The Debt

by D A Latham

  I took that to mean that he wanted a girl who wouldn't outshine him. Maybe even one who'd be happy to stay home and bake cookies. I couldn't bake, but would be willing to learn.

  "So I'm now single for the first time since I was twenty," he went on. "It's not as bad as I expected. Phil, my little brother is staying with me at the moment while he's having some work done on his house, so I'm not lonely. If anything, I'll be pleased when the messy bugger goes home."

  "So you come from Chislehurst?" I asked.

  "Yep. None of us moved out of the area. My older brother, Matt, he's married with two kids, and lives over by Kemnal Manor. Rupert lives in Sundridge, and Phil lives on Old Hill. None of us strayed far. We all like Mum's Sunday lunches too much."

  We were interrupted by the waitress bringing over two enormous breakfasts. There was enough to set me up for an entire week, the plates loaded up to almost overflowing. "I'll be really impressed if you can eat all that," Andy laughed.

  "I might be skinny, but I can pack it away," I joked before digging in.

  It was glorious. You could tell by the wonderful flavours that it was organic. Even the eggs had bright yellow yolks, unlike the insipid supermarket ones. I completely cleared my plate.

  "So, can I ask what happened to your parents?" We'd ordered more lattes, and it seemed that Andy was going to start his fact-finding.

  "We were having a day out….to Margate. A lorry hit our car on the way. My parents were both killed instantly. I was injured but obviously survived."

  "So what happened to you after that?"

  "I was sent to a children's home. When I had to leave at eighteen, they put me in a hostel, which was full of addicts and schizos, so I found my little bedsit myself and moved out."

  "That sounds... horrific," he said, his face a picture of sympathy. I just shrugged.

  "It's been and gone now. There's times I wish I felt better-equipped for the way the world is, but at eight years old, I didn't know I could ask to be fostered, or demand my social worker actually keep her appointments with me. When you're in a kid’s home, you're invisible unless you misbehave."

  "So why didn't you play up?"

  I shrugged. "Not my nature I suppose, plus I was scared. I had nowhere to go, and I thought they'd throw me out. I just kept quiet and accepted what was happening." I paused, "I was only eight and an orphan you know." Why I felt I had to justify my lack of assertion, I didn't know. Maybe it was the way Andy looked at me, a mixture of pity and annoyance that made me feel as though I'd brought it all on myself.

  "Sal, that's…awful. You'd expect a child who'd gone through all that to be looked after properly."

  "I think it was why I'm so scared of this debt. I'm not terribly worldly-wise really. All the stuff your parents teach you as you get older, well I missed out on all that. When I got the bedsit, I didn't even know how to change my address or pay bills. It was a steep learning curve." I drained my cup and placed it back down, noting that Andy hadn't even started his. I wondered if he'd mind me drinking it, as in my mind, lattes should never be wasted. To my disappointment, he took a large gulp.

  "Yeah well, you've got me now. I can help you with all the practical stuff," he said quietly.

  "Why would you do that?" I asked. I really wanted to pin him down as to why he wanted to help me.

  "Because I can." He replied, before finishing his coffee in one big gulp. "Now I seem to recall that I owe you a laptop. Shall we go choose one?"

  "You don't have to," I said, my “nice” side getting the better of me. I could've kicked her.

  "Don't be daft. I promised I'd replace it, so come on." He stood up and pulled on his jacket. I did the same. To my utter shock, he held his hand out for mine in an unconscious gesture. I slipped my hand into his, and we walked back to the car in companionable silence.

  CHAPTER 3

  I had a new laptop, one that didn't take five minutes to warm up. It was sleek and pristine, and best of all, it was brand new. In addition, Andy had insisted on getting me a new phone, telling me that he would feel better if I had one for my personal safety. I had a stupid, goofy grin on my face all the way back to my bedsit.

  I made us some tea, then set about unwrapping my new purchases. We both lay on our fronts across the bed to set up the laptop, setting up my email and sorting my password. One of my neighbours had unlimited Wi-Fi, which we all chipped in a pound a week for, so I logged into it and got online. We spent the next half hour watching funny video clips, laughing at crazy cats and a hilarious dog-shaming site. We clearly shared a similar sense of humour and had both relaxed. The more time I was spent with Andy, the more I fancied him. He hadn't made any sort of move on me, so I wasn't sure if he felt the same.

  "Don't you have to go to the library this afternoon?" He asked after we'd watched another episode of “Simon's Cat” on YouTube.

  "No rush," I said, "I get the books for a month, and I've only had them two weeks. I'm off on Monday afternoon, so I can change them then."

  "Excellent. So what shall we do this evening then?" He propped himself up on his elbow to look at me. I felt a blush rise up my neck. I knew what I wanted to do.

  "Aren't you bored with me yet?" I asked.

  He gave me one of his heart-melting smiles, "Not yet. Are you bored with me, then?"

  I shook my head. "Nope."

  "So, we have the choice; dinner out, or a show. We could go see a film, go up to town. Tell me what you'd like. My only caveat is that it must include alcohol."

  I frowned slightly, concerned that he had a drinking problem. "Why's it got to include drink? Do you have a dependency?"

  He laughed. "Not at all. I just want to get some wine down you, to see you get giggly and flirty."

  "I can be all flirty without the wine," I murmured. I gazed at his beautiful face, willing him to move closer. He shifted a little, seemingly unsure about making a move, so I leaned in too, to give him a little encouragement. Instead, he pulled away rather abruptly.

  "I need to go home, I've got some errands to do before tonight. I'll pick you up around eight?"

  "Oh, OK," I replied. Even I could hear the disappointment in my voice. I must've completely misread the signals. He sat back down on the edge of the bed.

  "Sally, before things go any... further, there's a discussion we need to have." He seemed embarrassed.

  "No need. Look, I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. Please forget it." I knew my face was blushing pink with my mortification of having assumed he'd be interested in me. I turned away and collected our cups, moving to the sink to avoid him seeing my face. "Listen, thanks for everything, but I'd rather get an early night, if you don't mind." I began to wash up.

  "No, you've got it all wrong," he protested. "I wasn't rejecting you at all, but there is something I need to tell you before we go any further. I mean, it's probably quite obvious by now that we fancy each other."

  "It wasn't obvious to me," I muttered, still refusing to look at him.

  "Well it should've been," he snapped. "Do you really think I'd be hanging round you if I wasn't interested?"

  "I don't know," I admitted. I turned to face him. "All I know is that you just turned me down."

  "No," he said, "I just tried to tell you that there's a discussion we need to have first."

  "What sort of discussion? If it's safety, then use a condom, and yes, I'm on the pill."

  "No, it's not that sort of discussion," he said, sadness creeping into his voice, "I'll pick you up at eight and tell you over dinner." He picked up his coat and slid it on, before joining me at the sink. To my surprise, he leaned down and kissed me gently, a soft, sweet kiss, only distinguishable from a friendly kiss by virtue of it being on my lips. His hand cupped my jaw in a tender gesture. "Eight o’clock," he repeated. Then he was gone.

  My mind raced with possibilities, different scenarios that he might want to discuss. I'd read “Fifty Shades,” along with the rest of the world, and my main worry was that he was one of those kind of men. As m
uch as I fancied him and was eager to get naked with him, there was no way I could join in with any kind of BDSM rubbish. Being tied up or whipped just to get a shag wasn't my idea of a good time, and despite being a fuck-up of epic proportions, I wasn't a masochist. It would be a bad decision too far if I was to agree to a setup like that.

  My other concern was that he might have a permanent STD, like herpes or something. I knew from experience that I was always the unlucky person who beat the odds on having bad stuff happen. If there was a one in ten chance of catching something, I'd be that one. Again, I made the decision not to risk it.

  By the time I started getting myself ready, I'd pretty much talked myself out of seeing him again. I'd decided not to sleep with him, as I was convinced that whatever the “discussion” was, it wouldn't be good. Normal men didn't require a “talk” before they jumped your bones.

  What to wear that evening was a problem. I didn't have a cute little black dress, nor did I have a lot of choice in my rather limited wardrobe. In the end, I chose black trousers and a loose, dressy top. I finished it off with my leaky shoes and the smart but useless coat. I prayed it wouldn't rain. Staring at myself in the mirror, I came to the conclusion that I didn't look cheap or peasant-like. I'd twisted my too-long hair up into a knot at my nape, leaving a few tendrils to fall around my face. I watched a YouTube tutorial on smoky eye makeup and had done a pretty decent attempt. I felt groomed and attractive, the loose top stopping me looking too skinny and accentuating my bust, the only bit of curve I possessed. I was even wearing my “best” underwear, the set I kept for when I thought it might be seen. The girl in the mirror was determined to shag Andy McCarthy, no matter what he said.

  He arrived bang on time, of course, dressed in a suit and open-necked shirt. My tummy flipped at the sight of him, if his “talk” was so bad he thought I might be put off, he wouldn't have made so much effort, I reasoned. "Sally, you look... wow," he said, smiling widely at me. "We're going to Chapter One, I managed to get a table."

  "Fantastic," I replied, delighted. I'd heard all about Chapter One, it was the only restaurant in Bromley that had a Michelin star. It was too expensive for me to visit, or for any of my previous loser boyfriends to take me. I was glad I'd made an effort with my makeup.

  Andy had a cab waiting, so we hopped in the back. "You look lovely," he said, before squeezing my hand.

  "Thank you," I replied, "so do you."

  "I'm not sure whether I need a tie or not, so I brought one just in case. I've not been there for a while."

  I realised he was nervous, as he rambled on about dress codes. My heart sank a little, because if he was nervous, it didn't bode well. I realised that all my tough talk about not sleeping with him if he was pervy would fly out the window when faced with his perfect body and movie-star looks. It'd have to be really bad to have me doing big legs out of his life.

  Chapter One was an impressive place from all angles. It sat like an enormous detached house in the centre of Locksbottom Village, even becoming a local landmark. We pulled into the car park outside the covered portico. The staff even opened the car doors for us, before showing us into the lobby and handing us over to the staff in there.

  I felt embarrassed handing my cheap, thin coat to the attendant, but she didn't react at all. Andy was pleased that his tie wouldn't be necessary. We were shown through to a fairly private table at the back of the restaurant, which was plainer than I expected. "Would you like an aperitif?" The impeccably-attired maitre d’ asked.

  "I'll wait for the wine thanks," I told him. I needed to keep a clear head and rarely realised I'd had too much to drink until it was too late. He handed Andy a wine list and gave us both menus to peruse.

  I nearly had heart failure when I opened mine. I had no idea what any of it was. It was written in a foreign language, all volute this and jus that. Andy must have sensed my discomfort.

  "Would you like me to order for you?"

  "Please," I said, relieved at not having to try and pronounce anything. For the first time ever, I regretted sitting at the back and not paying attention in French classes at school.

  "You can choose from beef, chicken, fish, lobster, or veal," he said.

  "Beef please."

  "I'll surprise you with your starter, shall I? Is there anything you don't eat?"

  I shook my head. I'd never eaten anywhere like that before, so had no clue what the food would be like. Whatever he ordered, I'd eat, even if I hated it. I'd seen the prices. "Red or white?" He asked, reading the wine list.

  "I don't mind. I like both. Whatever goes better with our food." I was so out of my depth in there that I didn't want to make even the smallest decision. I normally bought the one ninety nine specials out of the supermarket.

  I sat back and watched Andy order. Just the way he pronounced the words so confidently was a huge turn-on. He even knew about wine, asking the wine waiter about the estate the wine was from. Pulling my eyes away from Andy, I glanced around the room. It was mainly tables of twos and fours. The women expensively-dressed and glamorous but relaxed, chatting happily without the worries of the world on their shoulders. These were life's winners in their natural environment. I felt like an interloper, intruding into their world to gawp.

  "Penny for them?" Andy's voice penetrated my thoughts. "You're a million miles away."

  "Sorry," I smiled at him, "just people watching."

  "Do you do that a lot?"

  I nodded, wary of the question.

  "What do you see when you're watching all these people?" He seemed genuinely interested. I decided honesty would be the best policy.

  "These are life's winners. These women in here... they're not worrying about stuff. They all have nice clothes, nice hair. They're happy I guess."

  "Everyone has problems," he replied. "Money doesn't solve all life's challenges. These women in here, they'd look at you, with your youth and natural beauty and be envious because you have something they can't ever buy. They can afford a nice dress and a good hairdresser, but they can't buy youth."

  He'd pointed out something I'd missed. I was the youngest woman in the room. "Most of the girls your age are either hanging around in a grotty bar right now, hoping some 'Kyle the gas fitter' will buy them a drink, or they're sitting indoors miserable and lonely because they've no-one to babysit." He was scathing, which surprised me.

  "You sound snobby. Aren't you forgetting that I'm one of the poorest members of the working class?"

  "You're missing my point. Compared to the women in here and the 'normal' girls your own age, what you have is priceless. You just don't have lots of money right now. What you do have, however, is youth without crassness, and a job that you love. That's more than ninety-nine percent of the population."

  "Is this the talk we're going to have? Where you tell me how lucky I am? Or is this the lead-up to the bit where you tell me you want to tie me up and whip me?" I went for the jugular. He began to laugh.

  "Is that what you thought? Oh, heavens no. I'm not into anything like that. Are you then?"

  I shook my head. "I thought that was what you wanted to tell me. I almost didn't come tonight."

  He flashed his movie star smile. "That's quite funny. I can't believe you think I'm the type to whip people though. Can't think of anything worse."

  I relaxed a little. I was about to ask him to get to the point, when both the wine waiter and our starters interrupted us. A large plate was placed in front of me with a grand flourish. A single, albeit large, ravioli parcel sat in the centre of the plate, looking incredibly lonely. It was accompanied by a thimbleful of sauce, which the waiter poured on carefully, with great reverence.

  "It's a lobster ravioli," Andy explained before taking a test sip of the wine, declaring it “fine thanks.” I fought the urge to laugh; the pomp and circumstance around what was still just a single ravioli struck me as quite funny.

  I will admit that it tasted wonderful, the flavours intense and rich. I stretched it out to three mouthfuls
, savouring each one carefully. I could've eaten a whole plateful quite easily. I wondered if the main course would be as skimpy. I'd need to stop for some chips on the way home if it was.

  Andy sipped his wine. "I suppose you want to know why I needed to talk to you." I nodded. "In some ways, admitting to being a dominant or a pervert would be easier than what I need to tell you." I watched as he blushed, his awkwardness and embarrassment on show. I leaned in closer for privacy. "You're the first woman since Charlotte," he said. I was surprised but puzzled.

  "So you've had a bit of a dry spell. Why is that such an issue?"

  "The last few years we were together, we didn't. I mean, I couldn't."

  I caught on. "Have you seen a doctor?"

  He nodded. "I had some tests. They said it was psychological. I just…" He struggled for the words. "I needed to tell you first, because if it doesn't happen, I don't want you thinking it's you, because it's not. I don't know if it will happen or not." His eyes were downcast. It had clearly been a difficult thing to admit. My heart went out to him.

  "I have a problem too," I confided, "I have scars, from the accident. I'd worry that the scars would put you off."

  "Why would scars put me off?" He sounded incredulous. I shrugged.

  "Some people are funny about things like that I guess. I have a really bad one on my right leg, one on my stomach, and skin graft scars on my bum."

  "I'd be so busy staring at your tits I doubt if I'd even notice," he said, a wicked smile playing across his lips.

  Our main course arrived, interrupting the conversation. As the waiter fussed around, pouring the jus, I thought about what he'd told me. When we were alone again, I took a deep breath. "When you say it didn't work, does it work OK when you're alone?" It was the most tactful way I could think of to ask if he could still have a wank. If it was floppy all the time, then there was obviously more going on than he was letting on.

  I watched a blush creep up his neck, which I thought was super-cute. "Yes, it works just fine. The problem seemed to be when I tried to... erm... insert it."