“I’m very happy,” I assure her.
“Your skin is so much clearer too. And your hair…so shiny. Oh, Caitlin phoned earlier on. Could you call her back?”
I disappear into my bedroom and call my best friend from school.
“Hey, you’re back! We’re just off into town; d’you fancy coming?”
“Oh, not tonight. I’m only just back; mum and dad want to do the welcoming-back-to-the-fold thing.”
“No worries, what are you doing tomorrow?”
“Nothing, as far as I know.”
“Want to come over? Watch a DVD or something?”
“Yeah, cool. After lunch?”
“See you then. Byeeeee.”
*
At five to eleven I am lounging on my old bed amidst an army of fluffy friends in my most comfortable old pair of brushed cotton pyjamas. I’m lying on my stomach, obviously, double checking the contents of my suitcase and waiting for the Skype alarm to shrill on my laptop.
You know, it’s a bit strange, but I just can’t find my pills. I’m sure I packed them. I remember doing it. Yet they are nowhere to be found.
I mean, it’s no big deal; it’s not as if I’m planning to sleep with anyone, and this is such a small town that if anyone did decide to attack me I’d more than likely know his name, address and which Cub Scout troop he was in as a child. I don’t suppose Sinclair would object too violently to using condoms for seven days when I get back. He’s not averse to a bit of rubber.
Ah well. The small mystery of the pills is filed way back in the mental cabinet as the Skype alarm blasts the air, making me jump, on the very dot of eleven.
I’ve had plenty of contact with Sinclair throughout the day. A message to say he was at the airport. Another to say he was at the hotel. Another to remind me to have my computer on at eleven.
I have no idea if the webcam thing works, but I shout, “Hello!” into empty space and am rewarded by a slightly querulous, “What on earth are you wearing?”
“You can see me?”
“Evidently.”
“Just old pyjamas. I don’t want to schlep around the house in superslinky black satin and lace – or do you think I should?”
“Ah, no, probably not.”
“How’s the Eternal City?”
“Eternal. Very beautiful. If only I’d met you earlier, you could have come with me.”
“I wish I could.”
“I’d like to show you the Sistine Chapel. Perhaps another time.”
“Ohh, yes, another time.” I flood with pleasure every time he makes any reference to the future. I still think he is going to cast me aside at the first opportunity and the thought of all those stylish, svelte Italian cicciolinas fills me with dread.
“Show me your bottom.”
“What?”
“You heard. Take your trousers down and show me your bottom. I want to check your marks.”
It feels strangely lonely to do this in an empty bedroom in front of a computer monitor, but I lower the pink monstrosities slowly. The flesh is still very tender, not least from having to unglue my knickers earlier on, which was like ripping off a plaster. I had to bite down on a teddy bear to keep myself from yelling out. There is an eerie silence while I thrust my backside in the direction of the webcam.