Naked Lies

by Karen Botha

  I could never behave in any way similar to how he’s treated me and so my lack of comprehension, combined with my inability to talk this through with him, leaves a gaping hole. All of this mingles with the most intense relief that the pain he was causing will follow him to his grave. Mixed in with all of that, and further messing with my head, is the pure joy Lucy brings. That through all of this, she’s believed in me, and we can now take the first steps towards our life.

  ‘Come on,’ I pull away from her. ‘We can’t stay here all day, and I for one need a shower.’

  She grins, holds my hand and hails a cab.

  We peel off our own clothes in my bedroom and leave them in two puddles of exhaustion.

  ‘Come on let’s wash the world away,’ she says, laughing and pulling me with her into the en suite.

  The house was built with an amazing en suite, I absolutely love it. It’s practical, but also creates a luxurious space for relaxing. The double sized enclosure features two showers, one on each wall so you can stand under streams of steaming jets, facing your partner, watching as they soap off. It is a most erotic experience.

  However, for days like today, there’s also an overhead rainstorm in the middle.

  Lucy rushes in and turns all three heads on full, then does a little dance when the cold water sprays her naked arm and shoulder. I luxuriate in watching as she dares to test the temperature again with a nervous dab of her hand under the sprinkler. Tonight could have been so very different.

  ‘Come on, it’s ready.’ She beams and hops in, moving to the left and holding out her hand for me to follow.

  I oblige without needing further encouragement and then, well, it’s no holds barred.

  I kiss her. Our wet lips meet, a tumble of tongues and a firm confirmation of our love. I pull her towards me, feel myself rise against her belly, she leans in, sighing.

  Trailing kisses down her body, I taste the saltiness of the stresses she’s endured on my behalf and love her all the more for it. Her skin slips under my lips. The torrent from the overhead rain cloud washes away our stresses, replacing despair with fresh hope, a renewed vigour and appreciation of all that life has to offer. She groans deep within my mouth and the pulsing in my groin grows urgent.

  I kneel, drag my nails down her back, let my hands linger on her hips as I pull her into my face. Even with the shower, I smell her. My palms sink into her firm buttocks, my fingers digging in, then slipping south. I rest at the back of her thighs, pull her legs apart from her rear. The shower tray squeaks as she obliges, opening herself to me.

  I push her against the half wall, holding her hands out wide, spreading her thighs wider with my knees and push my fingers between them. One hand works inside her, pushing my curved hand against her tender spot. My other pulls her lips apart. She’s swollen, glistening, and pert.

  Flicking my tongue against her, I speed up, slow down, sucking and rolling around her place of ecstasy until she thrusts into my face. I’m rock solid as her knees shudder in time with my touch, her insides consuming my palpations and her throat letting out guttural moans.

  I press my face into her, sucking harder, faster, nibbling at her. She lifts one leg and I slip my hand deeper, more urgent, then add another digit into her private space until her back arches.

  One last convulsion, one final groan and she releases over my fingers, my thumb still working her outside.

  I keep going, tormenting her with the power of her own body. She screams out, panting, her wet frame writhing, but not stopping me.

  I slow, relax my pressure, let her breathe whilst I savour the contraction of her pulses. When I stand, I nibble at her neck before rolling my tongue around hers. I get a kick out of her tasting herself and my own throbbing becomes urgent, needy, consuming.

  I spin her around so she’s supporting herself with her hands on the wall and glide between her legs. The hot water tingles my swollen end, and as I enter her, she lets out a sigh. I shift two fingers round her front, kneading her clitoris. Her back arcs, pushing her tight bum upwards and me deeper inside.

  My other hand slides up her stomach. Water trickles into her belly button, and I spend a few moments touching any and every naked part of her. I work my way up to her heavy breasts, the shower water channelling around her nipples into a waterfall that tingles as it bounces off my end. I circle underneath her breasts, feeling their weight without holding them, teasing myself. When I can stand it no longer, I slide my palm upwards, and it instantly fills with her soft flesh. I continue my pressure and she spills out of my grasp. I catch her, tweak her nipples, and she writhes into me.

  And then relief. A wanton need satisfied as she surrounds me, her warmth holding me tight, moving in a rhythm matching my own.

  The sensation intensifies, rattling my brain as torrents of electricity surge to the end of my every nerve. The shower is now unnoticeable against my waterfall of emotions, relief spurting out.

  Lucy

  Paula is having physio which, as her best friend, means I’m going through the process too. Today we’re on a gentle country walk round the flat fields surrounding Whitemore, a local village. The plan is that by walking on uneven ground, Paula will rebuild the small muscles around her ankles that have weakened.

  ‘It’s a bit like life this isn’t it?’ I suggest as we round a corner revealing another aspect to our ever-changing vista.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Paula asks.

  ‘Well, we only truly realise our full strength by dealing with hardships.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought about that, but I guess you’re right.’

  I laugh. ‘I know I am. Until we find a weakness, we can’t build on it.’

  ‘Wow, how decidedly philosophical of you!’ She nudges me. We take a few steps, but Paula is holding a thoughtful silence. I wait. It’s full-on winter now, but it’s one of those rare crisp days with blue skies and wait for it - sun! It’s cold, though, and my trusty beret has made its first appearance of the season. I started off with it pulled down flat to my head, protecting my ears from the chill in the air. An embarrassingly short amount of time later, though, and I’m already ripping it off and shoving it in my pocket. Adam and I need to get back to that boxing class, I have no excuse, he changed his membership to a couples so I can go, and, my fitness is appalling. Paula has pulled her cigarette packet out of her pocket and lights it.

  ‘I’ve asked Andy to collect his belongings from mine,’ she finally reveals.

  ‘Whoa, really?’ I stop walking for a second. ‘I appreciate you were having doubts about him, but I assumed after our chat you were waiting until life and emotions - and all things generally unstable - settled down again?’

  ‘I know what you said, but what’s the point of being with him if he’s not right for me?’ She raises her right eyebrow.

  ‘And Steve is?’ I snap. I don’t mean to, but she can be infuriating at times. I’m no angel, but in my opinion, only an idiot would go back to someone who shat on you from such a great height previously.

  She dips her chin, preparing for my tirade, but I say nothing more. I wait for her reply.

  ‘He is. Maybe he’s not your ideal choice, but he makes me feel alive. If I’ve learnt anything from what’s happened recently, it’s that I don’t want to waste a second of my life treading water.’

  ‘But Steve isn’t even treading water, he’s sailing backwards.’ I try.

  ‘Only if he behaves the same way again. He’s said he’ll make changes, and I have to see where it leads. If he lets me down, then I’ll have to accept that, but I can’t live my life always wondering what if?’

  I’m out of options. She’s made her decision in spite of what I advised. She’s gone ahead and put the consequences of her actions in motion before filling me in, proof that she didn’t want me to talk her out of it. A long sigh to escapes my lips, and I make no attempt to hide it, using the time to process what my sensible, pragmatic, able friend just told me. I keep my eyes fixed on the uneven path ahead.r />
  When I speak again, I force myself to sound jolly. ‘So what did Steve say when you told him?’

  ‘Ah, nothing, we’ve not spoken yet,’ she says.

  ‘Oh, OK. When are you going to tell him?’

  ‘As soon as he calls. I’ve left him a message, but he’s in the middle of this case, so I’ve not heard from him yet.’

  Oh great. Here we go. She’s not even told him, and he’s already messing her about. Once again I bite back my words, and smile at her. ‘When did you message him?’ I ask instead, breathing in a lung full of toxin-free country air.

  ‘Yesterday morning.’

  It’s like she’s in the woods at night, and I have an elevated view of her progress. From above, I can see the clear path ahead of her. But on the ground, she’s struggling to navigate, veering off course, blind to where the trail of least resistance lies. I guess sometimes, we all have to make our own way. And so, I simply say, ‘Well, I’m sure he’ll call.’

  She puts her arm round my waist and hugs me in to her. ‘Thanks. I am aware he’s not your first choice.’

  ‘Well, I don’t have to live with him, you do. And he’s your first choice, so that’s fine.’ We walk on. ‘So, what are you planning? Will he come and live with you? If he’s leaving his wife, he’ll be looking for somewhere I assume?’ I’d prefer if he does move in with her, that way she has at least some idea of what the two-timing, no good guy is up to.

  ‘We’ve not got that far. I assume so, but we’ll see what his plans are.’

  ‘But you’d be happy for him to move in with you right?’

  She nods, then swears as she momentarily wobbles on her weak ankle.

  I have concerns. I can’t lie about that, but instead of putting a voice behind them, I swallow my issues down whole. It’s like shoving a golf ball down my neck, but I manage it. Others' failings are far easier to see than your own. I’ve been in the occasional position when I didn’t want to hear the advice of well-intentioned friends, including Paula. And she knows it.

  We approach the pub on the green we’re going to try for lunch. We’ve been before, but it’s been closed for refurbishment so I’m keen to try the new menu. Hopefully it will be a good step or two up from our last visit.

  ‘Nice floor!’ Paula comments as she hobbles across the solid oak planks.

  ‘At least they’re flat for your leg.’ I say that just to fill blank air, as I’m not paying too much attention. I’m lost in thought. ‘Why would Steve not call her back?’

  We’re directed to a table, and browse the wine list. I spend the downtime considering how I can broach the elephant in the room without offending her. I’m aware that I should button it and let her make her own decisions; but I learnt from painful experience that she wouldn’t do that if she had serious concerns.

  ‘Listen. I was thinking about this whole Steve thing,’ I start just as the waitress delivers our glasses of white wine.

  ‘Hmm,’ her tone is cautious.

  ‘Well, you always manage to call me back whatever it is you’re working on. You always have. So, what would be so bad that he wouldn’t be able to return your call if he wanted to? He's trying to woo you back, for goodness sake.’

  ‘You should be pleased he’s trying to get to the bottom of this case. He’s got my interests at heart with all of this. You saw what Jonathan was up to. Everything Steve’s doing right now is for me.’

  I’d beg to differ, but the blooming waitress is back again to take our order. I sigh. I’m not hungry anymore, but select a salad for the sake of being sociable.

  We make it through our lunch with no further comment about Steve. Regardless of what she says, though, she spent the entire time aligning her phone next to her plate, cleaning the screen, and generally faffing with it. The only good point to come out of this lunch is that Paula’s fish and chips are vastly improved on our last visit.

  ‘Mmm, they were delicious, better than those we had the last time we came here, do you remember?’ She moves her phone again to check the screen wasn’t hiding a silent missed call.

  We giggle a little about that, but the atmosphere is strained. I want to get out of here and head home. I have to push it one last time though.

  ‘Steve still not called you?’ I ask as she straightens her all-consuming handset.

  ‘No, he hasn’t. Will you leave it, Lucy? He’ll call when he’s able. He’ll be waiting until he has news to tell me about the case. I bet you!’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Listen, when you call me, you’re generally not wholly absorbed with the case I’m working on are you? So, it doesn’t matter. I know I’m not going to be cross questioned about progress, I just need to call you about social engagements.’

  I let it lie. I’ve done the best I can. I thought about asking her to call him again now, but I don’t want her to appear desperate.

  ‘Come on then, peg leg, let’s get you home. I'm seeing clients this afternoon.’ After her bombshell this morning, I’m relishing the opportunity for tranquility. It's saying something when work is your haven.

  Paula

  I don’t let on to Lucy, but I’m a little concerned by Steve not calling me back. Not because I’m fretting that he’s had second thoughts about us becoming an official item, but because he doesn’t appear to be making much progress on the case. I assumed Nuala and Jonathan’s confession would mean he’d be well on his way to closing this down. His lack of contact is causing me more than a little anxiety.

  I text Mo. ‘Any update on the case?’ I press send and tap the screen with my nail as I wait.

  The phone lights; Mo is calling.

  ‘Hi, how are you?’ I answer.

  ‘Not bad, the case is progressing. You’re not with Lucy and Adam by any chance, are you?’

  That innocuous question sets an alarm off. It shrieks between both ears, my pulse pumping at full pelt, and my hands become slippery with sweat. ‘No why?’ My voice is low.

  ‘Just wondering, we’re trying to get hold of one of them.’

  I’ve been around too long to let that one lie. ‘Why Mo? What’s going on?’

  ‘We’ve been calling them. Can’t get an answer.’

  ‘Lucy is working this afternoon. She was going home, so that could explain why she’s on radio silence. I’m not sure about Adam, she never mentioned him when we were out earlier.’

  ‘Can you do me a favour and pop round to Adam’s? You’re nearby, aren’t you?’ Mo asks.

  ‘Sure. Is it that serious?’

  ‘Probably not, you know how these things go. But it’s best to be safe.’

  The hairs on my arms stand on end. ‘OK, I’ll call you when I get there.’

  ‘No worries. Thanks, Paula.’ He hangs up. I didn’t even ask about Steve. But it does explain why he’s not calling back; something appears to be heading south with an uneasy speed.

  I don’t think Adam is in. He doesn’t answer the intercom when I call for entry, consequently leaving me to abandon my car at the side of the road and climb over the boundary wall. Lucy is the short one out of us two. But even at my considerable height, a six foot pile of bricks isn’t an easy feat when you’re just out of hospital.

  Of course, Mo doesn’t answer his phone, and so here I am, a half invalid scaling Everest to check if my friend is at home. He’d better be in, and there’d better be a problem after all of this!

  I’m sweating like a pig, not only from the physical effort but because the flashbacks are crazy. I can hardly see for the film playing out before my eyes. Me under the bush half naked, waking up in my metal coffin, and the complete lack of oxygen as I realised where I was, then escaping from the van. I seriously must have a mental problem to be pushing my body to its physical limit to get into what could be another lethal situation. I did not like the tone of Mo’s questions.

  I remind myself that I’m a trained professional, and Adam is not. I’ve already escaped a set of lunatic thugs connected with this case. Adam may not be as
resourceful in a similar position.

  And so, with a final burst of aggression - or fear - I heave my weight high enough to swing my bad leg over the top of the wall. For no other reason than being afraid of being caught, I lower down the other side without hesitation, swinging on my hands before releasing myself onto my good leg.

  I crouch and for a second, I feel like I’m in a movie. Then, the reality of my pulse pounding wakes me to the nightmare I’m inserting myself into. Adrenalin courses through my veins and pushes me to do what otherwise my body wouldn’t be able to. I run forward. Considering the protection of the trees to the side for less than a second before dismissing them as being too much cover should the worst happen. I plough up the open drive way in full view.

  A flash bleaches the glass of Adam’s living quarters. The sun is in the opposite direction. I try Mo again. Once again, no reply.

  Anger surges from my feet to my head. My eyes are wide, searching for any clue of what may be pertaining, any hint of how many people are in there with Adam, any exterior danger to me. How can Mo send me on a mission like this and then not answer his bloody phone?

  I send a text. ‘Send backup now.’ Then, I pray the networks aren’t playing silly buggers with their service levels today.

  I search for a safe place to sit and hide out whilst I wait for back-up. If this were the movies, I’d have a gun now, and I’d be taking slow paces towards the house, ready to burst in and save the day. However, it isn’t the movies, and the last time I entered a residence to save the day, it was almost my last.

  The best hiding spot I can find that won’t render me impossible to find should the worst happen, is a planter. Great! It’s only about a third of my size, but I busy myself with crouching behind it, peering round at Adam’s house. All is quiet.