It is not how I’d planned it – so impromptu, no lobsters, no tidying been done. But I have Nicole here, at my home, for hours, before Adam arrives. That is the important thing.
I see Nicole’s lips curl at the greyness of my dwelling.
‘Inside, it’s better,’ I say.
I force the key into the lock and open the front door. Going ahead of Nicole, I try to see it through her eyes. Dirty cream carpet, very off-white walls, narrow hallway. I switch us into darkness again.
‘We’ll have candles,’ I say.
She takes off her red beret, and shakes out all that mousy hair in a way that maybe men are supposed to find attractive. I usher her out of her mac. As I fold it onto the floor by the door, I notice it says ‘Maternity Range’ on the label. I cast a look at her stomach.
‘Still only just beginning to show, aren’t I?’ she says, noticing the look.
I nod, relieved. It will make my work easier.
‘So, can I have the grand tour?’ she asks.
I don’t remember her ever giving me a grand tour of her house. But then, she only arrived in it after Adam. So I knew everything about it already – every nook and cranny, every vulnerable entrance point.
‘It’s not very grand,’ I say, leading her through into the bedroom first. I see her notice the drawings on the wall, from book one. She advances over to them.
‘What’s this?’ she asks, looking at the picture of the castle, minus the queen.
‘Adam’s story,’ I say. ‘We wrote it together, at school.’
She nods.
‘Why’s the queen crossed out?’ she asks.
I shrug. I still don’t know.
She continues to walk around the room. The bed is only roughly made. The duvet is further down one side of the bed than the other, and I see that my treasure box is exposed. I step round Nicole and make the bed up properly.
‘Satin,’ she says, about the duvet. ‘Very nice.’
‘Perhaps you can sample it later,’ I say, then regret it. Too much, too soon.
Nicole raises an eyebrow at me.
‘If you want to lie down, while you’re waiting for Adam to come,’ I say.
She smirks. ‘Been there, done that.’ She pats her stomach.
Even as I internally grimace, I nod. I know. That’s why I want her here now. It would make things easier if I didn’t have to do a book three on her, but we’ll see how it plays out. The key thing is, that we get inside, Luke and I. Where Adam has been.
I show her the bathroom.
‘Oh, en suite, very nice,’ she says.
‘Yes, like yours,’ I say. Even though there is less marble and more mould. Adam’s had a bit of mould in it, once, when it was all white, but he had it redone after Helen, when it began to gleam. A pick-me-up, I suppose.
I lead her through to the kitchen-diner-living room.
‘The grand finale,’ I say.
Nicole flicks on the lights as we enter the room, showing there is nothing grand.
‘It’s sweet,’ she appraises it, looking round her.
‘Make yourself at home,’ I offer. ‘Sit on the sofa.’ The sofa, at least, is looking presentable. The throw is clean again after the drawing-pin incident. It looks almost white, the red gone. Nicole perches on the edge of it.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ I ask.
‘Do you have any juice? Pomegranate, cranberry, maybe?’
In the fridge is some fresh orange juice. Or rather, I bought it recently, from concentrate. I pour her a glass. She takes a sip, grimaces, then puts it down on the floor.
‘So, when are we eating?’ she asks.
I can take a hint. First, though, we need candles and music. The two long, white candles, in their little gold (paint) holder are still on the Adam altar. Nicole probably thinks it is just a dining table, doesn’t understand its significance. I run my hand over the tablecloth, smoothing it down, plumping up the fabric that cascades over the edges and billows round the floor. Then I light the candles.
‘How romantic,’ says Nicole. There, I knew it – candles help. The light flickers against her face, like it did on Ally’s. When she was dead, not sleeping, as it turned out.
‘I’m feeling romantic,’ I say.
‘That’s because you’re wearing one of Adam’s shirts,’ she says.
It’s true, I am. Adam very considerately gave me one of his shirts for the taxi ride over here. I did not really want one – I wanted Nicole to be tempted by my flesh, the little ridges of muscle that men and women both get so excited over.
But why does Nicole think that would make me feel romantic? Has Adam been showing her book two? If so, I have no chance with her, do I? I will make my chance. Take it, if necessary. I must press on, show her how I can win a woman.
‘Only because Adam said the driver might have refused to take me, otherwise,’ I replied. ‘And then I wouldn’t be able to spend time alone with you.’
That would not have done – a fastidious taxi driver ruining my plans. Adam had made the same argument about the sabre, suggesting I ought to leave it with him, to deliver later. That did not seem as wise. Much better to take it with me, after what I’d seen.
And she’s wrong about the shirt making me feel romantic. True, this is cloth that has embraced Adam’s skin. True, its collar has caressed all those little hairs on the back of his neck. Also true, if I were him, I would be naked underneath it. But it’s so frustrating, too, this shirt. Because it’s only outside him. Which is not what I want. Nor is it what Luke needs. I must push on with the plan.
I start to undo the top buttons of the shirt, maintaining eye contact with Nicole. That’s what Ally had done, when her dress had come off. It is verified by research. I am just getting to the fourth button when Nicole stands up abruptly.
‘I’m going to use the bathroom,’ she says.
This is a good sign. Women, I’ve read, like to go to the bathroom before sex. Maybe to urinate, maybe to freshen up. Who knows, or cares? It is the message that’s important. ‘I will soon be ready for sex.’ In fact, I suspect Nicole would like me to join her, in a bit, in the bedroom that abuts the bathroom. I will wait for her call, once she has freshened up. We still have hours. And all is waiting in there: handcuffs, scarves, tape. Whatever it takes.
While I wait, I put Classic FM on the radio. DS Pearce would be proud. I turn it up loud, so she will get the full benefit of the smooth seductive flute melody. It would have been better if it was violins. But I can serenade her again, later, if necessary.
I take out the knife from the block. The smaller ones are being washed, so the big one will have to do. It’s not quite as big as the sabre, but it’s sharper. I untie some carrots from their binding, and chop off their heads. Then I peel and dice them, taking care not to chop myself in the process. Then I boil up the water. It is easier to keep carrots under control than a lobster, I suppose, but not quite as fun. Nor as ‘romantic’.
I turn on the grill, and assemble the fish fingers. They do not look very appetising. The golden crumbs are orange, the ‘fingers’ more like bricks. But I must give Nicole something, to sustain her energy. Or at least, recover mine.
I watch as the flames on the grill and the hob splutter and hiss into blue and orange existence. Still no word from Nicole. I watch as the carrots lose their resistance to the heat, and soften in the water. The orange fish fingers begin to turn brown, and little bits of their coating fall away. Still no word from Nicole. Finally, I plate up our food, and carry it to the table. Nicole is still silent. She has a lot of freshening up to do. But that can wait. Now she must eat.
‘Nicole!’ I call. ‘Dinner is served!’
I undo a few more buttons on my shirt while I’m waiting.
‘Nicole!’ I call again.
I walk to the bedroom and am about to open the door, when Nicole opens it from the other side.
‘Here I am!’ she says. Her eyes are wide, like the time on the dodgems. She does not look much fresher. I lean round her into the room, allowing my arm to graze her shoulder, to turn off the light.
As I do so, I see that the duvet has been lifted. And the treasure chest has been moved.
‘Come on then, Dan, let’s go and eat. Mm, I’m really hungry!’ Nicole takes hold of my arm and starts trying to drag me from the bedroom.
‘You go through,’ I say. ‘I need to use the bathroom, too.’
But I don’t go to the en suite. When she is gone, I approach the bed. I pick up the box. The catch is open. I look inside. Book three is turned in on itself, handwriting showing, rather than cover.
Nicole has read book three.
So she knows.