I find myself phoning my account manager and telling him I’ve just thrown up in the car park, must be some kind of bug, hopefully I’ll be fine tomorrow and all that.
Then I take a purposeful right turn around the corner and commit to a fine-tooth-comb search of the entirety of the N1 postal area.
I only make it as far as the same pub we escaped to after that intriguing vision through the basement window of Kinky Cupcake. There, in a corner, sit Dimitri and Trixietots, both nursing tumblers of vodka. He has his arm around her and he’s beaming away as if his smile is powered by the National Grid. She is fawning and blushing and pushing her knee up close to his.
That story about throwing up in the car park suddenly feels a whole lot more plausible.
I put my hand over my mouth, turn and run to the tube station.
* * *
Saturday comes.
There has been no contact between Dimitri and me over the preceding two days except a text from him vaguely referring to ‘big news’. I didn’t reply to it, unable to keep up the appearance of normality.
Today I will set him free. That’s what the song says, isn’t it? If you love somebody, set them free.
I am a human jitterbug as I walk slowly up the narrow street to Kinky Cupcake. This is going to be horrible, but it has to be done. Then I can meet Anton at the Laser Zone and bury myself in mindless pleasure-seeking for the rest of the weekend.
Dimitri is in the café, reading the sports pages of a newspaper while his coffee goes cold. At least Trixietots doesn’t appear to be on the scene. I seat myself opposite him, rather than doing my usual thing of sliding in beside him for enthusiastic and somewhat bristly hello kisses.
He puts down the paper and grins the wolfish grin. ‘Hey, baby,’ he says, then his mouth slides to a mock-sad droop. ‘You are OK? Not looking so happy.’
My lips do an annoying wobbling thing as I try to get the words out. Not the calm, firm effect I had hoped for at all.
‘I just want you to know,’ I open, everything pouring out in an uneven rush, ‘that I don’t expect anything from you.’
‘What? I thought you expect me to whip you today?’
‘That’s not what I mean. I mean, I know what you’re like. You don’t have to pretend you like me as more than … than what you … I mean, if you don’t really want me, that’s fine. I think you’ll make a wonderful dom. Thank you and goodbye.’
I rise on unsteady feet and stare desperately at the door. It looks miles away. My first attempt to hurl myself at it fails miserably, foiled by Dimitri lunging after me and catching hold of an upper arm. He spins me round to face him. I want to die. What a scene we’re making!
‘What?’ he demands in a stunned whisper. ‘What you are talking about? Come here. Sit down.’
‘Very convincing. Just like a real dom.’ So like a real dom, in fact, that I do exactly as I’m told.
‘What is wrong? Rosie, you are shaking. Look, I get you a drink. Stay there.’
I contemplate making a break for it, but I can’t bear to sneak away from him. The thought of his mild shock and consternation when he returns to the table and finds me gone makes my heart weep. I think he does care for me on some level, even if it isn’t the one I was hoping for.
He comes back with the richest possible hot chocolate, well, more a cream and marshmallow concoction with some hot chocolate included by the looks of things, and sets it down in front of me.
‘Sugar,’ he says, as if I’m supposed to grasp his meaning. ‘You drink it. And you tell me what is the problem here. I did something to make you sad?’
‘No. But you did something that showed me how things really are.’
‘How things really are? How is that?’
‘I got carried away. The S&M stuff is really intense – I suppose that made me think our relationship was also really intense.’
‘Intense?’
‘Full-on. Heavy. Um, very emotional. I don’t know. Too much.’
‘I scare you with what I do to you?’
‘No, no. I’m not explaining myself very well. To do what we do, I had to trust you. And like you. A lot. And I suppose I thought you felt the same.’