“I have to get changed,” I tell him. “She doesn’t like tweed.”
“Obviously a woman of taste.”
“Out of my league.”
“Chin up. Even the shittiest player can fluke a goal.”
Victoria Naparstek is waiting for me in the hotel foyer. She’s wearing contact lenses and sexier clothes—a mid-thigh black dress, leggings and boots that make her taller than I am. It’s one more thing to be self-conscious about.
The Italian restaurant has tea candles in red globes on every table. It’s perfect lighting to hide a myriad of flaws and blemishes—mine not hers.
“How is Augie?” I ask.
“That’s what I wanted to tell you. He was granted bail this afternoon. He’s out.”
“Where?”
“At his mother’s house.”
“What happened?”
“The judge was so angry about the suicide attempt that he wouldn’t listen to any more excuses. The police failed in their duty of care, he said. He granted bail with conditions. Augie has to wear an electronic ankle tag.”
She raises her glass in a mini-celebration, pushing her hair behind her ears.
“Did the prosecution mention Augie’s father?”
“Inadmissible. You can’t blame a son for something his father did or didn’t do.”
One of my shirt cuffs has come undone. I don’t have the dexterity to do it up again. Victoria notices and reaches across the table.
“There,” she says.
“Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
A smile. She has the kind of dimples that leave a mark on a man’s mind.
We make small talk and eye contact. Naparstek is a Jewish name. Her great-grandparents escaped from Poland in 1935. She’s an only child, which meant she was rather spoiled and bookish. She grew up in Glasgow, went to boarding school and was head girl. Her father makes corporate videos. Her mother is a speech therapist.
I listen and tell myself to remember this—how it feels to talk to an attractive woman and flirt a little. What I don’t mention is that I woke up this morning with an erection, imagining Dr. Naparstek with her very smart business skirt hiked up over her hips and the base of my penis grinding against her pubic bone.
“I’m sorry I seem to be doing all the talking,” Victoria says. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not at all.”
“Liar!”
“It’s true.”
She carries on, telling me about performing the lead in her school drama and flirting with the idea of becoming an actress. The conversation blossoms and we grow comfortable together, discussing the edited highlights of our lives. Then, out of the blue, she asks, “Do you remember when we first met?”
“Yes.”
“You told the mental health review tribunal that my patient was fantasizing about raping women… about raping me.”
“How is Liam?”
“Let me finish,” she says, steeling herself. “After the hearing he was denied release and went back to the secure unit. Six months later he applied again and was given approval for escorted day trips, weekend leave, that sort of thing. Two months after that he abducted and tried to rape a childcare worker walking her dog on Putney Common.” She lowers her head, whispering. “He cut her neck, but she fought him off. You were right. I should have listened.”
I think about saying something, but there are no words I can offer her. Silence is kinder.
We walk back to the hotel. This is the bit that terrifies me. There have been two women since Julianne and I split up, both one-night stands—a teacher at Charlie’s school, and a divorcee I met at dance classes. You could call it pity sex or lonely sex, hungry and sad: two people trying to forget rather than to forge something new.
Why am I thinking about that now? I rationalize things too much. I should just act.
Victoria Naparstek takes the decision for me, pulling me into a shop doorway, kissing me like a teenager. Then she takes me by the hand and we continue walking.
“Before you invite me upstairs,” she says, “let me warn you that I’m going to say no.”
“Oh.”
“I’m just warning you—but you should still ask.”
“The point being?”
“I’ll be flattered.”
“You like me then.”
“I do. You’re a nice guy…”
“There’s a “but” in there somewhere.”
“I get the feeling that you’re hung up on a nice girl… and it’s not me.”
“I could get hung up on you.”
“I’m not very patient and don’t like waiting in line.”
“That’s no reason we shouldn’t sleep together.”