‘They might decide to stay up.’
‘Then you’ll have to work on them, won’t you? I’ll text you when I’m at the front door. No need for anyone to get woken up.’
‘It’s all very illicit,’ I said, biting my lip.
‘It’s as illicit as you want it to be, sweetheart. I don’t care who knows about it.’
‘Easy for you to say. You aren’t a close colleague and friend of your ex.’
‘Point taken. I’ll be discreet. And I suppose we’ll have to be quiet.’ He sighed. ‘Eat your garlic bread, or the snog I’m planning to unleash in about five minutes’ time will be much more pleasurable for me than for you.’
I managed a couple of bites of it, but my throat was tight with anticipation and it didn’t go down too well.
The snogging took place in another side street – not quite as insalubrious as the alleyway, but still somewhat lacking in glamour with its industrial-sized bins and flapping wire fencing. It was easy to shut the surroundings out when he was so close to me. I leant blissfully into his long wool coat, enjoying the way the breeze mingled our hair together in mimicry of our mouths and tongues. The smell of him was like slow and delicious poison, entering and taking possession of my bloodstream.
Why did I have to go back to work?
Luckily, Tilda had a good haul of lunchtime purchases to show me when I got back, which served to banish the uneasy feeling I’d nursed all the way up in the lift.
The uneasy feeling returned in force that night, though, as I sat in the living room trying to engineer an early night for the household.
‘Well, it’s a work day tomorrow,’ I said, as Jess and Mehra failed to agree what to watch next on Netflix. ‘Maybe we should just go to bed.’
They turned on me, uncomprehending.
‘You’re always the last to go up,’ accused Jess, with reason. ‘What’s happened to you?’
‘Nothing…just…tired. Friday tomorrow. Need to gear up for the weekend.’
‘Right,’ said Mehra. ‘Well, I’m having another cup of tea. Jess?’
‘Go on then.’
Damn them, it was quarter to twelve. They would never be in bed before Tom turned up. My stomach churned, but I made my goodnights anyway and hid in my room, holding my phone out in front of me as if I expected it to explode.
I sat there till twenty past midnight, hearing voices from downstairs, and laughter and dramatic music from the TV. At least the living-room door was closed.
My phone buzzed sharply and I nearly dropped it.
The message flashed up. ‘Open the door, if you dare.’
I wasn’t sure I did dare. What if they came out of the living room? What if Tom was drunk and fell all over the place?
The sense memory of Tom’s hands on me gave me the impetus I needed.
‘On my way,’ I texted. ‘SHHHHH!!!!!’
When I opened the door, he opened his long wool coat as if it were Dracula’s cloak and had me up against the wall in seconds. Cold air blew in from the street as I tried to fight him – and everything that hung on the coat pegs behind me – off.
‘Upstairs,’ I mouthed, finally escaping his hungry mouth. ‘Now.’
A burst of laughter from the living room brought a shark-toothed smile to his face.
‘Dangerous times,’ he whispered back, shutting the door silently.
I nodded, expecting him to tiptoe off and up the stairs, but he didn’t.
Instead, and to my considerable consternation, he leaned back in, put his hand to the back of my neck and extracted every last drop of juice from the inside of my mouth with his tongue. He pressed me back into the wall with his pelvis, leaving me helpless and unable to throw him off.