‘Of course not,’ Mel shot back.
‘You see her every day. You must have got to know her.’
‘In a way.’
‘So, did you mention me?’
‘I don’t recall.’ As she spoke it came to her. The Attendance Note. Accessing Mel’s computer. Natasha’s inevitable trawl around Mel’s otherwise uninteresting cyberworld. There were one or two messages no lover should put on email. Mel knew her instincts had been right. For no good reason she added, ‘She didn’t get the tenancy.’
He said, ‘I don’t give a fuck whether she got the tenancy or not.’
A pause. She knew what he was thinking, the words he wouldn’t say because to speak that thought would blow the two of them apart. ‘But you give a fuck if she wrecks your marriage.’
She wouldn’t tell him about the likelihood of Natasha accessing her emails. He would freak. ‘She and I we went for a drink. A few weeks ago. I don’t remember exactly when. She told me she was at North Bank. I may have mentioned you. What does it matter now, anyway? It’s not like she says much. Nothing she shouldn’t know.’
‘But why tell me?’
‘She probably wants an excuse to write to you. Maybe she fancies you.’
‘She doesn’t.’ She refrained from asking how he knew. ‘I hope she doesn’t cause trouble.’
Of course she would cause trouble. It was what Natasha did. Why they couldn’t offer her a tenancy. She was about to speak, about to tell him that Natasha had nothing to gain from wrecking his marriage when the door flew open. Georgie and Jess burst in, deep in conversation.
Mel pointed to her phone, Georgie uttered a loud, ‘Oops,’ and Mel walked out into the corridor.
‘Sorry, Paul. Too much racket here.’
‘Are we going to meet?’ he said.
‘I don’t know.’
He’d been absent when she needed him, when she’d been sitting in the dark on a wet pavement, and when she’d been lying awake in the small hours, worrying about her son’s wound. Did he think of her as he boarded the plane to New York with his family? Did she exist for him outside the bubble of their private world?
‘I’m free now,’ he said.
His low voice stirred her as it always had.
‘Let me ring Jacob,’ she said. ‘He’s been in a bit of trouble lately.’
‘What sort of trouble?’ he sounded genuinely concerned. Might she speak to Paul, pour out everything, share her untold fears?
‘I’ll tell you later.’
There was no reply from Jacob’s phone. Nor from the landline in the flat. It was two p.m. He had been asleep when she left, but she remembered he was going into the sixth form college to speak to staff about next year’s A level options. She left a message telling him she’d be back by six. She called Paul again.
‘I can’t get through to Jacob. He’ll be at the college.’
Jess from emerged from the room into the corridor, raising her eyebrows in interrogation and making drinking gestures as she walked past Mel towards the tiny kitchen. It crossed Mel’s mind that she hadn’t talked to any of her colleagues since the tenancy meeting. She flashed Jess a quick smile as she shook her head and moved further down the corridor where no one could hear her.
‘Where do you want to meet?’
What would he suggest? Last time it had been a coffee bar, echoing with the clatter of cups, strident voices and background disco.
‘Can you come to my office?’
‘Your office?’ She remembered the tumbling boxes, the frantic contortions as they copulated half-standing, half-sitting, against the thin partition wall. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘If you’d rather not, that’s OK. We could meet in a pub.’
She wanted him. She looked down the now empty corridor and a voice emerged. Her own, shocking, surprising.
‘What about the Premier Inn?’
Chapter Seventeen
Mel
His curly grey hair was inches away on the pillow and she could hear his soft breath mingling with the hum of the air conditioning. He moaned, turning to face her, flopping an outstretched arm across her breast. After their lovemaking he had, unusually for him, drifted into sleep and now she watched him, studying his fine, angular face. Despite the name, he didn’t look Jewish. He had once told her he took after his Irish Catholic mother, with her long straight nose and the hint, now more than a hint, of bags beneath his green-brown eyes. The shadow of stubble on his cheek touched some unmet need in her and she leant over and kissed him. He stirred and mumbled something incomprehensible.
She looked away to the room around her. The walls were off-white, punctuated with neutral flower prints, the closed curtains a plain loose weave that filtered the afternoon light. The air smelt of cleaning fluid and air freshener. Everything was horribly familiar, the television, kettle, sachets of tea and coffee, the tiny fridge and dull wooden furniture. The place had a hard, unbreakable feel. Whatever you threw at it, nothing would change. She turned back to Paul, nuzzling up to his fragile human warmth beneath the bedclothes.
He shifted, letting his hand drift down her body to her thigh. It had been more than a month since they had shared a bed and their first moments had been tense and disjointed. Strangers would have met more easily. But now she waited, unhurried, eyes closed as he emerged from his private dream to launch her on a wave of pleasure. This second time he was gentle, slow, holding back till she was ready.
Afterwards, they lay together in silence in the half-light. Minutes later, she had no idea how many, he said, ‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’
‘For seeing me. For putting up with me.’
She didn’t know how to reply. Then, before she could speak, he said, ‘Do you think she’ll say anything?’
His question was a cold draught from the world outside. He must have sensed her stiffen because he said, ‘Mel, are you OK?’
‘I’m thinking.’
But she had no control over the thoughts that tumbled about her like falling debris. That he could bring her to this hotel, stroke her to ecstasy, then ask the one question that showed where his heart lay. He was a frightened man. She looked again at the face that minutes ago had seemed so appealing. How quickly it could change. The fine lines were strained in apprehension, the eyes freighted with anxiety. He had not asked about Jacob and she had not said anything. That story would remain untold.
But it was she who had suggested the hotel, she who had made her wants so brutally clear. A few minutes ago, she had clung to him in lust. Now she wanted to scream and throw things around this horrible room which had been so perfectly designed to withstand the destructive outburst of a hysterical woman.
She pulled away, stood up and moved to the bathroom, conscious of his eyes following her naked body as she walked. After less than a minute under the hot jet of the shower, she stepped out onto the soft white mat and began to dry herself.
‘Are you all right?’ he called through the open door.
‘Sure, I just need to get back.’ She picked up her things and went back into the bedroom to dress.
He was standing naked by the bed. ‘You’re angry with me,’ he said.