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Aishe was sitting in Nico’s office, trying to damp down the small hotspots of lust that always flared up in his presence. Lust being uncomfortably uppermost in Aishe’s mind, it occurred to her that her passion for big men had indeed started with Frank. Before him, she’d most definitely preferred them lean and well-muscled. Aishe decided Frank’s impact on her had been so dramatic that it had transformed her perception of the ideal male physique.
A small voice suggested that it was perhaps less a physical attraction and more a desire to re-experience how Frank had made her feel about herself. The small voice was ignored.
‘So, is it yes or no?’ she said.
Nico leaned his tattooed forearms on the desk. ‘Can I ask why you want another shift, Aishe?’
He could ask, she thought. But she would never tell him that the real reason is that she needed more legitimate excuses to avoid a man she might be, impossibly, appallingly, getting attached to.
Aishe had not slept with Benedict more than a handful of times since that first afternoon. But it had been too many times for comfort. Her intention had been to be fully in control of when and how often she let him into her bed but somehow, every time they were alone, and he began to kiss her, touch her . . .
Aishe had expected to wring him dry, but as it was, she was the one who lay there afterwards, in a delicious, languorous torpor, while he smiled down upon her with amused satisfaction.
‘Aishe?’
She’d lost track of how long Nico had been waiting for her to answer. How embarrassing.
‘What’s wrong with wanting another shift?’ she said.
‘Nothing,’ said Nico. ‘But we have plenty of good people on our volunteer waiting-list, and while I have to acknowledge that your conduct has improved lately, I’d also like to know why I should favour you over other potential candidates.’
Because they suck would not be a politic response.
‘The animals here are unsettled enough,’ she said. ‘They get to know me during the week and then they have to deal with complete strangers. I just thought a bit more continuity would be good for them.’
Nico stared at her for what seemed a very long time. Aishe couldn’t believe how close she came to dropping to her knees and pleading. She couldn’t work out if it was desperation to find a reason to stay away from home — and dangerous emotional ground — or to receive his approval. Neither potential motivation did much for her sense of self-worth.
‘Look,’ Nico finally said, ‘I know this is none of my business, but don’t you have a child at home?’
‘He’s fourteen,’ she said. ‘Not a child anymore. Besides, he has band practice on Saturday afternoons.’
Nico raised his eyebrows. ‘What does he play? Please tell me it’s the sousaphone. I’ve always wanted to meet a real sousaphone player.’
‘Not a marching band. A rock band. He plays the bass.’
‘I played the drums for a bit when I was a teenager.’ Nico’s expression was wistful.
‘Why did you quit?’
‘Because I was terrible.’ Nico smiled at her. ‘Really. All the subtlety of Animal from The Muppets, but without his sense of rhythm.’
Aishe had to smile. ‘That’s pretty bad.’
‘Yeah, it was like listening to Hulk Hogan falling onto a load of corrugated iron. With a single cymbal clash at the end.’ Nico shook his head. ‘Always the damn cymbal.’
His smile faded, and he stared at her again. ‘OK, you can work Saturday afternoons too. But it’s a trial,’ he added. ‘One complaint and — well, you know.’
Aishe couldn’t help it. She jumped to her feet, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the cheek.
The dark red blush that crept up from his neck and suffused his whole face made Aishe feel so much better.
‘Sorry,’ she lied. ‘That was inappropriate.’
‘Yeah, well.’ Nico rubbed a hand over the back of his head and frowned up at her in a way that was more perplexed than annoyed. ‘I still don’t know why you want this shift so badly.’
‘The animals,’ said Aishe.
‘Right.’ Nico nodded slowly. ‘The animals.’
He leaned back in his chair and cocked his head to one side. ‘Aishe, this is even less of my business, so feel free to tell me to take a running jump. But you know what? It takes a damn sight more courage to ask for help than it does to tough it out on your own. Took me years to figure that one out, but I’m glad I did. So just letting you know — my door’s always open.’
Aishe’s expression had not flickered once during this speech, and it didn’t change now.
‘OK,’ she said.
The corner of Nico’s mouth rose. ‘I’ll go practise my running, huh?’ To save her having to reply, he tapped his hand lightly on the desktop. ‘Start this Saturday, yeah?’
‘OK. Will do.’
As Aishe walked swiftly from his office, she heard him start to drum both hands on the desktop. He was right, she thought. He had no sense of rhythm whatsoever.
She recalled what Jonas, a genuinely talented drummer, had said: guys without rhythm can’t fuck. Well, true, Jonas wasn’t too shabby in the sack. But he was also self-obsessed and that made him thoroughly disappointing at times. She bet Nico was incredibly unselfish in bed. She bet he was thoughtful and patient, and would never put his own satisfaction before his partner’s.
No, that thing about rhythm was a crock of shit, Aishe decided. Something Jonas tended to be full of. She did not believe there was any foolproof way of telling who’d be a good lover before you jumped into bed with them, she thought. Look at—
Damnit!
Aishe decided it was a good thing her shift at the shelter was over for the day. It was also a good thing that Benedict would not be there when she got back. He had to leave dead on five today, he’d told her. Somewhere he had to be.
Aishe had not given it any thought at the time; she’d been concentrating on getting out of the house as quickly as possible without making it obvious that she was doing a runner. Now she began to wonder about this unnamed somewhere that Benedict would probably be at by now. Her first instinct was that he had another woman, and she was horrified to feel a clutch of jealousy at the prospect.
Get a grip, she told herself firmly. She did not, would not, could not care about him. She certainly didn’t give a toss if he had another woman.
Besides, as far as Aishe was aware, the only other woman he spent any time with was Michelle.
Damnit!
‘I’m a terrible mother,’ said Michelle.
Aishe and she were watching Gulliver teach Harry how to put together a figure-of-eight wooden train track. The little boy’s forehead creased in concentration as he tipped a piece of curved track slowly one way and then the other to see which way it would lie on the floor. When he placed it and saw it went in the right direction, his smile up at Gulliver was pure joy. Gulliver smiled back, genuinely pleased. Aishe felt a stab of longing. Her son had thawed slightly, but relations were still nowhere close to warm.
‘Harry mastered the circle a while back,’ Michelle went on. ‘But then couldn’t work out how to build anything more interesting. I sat down with him a couple of times with the best of intentions, but it was taking so long, I picked up the pieces and built the track myself. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have let him work it out for himself, like Gulliver’s doing now. Then I would have got a smile like that,’ she added, wistfully.
Then she said, ‘How did you do it?’
With effort, Aishe pulled her attention away from the boys.
‘Do what?’
‘Bring up such a great kid. Was it luck? No offence.’
The corner of Aishe’s mouth rose. ‘What if I said it was all down to me?’
‘Then I might have to suggest to Harry that he runs away,’ said Michelle. ‘Rosie will be fine. She’s a complete termagant like me. But Harry — I’m not sure an upbringing at my hands will do him any favours.’
‘Doesn’t his father have any influence?’
‘No! He’s exactly like Harry!’ replied Michelle. ‘The two of them are dangerously under my full control! I’m like one of those snakes that hypnotise small furry mammals — a hiss and a glare and they’re compliant lunch! At least,’ she amended, ‘Chad used to be like that.’
Aishe knew that the Lawrence marriage had been tested by the move across the country. Michelle made no secret of it. In fact, up until now, Aishe had thought Michelle one of the most candid women she’d ever met. Aishe knew that her own directness was a deliberate strategy to gain control, like those dogs in the shelter that could reduce a rival to a belly-crawl with one sharp, fierce snarl. But Michelle didn’t do it to shock, Aishe thought. She did it because she felt life was short. Too short even to say euphemism and circumlocution. Too short to stew on grudges or store up secrets. Why fill up your brain with dust and crap like an old vacuum cleaner bag? Clean it out! It’d work so much better!
No, until now Aishe had had no doubt that whatever Michelle said was the unvarnished truth, and that whatever was in her head would invariably make its way out her mouth. But the idea of Benedict and Michelle had wormed its way into her mind like a song you loathe but nonetheless find yourself humming.
As a result, Aishe had taken to visiting Michelle almost every day, usually around lunchtime. Benedict tutored Gulliver two mornings and three afternoons, and spent the other part of each day as Michelle’s nanny. Around noon, he was either coming to or coming from Aishe’s house, so for Aishe, visiting Michelle at that time had two great benefits: one, it ensured she was almost never alone with Benedict, and two, she could watch the pair of them together, for a short while at least.
So far, Aishe had seen absolutely nothing that even vaguely hinted they were getting it on, and her rational brain was threatening to sign a committal order on her behalf. Today, she’d brought Gulliver with her because she was worried it was obvious she was only here to spy. This had caused her rational brain to start unstrapping a straitjacket and holding it up for size. But she couldn’t help it; she had to know, and this confession of Michelle’s that her husband was no longer under her thumb she was a perfect opening.
Still, it would pay to be subtle about it. Not a talent she had, but it was never too late to learn new skills.
‘Why do you think Chad’s suddenly grown some balls?’
‘He’s always had them,’ Michelle replied with a shrug. ‘For all I go on like a harpy, I could never have married a man who didn’t know his own mind. But I’m starting to realise that perhaps he has more balls than I gave him credit for.’
She drew both hands roughly through her hair, as if she could dislodge any annoying thoughts that might be clinging there.
‘It used to irritate me that he bent over backwards to please his parents,’ Michelle continued. ‘Occasionally, it even used to irritate me that he bent over backwards to please me. But I see now that the one thing that Chad rated above all else was to see people happy. And if he could be the source of that happiness, even better. So the times where I thought he was giving in, complying, he wasn’t at all. He was actively making a choice. To make us happy.’
‘So, now he’s choosing to put his own happiness first,’ Aishe said. ‘I’m not sure that’s a bad thing. People who never do that pretty quickly lose sight of who they are. You can’t live your own life if you’re dependent on other people’s approval.’
Aishe’s comment prompted Michelle to glance across at Harry, who was sitting back on his haunches watching Gulliver rummage through the big plastic container of train-track pieces. Gulliver pulled out two bridges, a straight wooden span and a curved viaduct that doubled as a tunnel.
‘Which one?’ he said to Harry.
Both mothers could see the internal battle on Harry’s face. What if he picked the one he liked best only to find out his hero, Gulliver, would have chosen the other?
‘To please or be pleased,’ said Michelle. ‘That is the question....’
Aishe was losing patience. She wasn’t here to talk endlessly about Michelle’s marriage; she needed to know if Michelle was shagging Benedict. Time to stop skirting around the issue.
‘How’s your plan for being a good wife working out?’ said Aishe. ‘Thinking an affair with His Nibs would be easier after all?’
Michelle looked blank. ‘His Nibs?’
‘The nanny,’ said Aishe, reluctantly.
‘Benedict?’
Michelle began to laugh heartily, which made Aishe bristle so much she lost all caution.
‘So? Are you sleeping with him?’
‘Mommy, look!’
Harry ran up and grabbed hold of Michelle’s arm. ‘We did it! We made a bridge and a tunnel and everything!’
For a second, Aishe thought the distraction had covered her slip. But as Michelle let her son drag her by the hand out of her chair, she shot Aishe an amused look, one charged with meaning.
Shit, thought Aishe. Michelle absolutely wasn’t sleeping with Benedict and she almost certainly now knew Aishe was. How was this going to play out—?
The sound of a quick rap on the front door and a key in the lock stopped everyone in the room. Aishe, every sense on high alert, glanced at Michelle. Whose expression was smiling but neutral; she made not one glance in Aishe’s direction. But that didn’t mean Aishe could relax.
Benedict entered the room and bent his knees to scoop up Harry, who had immediately rushed to greet him.
‘What ho, old chap!’ Benedict said, to Harry’s delight.
‘What ho!’
Harry gave not a bad imitation of Benedict’s rounded vowels, then collapsed into giggles.
Benedict beamed at Michelle, who shook her head in mock despair.
‘You know I think posh people are freaks, don’t you?’ she told him.
‘That’s all right then,’ Benedict replied, setting Harry back on the ground. ‘I only sound posh.’
He glanced around. ‘Where’s my screamer?’
Michelle rolled her eyes. ‘Asleep, damn her. She decided to wake up five times last night. I tell you, if any terrorist organisation gets wind of Rosie’s methods, the world will never be safe for innocent people again.’
Harry tugged on Benedict’s hand. ‘We made a track! Gulliver and I did!’
Aishe, who had been watching all this like a hawk, saw Benedict’s eye travel to Gulliver, hovering in the background. The pair acknowledged each other with a nod, which raised ambivalent emotions in her: satisfaction that they were getting along as required, and envy at their closeness.
And then Benedict turned towards her, and the fleeting and, to all appearances, casual eye contact sent a lightning strike of desire straight down to her mid-section. For a moment, she so strongly craved his touch on her skin that she had to bite her lip.
True to form, her emotions leapt into defence mode. Who did he think he was – Don Giovanni? He was a boy, and she was not in his thrall. It was her choice to bed him and she could withdraw that privilege any time she wanted. Any time.
Fortunately, the loud peal of the phone provided the circuit breaker she needed to calm down.
‘Better not be Chad’s mother again,’ said Michelle. ‘That’s three times this week.’
As she stomped off towards the kitchen, Harry ran after her. To Aishe’s horror, Gulliver took the opportunity to slope off to the bathroom.
Shit, Aishe thought. She was trapped. She steeled herself, sure that any second, Benedict would come over and snatch a quick, secret caress.
But he didn’t. Aishe found she’d been holding her breath, so she let it out and scowled at him. He stared back at her. He had stopped smiling.
‘Can we talk?’ His voice was quiet.
Aishe felt a bubble of panic, which made her scowl even more furiously. ‘Why? What do we need to talk about?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Us?’
Panic made her respond too fast. ‘Us? What “us” is this?’
Benedict dropped his head and ran his hand over his cropped hair. When he looked back up and caught her eye, he was smiling again. But it was small and wry and sad. It caused Aishe’s gut to lurch in alarm.
‘I’d say that answers my question,’ he said. ‘So don’t worry. I won’t bother asking it again’
No! Fuck! If Benedict went off her, he’d be no help with Gulliver. Aishe’s mind churned frantically for a plan to salvage the situation. There was only one: she’d have to make him believe there was a chance of “us”. She’d have to connect emotionally as well as sexually, something she had not done in years. And she’d have to do it convincingly.
Hang on a moment, the small voice said to her. Do you not think he deserves to be treated better? He’s been honest about how he feels about you. Shouldn’t you be honest in return?
Shut up, Frank, said the rest of the mind that was Aishe. This is about survival. This is about me not losing my son.
Aishe could hear Michelle making her goodbyes to whoever was on the phone.
‘OK,’ she said to Benedict. ‘OK, we’ll talk. About us.’
His initial look of surprise swiftly transformed into one of sheer, open delight.
He was in love with her, realised Aishe with astonishment. Not just attracted – in actual love.
This might be easier than she thought.