wrap.
“I missed you last night,” he said. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And your wet cunt.”
I felt my skin flush and looked around. Nobody was near enough to hear, but even so, he hadn’t dropped his voice.
“Are you wet now?” he asked, not taking his eyes off mine.
I couldn’t help myself. “I’m getting there.”
He sat back in his chair and glanced down into his lap. I was starting to feel a bit queasy. Leaning forward, across the table, I followed his glance and saw what I’d expected to see.
“Lee, seriously. Not here.”
For a moment I thought he was going to object, push me into putting my hand under the table, but instead he sighed and sat straight again. “Where are you off to, then, dressed up like that?”
“I’m meeting Louise and Claire in the Cheshire.”
He continued looking at me and in the end I laughed. “What? What is it?”
“Find anything you want? Shopping?”
“That’s for me to know.”
“Been in enough of them. Burton, Principles, Next, and now here.”
“Have you been following me?”
He shrugged, but suddenly his cheeky smile was back. I wasn’t sure if he was winding me up. “Let’s just say I’m one of many men who’ve been letching over you in that skirt this evening.”
“Well, at least you’re the lucky one who gets to play with what’s inside,” I said.
He drank the last of his coffee and stood. “I’ve got to get back to work,” he said, dropping his head and kissing my mouth hard. “Don’t be late home.”
The elderly couple by the main window got to their feet, scraping chairs and sorting out bags and bags of shopping, just as a woman in the coffee shop uniform came over and offered to take their tray.
I sat for a second, cradling my coffee cup, wondering whether I really wanted to go to the Cheshire after all, when suddenly he reappeared, standing like a brick wall between me and the rest of the coffee shop.
“Take off your underwear,” he said.
I looked up at him. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not joking. Take them off. No one will see.”
Making as little movement as possible, I hoiked up my skirt and wriggled my underpants down to my knees, pushed them down to my ankles and stepped out of them as quickly as I could, balling them up into my fist.
“Let’s have them,” he said, holding out his hand.
“What for?” But I handed them over anyway.
He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket, then kissed me again, gently this time. “Good girl.”
I sat very still, knees pressed together, staring straight ahead until I was sure he’d gone, then I slid to the edge of the seat and stood. I felt light-headed, afraid, and aroused, all at the same time.
I’d had enough of shopping. I reached for the nearest blue shirt, took it to the counter and paid.
All the way up High Street toward the Cheshire, dodging my way through the shoppers, squeezing around behind lines of people waiting for buses, feeling the chill of the night air under my skirt—a nice feeling, in different circumstances—all the time thinking that he was probably still watching me, I wondered if this was a test. Was I supposed to spot him? I tried not to look obvious, glancing through the faces, looking in stores, in alleyways, but I must have been. Despite how odd it felt, how wrong, to be out here in December in a short skirt and no underwear, I was still feeling undeniably frisky at his unexpected appearance and was half wishing I’d taken hold of him under the table when I’d had the chance.
Thursday 13 December 2007
I’d been home an hour and a half, and the checking was going badly wrong. Every time I thought I had done it, the uncertainty was there, the fear. There was no point doing it if I didn’t do it properly. By that time my hands were shaking and I could hardly see through the tears, and I hadn’t even made it beyond the flat door.
I heard the footsteps this time, I heard his flat door upstairs open and close, and I stood still, holding my breath, trying not to make a sound.
He knocked gently, but it still made me jump. “Cathy? It’s me. Are you okay?”
I couldn’t reply, I just gasped and sobbed.
I thought I heard a sigh.
“You’re not okay,” he said. “What happened?”
I took a deep, shuddering breath. “Nothing, I’m all right.”
“Can you open the door?”
“No. Leave me alone.”
“I just want to help, Cathy,” he said.
“You