Sahan leaned his elbows against the counter, thinking about Soma. Her English was coming along nicely. She was still hesitant to speak, but she could understand quite well. When she got it wrong, she would lower her eyes and bite her lip. The thought of it made him smile. A lot of things about her made him smile. Even the way she said his name. Especially the way she said his name. Sahan, like it was meant to be said. He realised that very few people pronounced his name properly in England. Most people called him Sahaaan, with extra vowels at the end. The only person who said it properly, who wasn’t family, was Soma.
He felt a flare of guilt at the thought of his family. They wouldn’t like his hanging around with Soma – they would worry about him falling in love and wanting to marry her. Soma was completely unsuitable for him. There were rules about that sort of thing. He had to marry someone from the right sort of background – upper middle class, same caste, ideally Buddhist too. These ‘rules’ went deeper than edicts about social media. They were so fundamental that Sahan had never bothered to question them. They were within the bedrock of his parents’ world view. To break them would be to say he didn’t care about them – which was something he would never do.
He wasn’t actually doing anything wrong, was he? All he was doing was teaching her to read and helping her with her English. That was a kind and altruistic thing to do. Paying it forward, like Cara had said. He was helping Soma better herself. That was all. ‘Hey, Sahan, take over the takeaway orders, will you.’ His colleague’s voice snapped him back into the real world.
There was a new takeaway driver leaning against the back door, waiting for the next order. A quick glance told Sahan that the man wasn’t Indian, or Pakistani, but Sri Lankan. He couldn’t tell how he knew. He just knew. The driver looked him up and down and grinned.
‘I’m Kemasiri,’ he said, nodding to Sahan.
‘Sahan.’
‘Sri Lanka?’
‘Yes.’
They looked at each other. Sahan took in the cheap trousers, the hair smoothed back with oil, the discoloured teeth and immediately assigned Kemasiri to a social class below his own. This was not the sort of man he would talk to back at home. A driver or a gardener or something.
He caught his train of thought just in time. He was doing it again. At some point in their friendship, Cara had told him that he was a snob. It was something he’d absorbed from the people around him at home and it had been there for so long, it was an innate part of him. He was trying to change, but it was hard work. He had to remember that things were different here. Here, sons of doctors and lawyers mingled with children of cooks and shopkeepers and cleaners. Being poor didn’t automatically make someone stupid. Nate’s dad worked in a canning factory and Nate was going to be a doctor. Here, Sahan was a student who worked as a waiter. Who was he to dismiss this guy as ‘just a driver’? He gave the man a polite smile.
‘Good to meet you,’ he said. ‘I’ll catch up with you later, yeah?’
Kemasiri moved his head to acknowledge him – something partway between a nod and a shake of the head. It was a particularly Sri Lankan gesture that Sahan hadn’t seen since he’d left home. Seeing it now, against the backdrop of his workplace unnerved him, as though the balance of the world was slightly off. He ignored the feeling and went back out to work.
They didn’t meet again until Sahan took his break. He sat on a stool at the back of the kitchen and tucked into his thali, plate balanced on the edge of a counter. Indian restaurant food wasn’t what he considered to be real curry, but it would do. He’d got used to the heavier flavours now. Besides, it was free.
Kemasiri came in, bringing the smoke from his last cigarette with him. He leaned his elbows on the surface next to Sahan and started talking. Sahan, still eating, made listening noises and nodded.
He learned that when Kemasiri wasn’t working at the restaurant, he was a personal driver for a businessman of some description. ‘I only work here once a week,’ he said. ‘When my boss doesn’t need me.’
Sahan nodded, glad that his meal relieved him of having to think of a response. He got the distinct impression that Kemasiri didn’t have many people to talk to.
‘Heh,’ said Kemasiri. ‘His wife thinks he’s away on business, visiting one of his companies down south. Really, he’s got a mistress out in Goole. I drop him off and then get the night off. So I work here.’
‘Aren’t you tempted to actually have a night off?’
‘What would I do all evening? I have a room above the boss’s garage. I can’t go there. There’s nothing else for me to do, so I earn some money.’ He made a sign for cash with his fingers. ‘How about you, son? What do you do when you’re not working in this place?’ Kemasiri looked around him with apparent disdain. He was small man, with a ferret like intensity to his eyes. Sahan felt a twist of dislike. He told himself it was merely his class snobbery getting the better of him again.
Sahan shifted in his seat. ‘I’m a student,’ he said. ‘At the university.’
Kemasiri sniffed. ‘Oh. One of those. Very fancy.’
Yes. One of those. Sahan didn’t bother to respond. Snobbery, it seemed, could cut both ways. The chip on Kemasiri’s shoulder was nothing to do with him. He wasn’t going to apologize for being middle class. He looked down at his plate and wondered if he really wanted any more. The quicker he finished, the sooner he could get away.
‘So what are you doing working in this place?’
‘Earning some extra money. Same as you.’
Kemasiri laughed. ‘Underneath the polish, we’re all the same, eh, son?’
The use of ‘son’ annoyed Sahan. It was as though the man was trying to establish superiority over him. Which was ridiculous. Okay, the man was older than him, but not by a whole generation. This guy was a driver. He probably worked for someone like Yamuna or Bim. Sahan’s parents had drivers. He had spent most of his childhood being driven around by them. It wasn’t snobbery on his own part, this guy was just rude. He made no response.
Kemasiri didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. ‘There aren’t many Sri Lankans around this way,’ he said, wistfully. ‘Not like in London. Or even in Leeds. There’s never anyone to talk to.’ He nodded, as though agreeing with himself. ‘There’s the boss and a couple of guys he does business with.’ A small smile. ‘One of them has a new girl working for them.’
Sahan tensed. Was this guy talking about Soma? He had to be careful not to respond or let slip that he knew her. She was his cousin’s maid. He couldn’t mention her at all. To anyone.
‘Pretty little thing,’ Kemasiri continued, staring thoughtfully into space. ‘Her haircut is a bit strange, but I suppose it’s not a big thing. It’s not like we have much choice of Sri Lankan women around here.’ He gave Sahan a nudge, as though making him a co-conspirator.
When Sahan didn’t reply, Kemasiri said, ‘but servant girls aren’t for the likes of you, eh?’
Sahan picked up his plate with the remainder of his meal. ‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘I’ve finished my break.’
He escaped to front of house, leaving Kemasiri leaning against the counter.
As he prepared a drinks order, he wondered at how strongly he felt about what Kemasiri had said. What if he was talking about Soma? Sahan really didn’t like the way Kemasiri talked about her as though she was a target for his romantic aspirations. Kemasiri didn’t like her, clearly. He didn’t even know her. He had met her once and was interested because there was no one else. Soma wouldn’t be interested anyway. Would she?
He picked up the nozzle to dispense the soft drinks. Kemasiri was the same social class as Soma… maybe she would be interested. The idea made Sahan’s dinner churn inside him. Cola overflowed from the glass. ‘Oh. Shoot.’ He put the nozzle back in its place and found a cloth to mop up the tray. Mr Ghosh gave him a stern glance as he went past.
Sahan tried to focus on his job. What Soma did in her spare time was no business of his. But the thought of her, biting her lip and looking up at Kemasiri made him feel a harsh churn of emotion. He tried to ignore it.
He would take care to avoid Kemasiri in future.
Louie stirred in his cot. Soma, who had come to check on him, stood and watched him by the blue glow of the nightlight. He was so adorable when he was asleep. He was adorable when he was awake too. Hard work, but adorable. Louie’s mouth sucked at an imaginary dummy for a few moments before he relaxed back into deep sleep, his mouth falling into an open pout.
She was suddenly reminded of another baby, blue tinged and still. Her half brother who died before he was born. When he died, something of her mother had died with him. Nothing had been the same since. If he had lived, would he have been adorable like Louie? Would her mother be like she’d been before? Would her stepfather have stayed sober enough to keep himself in check? Would Jaya’s life have turned out differently?
Soma shook her head. She mustn’t think of such things around Louie. She shouldn’t think of that old life at all. It was gone. Left behind. She need never go back there again.
She tiptoed quietly out of the room, leaving the door ajar so that it didn’t make a noise when Madam came up to check on Louie before she went bed.
In her own room, she closed the door and locked it. The bolt reminded her of Sahan. She liked that she could associate him with something that kept her safe. With a fingertip, she moved the bolt head so that it lay flat. There wasn’t any need for it, really. No one had ever tried to come up here. This room was a safe place. So was this house. That man would never find her here. She thought of the letters. If he did find her, she would run away again. It was time she let go of her fear of him.
She sat on her bed and admired the television that Madam had helped her choose from the charity shop. It was small and chunky and the picture wasn’t as clear as on the one downstairs, but it was the first television she’d ever owned. She watched it for a bit, flicking through the channels, trying to find something that could hold her attention. After a while, she gave up and turned it off. From under her pillow, she pulled out a book about some children called The Famous Five that Sahan had given her. It was slow going, but she was getting faster at reading now. The more she read and watched TV, the easier it was to understand people. What had originally sounded like babble with the odd word of sense, was now more intelligible. She still couldn’t understand exactly what people were saying sometimes, but at least she knew what they were talking about.
Sahan tried to make her speak English when he was with her. Soma smiled. The mere thought of Sahan made her heart beat pick up. It was hard to believe that someone so clever and handsome chose to spend time with her. She didn’t flatter herself that he thought of her as anything more than a little distraction. People like him didn’t fall in love with people like her. Maybe he felt good about taking a poor girl under his wing and teaching her to read and speak English. Whatever the reason, she was grateful for it.
Madam would disapprove, of course. She would say that Soma was getting ideas above her station. No one would blame Sahan, obviously. He would just step away and get on with his life. In fact, he would move on in a few months’ time anyway, when he finished his exams. Over time, their conversations had moved on from focusing on the reading. He’d told her about the jobs he was applying for. It all sounded impossibly exotic to her. London, Scotland, Sheffield, Teesside, places she’d heard of, but had trouble believing were real. When he got his job, he would leave and his project of teaching her to read would end. Every time he said he had an interview, she was torn between hope and despair.
He only told her these things because he had no one else to talk to, but sometimes they felt like intimacies. Little snippets of information that tied her ever closer to him bond by fragile bond. He sometimes asked about her life, but she tried not to tell him anything significant. The more he knew about her, the bigger the risk that he’d realise something wasn’t right. Besides which, she would much rather hear about him.
Climbing into bed, she stretched her legs out under the duvet. She was getting used to this life now, even if she still slept with the light on. She would never get used to the cold and the cruel wind that cut through whatever she was wearing, but even that was getting better now that her hair was growing back. She touched her head and let the soft new hair tickle her fingers. It was unbelievable how lucky she had been: finding the handbag, the fact that Madam was a kind woman, her passing similarity to the real Soma… it was lucky that rich people never really looked at the people they employed. So, so, lucky.
Hopefully, her own family would believe she was dead. Even if her mother tried to look for her, her stepfather would sabotage any real search. She had nothing to link her to her old life any more. With every day, she became more and more used to being Soma. With her bank card and passport, it was now easier than ever for her to be Soma. Soon no one would ever remember that she had once had another name. Not even her.
Since Madam paid her wages into her bank account, Soma carefully saved most of it, apart from the odd wodge that she took out whenever she tagged along with Madam to the shops. This she stashed under her mattress, just in case. The numbers weren’t huge, until you converted them into their worth in rupees. She was collecting up a nice little nest egg. The letter from the agency had said the job was for two years. When she had to go back, she would have enough money to rent a room in Colombo for some time. She could find a job there. She need not go back home ever again.
Through helping Madam to cook, she was learning how to make dishes she’d never heard of before. Her favourite was lasagne. She loved the way it went from a gloopy red mess and sheets of pasta to a bubbling, golden treat. If she observed and learned enough, she could probably get work as a cook.
She’d gone from having nothing, to suddenly having prospects. She liked that. The big weakness in her plan was Sahan.
It was a risk, meeting him. An extra danger that might ruin everything. She couldn't get complacent. If he found out the truth about her, he would be furious. He would tell Madam and that would be the end of everything. She really should stop meeting him. It wouldn’t take much – changing the times she took Louie to the park would do. When she failed to turn up a few times, he was bound to give up and go away. She could end it, quietly, just as it had begun. He would probably end it soon enough anyway. But while it lasted… she smiled and wrapped her arms around across her chest… oh, while it lasted it was pure happiness.
Thinking about a life without her chats with him made the world lose colour. Even if it meant nothing to him, to her their meetings were a bright spot in the greyness. To be with him was to risk losing her hard-won happiness. But to destroy their relationship before it had even begun was to guarantee unhappiness. She thought of his voice and smiled. Yes, she would have to be extra careful when she was with him, but he was worth the risk.
Sahan ambled downstairs, rubbing his eyes. The essay he was working on was nearly done. He rolled his shoulders to get rid of the tension. In the kitchen, Nate, Cara and Cara’s best friend Bex were finishing off a couple of bottles of wine. Bex gave him a tipsy grin and waved. ‘Hi Sahan.’
He smiled politely back and put the kettle on.
‘We’re thinking of going to the pub for last orders. Fancy it?’ said Nate.
Sahan looked down at his bare feet. ‘I dunno. I’ve got a bit left to do on my essay.’
‘I’m sure you’ll need a break after all the time you’ve put into it,’ said Cara.
He could take a break. There wasn’t that much left to do… he looked up to find Nate had stood up and was pulling Cara to her feet. ‘Come on, mate. It’s just a swift pint.’
His eyes felt sore and his brain felt like it had been pummelled. A break from his books suddenly felt very attractive. ‘What the heck,’ he said. ‘Just give me a minute to grab some shoes.’
They set off in the crisp night. Nate and Cara strode on ahead, leaving Sahan to walk with Bex. He kept a good gap between them and tried to relax. Bex was nice enough, and not all that scary, really. Glancing sideways at her, he acknowledged she was pretty too. Tall and slim with shoulder-length hair. She was the sort of girl who threw herself into everything she did. They might have been friends, if she didn’t keep trying to flirt with him.
They chatted about what a pain exams were and how they really interfered with enjoying the nicer weather. She started telling him about a play she’d been to see. He let her talk and let his mind drift, comparing Bex to Soma.
Next to Soma’s neat features, Bex seemed like an ungainly giantess. Too tall, too gangly, too… fake. Soma wore so many layers of clothing it was sometimes difficult to tell what shape she was, but her face was a study in emotion. It was as though every thought she had was there on display. The naked joy when she saw him, still undiminished after weeks of meeting in the park and talking. The love she showed when she looked at Louie. Even though she was twenty-five, she had an almost childish naivety about her sometimes.
The only way he could help her was to teach her English. She was a surprisingly fast learner. He wondered if, given the chances he’d had, she would have proven herself far cleverer than he was. For a moment, he indulged in his fantasy where he could train her, Henry Higgins style, into being a middle class girl. Someone he could introduce to his parents.
He dug his hands into his jacket pockets. Oh, it was madness. He knew it was. She was a servant. Not someone he should be talking to. He never mentioned her when he spoke to his family. He just made it sound like he was studying too hard to have a social life. His parents didn’t even know about his job at the restaurant. They would be horrified if they did.
‘Helloo. Earth to Sahan?’ Bex’s voice brought him back to reality.
‘What? Sorry, I was miles away. Thinking about… work.’
Bex gave him a mischievous smile. ‘See, you did need a break. Good job you came out.’
‘I guess it was.’
‘We need to get your mind off work for a little while.’
He laughed, he hoped convincingly. Bex slipped her arm through his. He tensed and wondered how he could shake her off without being rude. He walked with his elbow held stiffly out from his body. They neared the pub and Bex moved closer. ‘We’re here,’ she said, redundantly.
Sahan hesitated.
‘You coming in?’ said Bex. ‘Or have you come up with a better idea?’ She leaned closer. He could smell the wine on her breath and it repulsed him. Her eyes were fixed on his face. If he didn’t do something she would try to kiss him. The very thought made him flinch.
He gently removed her arm from his. ‘I’m sorry, Bex,’ he said. ‘I don’t think this is such a good idea.’ He patted her hand before letting it go. ‘I’m… really sorry.’
Bex’s smiled dropped. ‘I see,’ she said. She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘I see.’ There was the slightest tremor in her voice. He felt like an ogre.
‘Bex, I’m really sorry. It’s just my head isn’t in the right place for—’
‘I’ll let the others know you’ve gone back. Hope you get your essay done.’ She stalked off before he could say anything else. She disappeared into the pub, without pausing or looking back.
Sahan stared after her, aware that he’d just hurt a girl who didn’t deserve it. But it was better than stringing her along. It was the right thing to do. He turned and started walking back. After a few minutes, he broke into a run, because he didn’t want all that time to think. Bloody Tamsin. Bloody, bloody Tamsin. What had she done to him?
His first week at uni had been a scary, exhilarating experience. It was the first time he’d been away from home and he was unleashed into a strange country. Back home, he had barely a moment where someone wasn’t with him. Under the guise of keeping him safe, his father kept him tightly reined in. His parents had warned him, repeatedly, not to lose sight of his goal. Don’t get distracted, son. Remember to study. But studying was the last thing on his mind, that first week. The fearsome responsibility of having to do everything for himself was matched only by the elation of being able to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.
University life in his imagination had been a mix of imagery gleaned from American TV shows. He now knew that Britain was a very different place to TV America. It was less clean, less wholesome. Still, a whole lot of fun. The first person he met was Nate, who was also the first black person he had ever spoken to. A few hours in the bar later, they had become firm friends.
If his friends from home could see him now, they’d see a guy who’d embraced freedom; who was standing in a bar with no set time to go home, drinking a beer he didn’t have to hide, hanging out with his black best friend. They wouldn’t recognize him. His father would probably have a coronary in horror.
Well, his father wasn’t here now. He could do whatever he liked. He was all set to have the best three years of his life.
And then Tamsin happened. She walked into the bar and every male head turned to watch her progress. She was beautiful, with thick brown curls that swung to the movement of her hips. Even in the standard student outfit of jeans and skinny t-shirt, she was movie star elegant. Sahan, who had been brought up to be courteous and always button his shirts right to the very top, never thought for a moment that a guy like him would have a chance with someone like her. Which was why, when she came over to talk to them, he assumed it was Nate she was interested in.
She was even more flawless up close and for the first time in his life, Sahan was lost for words. Small talk, which normally came easily to him, was a struggle. Yet, Tamsin didn’t seem to notice. She smiled at him, touched his arm, complemented him on his long eyelashes. When she left, she passed him a piece of paper with her mobile number on it.
Sahan and Nate watched her leave.
‘Wow,’ said Nate. ‘I think you’ve pulled.’
Sahan looked at the piece of paper in his hand and swallowed hard. Blood that had deserted his brain for more interesting destinations slowly returned. ‘She was being nice,’ he said. But he tucked the paper carefully into his jeans pocket.
He’d tried to call her, several times, but it was too much for him. Somewhere deep inside, he knew that his parents would be horrified at the thought of him being with a woman like that. It broke all the rules he’d been brought up with. The girls he knew would never approach a guy like that, let alone give him their phone number. Which was why, when he saw her in the student union shop a few days later, he tried to stammer an apology.
Tamsin laughed. ‘You’re so sweet,’ she said. ‘Tell you what, I’m not busy right now. How about you buy me a coffee?’
So they sat in the cafe, perched on the tall stools, elbows leaning against the round table in between them, and chatted. Every so often, their knees would touch and it was like a bolt of lightning to his stomach. After a few minutes, Sahan recovered his ability to speak. Tamsin was in the final year, a few years older than he was. She seemed to be bright and charming. Finally, she slid off her stool.
‘Since you’re quite shy,’ she said, smiling, ‘I’ll do the asking. Do you fancy taking me out for dinner on Friday night?’
‘Uh… yeah. I’m mean. Yes. That would be… That’s great. Yes.’
Her smile widened. ‘You’re so cute. Come pick me up at seven.’ She wrote her address and room number on the back of the receipt and pressed it into his hand. ‘Don’t lose that. Okay?’ Her hand lingered in his.
‘No. Of course.’
‘Great. I’ll see you on Friday night.’ She left him staring at his hand and wondering if he could get away with never washing it again.
On the Friday, he walked down the corridor of her halls of residence at five to seven. After several hours on TripAdvisor, he and Nate had chosen a restaurant. He had even ironed his shirt. Nate, who had found out quite how sheltered Sahan’s life had been so far, had given him a lecture on safe sex and made him take a condom. Sahan had said he didn’t believe in sex before marriage. Nate had laughed and said it should be an interesting evening then.
It turned out that dinner involved a lot of wine. Sahan wasn’t used to wine. It tasted heavy compared to beer and it was making him feel fuzzy, which wasn’t unpleasant. Tamsin, two years older than him, was telling him about what she was going to do when she graduated. Sahan watched her red, red lips moving. She had done most of the talking that evening. He had tried very hard to pay attention and tried to make sure that his eyes focussed on her face whenever he was looking at her.
Tamsin reached across, her arm brushing his, and picked up the wine bottle. There wasn’t much left.
‘Oh.’ She tipped the last of the wine into her glass. ‘Let’s order another.’ Before he could answer, she had raised her arm to get the waiter’s attention.
He didn’t mind. Not really. But she could have asked him. He assumed he was paying for this meal, and even if he wasn’t, surely it was good manners to check if he wanted more wine. Tamsin ordered another bottle. Sahan frowned. He was fairly new to drinking alcohol and his head felt muzzy. As the waiter turned to leave, he said, ‘I’d like a glass of tap water as well, please.’
‘You okay?’ said Tamsin. She leaned closer. He could see down her dress now. Her chest gleamed in the restaurant lights, as though she had swept her breasts with glitter. Inadvertently, he thought of his father and his warnings against loose women. He forced his gaze back up to her face.
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just needed a glass of water. Thirsty… you know,’ he said.
She laughed. ‘Me too, which is why I ordered more wine.’ She smiled at him. The skin around her mouth wrinkled in a strange way. He realised that the skin he had taken to be flawless was actually just a coating of make-up. Of course it was. Silly of him to not notice before. His father’s voice rang out in his head. ‘Be sensible. Foreign women are all fake glamour and no substance. They will use you and discard you. Dangerous creatures.’ He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again.
Tamsin was looking at him with her head to one side. ‘Sure you’re okay?’ Her fingers made contact with his hand, warm but no longer thrilling.
Damn his father and his moralizing. He was ruining everything. The rush of emotion that he had started the evening with had fizzled out. This was not going as he had hoped. Still, she had done nothing wrong. He needed some time to think. ‘I’m fine,’ he said. What had she been saying? ‘Um… you’ve got a job interview soon…’
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘It’s actually a second interview. There’s a whole day of assessments.’ Her hand moved away from his as she gestured. ‘You know, psychometric tests and all that.’
He shook his head. ‘I’ve not done that sort of thing…’
She explained. Partway through her explanation, the wine arrived and she poured herself a glass. He topped up his own. He wasn’t sure he wanted any more. He was already feeling woozy. More wine wasn’t a great idea, but he needed to have something to do. So he drank it anyway.
It wasn’t late, but Sahan was unsteady on his feet from the wine. Tamsin, who’d had far more wine than he had, was steadier than he was, but not by much. They wove their way down the corridor of her hall of residence. It was quiet, everyone else must still be out. Tamsin tucked her arm through his, pressing her body close so that he could feel the squash of her breast through her coat. He knew he should be enjoying that, but couldn’t muster any enthusiasm.
Tamsin lost her glamour faster than he’d thought possible. The meal, the glitter… that had started it, but the final stroke had come when they’d stumbled out of the restaurant and she’d leaned against a pillar and pulled out a cigarette. She had offered him one, showing a generosity that she hadn’t shown with the wine. He had refused, but then had to put up with her second-hand smoke as they walked back to the halls of residence. The smell clung to them now, making his already queasy stomach turn all the more.
He had thought he knew about the world. Nate had tried to tell him that he was too naive, but he had been so sure that watching TV had prepared him. Maybe Nate had been right. Or worse… maybe his father had been. That thought sobered him up.
‘Here we are,’ she trilled. He tried to release himself from her, but she managed to open the door whilst still holding his arm.
‘I… should go,’ he said, when she dragged him in. ‘Thank you very much for a lov—’
Her mouth pressed against his. He tried to protest, but opening his mouth only let her tongue in. She tasted of ash and smoke and tannin. He stood, paralysed by panic for a second, not sure how to push her away. When he moved, his hands were suddenly full of warm flesh and for a moment, he could think of nothing other than the sensation of a nipple hardening against his palm and the slide of her tongue against his.
She pushed, making his back slam against the closed door. She stopped kissing him for a moment. ‘You,’ she said, her voice low, ‘are so damned cute. I could eat you.’
He didn’t want to be eaten by her. He didn’t want her cigarette taste in his mouth. She kissed him again. This time, he managed to move.
‘T… Tams—’
She pulled his shirt out and thrust her hand under it. He yelped at the cold touch.
‘Stop it.’ He pulled her hand away. ‘Please.’
‘Aww,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard…’ she nipped at his earlobe, making him flinch. ‘That the quiet ones are the best.’ Her hands scrabbled at his waist. She was undoing the buttons on his jeans. His insides lurched in panic. He batted her hands away, but she was too quick. Her cold fingers reached inside his underwear.
‘No.’
‘What’s the matter, little man?’ She looked down. ‘Let’s see what we have…’
‘I don’t—’ He grabbed her wrist and tried to pull her hand away. Years of being taught to be polite made him try to explain. ‘I don’t even know you. I don’t want to sleep with y—’
She pressed towards him and tried to kiss him again. Thoughts of explaining vanished in another rush of panic. Nothing about this was right. It went against everything he believed in, not just about romance, but about basic respect.
Her free hand groped into his underwear again and gripped his penis, making him yelp.
‘Aw,’ said Tamsin, squeezing. ‘So soft? Don’t you like girls?’ Her other hand groped round to his bottom. He twisted and wriggled out her grasp.
‘Leave me alone.’
She released him, pinching him as she drew her hand away. ‘Oh fine.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You shouldn’t be leading girls along if you really like boys.’
He clawed at the door. It took him two attempts to get it open. He glanced over his shoulder and Tamsin was watching him, her lower lip pouting. ‘Aww,’ she said again. ‘There’s no need to get upset over such a tiny thing.’ And then she began to laugh.
Her laughter chased him as he stumbled down the hall. He found the stairs and practically fell down them. He made it out of the building before all the food and the wine rose up from his stomach and splashed onto his shoes.
Now, every time anyone touched him or made him think of sex, he experienced that same wave of shame and terror and the urgent need to be sick. She had ruined his life.
When he finally told Nate and Cara the following day, Cara had wanted him to report Tamsin for assault, but Nate had pointed out that no one would take him seriously if he did. He understood that. If someone had told him that a guy like him would have had trouble fending off a slim, pretty girl like Tamsin, he would have laughed too. Cara and Nate had advised him to put it behind him and carry on, but Sahan couldn't. The shame and fear were such a potent mixture. He dreaded running into Tamsin, so he found excuses not to go out, until eventually people stopped inviting him.
Sahan got back to the house and slammed the door behind him. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t let Tamsin haunt him forever. This had to stop.