earlier and was from Vicky to Martin.
‘It’s getting worse. I need to do something.’
Below was the detective’s response.
‘No. You can get through this.’
Vicky’s reply followed.
‘I keep thinking about how old my baby would be now.’
‘It wasn’t your fault. None of it.’
There followed more messages of reassurance from the detective. It seemed she was having a particularly hard time of it at the moment. It sounded like the disappointment of the Turkish sighting a few weeks ago had more than left its mark.
As I wedged the phone back into the armchair cushion, I noticed the time. It was almost three. I’d been so engrossed in my snooping that I hadn’t realised how long Jason had been gone.
‘Jason?’ I called out as I climbed the stairs. Silence. ‘Jason?’ I said again. The whole house was fitted out in a thick cream carpet that muffled the reach of my voice. ‘Where are you?’
I made my way across the landing to the only open door. Inside was a small bed with a blue spaceship duvet cover and a plastic bumblebee night-light on the table next to it. Barney’s room. Sitting cross-legged on a rug by the window was Jason, reading a well-worn copy of Where the Wild Things Are. It was as if I’d stumbled upon a grown-up version of Barney, come home at last.
‘You OK?’
He looked up from the book with a dreamy expression, but then went back to his reading.
Coming to sit down next to him, I began stroking his back, softly at first and then with more pressure. The room smelt of polish and the rug beneath us bore the telltale stripes of having being recently hoovered. I looked around. On a low-level brass hook on the back of the door was a small blue-and-red fleece dressing-gown.
I wanted to lean into Jason for a cuddle, but I couldn’t because of the way he had his legs crossed. Instead, I began tracing my thumb over the burn and scorch-mark scars that pocked his wrists: a hangover from his welding days. He’d explained how these burns couldn’t be helped. That, no matter how hard he’d tried, there was always a bit of neck or that thin, delicate skin on the underside of his wrists that would end up exposed to the sparks that flew back from the welding torch. He’d said that, when they hit you, they felt like tiny stings.
‘I love you. Do you love me?’ I asked, trying to get my face in his line of vision.
I kissed him on the cheek and then the neck, but still he kept on reading. Waiting until he’d turned the page, I kissed him on the mouth and began unbuttoning his jeans. He tried to stop me, but I kept going. I reached down to his boxers, slipped the flat of my hand underneath the elastic waistband and began rubbing at his penis. I could tell he was trying to fight it, that he wanted his body to ignore me, but he was becoming harder.
‘Heidi, no,’ he said, his eyes coming into focus. Once more, he tried to brush my hand away, but this time I held his wrist tight. With my other hand I took the book off him.
‘No. Not here,’ he said, his eyes closing.
I pushed him down so that he was lying flat on the floor and straddled him. Pulling down his boxers, I pushed my knickers to the side and then we were together. I looked at the bumblebee night-light. After all this time, had the bulb inside stopped working or did Vicky make sure to replace it? I started rocking faster and then slower, taking him to the edge and then bringing him back again, over and over.
I came a few seconds before he did. I took a moment to get my breath and then, my limbs loose and lazy, I rolled off and onto the floor next to him. As Jason tidied himself back into his jeans, I looked up at the ceiling, my dress still around my waist. Decorated with those stars and moons that glow in the dark, it seemed to be the only part of Barney’s room that Vicky had forgotten to keep clean. Cobwebs furred with dust hung down in clumps from the lampshade, and grey streaks marked every corner.
Jason got to his feet and, without waiting for me, thundered out of the room. The cobwebs swayed in the temporary breeze. A few seconds later and they’d resettled, back into the position they’d held