Achilles had promised himself that he wouldn’t engage in carnal acts with any of his victims. It wasn’t that he had any moral objections to prostitution as such, more that he didn’t particularly want to go to bed with a middle-aged stranger, regardless of any financial incentive to do so. He wasn’t a rent-boy, he told himself, he was a con artist. A grifter. And like any other ordinary decent criminal, it was important to uphold certain standards.
His second and third marks had behaved much like his first, so he quickly upped his ask to £2,000, then £5,000. Less than a year in, he’d managed to earn £35,000 in cash. If he continued like this, he figured he could earn enough in ten years to live comfortably for the rest of his life without ever having to work. And all it took was a night or two out every week in a nice bar or restaurant, making small talk with a lonely older man. There were worse ways to make a living, after all.
THE CLOSET DOORS
Afterwards, Elizabeth lay on her bed for a little while, staring at the ceiling, without a single interesting thought passing through her mind, rousing herself only when a knock came on her door. Sitting up, she watched as it slowly opened, and her older brother looked inside.
‘Nelson,’ she said. ‘What’s up?’
‘Actually, I was looking for Dad.’
‘Well, he’s not in here.’
‘Or Mum.’
‘Also absent without leave. They were downstairs an hour ago, if that’s any help.’
‘Well, they’re not there now. And then I knocked on Achilles’ door, but it looks like he’s gone out.’
‘So basically, you’re stuck with me.’
‘Yes. Well, I tried the tortoise, but he gives nothing back.’
She beckoned him forward and made room for him on the bed. ‘I don’t like that tortoise,’ she said, crossing her arms defensively. ‘Do you remember when we were children and we begged Mum and Dad for a dog, and they point blank refused?’
‘I suppose we could get one now that we’re adults.’
‘I’ve lost interest,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I can’t even remember what breed I wanted.’
‘It was a guide dog,’ said Nelson. ‘Achilles offered to poke your eyes out, if it would help.’
‘Oh, that’s right. I liked the little yellow coats they wear. And they’re so well behaved when they’re standing by traffic lights. Imagine, Mum and Dad said no to a guide dog and yet now there’s a reptile living downstairs. It’s ridiculous. Anyway.’ She sighed and glanced across the room at her laptop, wondering whether she’d left her Twitter page open, but the screen had gone into sleep mode. ‘What did you want to talk about?’
‘Dr Oristo,’ he said quietly. ‘She’s retiring.’
‘Is that all?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘I thought it was something serious.’
‘This is serious.’
‘You liked her, then?’
‘I trusted her.’
‘Was she helping you?’
‘I think so.’
‘Did she manage to figure out what’s wrong with you?’
Nelson shrugged. ‘It’s a range of things,’ he explained. ‘Social anxiety. Crippling shyness. Unresolved issues from childhood bullying. Fear of women.’
‘I’m a woman.’
‘You’re my sister. You don’t count. You’re basically invisible to me.’
‘Fair enough. What else?’
‘My inability to interact with others in a normal way. The uniforms.’
‘I didn’t like to say,’ said Elizabeth. ‘But now that you mention it, I see you’ve come dressed as an extra from Holby City. Is this a new career direction or just one of your fancies?’
‘They’re actually very comfortable, you know. I don’t know why more people don’t wear scrubs in daily life. They don’t wrinkle when you wash them.’
‘What are they made of?’ asked Elizabeth, reaching across to feel the material.
‘Polyester.’
‘Good God! I don’t think we’ve ever had any polyester in the house.’
She took a bottle of hand sanitizer from her bedside drawer and applied it liberally to the affected areas. ‘Have you saved anyone’s life while you’ve been wearing them?’
‘No, but a man collapsed at the Tube station and I did my best to help him.’
‘So what are you going to do?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘Find another therapist? We live in London. There must be thousands of them out there. Everyone has been suffering from some form of breakdown since last year.’
‘It took me eighteen months to get used to Dr Oristo,’ replied Nelson, looking miserable. ‘I don’t know if I can go through all that getting-to-know-you stuff again. Building trust and what have you. She gave me the name of one of her colleagues, someone she recommends, but she’s a relatively young woman, and I don’t think I can talk about things like sex with someone her age.’
‘But you don’t have sex, Nelson,’ said Elizabeth. ‘So why would you talk about it? Surely your sessions are just fifty minutes of uncomfortable silences?’
‘It’s because I don’t have sex that I need to talk about it. Dr Oristo says I have a blockage.’
‘So call a plumber.’
‘Aren’t most plumbers men?’
‘Sexist. Anyway, maybe you want to have sex with a man. Have you ever considered that?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I do, but then again, I don’t think I want to have sex with a woman either. I just feel as if I’m supposed to.’
‘There must be someone you fancy.’
‘I will admit that,’ said Nelson, ‘on occasion, I am drawn to someone.’
‘Who?’
‘Princess Anne.’
Elizabeth blinked. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Anyone else?’
‘I liked one of the contestants from this year’s Bake Off.’
‘Which one?’
‘I can’t remember her name.’
‘But it was definitely a her?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Is it always a her?’
Nelson blushed a little. ‘Well, not always,’ he admitted.
‘Go on, then. Confess.’
‘You won’t tell anyone?’
‘I can’t promise that. I mean, if it’s funny, then Achilles will have to know.’
‘Do you remember that guy Mum was paired with on Strictly?’
‘Oh God, yes,’ said Elizabeth enthusiastically. ‘Pylyp. He was gorgeous. As it happens, I had a little go on him myself.’
‘You did?’
‘Yes. I didn’t go back for seconds. He was a bit self-involved.’
‘Gosh,’ said Nelson, uncertain how to take this, for, while he was still technically a virgin, he did have one sexual escapade to his name, when Pylyp had invited him to fellate him backstage at a Strictly rehearsal and he’d decided to give it a go.
‘So that’s it – Princess Anne, some random girl from Bake Off and Pylyp.’