a hand taking it upstairs?”
He didn’t reply at first. He looked as though he’d forgotten where he was and what he was doing. He looked lost.
“Can I come in?” he said at last.
I nodded and stood to one side. He left the bag where it was, stranded on its back on the landing.
I pushed the door shut as soon as he was inside, started the process of locking and checking, counting as quickly as I possibly could without making any mistakes, all the while Stuart standing there behind me, waiting.
At last he said, “Cathy, for fuck’s sake. This is torture.”
“I’m going as fast as I can.”
“Seriously. Please. Leave it now, it’s locked.”
“The more you talk, the longer it’ll take, so shut up, okay?”
He waited. He must have been counting with me, because just as I finished, before I could start again, he came up behind me and slipped his arms around my waist. I didn’t flinch. He rested his head against mine, his breath warm against my hair. I looked down at his forearms around my middle. I turned slowly and raised my head so that I could look at him, the expression in his eyes difficult to determine.
“You’re nervous,” I said.
He smiled. “That obvious, huh?”
“It’s okay,” I said, and kissed him.
After that first kiss, it got easier. I took him into my bedroom. He started undressing me and then we got tangled up and so I took over and stripped off.
The bedroom was dark, the only light coming into the room from the living room, but even so I was conscious of the scars. He must have felt the scars, in the dark, as he ran his hands over my skin. But he didn’t say anything. He must have felt them with his mouth when he kissed me, with his tongue. He didn’t say a word.
The strangest thing was that I felt it, I felt everything. Normally I feel nothing but itching, discomfort, tightness, soreness. The surface of my skin is dulled by the scars, lots of it is numb—nerve damage, apparently. When he touched me, I felt everything. It was like having new skin.
Tuesday 25 May 2004
Jonathan called me on my cell yesterday; thankfully nobody was in my office at the time. It was supposed to be an interview of sorts, but I could tell right away that it was just a formality. I tried to picture him, but I couldn’t put the voice to the face. I was nervous in any case, trying not to let it show in my voice. Slightly exaggerating my management consultancy experience—whatever, it did the trick. He said he would employ me on a three-month temporary contract, just to get things started. If I liked it and he liked my work, he would extend it. He booked my flights and e-mailed me the times—I will have to pick up the tickets at the airport.
I saw my boss at the end of the day and handed in my notice. With unused vacation days, I’ve got just over two weeks left with the company. She wasn’t happy. I made a pretense at apologizing for leaving her to find a new HR manager but in reality my heart was singing.
So, today I made one of my rare trips out in public. Although I wanted to go to the post office to get some U.S. dollars, I was reluctant to head straight there in case Lee was watching. He was supposed to be off working somewhere, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t busy following me. He’d done it before; he’d done it so often that I saw his face everywhere I went. Probably most of the time I was imagining it, but not always.
I strolled around Boots for a while, pretending to look at the pregnancy tests—that ought to get him going, I thought, if he’s watching—and then the makeup.
My flight was booked for 4 p.m. on Friday 11 June—my last day at work in the UK would be Thursday, the day before. I decided to buy a suitcase and leave it at work, sneak important things out of the house, clothing, one or two items at a time, more when he wasn’t there to see. I could hide the suitcase in my storeroom at work—fortunately I was the only person who ever went in there. It wasn’t ideal, it wasn’t a way I’d ever packed before, but it would have to do. I’d take the minimum amount of clothes and buy new stuff when I