23
Only when I’m rushing after Alex do I realise I have no idea what I’m going to say. I’m momentarily distracted because fresh air hits my face and cuts through my shirt like it’s paper-thin. That’s when I remember I left my coat by my dad’s bed. Shivering, I search the surroundings, but Alex has disappeared. My bag slides off my shoulder and hits the ground, half the contents rolling out onto the wet pavement slabs. ‘Oh bollocks,’ I mumble, unable to suppress anger over my bad timing and clumsiness.
A familiar figure pulls away from the wall, and I blink rapidly as Alex strides towards me and helps me pick up the stuff that has spilt out of my bag.
I quickly grab the more embarrassing items like my emergency tampon pack and a nasal spray, and Alex passes me my lipstick, charger and a pair of backup tights. This is all done wordlessly without once looking up.
However, when he passes me my phone, which now has a cracked screen, I finally venture to glance up. He’s looking all apologetic like it’s his fault it’s broken.
When we’ve picked up all the stuff and both stand up, I say, ‘He’s going to be fine,’ at the same time Alex asks, ‘How is your dad?’
I carry on because I feel like I owe him more. ‘He was lucky my mother called the ambulance straight away. She saved his life.’
‘I can’t believe you still call her Mother,’ he says, disbelief and amusement curving his lips upwards.
‘She would probably disown me if I called her anything but Mother.’ This time his lips curl in a definite smile.
After a pause, I mumble, ‘Thank you for the lift.’ I shift from foot to foot. ‘And for taking care of me.’
Nodding, he scratches the back of his head, and the muscles in his arm pull the fabric of his shirt taut against his skin. If I didn’t know him, I’d say he’s nervous. His demeanour is the complete opposite of his usual closed-off manner, like something has shifted inside him since our last encounter. He hesitates before he asks, ‘Do you need a lift home?’
‘That would be…’ I can’t quite find the right words but finish with, ‘…I’d like that.’
Once we’re inside his car, he surprises me by saying, ‘Does your mum need anything? We can always swing by her house.’
I shake my head. ‘I’ll stop by tomorrow before I go to see my dad. Do you need me to give you my address or should I direct you?’ I start saying when I stop abruptly at the sight of his freckled fingers tapping my address into the satnav.
His cheeks flushing, he grips the wheel hard as he pulls out of the car park. ‘I’ve got a good memory,’ he mutters. My stomach does a somersault.
When he pulls up in front of my flat, I shift sideways to face him. His proximity in the small space is intoxicating, and all I want to do is drown myself in him, to forget about my dad and everything else complicated in my life right now. Including what’s going on between us.
‘Do you want to come upstairs for a cup of tea? After all, that’s the least I can do after today.’ I try to keep my voice steady but fail.
‘You don’t have to.’ He waves his hand. The engine is still gently rumbling around us, and I’m starting to think that maybe I’ve read too much into this.
I wet my lips because they feel suddenly dry. ‘I want to.’ The words are a bare whisper, but at the sound of them, he kills the engine. I tell myself to be brave as I breach the space between us and kiss him. It’s a soft kiss, and his lips are so warm I want to stay like that forever, but I make myself pull away. When I do, Alex’s expression is unreadable.
‘OK,’ he croaks.
‘The flat is a dump,’ I warn him over my shoulder when we walk up the stairs.
He laughs behind me softly. ‘I’ve had my share of dump flats if you recall.’
We stop in front of my door, a bronze twelve nailed wonkily to the surface. ‘Not like this. I think at some point somebody buried a dead body here. It stinks like decomposing flesh most of the time, and the other day I found a human-shaped stain under the bathroom lino.’ I’m stalling because I’m nervous, but the sound of Alex’s splutter behind me eases some of it. I unlock the door, and we step inside together.
‘As long as you haven’t buried any dead bodies here yourself, I’m OK,’ he quips. We take our shoes off and leave them by the door.
I give him a mock withering look. ‘I’m not that stupid. I’d mince them, make pies and sell them to people I don’t like. Make a business out of it.’
‘Isn’t that pretty much the plot of Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street ?’
‘I did wonder why it sounded so familiar.’
He shakes his head in disbelief.
The flat is dark and smells a bit musty as we close the door behind us. Immediately, I abandon my bag on the bed hiding behind an antique partition to our left.
I motion for Alex to sit down on the threadbare double sofa in the middle of the large space. I head towards the kitchen counter tucked in the right corner of the studio.
For a single-room flat, the studio is fairly roomy and allows for a partition wall to divide the space into a lounge and a tiny bedroom. Alex looks down, and at the sight of the familiar rug, his eyes light up with mirth.
I rifle through the cupboards. ‘Tea? Coffee? I wouldn’t vouch for the quality of either, but it colours the water.’ I spin on my heel to realise that he’s made his way towards the kitchen.
He’s about to lower himself onto one of the stools attached to the breakfast bar. Lifting my hands up in the air, I shout, ‘Not that one.’ I catch his horrified expression. I force myself to say, much calmer this time, ‘Unless you want to break your back. The left one is semi-decent which means there’s only a fifty-fifty chance it’ll collapse underneath you.’
‘I feel so reassured,’ he responds uncertainly but sits, nevertheless. ‘I don’t mind either,’ he answers my previous question.
I turn my back on him again, filling the kettle to the brim. It’s in desperate need of descaling, but that’s only one of the minor shortcomings of this flat. My hands shake a little. I’ve never been this nervous in my entire life. I head to the fridge because I need something to steady my nerves, and coffee won’t do the job.
‘Do you mind if I have a glass of wine? I think I need something stronger.’ After the day I’ve had, a shot of vodka would be preferable, but beggars can’t be choosers.
‘I’ll have a small glass if you don’t mind. It’s been a strange day.’ He pales. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…’ He rubs his face, unsure how to finish the sentence without offending me.
‘It’s OK.’ I reassure him.
The kettle abandoned, I pull out two wine glasses from the overhead cabinet. They’re those embossed deep-yellow glasses that were so popular in the eighties. I was really proud of getting them half-price on Etsy last year, but now I wish I had something less theatrical to serve the wine in. Not giving it another thought, I place them between me and Alex on the breakfast bar. I pluck the wine from the side. ‘I definitely don’t vouch for the quality of what’s in this bottle. It might be closer to vinegar than wine,’ I point out with embarrassment.
He leans over the bar and takes the bottle from my waiting hands, fingers brushing against mine for a fleeting moment. My cheeks flush. With a smooth motion, he unscrews the lid and pours me a generous amount, while only pouring an inch for himself.
He pushes a glass towards me, and the bottom of it scrapes against the speckled surface. ‘I think you should have guests more often. You’re a killer host.’
I snort into my drink as I take a sip. At least he finds some humour in this.
I take another sip and close my eyes for a moment, calming my nerves. When I open them again, I catch him staring at my lips. When he realises he’s been caught, he shifts uncomfortably on the bar stool. He must be getting sore sitting on the death trap.
‘Shall we sit on the sofa?’ I motion towards the shabby settee that came with the flat.
In unison, we head towards it. I park myself in the right corner, giving him space and time to choose how close he wants to be to me. When he’s about to sit in the opposite corner and as far away from me as possible, I warn him, ‘Mind the corner. It’s a bit collapsed.’
He seats himself in the middle of the sofa. If I wanted to, I could reach out and touch him. The question is not whether I want to, because I’m dying to, but whether I’ll find the courage to do that.
He takes a tentative sip of his drink and swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. ‘I’d say it’s closer to wine than vinegar. But just about. I wouldn’t put it on my salad yet.’ I can’t stop myself from smirking.
I watch with curiosity as he takes another sip. He catches my perusal and his eyebrow quirks. He abandons the glass on the coffee table. ‘What is it?’ Interest deepens his voice.
‘I didn’t think you’d drink,’ I confess, not wanting to sour the mood but unable to help myself. I pull my legs underneath me, tucking my skirt under my knees. He follows the movement, but then his focus sharpens on the golden contents of his glass with contemplation.
‘After Mum?’ I nod. ‘I figured that that’s exactly the reason why to drink. To learn how to drink without it killing me.’ I get a sudden urge to understand what makes this Alex tick. He surprises me by adding, ‘The idea of being like her used to terrify me. That’s why I didn’t drink until my early twenties.’
‘Is that why you never finish?’ I eye his glass. It’s something I noticed at Becky’s birthday party. He left every drink he ordered unfinished.
Surprised at my observation, he nods almost imperceptibly.
My glass joins his on the table. ‘Addiction is a mental disorder. It’s not a choice. You don’t suddenly wake up and turn into an addict.’ The weight of his gaze nails me to the sofa like a butterfly pinned to the spreading board.
‘Logically, I know that, and I know she tried to get better, but she couldn’t.’
The sadness that radiates off his body shakes me to the core, and not for the first time I hope that Jane was there for him when his mum passed away. I hate the idea of him carrying it alone. Nobody has ever cared for Alex, and I realise with fear that I want to be the one to care for him. I want to be the person he relies on, the person he comes to when he’s feeling sad or angry.
He brings me back to reality. ‘What are you going to do about your dad?’
A desperate need to unload my thoughts, even though they are crude and a little na?ve, takes over my logic. ‘I’m relieved that he’s OK.’ I hesitate, swallowing nervously. ‘But I don’t know whether I can just forgive and forget.’ My voice is as weak as a thread about to snap. ‘But I want to so much. I want to go back to what we had before I found out. I miss it. I miss us.’ I don’t think I’m talking about my dad any more.
Alex shifts in his seat and ends up so close I can smell the woody, and now familiar, smell of him. Goosebumps creep up my arms. The air changes between us and becomes charged. If I touched him now, he’d send an electric shock through my body. His hand rests in the space between us, and I agonise over the few centimetres that separate our bodies.
This is far from what I intended. All I thought I would get was an easy conversation followed by passionate sex. I didn’t expect to steer into dark, murky waters, and I didn’t expect to need it this much.
His chest under his shirt expands with rapid breaths. ‘Before we left school, Jane told me you asked her to assign you a different mentor.’
‘I don’t think I can carry on like this.’ There’s no space for lies between us now. ‘I thought it would be for the best to go our separate ways.’
He closes his eyes briefly before he says with resolution, ‘I lied to you the other night.’ His expression changes from hooded to open and vulnerable. I frown. ‘When I said I didn’t know what I wanted.’ Everything goes completely still.
‘I want you.’ My mind scrambles, but he’s not finished. ‘Any way I can get you. I know this is not the right time, with your dad and…’ He trails off. His confession unlocks me.
I only hesitate for a few seconds before I bring my hands to his cheeks. Holding him steady, I whisper, ‘I want you, too.’
I lift to my knees, and without overthinking it, I straddle him. Immediately, his hands roam up my back, pulling my hips forward. Every contact of our bodies sends shivers to my core. His thighs feel powerful underneath me, and I shift to find a comfortable position which makes us flush against each other in all the places that matter. Heat radiates off his body; he’s a furnace, and I want to warm myself against him.
He smells of wine and mint, and the combination is heady. His eyes glaze over with desire as he finds purchase on my thighs. My skirt hitches up over my knees, exposing white expanses of bare skin. When his fingertips connect with my bare flesh, his grip tightens. He leans into me at the same time I arch against him, and then we’re kissing. The kiss immediately deepens. I anchor my hands against his broad shoulders, and he grips my bum under my skirt. I shift against him to get better access, and that’s when I feel him hardening. He groans, and a sense of thrill travels the length of my body. It’s intoxicating to know that we still do this to each other. But this time, there will be no playing around. I need him now.
He pulls at the bow at my neck, and it unravels with the flick of his expert fingers. I proceed to unbutton my blouse as he does the same to his shirt, his hands swift and impatient. Finally, we’re on the same wavelength and want the same thing.
He grinds against me as he disposes of his shirt. We’re both out of breath by the time we’re topless, but it’s heavenly to feel his skin against mine. His chest is big and powerful. A light smattering of golden freckles covers his shoulders and upper body, the rest of him is the palest white.
He buries his head against my collarbone and kisses the space between the bone and shoulder. I shiver when he lowers one of my bra straps, nipping the exposed skin underneath. He repeats it with the other strap. ‘I’ve dreamed of doing this so many times.’ His tone is reverent.
‘I’ve dreamed of you doing this so many times,’ I admit in a hushed tone, echoing his words. He dips his fingers inside my bra, stroking my breast. I tip my head back as a sensation bolts through me like lightning. He starts undoing the clip of my bra, but before he manages to unhook it, he sits up and yelps. He hefts me up in his arms, making me squeal, and moves us sideways to discover a spring popping through the threadbare fabric of the sofa where he was sitting. I didn’t even know the sofa had springs inside.
He must think me a total loser for living in this dump, but instead of saying anything of that nature, he starts laughing so hard his chest rumbles against mine. It gets me laughing as well, and I start shaking with violent fits of it. We look at each other for a moment and that sends us into another bout of laughter. I can see the humour in this.
‘This place is not safe for habitation,’ he offers when we finally stop.
‘You haven’t seen the bathroom,’ I respond coquettishly.
He tightens his grip on my waist. ‘Oh, the infamous bathroom where dead bodies have been known to have been buried.’ I love how playful he is. He feels different, like a door has been opened and I’m standing at the threshold ready to walk in and see all the wonders that are there to offer. Just looking at him, all flushed and eyes shiny, I want this moment to last forever.
‘A dead body, singular. I’ll have you know this is a respectable place. We don’t cater for serial killers. Not enough room,’ I announce sardonically, and it sends him into another fit of laughter.
He leans into me, and then there’s no laughing.
‘Bedroom?’ I suggest between kisses, and he nods frantically. I’m about to stand up when he grips my thighs and pulls himself to his feet with me. I wrap my legs around his waist and let him carry me towards the bed.
When we reach the destination, he swipes the bag I abandoned on the covers and it clatters to the floor, a few items scattering about the lino. Again. He drops me on the bed and then immediately stretches over me. The weight of him against my slight frame is exhilarating. We’re an unfinished dot-to-dot puzzle; I savour every place we connect, and I’m thrilled about every place we don’t yet. I have never wanted anything more than this right now. Him. Us.
My skirt gets discarded and then I’m underneath him only in my underwear. He’s still wearing his work trousers and a kinky part of me is thinking of leaving them on, but then the idea is chased away by another more urgent and primal thought of having Alex completely naked above me.
He grinds against me, and I can’t stop the moan from escaping my mouth. This is really happening. Now. Finally. I reach down to unzip his trousers. This is an unknown territory because as much as he’s touched me before, I’ve never touched him like this.
After I unzip his trousers, I reach into his boxers. But a moment later, his hand shoots from nowhere and stops me mid-movement. His breathing is ragged above me, and he looks agitated. Closing his eyes, he swallows hard. His reaction surprises me so much I freeze.
‘Have I done something wrong?’ I whisper, searching his face a bare inch above me. His expression shuts down like he’s retreated into himself again, the door closing. When he opens his eyes again, they’re distant.
My phone starts buzzing on the floor and breaks whatever was left of the electric atmosphere between us.
He pushes off me and sits up, turning away from me and in the direction of the phone. It keeps buzzing and whoever’s calling is persistent. Alex’s back stiffens. I lean over his shoulder to find out who’s calling and wince. On the cracked screen, it reads Vicky .
‘I can’t do this. I thought I could do this, but I can’t.’ Alex mutters like he’s speaking to himself. ‘I need to go. This was a mistake.’ He starts hastily collecting his clothes like he can’t wait to be out of here. It makes me feel cheap and unwanted. It’s such a sudden change my head is spinning.
‘What?’ I quickly grab the dressing gown that’s hanging on the chair by the bed and follow him into the lounge. I pluck the phone from the floor, but Vicky hung up. Not that I was ready to pick up. I abandon it on the breakfast bar.
He puts his own phone into the pocket of his trousers and when he finally turns around, his face is made of steel. ‘I have to go,’ he repeats in an expressionless tone. I hate it.
‘Stop being like this. Is this some twisted game of yours?’ I say louder than I expected, but I can’t stop myself. I don’t do drama. I don’t shout, but everything is breaking inside me. Again. He doesn’t say anything, which enrages me further.
I jab his chest with my finger, and he takes a step back. ‘You don’t get to pretend it’s all my fault this time. I’m done with you breaking me.’ His expression turns confused. ‘I’m done with you turning me on and off like a switch. To see what I’ll do. Do you like these power games? Is that what turns you on? You haven’t changed that much after all. But I’m done.’ This time I know it’s true; there’s no more chances. I step away, and it’s his turn to invade my space this time.
His lips are a bare centimetre from mine, and yet, we are as far from kissing as we’ve ever been. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ His knuckles gripping his coat turn white.
‘I don’t? I think you secretly like this. Making me crawl to you so you get the upper hand. That’s what it was ten years ago, wasn’t it?’
Before he responds, his eyes fly towards my buzzing phone. This time, John’s name flashes on the display. I suppress an eye-roll; this is the worst timing possible. The news of my dad must have reached him. Alex turns grey, and he stumbles like the phone has burnt him.
‘You’re one to talk. Looking so innocent in your buttoned-up dresses and patent shoes, Miss Righteous. Despite your pretence, you are no better than others. All you do is play with other people’s feelings, and when you get bored of them, you discard them like they are no better than single-use plastic.’ He looks at me with so much scorn it makes me flinch. ‘That’s what you did then and that’s what you still do. I can’t ever trust you. After all, I’m just a worthless waste of space , aren’t I? How long would it take you this time to get bored of me?’
He grabs his car keys. I’m so shocked by his accusations, I have no comeback. I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I feel like I’m missing some vital piece of information.
He reaches the door, but before he opens it, he spins around. ‘Are you sleeping with him?’ Utter confusion must show on my face because he adds grudgingly, ‘John. Are you sleeping with him?’ He’s back to the person he was when I saw him for the first time after ten years. I hate that guy.
I don’t deign to answer his question. ‘Leave.’ His lips pursed, and he waits like he thinks I’m actually going to answer. ‘Should I draw you a plan for how to get to the door? I know you like to be organised.’
He blinks wildly like he’s just woken up from a daze. ‘You never gave me a chance.’
At least he has the decency to close the door soundlessly behind him. Once he’s gone, deafening silence presses against my ears almost painfully. I slump to the floor. Tears start running down my cheek for the second time today. I pull my knees to my chin and wrap my arms around my legs as I let go.
With unequivocal certainty, I know that my heart has just been broken. I know this because my chest feels like it’s made entirely of glass shards. When I breathe, they are cutting into my organs, ripping me apart from the inside out. Every breath and every move suddenly feel laborious.
I finish the bottle of wine in less than twenty minutes and email Jane that I won’t be at work tomorrow or the day after. I turn my phone off and hide under the duvet for a while, but all I can smell is Alex. I strip the bedding. After, I scrub the whole place, trying to get rid of Alex’s scent, but after two hours, it still lingers in my nostrils, and I wonder for the first time whether it’s me and not the flat.
I’ll never be rid of Alex because he’s woven into the very fabric of me, nestling in every cell of my being.