by Alex Lake
Hi babes, Rod – an entirely fictitious character whose email account Mike had set up – wrote. Great to see you this week. Want to meet up tomorrow?
Kate typed her reply:
Yes! I’m so glad we hooked up on Tinder. I’ve never done that kind of thing before and I wish I’d started earlier. Like I said when we met, I feel I’ve missed out on so much – and the sex was amazing! Better than any I’ve had before. I was sore for two days afterwards, but then I’m not used to such a big dick as yours. God, I nearly fainted when I saw it. I didn’t know they made them like that! I can’t wait to see it again! Tomorrow’s perfect. How about the afternoon? Your place? I’m not sure I want my parents to hear the kind of noises I was making last time … and even if they’re out, the neighbours will probably lodge a noise complaint with the council!
She hit send; a few seconds later Mike laughed. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘That’s quite the reply.’
‘Send something back,’ she said. ‘In the same vein.’
Tomorrow it is, you hot bitch. I’m getting hard already. I’ll be ready, bumcakes.
Kate looked up from her phone. ‘Bumcakes?’ she said. ‘Where did you get that from?’
Mike blushed. ‘It’s something I picked up. From a song.’
‘A song?’ Kate said. ‘With “bumcakes” in it?’
‘It was in a film. Spinal Tap.’
‘Spinal what?’ She shook her head. ‘Right. I’m rethinking this relationship.’
Mike tilted his head to one side. ‘It’s a relationship?’
It was Kate’s turn to blush. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘Do I?’ Mike said.
‘Forget it,’ Kate said. ‘Forget I said it.’
Mike raised his hands, palms facing her. ‘Forget you said what?’ he said, raising his hands in mock innocence.
‘That’s right,’ Kate replied. ‘Forget I said what.’ She looked at her phone. ‘I need to call Mum,’ she said. ‘Ask her to come and pick me up.’
‘I’ll give you a lift,’ Mike said. ‘If you want?’
‘That would be great. It’d save her the trouble. I’ll send her a text and let her know.’
‘You want to leave now?’
‘I probably should. She’ll be waiting up.’
Mike laughed. ‘I feel like I’ve gone back in time,’ he said. ‘To when I was sixteen and my friends and I had to worry about getting in trouble with our parents for coming home late.’ He paused, then added, almost as an aside, as though he was speaking to himself. ‘At least my friends did. My mum and dad wouldn’t have noticed.’
‘Your parents weren’t bothered if you came home late?’ Kate said.
‘It wasn’t that, exactly,’ Mike said, his tone brisk. ‘It was no big deal. It was kind of a complicated situation. A long time ago now.’
Kate didn’t press him; it wasn’t any of her business, and if he wanted to share then he would, when the time was right. She started to shut down the computer.
‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘I still need to take off the app, if you want me to?’
‘Of course.’
He tapped away on the keyboard for five minutes or so. ‘I’ve set up a password screen,’ he said. ‘So if he comes back here again he won’t be able to get on. This computer is safe as houses now.’
He passed her the keyboard, and turned away.
‘Put in your new password,’ he said. ‘I won’t look.’
They pulled up outside her parents’ house. Mike put on the handbrake.
‘That was fun,’ he said. ‘Even if Phil did show up. I enjoy spending time with you.’
Kate nodded. ‘Me too,’ she said, and smiled. It was refreshing to be with someone who was so open emotionally, who was able to express his feelings in a simple, plain way. With Phil, it was either nothing, or, if he had been out with his friends, drunken outpourings of love. Perhaps it was because Mike was older, but she didn’t think so. It was just his way; he was not ashamed of showing how he felt, did not have any sense of pride or fear that his feelings might not be reciprocated. She had the impression that if she had told him she liked him as a friend and a friend only he would have accepted it; there was none of the puppy-like desperation that she saw in Phil.
And it made him all the more attractive.
She leaned over and put her hand behind his neck, spreading her fingers through his hair. There was a moment of hesitation on his part, then he kissed her. They kissed for a long time with an increasing level of passion; Kate felt a powerful desire for him grow in her.
She pulled away. ‘Shall we drive somewhere?’ she said.
He looked at her for a long time, then shook his head. ‘I’d love to,’ he said. ‘But let’s take our time. Make sure we get it right.’
For a moment she felt the sting of rejection, but then a surge of affection overcame it.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Good idea. What are you doing the rest of the weekend?’
‘On Sunday I have to drive to London,’ he said. ‘I have a client meeting early on Monday.’
‘And tomorrow?’
‘I volunteer for a local charity,’ he said. ‘Help them with handyman stuff. I need to go there tomorrow.’
‘Which charity?’
‘A place in town,’ he said.
‘Which one?’
‘It’s a kind of …’ he paused, ‘shelter. On Bridge Street.’
Kate realized why he was being evasive. She knew that shelter. Not many people did, but she – briefly – had been involved with it a few years back.
‘Do you mean the shelter for women?’ she said. ‘Who need a place to get away from – stuff?’
‘You know it?’ he said.
‘I had a—’ Kate stopped herself. ‘I know of it.’
‘That’s the place,’ Mike said. ‘I try and help them when I can.’
‘They don’t like to have too many men around there,’ Kate said.
‘I know. But I go back quite a way with them. They know me pretty well.’ He shrugged. ‘So I’ll be there in the morning. But I’m free in the afternoon, if you want to catch up?’
‘Sure,’ Kate said. ‘I’ll give you a call.’
15
LOCAL BUSINESSES ‘STRANGLED’ BY KILLER FEARS
With the serial killer known as the Stockton Heath Strangler still on the loose, local businesses are reporting that they are suffering a downturn in their fortunes.
Taxi firm Pritchard Cars have seen business drop by around a third since it was confirmed that a serial killer was targeting young women.
‘They don’t want to get in taxis alone – or even in groups,’ Jeff Pritchard, the proprietor said. ‘Even if a few get in, there always has to be one who gets dropped off last, and no one wants to take that risk.’
Other businesses are also feeling the effects. Bars and restaurants are reporting a significant drop in takings as people choose to socialize in the safety of their own homes.
The owner of one local restaurant – who preferred not to be named – is upset with the efforts of the police. ‘They need to catch him,’ he said. ‘And if they can’t, they need to make people feel safe. There should be officers on every street corner, so people know there’s no threat.’
A police spokesperson declined to comment, saying only that the investigation was proceeding and that the police were making every effort to catch the killer.
The pun in the title was, Kate thought, particularly insensitive, but the local paper finally had something to write about – other than planning consent issues and minor infractions – and they were going to town on it.
Her mum came into the living room with a cup of tea.
‘Here you go,’ she said. ‘This’ll make you feel better.’
‘I feel fine,’ Kate said. ‘But thanks.’
Her mum ignored her. ‘And a bit of breakfast will pick you up. I could make you a bacon sandwich?’
‘I don’t need picking up. I only had a couple of drinks last ni
ght.’
‘How did you get home? You were going to text me to let me know. Did you get a cab?’
Shit. She’d forgotten to text her mum. Now she was back home – temporarily – she was going to have to get back into the habit of informing her parents where she was. ‘Sorry, Mum. I got a lift in the end.’
‘From the man you met on the Internet? Was that safe?’
Kate sipped her tea. Missed text or not, at her age she did not need an interrogation first thing in the morning. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was him, and it was perfectly safe. You can tell because I’m here, alive and well. In fact,’ she added, ‘I’m seeing him again today.’
‘Gosh?’ her mum said. ‘That’s a bit sudden. You don’t need to rush into anything, you know.’
‘I’m not rushing. I happen to enjoy his company, that’s all.’
‘I hope Phil doesn’t find out. He’ll be very upset.’
‘He showed up last night,’ Kate said. ‘At the pub. He was totally drunk. I think this is tough for him, especially with the police treating him as a suspect.’
Her mum scoffed. ‘He didn’t do anything,’ she said. ‘He’s a nice lad.’
‘He’s certainly having a hard time.’
‘Well, don’t make it worse for him,’ her mum said. ‘Be kind to him, Kate.’
She met May and Gemma for lunch and told them what had happened the night before.
‘So Phil was reading your emails?’ May said. ‘That’s fucking awful.’
‘I feel bad for him,’ Gemma said. ‘I’m not saying that what he did was right – or even OK – but I do kind of understand. I mean, he must be so heartbroken – I can’t help feeling bad for him.’
‘I do, too,’ Kate said. ‘But he has to get a grip. He can’t be following me around in his car or lurking outside – or inside – the house. Especially not with what’s going on. And there was the girl he was seeing—’
‘Michelle Clarke,’ May said. ‘Gus said the cops think Phil might have done it – he was the last person to see her alive, she looks like you, all the rest of it. I told him there was no way. Of course he went for a girl that looks like you – he’s on a massive rebound – but he didn’t kill her. Not Phil. He wouldn’t be able to.’
‘You say that,’ Kate said, ‘but I don’t know. I mean, I agree that it’s a long shot, but’ – she shrugged – ‘you can’t say for sure. He might not even be aware of what he’s doing.’
‘Anyway,’ Gemma said. ‘What about your date?’
Kate smiled. ‘I like him,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure if he’s the one, or anything like that, but I like him. For now.’
‘Are you going to see him again?’ Gemma asked.
‘I am.’
‘When?’
Kate looked at her phone. ‘In about two hours.’
16
Mike was wearing paint-splattered work boots, a pair of dusty jeans and a black T-shirt that showed the sinewy muscles of his arms and his flat stomach. He was carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder.
‘Sorry for the outfit,’ he said. ‘It took longer at the shelter than I thought. I didn’t have a chance to get home and change.’
‘That’s fine,’ Kate replied, thinking I’m glad you didn’t. Sexy doesn’t do it justice.
‘So what do you want to do?’
‘Well,’ Kate said. ‘I thought about an early evening drink and then something to eat, but I’m not sure that you’re quite dressed for it.’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘That’d be about right. How about I run back to my place, shower and change, then we meet up?’
They arranged to meet at Kate’s house. On the way there she stopped and bought some basics: bread, milk, crisps, fruit and a bottle of Prosecco. It felt strange to be there alone after staying at her parents’ house; she made sure that she locked the door, even though it was early evening on a Saturday.
You never knew. That was what she was learning; you never knew.
She resisted opening the Prosecco. That could wait until Mike arrived, if he was interested. She didn’t want him to show up and find her halfway through the bottle while all he wanted was water or mint tea or some kind of healthy protein shake.
She liked him, she realized, more than she was comfortable with. In the first place, she didn’t want a boyfriend at the moment, at least not a serious one, and in the second, she didn’t want a boyfriend who was ten years older than her. Not that she had anything against it in principle; it was more that they were at different stages of their lives. She wanted to travel, try new things, be free to up sticks and move if she so desired. He – although he hadn’t said as much – was more than likely looking to settle down, have kids, start the serious business of life.
She’d had enough of the serious business. She wanted to have some fun. But – like it or not – she was falling for him.
Half an hour later there was a knock on the door. Kate looked out of the window; it was Mike. She let him in. His hair was wet and slicked back; there were still paint-flecks in it. He had a bottle in one hand and a bunch of flowers in the other.
‘Never show up to someone’s house unarmed,’ he said. ‘That was what my aunt told me.’
‘Your aunt?’ Kate said. ‘That sounds like a piece of mum advice.’
‘Yeah. My aunt dished out most of the advice in my case. Mum wasn’t one for that kind of thing.’
This was the second time he had made a cryptic, negative reference to his mum. Although she knew it was prying, Kate was desperate to ask for more information. She contented herself with a statement.
‘She sounds an interesting character.’
‘She was.’
‘Was? Is she …?’
‘She died a few years back. Both my parents did.’ He held up the bottle ‘Anyway, I know you don’t have much in, so I brought this.’
Kate laughed. ‘Prosecco,’ she said. ‘How lovely. Great minds think alike. I bought the same thing. Should I open one of them?’
‘Why not?’ he said. ‘It’s been a long day.’
Kate took two champagne flutes from the kitchen cupboard and unwrapped the foil and the wire cage from the cork. She twisted the cork; it turned slowly in the neck of the bottle. It took a few attempts to open it, but Mike didn’t step in and try to take the bottle from her. She liked that, liked the assumption that she was capable and did not need immediate assistance with every basic physical task.
She poured the pale liquid into the glasses, then handed one to Mike.
‘Cheers,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and sit down.’
He stepped aside to let her pass; as she did, her hip grazed his and she turned to face him. They looked at each other for a few moments, then they leaned into each other and their lips met.
Kate was aware of his scent, his freshly showered clean smell, and of her own mounting desire.
She put the glass on the worktop and put her arms around him, feeling the thick cords of muscle in his back; his free hand ran down from her shoulder to her buttocks and she shuddered.
Suddenly, he pulled away.
‘We have to stop,’ he said. ‘Before we get carried away.’
Kate took the Prosecco from him and put it next to hers. She took his hands and pulled him towards her.
‘I want to get carried away,’ she said, and led him towards the stairs.
Afterwards they lay in her bed, side by side, silent. She and Phil had bought the bed together and only she and he, assuming he hadn’t ever had an affair – which she was pretty sure was a fair assumption – had ever had sex in it, a state of affairs which she had once assumed would last forever, but which had now, suddenly, irrevocably, changed.
She was aware of Mike’s warmth, of the heat coming off him after the exertions of the last half an hour or so. He was lying on his back, one arm around her, his eyes closed. Was this what he did after sex? Phil did one of two things: he got out of bed and took the condom to the bathroom or he lay with his head on her chest, one hand
resting protectively on her stomach. She had never figured out what made him do one or the other; she’d always meant to ask but she doubted she would get the chance now.
She and Phil had a routine that they went through when they had sex. That wasn’t to say that it was dull, or repetitive, but they knew each other so well, knew what gave each other pleasure, and they tended to focus on those things. It was different with Mike: it was all new. All uncertain. All to come.
It was thrilling.
She was going to discover all these things, make new routines, find new ways of getting and giving pleasure. It was, in so many ways, the perfect metaphor for her life after Phil.
Other people must go through the same thing, she thought, people who were married for twenty years, watched their kids grow up then realized they had nothing left in common and went their separate ways and found other people to share their lives with. They too must go through this exact process of discovery, of getting to know a new partner: what they liked to eat, how they drove, whether they brushed and flossed or only brushed. And what they like to do in bed.
Kate looked at her alarm clock.
‘Whoa,’ she said. ‘It’s eight. We need to eat.’
Mike opened his eyes. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’m pretty hungry. I didn’t eat all day.’
‘And you’ve been on your feet at the shelter. That’s tiring work.’
‘And then there was the last hour or so. That took the dregs of my energy.’
‘Hour?’ Kate said. ‘Don’t get carried away with yourself, Mike. But I agree, you must be tired.’ She paused. ‘What did you do at the shelter today? It looked like you were painting.’
‘Some painting,’ he said. ‘And I put in some new windows. Ones with extra security. They have to be very careful.’
‘I know,’ Kate replied. ‘They deal with some tough cases.’ She propped herself up on her elbow. ‘You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, Mike. But I’m interested in how you became involved.’
‘Well,’ he said. ‘It’s kind of a long story.’
‘We’ve got all evening,’ Kate said. ‘If you want to tell me, that is. You don’t have to.’