‘Stop that! You’ll set me off.’
‘Like, take a look at this. This book club. This little fuck club of ours, young lady.’ He’s putting his hands through my hair piling it on top of my head.
I open my mouth to laugh but nothing comes out.
‘Don’t pretend you didn’t orchestrate all this. This suits you down to the ground, doesn’t it? You schedule me in on a fortnightly basis. Three hours. Your house. Nice and tidy.’
I prod his stomach, look at him saucily.
‘Now you’re making me out to be some sort of cold fish.’
‘I’m trying to give you a compliment, actually. All I’m saying is that you’re not governed by constant, irrational emotion like most women, are you, Caroline?’
‘Oh God no. No, no! Never been like that.’
‘Not like Rachel. Jesus! She’s such a woman, is Rachel.’
I lean against his chest. The mention of Rachel – which doesn’t happen often – incites a sort of fascinated fear in me. Like I want him to shut up and carry on all at the same time.
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I just mean it’s constant, you know?’
‘Constant what?’
Don’t dig too much. Remain nonchalant. Nonchalant and not governed by constant, irrational emotion.
‘Constant woman-ness with her. It’s all about her, Steeley. If she’s not spending the whole bloody weekend counselling some boring friend about her drama, she’s having a drama herself. Or we’re going to yet another do with the boring Uni Girls, or yet another boring awards ceremony for her. Or she’s working, always working.’
I feel a stab of insecurity. Rachel is well-known in the industry for winning awards. When she first met Toby she was selling soft drinks and used to sweep the board at the Trade’s Awards, twice being named Sales Person of the Year.
‘Sex has gone completely off the radar, she’s not interested.’
‘How …’ I kiss him ‘… can that be possible when you’re such an irresistible sex god?’
He laughs.
‘She’s uptight. Doesn’t let herself go, like you. If we do have sex, it’s like something that’s got to be factored in to her tight schedule, something on her fucking endless To Do list, do you know what I mean?’
I shake my head. To Do list. Who would reduce their entire life to a To Do list?
‘To be honest, sometimes,’ he says, ‘I feel like an extra in the show that is Rachel’s life.’
‘Well,’ I say, slipping a hand under his shirt. (Must balance fine line between wanton sex goddess and only-woman-who-understands-him.) ‘We can’t have that.’
Toby cups my face in his hand.
‘Fuck me, I fancy you,’ he says. ‘What is it about you, Caroline Steele, that means that when I am around you, I just want to have sex with you?’
Our top halves are off in seconds, the bottom two of Toby’s shirt buttons sent skidding across the floor. Toby pushes me backwards against the fridge, sending magnets and papers flying. I cover his chest with kisses, his hair smells incredible, that shower-fresh, sugary, bakery smell, times about five hundred. I inhale as he pushes my hair back and kisses me, hard; on my face, my neck, my breasts. There’s the feverish undoing of belts, which is awkward since I am wearing one of those fabric ones and for some reason he keeps squeezing it the wrong way so that my insides are getting squashed. Finally, after much giggling, I’m up against my fridge, naked, jeans around my ankles. A woman possessed. Possessed by a harlot in my own kitchen.
I want him so badly now. I drop down and take him in my mouth. His pubes smell delicious, clean, with a faint muskiness that sparks another explosion that spreads from my groin, right down my thighs.
‘Jesus, you’re good at that,’ he says, leaning back onto the fridge, and laughing, a sort of half-laugh, half-groan. His eyes are closed, his whole body rigid, except his hands, which are gently pushing my head, and his knees that are bending, along to the same rhythm as me.
‘Stop,’ he says, softly. ‘Stop. I won’t last two minutes if you carry on like that.’
Then we’re on the floor, he wants me on top of him and I happily oblige. I am possessed, again, by someone who writhes and swishes her hair and her hips, like a belly-dancer, there, next to the whirring fridge, as, outside, the birds break out into evensong and, inside, I think I might explode with desire.
We’re lying on the kitchen floor now – me on top of Toby in a breathless, sweaty, elated heap.
Then I hear the door go.
‘Fuck!’
‘What?’ says Toby alarmed.
‘It’s Lexi, she’s back!’
‘You’re joking?’
‘Do I look like I’m joking?’ I’m scrambling off him now. Toby’s spread-eagled, naked except for a large erection and the South Park socks.
‘Get up!’ I hiss, flapping my arms about.
‘All right keep yer knickers on.’
‘I would if I could find them!’
I’m flitting about the kitchen now. Toby’s standing, scratching his head and smirking at me. He thinks this is funny.
‘Right, you through the utility room and into the bathroom,’ I say, spotting my knickers scrunched up like a sleeping rodent next to the fridge.
‘What?’
‘Just do it!’ I push him, still sniggering through the door and kick his clothes in after him.
I hear Lexi slam the front door shut and call down the hallway,
‘Hel-lo-oh! I’m back!’
‘Just using the loo!’ I shout back. It’s lame but, frankly, I need anything that’s going to stall her.
I manage to get one leg in one hole of my knickers, as I hear her drop her bag on the hallway floor, then follow Toby, limping, into the bathroom.
‘I can’t find my pants,’ he whispers, rummaging through the pile of clothes.
‘Well, just wear your trousers then. You’ll have to go commando.’
I hear Lexi cough, dramatically, and drag her heels towards the kitchen. Just those two sounds tell me she’s drunk. Body combat class, my arse.
Then she’s hammering on the bathroom door.
‘Hurry up, Missus. I’m gonna piss my pants! Can’t make it upstairs!’
Toby’s buttoning his shirt, his face red with the effort of not laughing.
‘Won’t be long!’ I shout. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck it! How was I going to get out of this one now?
‘In the bath,’ I mouth to Toby ‘The what?’
‘It’s leaking out!’ moans Lexi.
‘All right, can you just hang on a second?’
‘Not su-re!’ She’s singing the words now, intermittently leaning against the door and making it bang. ‘There might be a little puddle in your kitchen if I don’t get in there soo-oon!’
Eventually, I get Toby crouched safely down behind the shower curtain, flush the toilet and open