Some men have a darkness in them.
But this wasn’t a man, this was a boy.
I walked into the sparse grey office at HMP Ravensmoor one blustery afternoon in April. I hadn’t been back to Yorkshire now for over a year. ‘It’s the weather,’ I always joked. ‘It puts me off.’ That was true: partly.
A sudden gust of wind against the barred window sent weird flickering stripes of light across the table where he was sitting: there was an odd, sickly smell in the room, like cheap plastic. He might look like a boy but his presence filled the whole room.
‘Ah we meet again! Lucy isn’t it? I’m sure you remember me. I’m Simon.’ He got up and held out his hand. The familiarity jarred. I was acutely aware of the dry, yet sticky coolness of his palm against my own.
‘I’m sorry Mr Cartwright couldn’t be here,’ I replied, stiffly. ‘He sends his apologies.’
I pulled away from the handshake, gesturing for him to sit, which he did, shoving his hands under his thighs and leaning forward the way small children do.
‘No problem.’ He twitched a shrug and smiled. ‘I’d much prefer you as my probation officer. I asked for you specifically. Did your boss mention it?’
I ignored the question. Dropping my briefcase onto the desk, I heaved out a file and laptop and flipped open the lid. I could tell his eyes were raking over my every move, but when I looked up, he was staring intently at the edge of the desk, tapping his foot against the leg and making it judder.
I busied myself, pretending to study the screen as it loaded, but my eyes kept being drawn to this small, tight figure. His incongruity struck me yet again: the pale freckled complexion with a hint of outdoor ruddy tinge, the longish pretty-boy dark hair, his slim build, like some posh sixth-former. But the blue eyes had a deadness behind them that betrayed what he’d done.
He looked away suddenly. ‘Oh! The door’s closed. Does that bother you?’ he went to get up with a false show of politeness.
I knew precisely what he was doing; he was hinting at how dangerous he was. If this was some kind of test then I wasn’t going to fail it.
‘It’s okay, Simon, if it doesn’t bother you then it doesn’t bother me.’ I looked down at my files as though I were searching for something, aware that his face had dropped. ‘This is just a quick chat about your release tomorrow. Nothing too scary… I don’t bite,’ I added.
I was pleased to see he wasn’t smiling now. He sat down again. He looked a bit sulky.
‘So, you have your train ticket from York to King’s Cross sorted?’
He nodded into his chest.
‘I see your new address is on file, and you’re quite clear about the sex offender registration process, yes?’
I saw the tiny flinch at the words but he managed another nod.
‘Then I think everything is in order this end. Is there anything you want to talk to me about? Any questions? Any concerns you’ve got?’ I was pleased I had the upper hand.
He raised his head and regarded me carefully. I was reminded how blue his eyes were.
‘People have been telling me you’re clever.’
‘Oh yes? Well, don’t believe everything you hear.’ I met his steady gaze.
‘The guys on my wing have been saying stuff. Some of them have come up from the London nicks and a pretty girl like you attracts attention wherever she goes. Word gets round. It’s amazing the things they talk about—’ he flashed me a smile. His teeth were unpleasantly small, like a row of seed pearls.
‘Really.’ I didn’t drop eye contact. I wasn’t going to be drawn. I’d seen it all before: the vague sexual impropriety; the intimidation masquerading as flirtation.
He returned my stare. ‘They say you’re good with people. I can tell you’re the kind of person who can suss people out, so we’ve got a bit in common already,’ his smile spread to a grin. ‘I’m hoping we’ll be able to keep in touch once I get settled. It’ll be nice to see a friendly face once in a while and have a catch up. You’re based in London too, aren’t you?’ His look didn’t waver. ‘North London. Am I right?’
I felt a slight frisson of alarm. ‘Dave Cartwright is your allocated probation officer,’ I replied carefully. ‘And the meetings and appointments we set up are to do with ensuring that you won’t re-offend and to help you lead a positive and fulfilling life after your release, not –’ I made the point firmly, ‘– to have a chat.’
Even as the pat words left my lips, I knew I didn’t believe one iota of it with this individual. He had an obvious need to control and to dominate. It came off him like a stench.
He paused, quietly assessing me before he spoke. ‘Do you think people out there hate me?’
‘I think people hate the kind of offences you committed.’ I didn’t allow my gaze to waver.
‘But do you hate me?’
The question caught me off-guard.
‘I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I took children – I bought little children, used them and sold them on, so I can see why you would.’ He held out his hands as though he was explaining something perfectly commonplace. ‘How could I have done that? It is revolting, I know, but then to me it was just a business transaction… You know, like selling on a second-hand car, or a collectable watch or a fancy bit of estate jewellery – it was all the same, just a different thing to me, just a different commodity.’ He stopped speaking and I realised he was slightly out of breath. ‘But now I see what I did. I can see it as wrong which is why I’m a different person now. I’ve changed. Things have changed me.’
Nothing had changed him.
I was amazed I was the only one who could see it. I hated this part of the job for exactly this reason: how easily these kinds of offenders pulled the wool over people’s eyes. I knew he’d be out on the street again, scoping out the children’s homes, sniffing round the runaway kids on the street, having a laugh, giving out the bits of dope and the sweets, making them feel wanted and special. I saw the bait going down and the ultimate snap of the trap. They’d been bought and sold and didn’t even know there was a market – Such was the lure of wanting to be loved.
‘You don’t believe any of that for a second do you, Lucy?’
He’d caught me.
‘It’s not about what I believe. It’s about what the evidence tells us, Simon,’ I lied. ‘Stuff from your risk assessment and the work you’ve done with your psychiatrist… Err… Dr Webb.’ I flipped through the file. ‘For example, your psych report says—’
‘We both know those are just the men who control all this,’ he waved airily. ‘Expensive professionals producing expensive reports to justify their own existence. A little old probation officer can’t challenge the might of a psychiatrist, can you Lucy? That’s not your job. You have to buy into what they tell you, but I can see you don’t. It’s written all over your face.’
‘As I said—’
‘I didn’t do these things because I’ve been damaged, or abused, or because I have a sickness, which is what Dr Webb wants me to believe. I did it because…’ he leaned forward, holding his palms out as though he was offering me a gift.
‘Because I enjoy it… Oh, sorry –’ his gaze dropped and so did his smile. ‘– Past tense, I enjoyed it. But I won’t anymore.’
‘Really.’ My voice was stony.
‘No, I’m not going to do any of those things again.’ He shook his head like some abhorrent parody of a five-year-old. ‘And it’s not the desperate egos of the psychobabblers and the shrinks who’ve made me stop. It’s something far more…’ he gazed up pretentiously, searching for the word, ‘… compelling.’
‘Go on.’ I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear this.
‘I’m being haunted.’
I didn’t allow my gaze to falter.
‘Have you ever been haunted, Lucy?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘By the things you’ve done?’ The corner of his mouth tipped into an odd smile. ‘I suspect you are… But I’m haunted by the children.’
Something cold prickled, but I didn’t look away.
‘The children. They come here. They stand at the end of my bed at night, watching me. Just watching, nothing else.’
‘And who do you think they are?’ I pressed.
‘I don’t think anything, Lucy. I know who they are.’
The darkness behind his eyes moved like a quickening shadow.
‘Of course they’re not real—’ the azure eyes flickered abruptly in amusement and I felt the ground shift; I could breathe again. ‘Dr Webb says they’re a manifestation of my guilt and show an aspect of my new self-awareness.’
‘Right.’ God these men and their high-blown assessments. I tried to keep my face open and neutral. Not a flinch.
‘He says I should use them as a reminder of who I once was, someone I recognise and acknowledge but a person who I don’t know very well anymore.’
If only that were true. ‘Good,’ was all the response I could muster. His smug self-regard irritated me.
‘When you think about it, I’m so lucky, aren’t I?’ He brought his hand and laid it flat on his chest like some camp drama teacher. ‘All these wonderful professional people who believe in me now. It’s fabulous, don’t you think? The psychiatric help I’ve received! The fantastic case workers who’ve supported me! I’m really, really blessed. It must be great for someone like you to see someone like me on the road to recovery.’
‘It all sounds very positive, Simon.’ The hint of sarcasm in my tone wasn’t lost on him and he sighed appreciatively.
‘I’m glad you think so, Lucy. I think so too.’ His eyes went blank. ‘What you think is very important to me.’ He leaned forward a little. ‘I want to show you. I want to show all of you that I’ve got better. All I’m asking for is a chance, Lucy, a second chance…’ the blue of his eyes glittered earnestly. ‘Even you must give me that, surely? I mean, come on, don’t we all deserve one of those?’
I stood outside the prison and rang for a taxi. Then I dialled Emma, praying she’d pick up straightaway.
‘You’ve finished then? Great! Me too.’ I could hear the smile in her voice. ‘I was just catching up on a bit of retail therapy. They’ve got some brill shops up here haven’t they?’ I felt my neck and shoulders relax. Suddenly things felt right. ‘The two of us should wangle a trip up here again…’ she paused. ‘Erm… What’s the matter?’
I shook my head in silent astonishment. Emma had this unfailing ability to intuit even the tiniest change in my mood.
‘How do you do that? You’re the only person I’ve ever met who can read me like a book without my saying a word.’
‘Lucy,’ she sighed. ‘You’re hardly a difficult book – War and Peace you are not. In fact, I’d say you’d struggle at being a two-page pamphlet.’
‘Thanks, Em,’ I grinned. ‘You always make me feel so much better about myself.’ And that was true; she actually did.
‘More revolting offenders then, I take it?’
‘More revolting offenders.’ I nodded dully. ‘A particularly grim one who’s going to be released down in London so he’ll be on my patch, unfortunately. A sex offender. Kids.’
‘God! I don’t know how you keep doing it. You’re too good at all that stuff, that’s your problem. You’ll notice Viv doesn’t give me all the shit cases because she doesn’t trust me with them. She thinks we’ll end up on the front page of the Sun.’ She chuckled merrily. ‘You need to give off an air of complete incompetence like I do, and she’ll leave you alone. Anyway, given all that, I’m assuming you need vodka?’
I realised I could discern the chink and hubbub of chatter in the background and I felt my jaw drop. ‘You’re already in the pub?’
‘Does the Pope stand on a balcony?’
‘Not with you, I hope. You’d keep harassing him to try on his hat.’
Emma laughed. ‘You’re such a comedy cock-head, aren’t you? Anyway, I’ll text you the address so don’t be long, I’ve got shed-loads to tell you.’ She sounded excited.
‘Oh God. Really?’ I clocked the taxi coming around the corner. ‘Right. The cab’s coming. Get me a voddy. A double. Actually, if I’m going to listen to you, I shall probably need two.’
The taxi ticked up to the kerb and I slid into the back and gave the driver the name of the pub. It was strange being back in this part of the country; it all looked the same but very different. I was so thankful that this time tomorrow I’d be on my way back down south where no one’s interested enough or cares enough to gossip about what you’ve done or who you’re seeing. Your business is your business. Yorkshire was too full of knowing looks over the photocopier, the smirks and whispers – ‘Is she the one who…?’ In the end I’d become a joke. Moving was the only answer. It was the best thing I could’ve done and I had Emma to thank for that.
She and I had met six months before at some Personal Development for Probation Staff conference in a terrible Holiday Inn in Loughborough. The place was a dizzying expanse of static nylon carpets and tootling pan-pipes wherever you went. The chap running the course kept banging on about ‘effective communication’ but was using a dried-up marker pen and kept scrawling diagonally across his flipchart so that we had to peer at it sideways. Emma was sitting across the other side of the room and kept sighing and making me laugh, So when we were asked to ‘find ourselves a partner’ we made a bee-line for each other. Unfortunately, it was one of those psychometric personality test quiz things that we both knew was a complete bag of bollocks before we’d even started it.
‘Oh Lord, a northerner. This’ll be interesting,’ she’d grinned. ‘I’ll speak slowly and you can see if you can manage to read my lips. Now… are you ready? Eyes down… Okay… Agree or disagree on a scale of one to six…’ She pored earnestly over the paper.
‘Eh? You’ve lost me already.’
‘Christ, a real clunker. I’ll mime it if you like.’
We giggled non-stop like schoolkids, finally working out that her personality type was a ‘caregiver’: a people-pleaser, highly sensitive, looking for approval from others, with a tendency for self-absorption. By contrast, I was a ‘duty fulfiller’: well-organised, loyal, faithful and dependable with a need for security that tipped over into being controlling.
‘So I’m a bit of a namby-pamby twat and you’re a mind-numbingly boring fascist. Is that what it’s telling us?’ She pushed the sheet across the table.
‘Seems like they’ve got half of it right, then.’
The course tutor gave us a warning look, so we had to shut up.
‘So are you pining for your whippet and your chavvy jeggings then?’ she said as we were packing our stuff away.
‘You’re such a snob and so behind the times,’ I shook my head and laughed. ‘Most of us have pit bulls and shop at Primark.’
‘But you do put curry gravy on chips, don’t you?’ She looked genuinely concerned. ‘Don’t burst my bubble about that too!’
‘Rest assured,’ I patted her arm. ‘You can sleep easy. We do.’
Meeting her in the bar later meant we laughed and got drunk together. Getting drunk meant I told her stuff that was happening back at work, only hinting at the ‘Dan’ situation, then weeping copiously but scrabbling to find a tissue. She’d gone off to the toilet and come back with a whole toilet roll and got a dirty look from the bar manager. I didn’t tell her the whole sorry story, but I think she filled in the blanks.
As a result, it was Emma who persuaded me to put in for a transfer when a vacancy came up in her office; it was Emma who told me what to say in the interview and told Viv, the boss, she’d heard on the grapevine that I was brilliant. I don’t think I mentioned whippets or fried potatoes or curry in that conversation, and I certainly don’t think even Emma realised the extent of the favour she’d done me. She never knew how grateful I was that I was finally able to run away – even if it was mostly from myself.
The taxi dropped me outside the pub just as the first few spots of rain hit the pavement and I pushed through the doors. It was one of those wonderful old Yorkshire pubs with a wide bar and wood panelling, its big crackling fire roaring in an ornate black grate. I was greeted by a madly waving arm.
‘You made it!’ Emma’s moony face grinned up at me as I squeezed into the table by the window. ‘A log fire in April! Shit, you can tell we’re in Yorkshire can’t you? My meeting was great by the way!’ She lifted up and rattled a posh-looking carrier bag. ‘How was yours?’
‘Don’t ask a single thing.’ I dropped my coat and briefcase onto a spare chair and exhaled heavily. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Talk to me about stuff that’s got nothing to do with work.’
She pushed a chinking vodka and tonic across the table at me. ‘No probs. Get that one down you while I show you my latest purchases. Look at this—’ she reached into the carrier and pulled out a black and shiny top to go with all the other black and shiny tops she’d got. ‘Half price! I’m going to wear it when I meet Connor tonight…’
‘Connor?’ I looked at her in surprise. ‘You mean Connor Connor?’ I took a long swig of vodka and tonic as things began to fall into place. ‘So he’s up here too, then? Ah, that explains it – and there’s me thinking you were desperate to come on a jolly with your lovely mate. I wondered why you were so keen to volunteer to come with me on a visit to sunny Yorkshire when you could’ve stayed basking in even sunnier Hackney. I might’ve guessed.’ I took another swig. The cold drink slipped down deliciously.
‘I did want to come up here with my lovely mate!’ she protested. ‘And you know how much I love the cold and rain! I just thought while I was up here with you, I might as well…’ she waggled her head comically.
‘What are you like?’ I gave her an old-fashioned look and took another long slurp. A half-melted ice cube tinkled dully down the side of the glass. Connor was her latest. The latest in a long line of lying charmers who treated women like shit.
‘Let me get you another of those,’ she nodded pushing her chair back.
‘Guilty conscience?’ I grinned.
‘No! He’s up here with the Prison Inspectorate. He’s been off doing his inspectoring thing, and I did my obligatory prison visit and then I went shopping. Who could possibly find anything wrong with that?’ She batted her eyelashes.
‘His wife, maybe?’
‘Ex-wife.’
‘Ex-wife in the same house.’ I picked up my glass and let the ice cube slither into my mouth, crunching it loudly.
She flapped her hand. ‘Anyway, anyway… Guess what?’ She paused for dramatic effect.
‘I’m guessing you’re not getting that other drink.’
‘I’m being serious!’
I sighed. ‘Go on then. Tell me.’
‘He’s moving out and moving in!’
I literally felt my mouth open. ‘Moving out? What, you mean out from wifey’s?’
She grinned wildly and nodded.
‘And moving in? With you, you mean?’
She started babbling on, ten to the dozen, describing the row he’d had with ‘that cow’, what he’d said, what the cow had said, all the complications running in together as I desperately tried to unscramble the very convoluted story.
‘Anyway, anyway, that’s not all. Guess the other thing?’
‘I really can’t.’
‘He’s looking into emigrating to New Zealand. Their Corrections department is looking for people just like him!’
‘And?’ I felt a quiet tickle of apprehension.
‘He wants me to go too.’
I shook my head slowly.
‘Can you believe it?’ she beamed.
‘But you said no?’
‘No… I mean, no, I said yes!’
‘You can’t do that—’ the words came out in a kind of choke that shocked us both.
‘Oh Lucy!’ She put her hand on mine and I pulled it away. ‘Don’t look so upset! Luce!… Lucy!…’
I could hear her voice but it felt very far away. She went on about how it wasn’t for another six months, and that they would need to sort his divorce out and the finances. There was his house to sell… and that would probably take forever… All I could think was that I was losing the one and only person in my life, really. There was no one else, no one I cared about… not since…
‘Anyway, haven’t you got a relation in Australia or somewhere?’
I sniffed and nodded. ‘Perth, yeah—’
‘Well then!’
‘Well then, what?’
I bit the inside of my lip, hard, and fiercely brushed the stinging tears away.
‘It’s so not like you!’ She rummaged in her bag for a tissue as I struggled to collect myself.
‘Ignore me, really.’ I took it, dabbing my face and blowing my nose. ‘Too many awful prisoners telling me too many awful things, that’s all. A shitty day, that’s all.’
‘You never have shit days, Luce. Oh, apart from…’ she reached forward and extracted a bit of tissue from my lip ‘… when you look like you’ve got snot on your face.’ She made me laugh and almost set me off again. What was this all about? Why was I so upset? Was it just the thought of the months, probably years without her, or had Gould got to me more than I thought? A surge of emotions tumbled one after the other. I hated being up here again; I saw my old life spooling out behind me: old wounds, old shames that dogged me wherever I went.
I’d have to deal with it sooner or later.
Emma downed the rest of her drink and glanced at her watch, nodding at my glass. ‘Are you ready for the other one now?’
‘One?’ I pulled myself together. ‘Tell them I’ll have the whole bottle.’ I gave her a watery smile to show just how fine I was. ‘Are we eating here?’ I glanced round. ‘It looks okay.’
‘Christ Luce, I’ve just realised what an arse I am—Err… Like, I said I’d meet Connor,’ she winced apologetically. ‘I know I should’ve said… you probably assumed, quite rightly that—’
‘Stop, Em.’ I put my hand out and she paused. ‘Honestly, you seeing Connor tonight is no problem. I’d say if it was – I really would.’
‘Would you, though? You look a bit teary—’
‘Well that was just the shock announcement of you moving to the other side of the world,’ I felt my chin wobble again but managed to halt it and give her a crooked smile. ‘You’re right; it’s months away yet, we’ve got loads of time, and absolutely, I should take the opportunity to visit and go and see my brother.’
‘You sure?’
‘More than,’ I patted anxiously under my eyes. ‘God, what a sight I must be. I bet I’ve gone all mottled.’
She tipped her head on one side and peered at me. ‘Nah, only… um… a bit corned beef-y.’
‘Thanks for the frank assessment,’ I laughed, grabbing my bag and looking for the loo. ‘I’ll go and re-grout the gaps. Watch that lot, will you?’
I left my briefcase and coat on the seat and headed for the Ladies’, squeezing past a couple of guys in suits, muttering the usual sorry, sorry, hoping they wouldn’t notice my wrecked face, and then got the weird feeling I was being watched.
There was a man leaning against the bar. He caught my eye and looked away shocked, as if he knew me. I instinctively paused: lop-sided face, slanted mouth, long nose. Did I know him? Then I realised, awkwardly, that I didn’t. How embarrassing! I felt his darting gaze as I leaned into the door to make a swift exit.
Shunting the lock across, I sank down onto the toilet seat and rested my head against the paper dispenser. Its cool metal edge dug into my temple: hard and soothing. Why the hell was I so rattled? It wasn’t just Emma, or Simon bloody Gould, it was being back in this town: this whole damn area. I’d watched all those names – Bramham, Tadcaster, Towton – on the road signs skimming by the taxi window, bringing back places I didn’t want to remember, things I’d tried so hard to forget, but his place wasn’t going to let me. It had to remind me of all the crosses I was supposed to bear, the weight of them dragging me down further and further, forcing me to see myself and the people I thought I’d left behind.
People like my mother.
The sadness of her face the day I left. The shame of my behaviour scouring my cheeks into red rawness. How could I have just gone like that? But I knew I had to for my own sanity. I made the telephone calls to home the same time every week: the duty ones, asking the right questions and carefully listening to the answers, offering up all the right noises, but giving nothing of myself. But now here I was – having to see her and face it all again.
And then there was Louise. Mustn’t forget Louise. Only five years older but it always felt like fifty. My big sister with that look plastered on her face, the ‘soyouthinkyoucanwaltzinherewithyourfancyclothesandposhaccentdoyou?’ expression. My big sister, who finely combed through every conversation for details to be brought up months or maybe even years later – looking for those deliberate intonations and slights to prove what a truly selfish, self-absorbed bitch of a daughter I really was.
What would I say to either of them? That I’m sorry, Lou, for leaving you to deal with everything. And I’m sorry, Mam, for abandoning you, even though you haven’t got a fucking clue who I am now and you were never really interested in me in the first place…
I pushed the hair out of my eyes and sat up straight. None of it made one hoot of difference. I couldn’t have stayed, anyway. There was no option. I had to leave Yorkshire. I had no choice.
Dan had seen to that.
Threading my way self-consciously back through the bar, I made my way back to my seat, glancing once to see if the bloke was still there. He wasn’t. I was almost disappointed. No one had taken a second look at me in a very long time. Emma was sitting at the table trying to put her lipstick on using a chrome salt cellar as a mirror.
‘Jesus, Em!’
‘What?’ She smacked her lips together decisively. ‘Oh, you look brighter! Less corned beef, more ham on the bone.’
I poked my tongue out at her, snatching a quick look back at the bar as I sat down.
‘Someone caught your eye?’ she squinted playfully.
‘No.’ I flicked my hair back. ‘I just went to the loo, that’s all.’ I picked up my drink and made a ‘cheers’ motion. ‘To new beginnings, then?’ I grinned and she chinked her glass against mine and grinned back.
‘You could do with someone in your life again, you know.’
‘Could I?’ I took a sip, aware that she was studying me. ‘I feel far too old for all that.’
‘You’re only thirty-bloody-four!’ she barked a laugh like a seal. ‘There’s plenty of men about! They’re a bit like shoes: you buy a pair, find they’re a bit tight, or too loose, or go saggy after a while…’
I laughed. ‘Yeah, alright! I get the picture, it’s just a bit visual!’
‘So you go and get more, don’t you? Forget that last bloke, what was his name again… Dan, wasn’t it? Dan, Dan, the complicated man.’ She shook her head. ‘We’ve all had one of those. They appear to be one kind of person but actually they’re another.’
I nodded and gave a wan smile. Yep, that was him. This kind of man who asks loads of questions – who comes over like a sensitive kind of guy, who really wants to get to know you, you think. You’re right; he does. And then he uses what he knows against you. ‘Don’t ever fall in love,’ he joked with me once. ‘It makes you too vulnerable.’
‘You want someone who’s nice, funny, caring, a bit mad…’ Emma mused. ‘Someone a bit like me.’ She cocked an eyebrow suggestively.
‘You’re forgetting I’ve sat in your bathroom when you’ve been shaving your legs,’ I pulled a face. ‘Sorry. You’ve gone and spoiled the mystery now.’
‘Ah. Shame.’
‘Anyway. What time was your dinner date?’
‘Bugger!’ She leapt up and then glanced around, giggling. ‘Oops! Was that a bit loud?’
‘Go on,’ I shook my head laughing. ‘Have a lovely time.’
‘But what about you?’ She looked genuinely concerned.
‘I am going to spoil myself, actually.’ I gave her a snooty look. ‘I’m going to go back to the hotel, have a long bath with bubbles and possibly a glass of wine, and then order the nicest room service meal that our meagre expenses allowance can stretch to. And then, finally, as an end to a perfect evening, I shall get into bed and watch reality shite on TV to make me feel better about my own shite reality. What could be nicer?’
She looked relieved. ‘Sounds good. See you then.’ She bent to kiss me goodbye.
‘Have fun,’ I grinned, watching her scurry happily towards the door, peering into the street for a second before pulling out her umbrella.
The smile fell from my face. I picked up my drink and drank the rest of it slowly. I watched the gay yellow and blue stripes of her brolly bob past the window and felt my heart contract. I wasn’t going to do anything of the sort. I was probably going to go back to the hotel, type up the notes from my meeting with Simon Gould, and then send them to Viv. I was even going to say in the email that I thought Gould was ‘over familiar’ and I believed it would be more appropriate if a man dealt with him from now on. That would wipe the smirk off his face. It was just a shame I wouldn’t get a chance to see it.
Gathering my things together, I picked up my briefcase and glanced up as the door pushed open. A man and a woman clattered in, all breathless and giggly, their coat shoulders darkened with rain. A memory of me and Dan caught in a rainstorm suddenly ached as a brilliant flash of lightening lit the doorway and a gust of wet whistled through the gap. I was going to get soaked but I didn’t care. I stood, pulling on my coat and wondering if I had my umbrella. I stepped back.
‘Arrgh!’
My heel trod heavily into someone as I barged awkwardly into the poor person standing behind me.
‘Oh God! I’m so sorry!’ I wheeled round. ‘I didn’t know you were—’
The man was pulling a tortured comic face, and I realised with a jolt of embarrassment who it was.
Mr Lopsided.
He smiled his funny smile. ‘I was going to say, “don’t worry, I’ve got another,” but—’ He gazed down at his shoes and my eyes followed his. There was a definite dented scuff mark on the toes of both.
I looked up, horrified. ‘Oh hell, I’m so sorry!’
His eyes swivelled sideways and I realised he was holding out a half empty beer glass with a large brown stain seeping slowly into the cuff of his shirt.
‘Oh God! Have I done that?’ It was a ridiculous question and one I clearly knew the answer to.
‘Please don’t apologise. It was an accident—’ he attempted to shake off the worst of it. It wasn’t working. His eyes caught mine and he grinned. ‘You caught me good and proper! I have to give you that.’
His laughing eyes were the colour of newly burned ash. I must have looked mortified, but he only shook his head. ‘Seriously, it’s not a huge problem, but would you do me a very big favour?’
‘Of course, of course,’ right now I would do anything he asked.
‘Would you look after this…’ he put what remained of his pint on the table. ‘… And this…’ He peeled off his jacket and shook it out, peering at the wet sleeve suspiciously before laying it on the back of the chair. ‘I think my shirt bore the worst of it. Please don’t feel bad… it’s honestly no big deal but if I could just rinse it now, maybe I won’t have to smell like a brewery all evening?’ He smirked and began to unbutton the soggy cuff.
‘Yes! Absolutely!’ I pulled off my coat and it came away with the sleeve inside out. ‘No problem. Take as long as you like.’ I sat awkwardly on the edge of the seat, not knowing where to look as he wandered off. I didn’t know what to do with myself: putting my elbow on the table and then taking it off again – I didn’t dare watch the door of the Gents in case that just looked weird too, so I pointedly stared at the floor. Eventually he appeared, clutching a wad of paper towel and dabbing at his wrist. I immediately stood up, far too hastily and then immediately thought that came over as rude.
‘Are you heading off?’ The wet stained cuff sagged horribly against his wrist. ‘It still looks a bit dodgy out there—’ he dipped his head and peered through the window.
‘Yes… I mean no… I’m—Oh gosh, look… Umm… Could I offer the cost of the dry cleaning or something? It looks a bit—’ I gestured weakly. ‘Is it ruined?’
‘No, no, it’s perfectly fine – Absolutely no professional assistance required—’ he wrinkled his nose as he sniffed at his sleeve. ‘Mmm… I’ve gone from Black Sheep bitter to a very pungent grapefruit and pot pourri. Maybe I should have stuck with the beer…’
He saw the look on my face. ‘Oh look, I’m joking! I’m joking! Please! Think no more of it… and seriously if you don’t have to be anywhere important, you might think—’ He nodded over. The rain was twisting in skeins down the glass, with an occasional gusting splatter that sounded like thrown gravel.
‘So do you?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Have to be somewhere?’ I realised he was smiling.
‘No.’
‘I’m Paul, by the way.’ He held out his hand, ‘Oh! Mind the sog.’
The heat of it was warm and welcoming and I managed a smile. ‘And I’m Lucy.’
‘I think I might just get another drink,’ he eyed his dreg-filled glass ruefully.
‘Oh yes!… No! Let me get that.’ I fumbled for my bag and found my purse, ‘It was Black Sheep, you said?’
‘Sure was. You’ll have one with me though, won’t you?’
‘Well, I shouldn’t…’
There was a clatter as the barmaid collected a clutch of glasses from the next table. ‘I wouldn’t think about going out there if I were you. Brrrr! Orrible!’ She grinned at both of us. ‘I’d stay here in the warm.’
I paused. ‘Okay then… Thanks.’
‘What are you thanking me for, I thought you were buying?’ He arched a look and his face went from unconventional to attractive, all in the space of a grin.
‘I’ll go and find a table a bit closer to the fire, shall I? There’s a good one over there. I can hang myself over it and have a quiet steam,’ he winked at me but I pretended I hadn’t seen it as I made my way to the bar. Despite my embarrassment I felt a bit fuzzy and giggly. He was a nice guy actually: funny, I could tell he was comfortable taking the piss out of me and I liked that. I smiled as I chanced a look round. He’d found a seat in a corner nook and, with a shock, I realised why this place had made me think of Dan. I’d been in this pub before.
With him.
A squeeze of something sour churned in my stomach. I suddenly recognised the wooden settle and the sepia photographs of the aproned coopers, arms folded, flat caps staring unsmiling into the camera lens. I’d not only been here, I’d sat in that exact seat.
Oh God.
I took a breath.
You never say no to seeing me. I remembered that teasing lift at the corner of his mouth. I loved his mouth.
Why would I? I’d said. I love seeing you… I love you, in fact.
The words had left my lips without me wanting them to. I remembered the deep burn and thrill of having spoken them out loud.
That’s all a bit full-on, isn’t it Lucy? Don’t spoil it. Things are good as they are, there’s no need to mess it up.
The pain had twisted like a razor-sharp barb. I watched his beautiful mouth articulating each syllable. I learned to hate his mouth. I learned to hate what came out of it.
‘Yes, love, what would you like?’ The barmaid shocked me back.
I ordered the drinks and paid for them feeling acutely self-conscious. My heart was racing inexplicably, and I was aware that my jacket must be all crushed at the back and then wondering why the hell I was bothered. I carried the glasses over.
‘So,’ Paul went to take his pint. ‘What were you doing at the nick?’
I nearly toppled both drinks. ‘How the hell do you know that?’
‘Ooops! You okay there?’ He rescued his glass from my clutches and sucked the drips from his fingers. ‘I was visiting and I thought I might’ve seen you leaving the wing. Have I got that all wrong?’
‘You were visiting?’
He laughed. ‘Ah, yes, sorry. No. I have to come up on occasions and supervise some of the clinical interviews. I even do one or two occasionally. I’m the senior psychologist now, although I used to work in prisons full-time.’ He sipped his pint as things began to fall into place.
‘Ahh!… The infamous Dr Webb!’
He blinked in surprise. ‘Hell, am I famous?’ he looked at me over the rim of his glass.
I shook my head and laughed. ‘No… Well, maybe… In the right circles.’ I resisted all impulse to mention the Simon Gould case. I didn’t even want to think of it.
‘And how about you?’
I picked up my glass. I shook my head while swallowing. ‘Just a paltry Probation Officer. Your name crops up a lot in the reports I read – mostly prisoners in the London nicks though.’
‘Ah,’ he nodded. ‘I’m based at Head Office, but I travel all over the country dealing with some of the interesting cases.’
Interesting. I felt a tiny itch of irritation.
‘So tell me then, who did you say you were seeing in Ravensmoor?’
‘I didn’t.’ I was suddenly aware that might sound abrupt, and blushed.
‘Gould. Pre-release interview.’
‘Ah yes, Gould. I’ve spent a lot of time with Gould. He’s a fascinating case.’
‘To some I suppose.’ Why the hell had I just said that?
I detected a smile at the corner of his lips. I felt a hole begin to open up in front of me.
‘But I see you don’t.’ He picked up a beer mat and ran a thumbnail down one edge.
I swallowed. Right now, I could not afford to start challenging a senior psychologist, particularly one I’d only just met. Even I knew that.
‘No, not really.’ The itch moved into my spine.
His grey eyes searched mine. ‘I can see why. I would think Gould found you threatening. You’ll have scared him a bit.’
He peeled a thin top layer of card. It lay curled on the table.
‘He’d be aware that you had all the control, and he wouldn’t like that. He would immediately want to find ways to undermine you. He’s a very astute individual. But it’s a feral intelligence. It’s instinctive: like an animal. He can smell vulnerability. But of course—’ the ruined mat landed on the table. ‘I can tell he wouldn’t have got anywhere with you,’ He picked up his drink, sipping a little off the top.
‘But you supported his release?’ The words came out before I could stop them and he paused, clearly a little shocked.
‘Me? Christ, no.’
‘But I thought—?’
‘Absolutely not.’ He pressed his lips together. ‘I’ve made it quite clear to Gould, to the parole board, and to anyone else that would listen that I still believe him to be a danger; that’s why I’ve advised very stringent release conditions. I want him on a tight leash, and I can see by your face that you do too.’
I watched his face: so impassioned, so alive, so clear. I smiled and put my glass down.
‘Let’s not talk about work stuff anymore, shall we?’
‘You know what, you’re absolutely right!’ He slapped his hands on the table. ‘Did you want another?… Vodka, was it?’
‘Sorry?’ I glanced down to find my glass was empty. ‘Oh!’
He had stood up and was moving towards the bar before I could answer. I realised that I hadn’t had anything to eat since lunchtime and the alcohol was already going to my head. I took a surreptitious glance at him while he was waiting to be served. He was leaning on one elbow and his crumpled cuff had shunted back. It showed his watch and the breadth of his wrist. His hand briefly touched his neck. The fingers were beautiful: square and slightly tanned. I immediately looked away, scared in case he caught me staring.
He came back with the drinks, settled himself and then winced a bit sheepishly. ‘Sorry about all that… before…’ He scratched his chin. ‘I have a tendency to put people on the spot a bit. I’m a tad inquisitorial by nature…’ He grinned ruefully. ‘Just tell me when I’m doing it and I’ll back off. So, come on then. Tell me all about you. Your accent for instance – where’s that from?’
‘Oh, round here – but I’m based in London now.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘Highbury,’ I smiled. ‘But I work in Hackney.’
‘Ah, Highbury, I know bits of it.’ He smiled back. ‘Nice. I’m in Belsize Park. Do you have family?’
‘A mum and sister. Mam’s ill. Dementia.’
‘Oh, sorry to hear that.’ He looked genuinely concerned. ‘You know you said “Mam” not “Mum’. It’s nice.’
‘So how about you?’ I deftly changed the subject. ‘Where are you from?’
He sat back a little and put down his glass. ‘My family are from Hertfordshire originally, that’s where I grew up. But they’re all gone now, I’m afraid. I never had any siblings, and no cousins, even – None that I’m aware of anyway. I’m afraid I don’t come from very long-lived stock… Oh! And talking of not living very long… Are you starving? I am. Do you fancy dinner or something? I wonder what they do here?’ He squinted up at the board on the wall behind.
I could barely keep up with him.
I laughed and he looked back at me expectantly.
‘I could eat a horse between two bread vans,’ I drawled in broad Yorkshire.
‘Ah, I do like a woman with a bit of class.’ He pronounced it with the short ‘a’.
‘You’re funny,’ I thought I might be flirting, but after more vodkas than was good for me, I’d stopped caring.
‘Am I?’ He regarded me, his head tipped on one side.
‘Funny ha-ha or funny peculiar, though?’ I gave him a quizzical look. ‘That’s the important question.’
‘Probably a bit of both,’ he chuckled back. ‘I hope so anyway.’
I can’t remember what we ate, or even what we talked about. I was aware of the time passing, the massive logs on the fire turning black and jewel red, the heat pulsing as the jostling bodies around the bar swam by in shapes and colours. I wasn’t paying proper attention, I knew that. I also knew that despite my previous reservation, I was enjoying myself. I really was. I was finding this unusual man attractive; he made me laugh, he was intelligent and considerate and attentive and I deserved a bit of care and attention. Emma had been right. Why the hell shouldn’t I?
I said something cheeky and he laughed. The lights from the bar caught his face and his eyes sparkled. I was aware of how close we’d got: how our cramped elbows had slid across the table, making us tight in our own circle. I was drinking too much, I knew that too. I was letting loose, making things inevitable. There was his mouth, soft, moving in front of me like a pale crescent moon, laughing suddenly; his lips moving with underwater slowness, shaping words that I wasn’t sure had any meaning, but it didn’t seem to matter. I lifted my glass and saw an endless snowflake pattern of fingermarks, quite perfect, and his odd face, right there, and me not understanding why I had ever thought it odd and not strangely beautiful. I was aware of all my nerve-endings: they felt suddenly alive; every breath was light and new and felt clean and sharp.
He’s probably done this before.
Don’t be stupid; of course he has, the voice in my head said. He’s confident and at ease. It’s bloody obvious.
He laughed right into my eyes and I knew he was keen, and his keenness made me feel confident too. I knew the game, I wasn’t daft. I looked smilingly into his face. If I stayed right where I was he might lean forward, tip his head and kiss me. I felt it. Caught. We gazed, bright and engaging, into each other’s eyes: a direct stare that didn’t need words to tell us what we were both thinking, and then suddenly he looked away. He concentrated on a little ring of water on the table and I immediately felt ridiculous, sitting there so rapt and eager. He half-smiled, casually drawing his finger through the circle. It made a little squealing sound. Someone dropped a glass behind the bar and I took a breath as the real world thumped back into place.
He glanced around. ‘What time is it?’ He looked down at his watch. ‘Ten past nine. What do you think? It might’ve stopped raining. Should we make a run for it?’
‘Yeah. Great. Good idea.’
I managed the words clumsily, pushing my chair back, licking and biting my lips to get the feeling back into them, leaning down to grab my bag. The table edge loomed horribly close. He stood and moved with me, guiding me towards the door. I felt a prickle of intimacy as the heat of his hand hovered around the small of my back, the sensation tickling my spine as we stepped out onto the pavement. Dark clouds were roiling in overhead and a fine rain was slanting through the streetlights, making the world look patchy and phosphorescent. We fell in step with that uncomfortable tension of not holding hands: a couple yet not a couple, but knowing we were only a hair’s breadth away from being just that.
We walked side by side in silence for a few moments. I was concentrating on my feet and we bumped shoulders as he went to cross the road.
He chuckled. ‘Hey, careful! Which way are you going?’
‘Sorry, sorry,’ I mumbled. ‘I wasn’t watching.’
He stopped and looked at me. ‘No, I meant which way? Do you want a lift?’ He nodded to a white Audi.
‘But you’ve been drinking.’ I felt the road moving slightly beneath my feet.
‘Actually, you’ve been drinking, I stopped hours ago.’
‘Oh! I didn’t realise…’ I stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say, my mouth feeling sticky and clumsy with drink, my face a stiff mask with me sitting stupidly behind it.
‘Let me take you to where you’re staying at least?’
‘No. Really. I’d rather you didn’t.’
‘A cab, then.’ He looked round. ‘You can’t be out here, in—’ He paused. I thought he was going to say ‘this state,’ and I felt a rush of annoyance. ‘— this weather,’ he added.
I drew myself up and staggered slightly. ‘I’ll be perfectly fine, thank you,’
‘Would you like to exchange numbers?’ he looked amused and patted his pocket.
‘Why not?’
The words didn’t come out as I wanted them to; I knew I sounded off-hand and aloof. He was signalling that the evening was over; part of me wanted it to be, and then another part of me… I distracted myself by scrabbling in my bag for my phone and then fumbled as I tried to turn it on, but the screen only flashed and died.
‘Oh shit! The battery’s gone.’
‘Don’t worry.’ He grabbed my hand and turned it over. ‘Here.’ He pulled a biro from his pocket and began to stroke black numbers onto my palm. The ink felt cold and tickled a sensation right through my belly. I felt myself sway a little, watching his face as he worked. This isn’t you, that little voice inside me said. You don’t meet men in pubs and think what it would be like to… be like to… We were so close I could smell his skin. His lips twitched a little with concentration. He ended with an ostentatious full stop, smiling, but didn’t let go of my hand.
‘There.’ He blinked up at me.
I hesitated. He didn’t move. I knew what I was going to do. I leaned forward and kissed him: gently at first, but then with an urgency and a passion, letting go of my reserve, my fear, my self-consciousness. I kissed him until there was no breath left in either of us.
‘Fuck…’ he said.
I could feel his erection against my hip. I pulled back slightly and slipped my hand down his fly to squeeze it.
‘Fuck.’
‘Yes. Let’s,’ I laughed. This man didn’t know me. I could be anyone I wanted to be. With him, I felt liberated. Desire flooded through me in a wave, buoying me up; the sheer thrill of it; I was in control. He pulled me to him again but I pushed him off. ‘But not quite yet,’ I said flirting outrageously now. ‘Come on.’ I offered him my hand. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Where?’
I was surprised when he took it meekly like a child. I only smiled. ‘Somewhere.’
‘What do you mean, somewhere? Where’s somewhere?’
But I didn’t answer. I led him, a tad unsteadily, across the road. ‘This one?’ I gestured to the Audi.
He fumbled for the keys, the immobiliser flashing into the darkness. I stalked round to the passenger side and yanked the door open. He paused for a moment to pull his shirt out of his trousers to cover his embarrassment. The power rushed through me.
He looked across the roof at me. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling okay?’
‘I’m faa-bulous,’ my lips caught on my teeth. ‘How ’bout you?’
‘Okay. Fabulous, so where are we going?’ He turned to look at me. I couldn’t see his eyes.
‘Just drive and I’ll tell you.’ I waved at the road.
He didn’t argue, just started the engine and glanced in the mirror. I didn’t look at him. The streets skimmed by. I was minutely aware of every movement he made, the length of his thigh, the turn of his cheek, the back of his hand on the steering wheel. I began to feel a little more sober. What the hell was I doing?
‘Just follow the main road out of York and then the signs for Bilbrough.’ My voice sounded almost normal. A small tickle of trepidation slid quickly into excitement. I was doing this. I really was.
He didn’t ask me any more questions. The windscreen wipers squealed a little in protest on the half-dry glass, smearing the road-view, laying it out there in front of us, long and empty. We drove, silently. The sky overhead was dark, black almost, the roads lined with trees that were silvered into sentinels. He peered at the lit road signs. ‘How far are we actually going?’
‘Don’t,’ I said, already knowing this was completely barmy.
‘Don’t what?’
‘Ask questions. Turn off here.’ I remembered something.
‘Here? You’re sure about this?’ He glanced at me.
We’d come here as kids. I knew this place almost as though I’d dreamt it.
The road straightened out with bleak fields on either side. His phone rang and he ignored it.
‘I have no idea where we are.’ He looked around, anxiously. ‘What if you’re one of those female serial killers?’
‘Then you won’t have to worry about finding your way home, will you?’
He roared with laughter. I could see he liked the fact I was off-beat and outrageous; this was really me, I told myself, but where had this me come from?
We passed signs for the town centre. The fields became scattered houses and barns and then a school and a pub and then the streets narrowed, with collapsing red-brick Georgian houses and shop fronts. The pale square tower of a Norman church rose up from behind the trees.
‘Pull up over there.’
He squeezed in under a low overhang of branches just as his phone rang and he dragged it from his pocket and switched it off.
‘Someone wants you.’
He didn’t answer. ‘Where now?’
I inched out of the passenger side and walked away up the path next to the church, knowing instinctively he would follow.
He looked round. ‘Okay?’
‘Keep going.’
We walked along the gravel path down through the churchyard, past the ragged black tombstones, picking our way over slides of mud and puddles. The wind picked up as we rounded the walls of the church.
‘I can’t do this.’ He suddenly wheeled round, pushing me back abruptly into the stone, catching me completely off-guard. He pressed himself against me, his hands cupping the sides of my face. I stared back at him, chin raised and unflinching. He didn’t kiss me, he just held his face so close that his eyes lost all focus.
‘You’re going to have to.’ I breathed his breath, our lips tingling but not touching, his hips jammed against mine. I was in control of this and I knew it. The equal amounts of excitement and terror set my whole body trembling. I pushed him off and walked quickly up the path that ran alongside the river towards a copse of trees. The sounds of the water churning and splashing almost cancelled out the shouts up ahead. Teenagers by the sound of them, their voices whisking away into the rushing water as it tumbled over the weir.
‘Here.’ I led him further into the shadows as we turned, me tugging my skirt up and pulling at my tights and then grabbing his flies to unbutton them while he stood there, seemingly incapable, his hands hanging limply at his sides, his breath rasping a little as he leaned into me. His erection slapped into my stomach before he entered me in one shocked gasp, my leg hooked ungainly, my knickers awry. Our kiss was animal, clumsy, open-mouthed, our jaws and teeth and chins grinding into each other, our tongues not caring about the wet and the spit as he pushed himself into me over and over. Neither of us made a sound. I clung to him, feeling his shoulders powerful and sinewy under my hands as, through half-closed eyes, I watched the red jacket of a jogger flash past and heard the languid chatter of a dog-walker on a mobile phone.
They were so close – one sideways glance and they would have seen us – their proximity making things dangerous, urgent, and I came, shuddering and gasping, his breath was wet on my neck. I opened my eyes. His forehead was tucked under my jaw; he nuzzled in, burrowing like a small animal.
Somewhere, far off, a dog barked and the ghostly outline of the trees whispered and shifted overhead. Everything was different; I was different. The remaining fuzz of the alcohol lifted, leaving behind some strange, hollow clarity I’d never felt before: not like this. It was as though I knew him; like I really knew him.
My hands were still on his shoulders; his every movement was mine too. My whole body thrummed and responded with his. This was the bit of me I’d been missing and he’d just found it again.
‘Christ,’ he said thickly, half laughing, half in amazement. ‘Where the hell did you come from?’
‘I was sent,’ I whispered smiling. ‘I was sent to do terrible things to drive you insane.’
He lifted his face and laced his fingers into my hair, pulling my head back and kissed me again, his eyes wide open. I saw something there, right that moment: a split second of desire and want and attraction, and yet something else: something that looked like fear. He leaned in again and we kissed, very gently. I smiled at him softly. ‘Come on.’
He helped me scramble out of the bushes and onto the path, but he didn’t let go my fingers, only wound and linked them into his own.
‘Why all the way out here?’ he tugged playfully.
I grinned. ‘I just wanted to see if you would.’
We walked for another minute or so without him saying anything. ‘You’re a funny mixture, you know that, don’t you?’
‘Am I? Is that your professional opinion?’ I gave him a playful sideways look.
‘No, that’s an “I’m intrigued by you” statement of fact.’
He said it so seriously and calmly I couldn’t think of how to reply.
‘I’m not… Like… this… Usually.’ I felt almost bashful. ‘I feel a bit embarrassed now.’ I concentrated on the movement of my feet.
‘God, don’t be!’ He barked a laugh. His hand swung with mine. ‘I think you’re probably quite a complex person. I like that.’
A tiny thrill rippled: he thought I was different. He liked that. Then a sudden dampening thought that I was a bit of a fraud, that I really wasn’t like this and that deep down there was just the same old me, waiting tediously in the wings.
‘Would you come back to my hotel?’ he said quietly.
I was scared, excited, slightly sick, happy and wary all at the same time. Good things don’t happen to me. Good things don’t happen to me, particularly in bloody Yorkshire. Was it possible that the bad spell could be broken – or did I have to live like this forever? Could I give myself a chance? Could I?
‘Yes,’ I said.
His room smelled of difference. His bag was on a chair, unzipped, the toe of a sock peeping disarmingly through the gap. The bathroom was in darkness, but the door was ajar. His washing stuff was sitting by the side of the basin: a toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant and his razor. The homely intimacy of it pulled at my gut and I suddenly thought how much I wanted this: how much I’d missed it.
‘You okay?’ I realised he’d been watching me.
‘Of course.’
‘You don’t look okay.’ He came across and put his hands on my shoulders.
‘Don’t I?’
‘No.’ He continued to look at me, scrutinising my face as though trying to read something there, I didn’t know what.
‘It just feels a bit weird. Being here.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘As though I shouldn’t.’
‘Well technically, you shouldn’t.’ He reached forward slowly and slipped his fingers around the nape of my neck. ‘Both of us booking our single rooms, making those expense claims. We should really be considering financial accountability and professional standards…’ Strands of my hair caught as he drew me into him. ‘…All those kinds of things.’ The kiss was long and soft. The room tilted. My breath was knocked out of me and I found I was trembling.
‘Are you cold?’
I shook my head.
‘You’re nervous.’ He said it matter-of-factly.
‘Not nervous, more, kind of…’
‘Not comfortable.’
‘Maybe.’ My shyness returned a hundredfold.
‘Don’t over-think things.’ His arm slid into the small of my back and I felt the pressure of his hips pushing me backwards. I instinctively wanted to look round, but he wasn’t going to let me.
‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘I won’t let you fall.’
He guided me expertly to the edge of the bed, my knees buckling beneath me, and suddenly, there he was above me, gazing down. His expression was strange, troubled, as through trying to figure me out. ‘You’re still in charge; you’re absolutely in control. I’m in your hands,’ he whispered. I smiled, but he didn’t smile back, concentrating instead on smoothing my hair, his fingers threading again and again, pulling painfully at the snags as he arranged it into a coronet around my head. I went to move.
‘No don’t,’ he frowned. ‘Don’t. Stay like that. Look at your curls – they’re beautiful.’
My eyes met his, questioningly. I watched his lips as they dipped towards me and I closed my eyes; I felt his breath skirting past my cheek and I opened them. His temple was pressed close to mine, his mouth in my hair, I could feel the wetness loud in my ear as he breathed me in. ‘You smell so good,’ he whispered. He looked into my eyes, and then kissed me again, letting his tongue gently tip its way against each lip.
‘Don’t build your walls up against me. I won’t hurt you – not ever.’
My brain challenged every word, but my body responded.
‘Shhh… Trust your instincts,’ he whispered. ‘They’re right.’
My head raged in warning, but my heart responded like bathing in the warmth of the sun.
‘Shhh now…’
The sky was dark, framed by the open curtains. I had no idea if it was late. The bedside light was making a faint buzzing sound. I shifted my ear and lay against his chest, listening to the quiet thrub-thrub of his heart.
‘You haven’t asked me.’ His voice suddenly boomed into my ear. ‘Sorry, were you asleep?’
‘No, just drifting.’ I stretched my toes into the cool patch at the bottom of the bed. ‘What haven’t I asked you?’ Every joint, every muscle felt loose and unbound. My brain was a scrambled, pleasant wooliness.
‘Anything.’
‘What do you want me to know?’
‘God, you’re good.’ I heard the smile in his voice. ‘Very cool.’
I gave a tiny shrug against his side.
His chin rubbed against my hair. It made a rasping sound. ‘I’m not married, or in a relationship, nor do I have any kids. I have my own flat, my own teeth and my own car. I am a nice, decent guy – and that’s not a contradiction in terms.’
‘Is that possible?’ I let him hear the smile in my voice.
‘Absolutely possible and absolutely true.’
‘Well that’s good, then.’
His chin flexed in amusement and then he yawned, widely. He pulled me closer to him. ‘Is there anything else you need to know?’
‘Not just this moment,’ I nuzzled in closer.
‘Like you say, that’s good then…’ His voice drifted lazily and then he went quiet. There was silence for a few moments more and I felt his arm jerk. I wondered if he’d fallen asleep. I peeped up, carefully. His eyes were closed and his breathing was quiet and regular. I lay there, luxuriating in his warmth, fighting off the tiny frissons of anxiety that kept running through me. The last time I’d allowed myself to get close to someone… The last time I’d let my guard down… Dan. The pain of it had been physical… Somewhere, deep inside, the ache was still there… I batted the thoughts away. This didn’t have to be like that. Paul wasn’t Dan and sabotaging myself had become like a muscle reflex: instant and automatic knee-jerk reaction. I snuggled in and shut my eyes. I wanted to enjoy this. It was nice… he was nice. He was so right: thinking, over-thinking, letting my imagination run amok. I just needed to let things happen.
I don’t know what woke me. The side lamps were still on in the early morning light, giving the room an unpleasant grey glow.
I peered over the hump of Paul’s shoulder at the clock. 05:17.
Carefully and very gently, I eased myself from the side of the bed and patted around for my clothes, pulling them on any old how, and then finding one boot had gone missing. Fishing blindly round, I found it, clunking it against the side of the bed. Paul’s breathing changed and I paused, my own breath caught high in my throat. I waited. After a few seconds, he sighed deeply and turned over as a sudden flash on his side of the bed lit the room with a dim blue light. His phone flashed silently again and then went black. I knew I shouldn’t look. I’m not entirely sure what made me, but craning over, I gently pressed the ‘on’ button, and there, in front of me, were a whole stream of missed messages and calls, all from the same number, but no name. It took a moment for my brain to register and then a squeeze of mortification caught in my throat. What had I been thinking? Was I completely stupid? Of course. A woman: a girlfriend; a wife, even. Why had I ever thought it would be any different? Closing my mind to the stark humiliation, I blindly fished round for the rest of my clothes, and grabbing my coat and briefcase, gingerly tiptoed to the door. It glided smoothly open without a sound and I glanced back. He hadn’t moved. Slipping through into the corridor, I let the door click softly behind me.
The corridor lay in muffled stillness. I walked quickly, feeling exposed and vulnerable; my whole body tingling and burning with the shame of it. Thank God I’d seen it when I did. I was too old now to deal with all that kind of rubbish, too old and just too tired.
Stepping out onto the street and into the gauzy dawn, I made my way along the short route back to my hotel and up to my room. It was stark and silent, and within minutes I’d stripped off and was standing in the shower, letting the hot wash of water drum across my neck and shoulders, scalding my skin. How could he have lied like that? I tried to shake the image of him away. I’d embarrassed myself. Jesus. I’d fallen for it all yet again, hadn’t I? The acute humiliation of it seared with the heat of the water. The only saving grace was no one knew. But what if he tells people? I didn’t think I’d been seen though. I’d certainly make sure I never bumped into him again. If anyone said anything, I’d just deny it.
Pooling a large blob of shampoo onto my palm, I began to lather my hair, digging my fingers into my scalp until the skin tingled. I could almost make myself believe none of it had happened. After all, it hadn’t seemed like me, had it? It would only take a small adjustment to make believe it had all happened to someone else. Whoever that girl had been, whatever she’d felt…
I let the stream of water gush over my face, rinsing my hair and scouring the images away. When I squinted my eyes open again, I knew all that was left was me: the old me: the one who had always been there. I almost felt sad.
I turned off the tap, and was just wrapping myself in various towels when the phone beside the bed begin to ring. Swearing and hopping over, I grabbed it.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ It was Emma.
‘Oh! Hi!’ I felt like a kid that had been caught. ‘What time is it?’ I noticed I was dripping on the carpet and looked around for the clock.
‘Never mind the bloody time, I’ve been worried sick!’
I stopped dead.
‘I’ve been up half the night. Jesus Christ, Luce! Why didn’t you answer your phone? I knocked on your door, I even contacted Reception. Where the hell have you been?’
I was simultaneously annoyed and suddenly flustered that she was angry. ‘Oh God, Em, I’m so sorry! The battery died on me… I didn’t think… Shit…’ I scrabbled about, looking for my phone and charger and plugged it in.
She paused and I could hear her irritation breathing down the line. ‘You weren’t deliberately ignoring me, were you? I mean, because you’re angry at the thought of me going away?’ her voice was flat.
She had some real front to be having a go at me.
‘Emma, no! Of course I wasn’t ignoring you! I wouldn’t do that.’
This was the closest we’d ever come to having any kind of argument.
‘So where’ve you been?’
I took a breath. Seriously?
‘I met a bloke.’
‘Wow!’ She sounded stunned. ‘What? Someone in that pub?’
‘Uh-huh.’
There was a pause.
‘Are you okay, Lucy?’
I heard it. I knew what she must be thinking. This wasn’t the person she thought she knew. I contained a prickle of resentment. ‘It was just a one-off. I won’t be seeing him again.’
‘Right.’
I couldn’t tell from her tone what ‘right’ meant. She clearly wasn’t going to ask why not? I’d had a one-night stand. So what? Was she the only one who could do such things?
I let the silence hang stubbornly between us.
How dare she? After all the hours I had sat listening while she went on and on about one latest shag or another? How many times had she put me off, and reorganised dates with me because some man had clicked his fingers? And where was she last night, for God’s sake?
‘Are you going down for breakfast?’ she said, eventually.
‘Yep.’
‘Best you tell me all about it when we get there, then.’ Her truculence wavered, but my irritation hadn’t.
‘Okay, but there’s nothing to tell.’
‘Mm, sounds like it,’ she said trying to jolly me up but I wasn’t prepared to be jollied. ‘See you down there then? Quarter past seven?’
I was just about to say ‘make it half past’ in a vain attempt at a bit of control, but with a rattle of the receiver, she was gone. I put my end down slowly, suddenly catching sight of the faded ink numbers of Paul’s number on my hand. If I was Emma, I wouldn’t give a toss that he was married and playing away. If I was Emma, I’d be saying that was his problem and not mine.
But I wasn’t Emma. I was tedious old me.
Picking up my mobile, I waited for the screen to burst into life and slowly keyed the numbers to send a message, all the time thinking about what I could say. In the end I just typed ‘I’m sorry,’ and pressed ‘send’ before I could over-think it. Dragging the towel from my hair, I rubbed it vigorously into a mass of tangles as a clutch of what felt like grief turned my insides into a similar knot.
I’ve been used yet again.
I wasn’t sure who I was most angry with – Paul, Emma, or maybe I was just furious with myself. I’d spent my life saying bloody sorry when I wasn’t in the wrong. Paul wasn’t sorry was he? He’d had his cake and eaten it. Emma – well, those two words wouldn’t even figure in her vocabulary. She wasn’t sorry, not for anything: not for endlessly dumping me as and when it suited, not for running around with other women’s husbands, and not even for disappearing off to the other side of the world. No, she wasn’t sorry, she never was.
I pulled out the comb from my bag and began to drag it through the knotted snag of curls. Little clumps broke off. I stared down at them. Bits of me; people always took bits of me and then left the rest. Why was there no one out there who wanted me, the whole me and nothing but me?
The truth was, no matter what I did for anyone, I never seemed to be enough.