Chapter 33
33
‘ Shit,’ Bel mouthed silently at Connor, as they stood facing each other, in shock.
They were trapped.
‘At least you’d chosen a side of the bed,’ Bel whispered. She handed him a spare toothbrush: ‘And I thought to hold this back.’
Connor walked over to the canary yellow Roberts Radio on the shelf nearby and tuned it to a soporific burble of BBC World Service.
‘Have you got a key for this?’ Connor said in a low voice, gesturing at the door’s lock.
‘Uhm … I think so?’ Bel reached up and felt along the top of the door frame.
She handed it over: ‘Here. Why?’
Connor took it from her and turned the lock, leaving the ornate heavy metal key in the door.
He inclined his head at the ground floor.‘You mean it’s not even occurred to you they might be doing this on purpose?’
Bel was momentarily stunned.
‘What? Why …?’
‘I mean, it’s an admirable lack of cynicism,’ he hoarse- whispered. ‘However. Everything considered, you should be more wary.’
‘But Rick’s spannered?’ Bel hissed.
‘We assume he’s spannered,’ Connor said, ‘They’re near-strangers and now they’re non-negotiably under your roof for the night.’
‘He’s our generation’s Laurence Olivier if he’s sober.’
‘I’m not sure “lying down and closing your eyes” is quite as hard as you think it is. Anyhow, he’s probably drugged like a Roald Dahl pheasant. Glad of the lock.’
Bel shivered a little. Connor was several things, but he wasn’t stupid. What if he was right? She’d not wanted him anywhere near this undercover escapade and yet, without him here, she’d have gone to bed, inebriated, in an unlocked room, not thinking anything of it.
If one of the first rules of journalism according to The Tao Of Aunt Tamara was ‘anyone might be lying about anything, and for no reason,’ then she’d mislaid this wisdom at a crucial moment. Bel was so sure she was taking Amber in, she’d not considered it might be the reverse.
‘I’m afraid it gets worse,’ Connor said. ‘I didn’t bring a T-shirt. Would you have anything that might fit me?’
‘Oh God!’ Bel said. ‘Erm …’ She’d thrown the splattered one she’d cooked in into the wash. ‘Let me check but I don’t think so. I only have one XL one.’
Bel rummaged in a drawer and produced a babydoll-fit Bruce Springsteen T-shirt, emblazoned with Born To Run.
‘Do you like The Boss?’ she asked, holding it up, then couldn’t help corpsing, to Connor’s rolled eyes.
‘Jesus Christ, why is that a child’s size? Newborn To Run?’
‘It’s the skinny design that shows off your rack!’ Bel hissed. When she was nervous she went sassy, she couldn’t help it. Masking.
‘Looks like I’m showing off my rack either way. Uhm, I’m sleeping in my pants then, are you OK with that?’
‘What are my options? You in my leggings?’
‘I’m glad you’re finding my enforced nudity so funny,’ Connor said.
‘This is a trauma response,’ Bel said, and Connor finally laughed.
They negotiated changing in the bathroom, Bel going first. She pulled on her pink cotton grandad pyjamas and decided to keep a bra on, as swinging free here felt far too intimate.
As she washed her face she thought: am I really going to platonic bed with the arsey intern? Is this what this sodding ‘jape’ has come to? She allowed Connor had far more to resent here.
Bel said perkily: ‘All yours!’ and once Connor was in the bathroom, wriggled to the far edge of the bed. Thank goodness it was massive. Not massive enough for this not to be hideously awkward, of course.
After a moment’s worry it looked like seduction, she dimmed the lights. As well as the side-table library lamps there was a recessed LED yellow-glow that ran under the skirting on a separate circuit. It was enough illumination that you could see your way to the loo, and not too intrusive for sleep.
Bel plugged her phone in to charge and stared determinedly at the handset as a pants-clad Connor exited the bathroom on the periphery of her vision and climbed in next to her. From the scant amount she saw of the abdominal definition, she could tell Shilpa would be growling.
There was a moment of quiet where they lay there in mutual disbelief.
‘Oh God, this is nightmarish,’ Bel whispered, to ease the tension.
‘ You’re not topless,’ Connor muttered.
‘Sorry to break the news that I am,’ Bel said, and was rewarded with Connor shaking with laughter.
‘I worry about you a little, you know,’ he said. ‘You didn’t consider this downstairs could be a try-on, and now you’re unexpectedly in bed with a male co-worker you barely know. What’s the next intern going to stumble into? Hitchhiking in a cheerleader’s outfit by moonlight? Infiltrating the Taliban in a joke shop moustache?’
Bel laughed and Connor smiled, sighed, and put his arm above his head. Bel didn’t pay any attention to his arm, his bare chest, or the way his muscles moved.
‘I’m able to trust you implicitly on the basis you not only do not find me attractive, but actively abhorrent,’ Bel whispered.
‘You love exaggerating. Our generation’s Vivien Leigh.’
It might be the school trip silliness affecting her, or the claret, but she sensed firstly that Connor was warming to her, and, secondly, her surprise that he’d echoed her nearest and dearest. Bel’s flair for the dramatic , her mother said.
‘This bork aside, an amazing evening, I thought?’ Bel said. She had to be careful. They were at a distance, two doors in between, where they’d not be heard speaking at normal volume, let alone sotto voce . Yet comparing notes with the marks still on premises felt both reckless and unkind.
‘For sure, talk tomorrow?’ Connor said, reflecting exactly this discomposure.
‘Yes. For now I will only say I have an unforeseen issue, and it’s not you in Calvin Klein grey trunks.’
‘Oh my God, they ARE Calvins! You pervy little spy!’
Connor was definitely sounding sweeter on Bel than he ever had, and while Bel was grateful, what a time for it to arrive.
‘It was a guess! Settle down, no one’s objectifying you. My issue is, Connor: I like Amber and Rick.’
‘Same,’ Connor said.