Dirty Bad Wrong(17)

“Hey, thanks for meeting me.”

“Let me take that.” He lifted my case, carrying it easily without the need for wheels. I kept close as he set off at pace, crossing the street to the shops beyond and marching a path towards the canal. He stopped outside a huge-windowed tattoo parlour, pulling me into a recess and gesturing to a bright purple door.

“Rebecca lives above here. It’s nicer than it looks.”

“That’s great,” I said, pressing in closer as a crowd of tourists pushed their way past.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He looked beyond me, across the street, unwilling to meet my eyes. “I’ve known Rebecca a long time. She’s funny, and loyal and she knows when to keep her trap shut, but she’s also...”

“Colourful, I know,” I smiled. “I can handle colourful.”

“She’s very colourful, most of those colours being shades of black...” He leant into me, mouth to my ear. His breath tickled, and not just where it touched. “...Or shades of grey. You’ll see what I mean, just don’t be put off. She’s really nice.”

“Shades of grey?”

He flashed me a smile before he pressed the buzzer.

“Come on up,” a voice sounded, metallic over the intercom. It was followed immediately by the click of the lock, and James pushed open the door, waving me through. A narrow hallway lead to an equally narrow staircase, and at the top was a solid red door. It swung open before I was even halfway up, and the woman referred to as Rebecca stepped out to greet us. Colourful was an understatement.

“Well, hello...” she purred. Her voice was invitingly husky, almost posh with an underlying cockney twang. My eyes roved from feet to head as I climbed the stairs towards her. Sloping calves in knee-high boots... slashed black leggings... a tight black t-shirt, with scrawly red print... Bad girls do it better. Too many necklaces to count, wound tight around her neck, beads and sparkles and spikes... then her face... pretty and moon-shaped, big dark eyes with crazy lash extensions, dark burgundy lipstick and cat flick liner, and piercings, lip, nose and eyebrow. Her brows were too artificial to be natural, shaped in a perfect villain arch, and softened by the curls of her black mane. She held out a hand as I reached the top, red nails, lots of rings, and tattoos... an explosion of colour as far as I could see... stars and birds and flowers all wrapped together. “I’m Bex, pleased to meet you.”

“Lydia,” I smiled. She pulled me into wiry arms, air kissed both of my cheeks, then addressed James over my shoulder.

“Glad to see you doing the manual labour, got to use those muscles for something impressive.”

“Watch your lip,” he said. “You’ve had me use them plenty enough.”

She turned back to me. “James has already moved my furniture around five times already.”

“Seven,” he countered.

“What can I say? I like variety.”

She led the way in, revealing a compact, but perfectly pleasant open-plan living space. The place was immaculate, if a little eccentric, all harsh lines and black furniture with a feature scarlet wall. She’d done a great job on the styling. Everything matched, from the red gloss kitchen units through to the prints hanging on the walls. The place was airy and light, yet stamped with the definite imprint of boudoir. It worked. I was relieved to realise I could cope with this space, even like it. James reclined on the corner suite while Rebecca gave me a whistle-stop tour, finally ending up in the room that would be mine. It wasn’t like the rest of the apartment: entirely neutral with cream carpet and matching magnolia walls. A wrought-iron effect double bed, made up pretty in purple bedding, and light wood furniture: a wardrobe, chest of drawers, small desk and bookshelf. Perfect. I couldn’t stop smiling; mainly with relief.

“You like?” Rebecca asked, plumping up the cushions on my bed.

“I like it a lot, thank you.”

“I made the bed up fresh, but if you have your own stuff feel free to change it about. This is your space, do what you like with it.”

“This is perfect as it is, thanks.”

James brought my case through, laying it to rest on the floor by the wardrobe. He looked around the room, weighing it up as though he’d never seen it before. That’s when I caught the faintest whiff of fresh paint. He smiled at Rebecca.

“I’m done here, I’ll be on my way.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Not staying for a cuppa?”

“I have a busy afternoon.”

She poked her tongue out. “Piss off, then, I’m sure we’ll do just great without you.”