down his wrist. His eyes were shut but the lids fluttered a little and his cheekbones twitched. He was trying not to breathe too hard, trying to look as if the life was draining out of him, but all I could see was energy, vigour, health and potency. He worked so hard, and yet he never seemed to tire. He was so attractive, and yet he was lonely. How could such a man be alone?

I put my hand on his, and the contact was mildly electric. I didn’t need to force the quiver into my voice when I sang the first few notes of the song.

There’s a place for us.

Is there?

Leaning over him, singing, I could feel his warmth, what they call the vital signs. His pulse, bumping in his wrist, his heartbeat so close to my ear. The melodious, melancholy promises I made sounded sincere, a forlorn hope genuinely held. A place for us, for me and for him.

At the end of the song, the students cheered. A few of them whistled.

Patrick sat up straight, grinning, and clapped me himself.

‘Exactly what I mean. Real emotion, Kacey. It is possible to sing the right notes and act at the same time. Want to give it a try?’

The moment of eye contact when he found his feet was fleeting, but powerful. It probed inside me, turned me inside out, examined every hope and wish I had for my personal life.

He had moved on to stage-directing as soon as the fuse was lit, but I was still feeling its slow, deadly fizzle when I arrived back at the piano.

I think I’m actually in love. Am I? Is it?

Perhaps I could cancel the weekend plans. I pictured myself strolling around some breezy marina with Patrick, picking out yachts for some reason. Yachts? Why? I was beyond analysing myself. A dinghy would be more our budget.

The tumult of youth shooed into the weekend world and Patrick came to join me in returning the scores to the cupboard.

‘Are you leaving tonight?’ he asked. ‘Do you have time for a drink?’

Only the rest of my life.

‘A quick one.’

Was this wise? Throughout the rehearsal I had been cautioning myself to hold back, to be enigmatic, not to let him think I had any more admiration for him than was seemly from a member of staff to her supervisor.

All the same, it was with a giddy sense of being flung on the breeze like an autumn leaf that I followed him to the same pub we had visited that last time.

‘So,’ he said, drinks bought and packet of crisps ripped open for free consumption on the table. ‘You were saying, a while back, that you had no secret lovers in the music stores. Is that still true?’

Wow, straight to the heart of the matter. Was he really going to ..?

‘Um, yes, last time I looked.’

‘So you’re single.’

‘Technically.’

Oh fuck! What kind of a stupid response was that? Why didn’t I just say “yes”?

He frowned. I had just more or less admitted that I was indulging in a festival of commitment-free shagging.

So what? I thought, with a hint of libertine irritation. My sex life was my own affair. Just because I was having sex outside a conventional relationship, did that make me a pariah?

‘What does technically mean? Either you’re single or you aren’t.’

Wrong again, mister.

‘I mean, y’know, Gareth’s obviously still not over everything and I’m –’

‘Oh. Gareth. Right.’

‘He keeps calling me.’

‘He wants you back? Do you want him back?’

‘No. I’m ready to move on.’

‘So don’t let him hold you hostage. He’s a grown-up.’

‘Yeah. I know.’

My cagey tone wasn’t winning me any romance points here. I could see the “Is this worth it?” sliding behind Patrick’s eyes, feel the unsighed breath before it came out. I couldn’t possibly cry off the ball; I would be letting Justin and Maz down badly. It was one weekend. Give me one weekend …

But it didn’t look as if he was going to.

‘OK, the time’s not right,’ said Patrick enigmatically. ‘Story of my life.’

‘Time’s not right? Right for what?’

‘Anything.’

He drained his pint, stood and gathered up his belongings.

‘Patrick, I’m not sure what I’ve done to upset you.’

‘You haven’t. You haven’t done anything to upset me. Forget it.’

‘If I knew what “it” was, I could try.’

He was almost out of the door though. The “it” to be forgotten had not even been identified. How was I supposed to put that from my mind?

‘Have a nice weekend,’ he called over his shoulder.

He was gone before I could utter the polite, ‘You too.’