Chapter 29
As Ana regarded the little house on Latimer Road, she suddenly felt like she’d been gone for ever.
And in a strange, heartwarming way, it almost felt like home.
She picked up her rucksack and made her way inside.
Once again, all was in darkness. She went to the kitchen and poured herself a couple of big glasses of water to thin out all the whisky she’d drunk and then found, much to her delight, a couple of plates of yummy things in the fridge – M&S party food, little sausages, terriney-salmony things, bits of battered fish.
In the dishwasher were a few used champagne glasses and in the bin lots of empty crisp wrappers and houmous pots.
Gill must have had some people round. And, in true Gill style, had cleared away every last crumb and wrapping.
She grabbed a couple of nibbly things and took them upstairs.
And, almost like a déjà vu as she grabbed the handle of her bedroom door, she could hear groaning.
And grunting. And slapping. And moaning.
And giggling. Lots of giggling. No, thought Ana, no way.
She couldn’t be. Not again. And surely not on a Monday night.
She let herself silently into her bedroom and breathed a huge sigh of relief as she let her rucksack fall to the floor and flopped on to her futon.
She felt utterly exhausted, mentally and physically.
She felt like every last drop of energy she’d ever possessed had been wrung out of her, like she’d never be able to stand up again.
And she really wanted a bath – she hadn’t had a bath since last week, since Torrington.
She wanted to run herself a huge, steaming, foamy bath and lock the door and read her serial-killers book and not get out until she’d turned into a prune.
But she couldn’t. Because she was living in a house with a nympho, and she was too scared to open her bedroom door for fear of who she might find herself bumping into.
Slowly and painfully she started to peel off the clothes she felt like she’d been wearing for about three years, and she had her top half-way over her head when she heard a gentle knock at her door. Her heart stopped beating for a millisecond.
‘Yes,’ she said cautiously.
‘Ana – it’s Gill, can I come in?’
Oh God, thought Ana, oh no. What does she want?
‘Yeah,’ she said, slipping her top back on, ‘sure.’
The door creaked open slowly and Gill crept in.
‘Oh,’ said Ana, jumping slightly and clutching her chest. Gill was wearing nothing but a pair of purple satin knickers and a matching bra, with one strap hanging off her shoulder and the majority of her breast on display.
There was gingery lipstick streaked all over her face and bits of paper streamer in her hair.
And she hadn’t, Ana couldn’t help but notice, done her bikini line.
‘Hi,’ she smiled crookedly, lurching a bit from side to side, ‘I heard you coming in and I just thought I’d see how you were.’
‘Oh,’ said Ana, covering half her face with a hand and feeling unbelievably claustrophobic, ‘oh, I’m fine. Really – fine.’
‘Good. I’ve been a wee bit worried about you.’
‘Oh. You didn’t need to worry. I’ve been …’
‘You shoulda been here earlier on, Ana – you missed a hoot.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah – I had a hen night here, for my friend Cathy. It was hilarious. We had a stripper and everything. You’d have loved it.’
‘Oh. Yes. That is a shame …’
‘And how wuz Broadstairs? Did you find anything interesting?’
‘Yeah,’ began Ana, realizing immediately that this response would only lead to a full-length conversation, the prospect of which, in the current circumstances, she couldn’t quite stomach. ‘Well – sort of. Not really. No …‘She shook her head dismissively. ‘You know … ‘she petered out.
‘Oh well,’ slurred Gill, ‘it was worth trying, I guess. And how was the delicious Flint?’ she asked in an innuendo-laden voice, accompanied by a grotesque Carry-On wink.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Feisty Flint?’ she giggled. ‘Did he behave himself?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh come on – you know what I mean. Did he try to – you know?’
‘What?’
‘To get into your knickers, of course.’
‘No!’ snapped Ana. ‘Of course he didn’t. Look,’ she said, ‘what exactly is it with Flint? I mean, why are you and Lol so mean about him?’
‘Och – we’re no mean about him. We just like taking the piss, that’s all.’
‘Yeah – but why? He seems perfectly all right to me.’
‘Yes. But that’s exactly it. He seems ever so nice. But he’s not. He’s a complete tart.’
‘A tart?’
‘Och. A right old slapper. He’ll shag anything that moves.’
‘Flint?’
‘’Course Flint. If it’s got a pulse and a hole – he’s in there. And actually, it doesn’t even need to have a pulse. Just the hole will do.’
Ana’s face crumpled with confusion.
We’ve all had him, you know.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Flint. All of us. Me. Cathy. Lol.’
‘Lol?’
‘Uh-huh – and Bee.’
Ana suddenly felt like she’d been kicked in the chest by a shire horse. She gulped as an image of a tiny Bee writhing around under a huge naked Flint flashed through her mind. ‘No …’ she managed to croak.
‘Aye.’
‘But – I mean – how do you know?’
‘Cuz she told me, silly. That’s what girls do, isn’t it? Talk about stuff. Yeah. Bee and Flint had their moments. D’you see what I mean now? Keep away from Flint. You’re a nice girl and he’ll take advantage of you if you let him …’
‘Well,’ said Ana sniffily, regaining her composure, ‘I’ve got no intention of letting him do anything. I’m really not interested in him in that way.’
‘Good,’ said Gill, finally realizing her bra strap was hanging down and snapping it back on to her shoulder, ‘that’s good.
But I tell you what – if you want a nice, no-strings shag, you could do a lot worse than Flintypoos.
He’s fucking great in the sack. And his bits are all in proportion, if you get my drift. ’
A click from across the hallway drew their attention away from Flint’s proportions and towards Gill’s bedroom.
‘Oh, Lloyd, sorry. I was just talking to my lodger.’ In the doorway stood a very pale man wtih a long face and thin legs. ‘Lloyd – this is Ana – Ana – this is Lloyd.’ They both smiled politely at each other and said ‘Hi.’
‘Lloyd was our stripper tonight.’ She turned and grinned at him saucily. ‘But I’ve kidnapped him, see. Kept him all for myself. Anyway – I’ll let you get to bed now. You must be knackered.’ She got on to her tiptoes and left another big wet kiss on Ana’s cheek. ‘You sleep tight now.’
‘Yeah,’ said Ana, trying to wipe the wet kiss away surreptitiously, ‘yeah. You too.’ She was just about to close the door when Gill suddenly turned round again.
‘Ooh,’ she said, ‘I nearly forgot to tell you. Your mother called.’
‘Oh God – when? What did she want?’
‘Oh, she just wanted your address. She said she had some mail to forward on to you. She’s ever so nice, your mother, isn’t she? Really friendly. Anyway. I’ve got sex on a stick waiting for me next door. N’night.’
She waved at Ana and closed the door behind her, and Ana collapsed on to her bed in a state of total and utter shock.
What was her mother up to? This ‘having some mail to forward’ thing sounded highly suspicious – Ana didn’t get any mail.
And Flint. Jesus. Horrible. He just didn’t feel like …
Flint any more. He didn’t feel like a protector, he felt like a predator.
He’d had sex with pretty much everyone Ana had met since she’d arrived in London.
He’d had sex with Bee. And he’d lied to her.
Told her that Bee was asexual. What else had he lied about or neglected to tell her?
She pulled off her clothes, pulled back her duvet and fell into a deep and instantaneous sleep.