Her place is small, neat, organised.
Barren.
It surprises me.
“I haven’t long moved in,” she says, as though she’s embarrassed.
She’s been on the electoral roll for months and I know it. There’s a sadness in her eyes that doesn’t go unnoticed.
She lowers herself onto the sofa but I don’t join her. I’m not sure I should even be in here. Unsure I’m even welcome.
“You promised you’d delete your profile,” I remind her, and she smiles.
“I didn’t think I’d be so desperate for a repeat performance.”
“And how about now? Are you still so desperate to go again?”
Her eyes sparkle. “Maybe not right this second.”
It makes me smile. “A rain check, I think. See how you feel in a few days.”
She shakes her head. “No rain check necessary. I want to go again.”
My demons are fucking joyous.
And so am I.
“You’ll delete your profile like you promised,” I tell her, then hold out my hand. “Give me your phone.”
She looks up at me curiously, but hands it straight over from her bag.
She doesn’t have a lock code. Her backdrop is the factory default.
I suspect that hasn’t always been the case.
I log into my work GPS portal and download the logistics app to her handset. She stares up at me but doesn’t say a word. I set the app to update in real time, just as I do with the drivers’ PDAs. I’ll feed data straight through to my phone.
I clear the browser listing showing my company login. The app still stands.
I hold my own handset up. “Your phone will talk to mine,” I tell her. “I’ll know where you are in real time. Nowhere to hide. You have your phone, I’ll be able to find you.” I pause. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
She takes her phone back from me. “Anytime?” she asks. “So you’ll just what? Show up?”
“Written notice kind of ruins the chase, don’t you think?”
“And if I want to get hold of you?” She drops her gaze. “I guess you’ll be the one getting hold of me, right?”
“Maybe when you least expect it.”
Her breath is shallow. Her eyes soft.
I have to get out of here before I lose the power to walk away.
I slip my phone back in my pocket. “I’ll see myself out.”
“Wait,” she says, but I don’t. She doesn’t follow me, not in those heels. “I don’t even know your name.”
And that’s how it’s going to stay.
I take one last look around the place before I leave, taking in the layout – the window positions, the small kitchen table, the bathroom off to the right. I assign it all to memory in a heartbeat and then I make my move for the exit.
Then I see it, the bowl on the counter. Coins. A couple of charity badges.
And a spare key.
I turn it over in my hand.
Definitely for the front door.
I slip it into my pocket.
And then I get the hell out of there.
Nineteen
I love you, and because I love you, I would sooner have you hate me for telling you the truth than adore me for telling you lies.
Pietro Aretino
Phoenix
I’ve got her front door key in my pocket, the scent of her pussy on my fingers, and a storm of shit to work out at home.
The sword of unanswered questions hangs by a dangerously fine cord over my head, but tonight I’m charged enough to stare right up at it. No fear.
There is no whisky bottle on the coffee table when I let myself back in. No ashtray waiting to disturb my peace of mind.
Instead, there’s Serena, huddled asleep in the armchair, her long hair trailing over the arm. Her knees are held to her chest, her chin resting on top. She looks precariously peaceful, one tiny move and she’d topple.
I forget how small she is, my little sister. I forget how Jake and I used to be so fucking protective over the little girl with big dark eyes, even if she was full enough of spit and fury to ward off demons herself.
If only she could ward off mine. Hell, she’s tried – trapped between two bulls baying for each other’s blood, even though it’s the same fucking blood in their veins.
I prop myself in the doorway, just to be there awhile. I collect my thoughts until she stirs.
She starts as she sees me there. “I was waiting up for you. What time is it?”
“Late,” I tell her. “Why aren’t you upstairs? You do still have a bed.”
She looks away. “We can’t go on just pretending everything is normal, Leo.”
She’s right about that.
Her eyes meet mine. “We need to talk… about Jake…”
“Fuck Jake,” I say.
“I said some awful things, Leo. Awful. But I said the truth… we don’t know…”