by Donna Alam
‘Why, were you planning on kicking me in the shins?’
‘Very funny, habibti.’
‘And they say romance is dead,’ I reply with a sigh.
‘For me, it wasn’t about romance at that point. I was just desperate to fuck you.’ His voice is all animal and growly, the pertinent word now throbbing between my legs. In a change of tone, he adds quietly. ‘Seems like a lifetime ago. Someone I was in another life. In the suite,’—he uses that tone again, the one that turns me to mush—‘I turned you against the sofa back. Do you remember?’
Not wanting to interrupt and lost in my own memories, I murmur softly that I do.
‘Your hands in mine, I felt your body stiffen against me. You were perhaps concerned?’ I remember I was. Concerned, turned on, and hanging on to my sanity by a thread. ‘The irony was, my hands were trembling badly, something that hadn’t happened in such a long time. I turned you so you couldn’t see my fingers. I turned you so you couldn’t see my need.’
‘What was I wearing?’ I ask quickly, not wanting him to stop, needing to hear how much he wanted me.
‘Are you trying to catch me out?’
‘Maybe. Or maybe I just want to hear the story from your point of view.’
‘As I recall, by that point you weren’t wearing very much at all. Delicious black lace underwear with the delicacy of an insect’s wings. That was all coming between me and your skin.’
The line goes quiet, each of us revelling in our own memories; the things that were to come.
No, not like that.
Okay. Maybe just a little bit.
And then I’m reminded of something I’ve pondered since Kai left.
‘What have you done with them?’
‘With what?’ he replies, all innocent.
‘My insect wings—I mean my knickers.’
‘I’m not sure what you mean, sweetheart—oh, wait. Of course I do.’ He sounds very pleased with himself. ‘Your underwear from our first evening? The same ones you wore our last fuck?’ His voice is a little rougher now. ‘The ones covered in your come?’
‘I—I—’ I can’t answer, his words tying my tongue in ribbon-like knots.
‘I brought them with me,’ he purrs seductively. ‘I’m afraid they’re looking a little worse for wear now.’
‘Have you been wearing them?’ I ask, my words ending in a tiny squeak. God, that’s so dirty. That’s so . . . hot. Before I’ve even finished that thought, his barking laughter transports me back to the phone.
‘No, not wearing them. Using them . . . maybe.’
‘Tell me,’ I demand.
‘Maybe I’ll show you instead. Our next call.’
Fuck a duck and do it quick!
‘How did the conversation jump from kittens to this?’ he asks, his admiration clear. I bite my tongue from saying not on purpose, mate. ‘Did you have something you wanted to say?’
‘Nothing,’ I answer with a rueful half-smile. Nothing worth spoiling this conversation, anyway.
‘Is it that you don’t like the cat?’
I sigh deeply, rubbing the heel of my palm against my eye.
‘Just, that day in the hotel. You remember?’ He says that he does. ‘Niamh called me kitty-kat, and you asked why. I said—’
‘Because you don’t like cats!’
‘They freak me out,’ I say quietly.
‘How did I not remember?’ he asks, aghast. ‘You said you’re frightened of them?’ He sounds just a little incredulous.
‘Yeah, and you said a little pussy never hurt anyone.’
‘Did I?’ He laughs. ‘Well, I can’t say I disagree. Shall I ask Rashid to deal with it? The cat, I mean?’
‘Oh, it’s an it now, not a she?’ Can’t say I feel very comfortable with where this is going.
‘He’ll just take her back to the breeder.’
‘Yeah, well, she’s here now. Just have to get used to each other, I suppose.’
Remember, Katherine, always receive gifts graciously, echoes my mother’s voice.
‘You’re sure?’
‘So long as I haven’t got to do any of the clean-up.’
‘Heaven forfend. Darling, that’s why we have staff.’
I sense now is not the time to complain about said staff. Besides, where would I start? I slide that thought away with the other topics I’m avoiding today.
‘If Martha can’t manage, by all means, ask Rashid to take you to a maid agency. Pick one.’
‘Shut the front door!’
‘What?’
‘You did not just say that.’
‘We’ll need a larger staff eventually, so go choose.’
‘They’re people, not pick and mix!’
He laughs loudly while I frown. Sometimes I think I’ll never get used to living here.
‘My apologies,’ he says in a more sober tone, before inhaling theatrically. ‘Sweetheart, if you need to hire a new domestic engineer, in view of our new addition, please do so.’
‘That’s marginally better,’ I mumble, as a phone rings in the background. ‘Do you need to get that?’
Kai excuses himself for a second, and I hear him thank whoever is on the end of the other line while I’m still stuck on maids.
Yes, I’d like a maid for my kitten. Oh, you only have goldfish nannies available? What a shame.
‘My driver is here.’
‘What? Oh.’ I sigh. ‘Things to see, people to do?’
‘Not a bit of it. I’ve only one person who falls under the doing category, and fair warning, when I get back in eight days, she’d better not have any plans.’
‘Eight days?’ Somehow, this comes out in a purr, which is preferable to a squeak I suppose, and my heart thumps loudly, just once. ‘The advantages of being unemployed mean exactly that.’ Eight days! Ladies and gentlemen, I have a countdown!
‘Just the way I like it. Barefoot. Naked. Chained to my bed.’
‘Easy there, Kathy Bates.’
‘Who?’
‘Man, you need to watch more TV.’
‘I’d rather spend time with you.’
‘The feeling’s mutual,’ I whisper.
‘I like mutual,’ he sort of whisper-growls back.
‘Mutual’s great. Much better than going it alone.’ Feck, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
‘Going it alone? Is that what we’re calling it now? Tell me, how does that work, little girl?’
Despite his gravelly tone, my cheeks heat at his endearment, but I feel that’s what he wants; my discomfort and embarrassment.
‘Well,’ I answer deliberately breathy. ‘Sex is much faster when you’re not around.’
Kai’s barking laugh reverberates down the line. ‘I’ll have to see if I can do something about that.’
‘Now?’ My god, how desperate that one word sounds.
‘Would that I could. I’m already late for a function, but next time, I promise.’
Disappointed, I murmur my farewell as he does the same, but right before I hang-up, he asks me to wait.
‘Darling, enjoy your date night for one.’ Hmph. ‘Please be sure to practise safe sex. You don’t want to chip a tooth.’
And with that, he ends his call.
I’m not feeling as loved-up when I walked into the bedroom in the evening to find the cat has left a little calling card on the bed.
On my side.
On my pillow.
For a moment, I consider this as Martha’s doing. Not that I think she’d shat . . . that. But maybe she’d relocated something nasty from the litter tray. I decide that’s not a very sane thought. Besides, that particular pile of mess is . . . messy.
For another moment, a very evil feeling moment, I consider leaving it for Martha to clean. I mean, that’s her job, right? Cleaning and shit. Shit and cleaning? I’m sure that’s what Kai would do. Heaven forfend, darling. Get another maid.
However, my conscience won’t let me leave this for the elderly Martha, no matter what Ka
i would say.
Damn conscientious conscience.
Lifting the pillow, I carry it at arm’s length to the bathroom, using tissue to try to scrape the . . . deposit from the pillow and into the pot. All the while, breathing through my nose and trying not to retch.
Laundry room. I strip the bed and drag the mass of bedding up the next flight of stairs to said room. Yep, the laundry room is at the top of the house. The stairwell isn’t air-conditioned, and by the time I’ve reached the top, sweat is pouring from my brow. And to make matters worse, someone has switched off the air-conditioning in the room. Even though it’s dark, the room is hot—hotter than the furnaces of hell. And why the fuck hasn’t Martha shown up? Usually, I only have to step foot in any room she considers to be her domain, and she appears. Like a malevolent ghoul, making its freezing presence felt.
Oh. God, this stinks. I’m so gonna heave.
And then think, did I feed the little fuzz-ball strawberry yoghurt?
Labneh no good for the kitteh.
This could be karma. Or it could be Martha.
I know which I’d put my money on.
Chapter Nineteen
Readjusting my wilted ponytail, I knock on the door again.
‘Come on, Niamh, I know you’re in there. I just heard you cursing St . . . erm . . . Felix!’
I haven’t, of course. Just winding her up. Besides, St. Felix is Patron Saint of lost cats, as I recall, and therefore not much use to her, because she, the lucky git, doesn’t have one. He’s the saint I wouldn’t be praying to if that malevolent fur ball buggered off, for sure.
It takes her a while before I hear her on the other side of the door, but maybe I’ve caught her in the middle of something?
‘Kate!’ The door swings wide to a wild-eyed Niamh. ‘What are y’doing here?’
‘Do I need an appointment to visit these days?’ I grumble, pushing past her. ‘Put the kettle on, would you? I’m parched.’
‘Thing is, I’m a bit, erm, busy.’
I spin on my heel. ‘Doing what?’
‘I’ve tonnes of prep to do for school next week and I was just off to the, to the . . . stationers. Yep, the stationers.’
‘In your dressing gown?’
‘I—I was in the middle of getting dressed.’ Her eyes flick to the door of her bedroom. ‘When you knocked, that is.’
‘Okay,’ I reply sceptically, because in addition to her dressing gown, her make-up looks, shall we say, less than freshly applied. Not to mention her hair looks like a mad woman’s breakfast. ‘I’ll put the kettle on myself, then. And I’ll come sit on your bed and you can listen to me whinge while you dress.’
‘No!’ she yells as my butt half rises from the chair I’ve just lowered it into. ‘No,’ she repeats less frantically, but still adamant. ‘You stay there. I’ll, er, put it on now.’
‘O-kay.’ I slowly lower myself back, wondering what, or who, lit the fuse on her tampon today.
‘What was it you wanted to chat about?’ She calls from her open plan kitchen, flicking on the kettle and dragging two cups out. She adds teabags to the cups before taking them out again, reaching for a jar of instant coffee. Watching her make this brew is a bit like watching a possum use a fork.
‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘What?’ she calls back, her eyes flicking across the room to her bedroom door again. ‘Go on then, chat.’
‘I’m bored.’ Seven days left; only seven more days!
‘That’s understandable, especially when you’re used to being at work all day.’
‘In fact, I’m so bored,’ I continue, ‘I think I’m boring the tits off myself.’ Hooking a finger into my T-shirt, I peer down my shirt.
‘Well, babes, it’s understandable.’
‘It is?’ I was more expecting a boob comment there. Is that . . . sympathy? The Niamh I know doesn’t usually tell me what I want to hear. She tells me the truth. I was expecting more of a pull your head out of your arse kind of conversation and have her point out how lucky I am. Maybe list all the useful things I could do until my visa is fixed. In short, I’ve popped in for one of her aggressive pep talks.
‘Sure, you’re just going through a period of readjustment, that’s all.’
‘I’m also going through a period of allergies.’
‘Pollen?’
‘Nope. Cat. I’m now the not-so-enthused owner of a kitten.’
‘A cat? Is it a stray? You didn’t find it in a back street, did you? ‘Cos you know, those things are usually full of diseases.’
‘Nah. Persian. Full pedigree and as fuzzy as fuck.’
‘What? Where’d you get it from? Kai?’
‘Yup.’ I pop the p, wondering for the millionth time what the hell possessed him. ‘It doesn’t help that my other pussy’s due a period of, well, period. And I’m as cranky as, well, you.’
‘I didn’t like to say, but your pants are looking a bit tight there, babe.’
‘Ouch! Why in Christ’s name did I come here again?’
‘ ‘Cos you’re bored?’
‘And fat?’
‘It’s called water retention. Jeeze, chill out.’
I pull the fabric of my pants, mumbling, ‘My thighs of thunder are too wild for these jeans.’ As I continue to worry the fabric, I’m unsure if I should ignore the small sounds coming from behind her bedroom door, or be an impolite guest and ask.
‘Niamh?’ Impolite it is, then.
‘Ah, babes, that’s cute,’ she says coming back into the room and handing me a teacup. Not a mug.
‘Were you even listening? What’s cute about menstruation bloating? And is coffee rationed around here now?’
‘Drink up. I told you I’m busy,’ she says, pushing her hand into the pocket of her robe and shoving a choccy bickie into my other hand. Seems she was listening. It is the best time of the month for chocolate. ‘I meant kittens are cute.’
‘Until they shit on your bed, they are.’ Muffled noises definitely travel from the bedroom his time. ‘Have you got someone in there?’ I gesture with my head because, you know, hands full. ‘Maintenance man? Man-man? You got lucky last night, didn’t you, you dirty bird!’
‘Don’t be an arse,’ she says quickly. ‘I didn’t go out. Tell me about this cat.’
‘It’s a cat. What is there to say? Furry. It’s got an arsehole and teeth. And I think I might kark it, between Martha and Satan’s pet.’ Niamh pulls a confused face. ‘I think she and the cat are in cahoots and plotting my imminent demise.’ I bite the corner of the biscuit, albeit a little aggressively. Cutting down on carbs has maybe made me a bit rabid.
‘The maid, right?’
‘The head of the household, you mean. Christ, it’s no wonder he was living in a hotel. I’d rather live under a bridge than be around her.’
‘You’d end up smelling like a hobo’s scrote.’
‘I’d rather smell like a derro’s scrotum than live with her.’
‘You’re such a drama queen.’
‘Me? You’re the one swanning around in your dressing gown in the middle of the day! Are you even listening? I think the woman’s trying to end me.’
‘Don’t be daft. You’ve just shacked up with her boy, is all.’
I don’t answer her, just glower.
‘What’s its name, this cat?’
‘Butt-hole. But if Kai asks, Batool,’ I add quickly.
She laughs, and tells me I’m cruel, so I flip her the bird around my cup, complaining that she doesn’t understand.
‘Yeah, swanning around doing lunch every day must be terrible.’
‘Honestly, I may as well be talking to my arse,’ I grumble. ‘Everyone. Is. At. Work. Am I supposed to go for lunch alone? Take a book?’
‘Not the books you read these days. You’ll get done for public indecency. Don’t pull that face. You’ll be sorted soon. So, other than being a bit bored, how’s married life treating you?’
‘I’m supposed to be euphoric,’ I mumble,
repeating my favourite line from my fav movie, Muriel’s Wedding. I lie, because my favourite line has to be Chuck couldn’t come. Glad Kai doesn’t have any of the same issues.
‘And you aren’t?’ she asks with a developing frown.
‘Haven’t you been listening?’ Clearly not, as her gaze returns to the door. ‘Pay attention. I’m bored out of my box. I haven’t got a job and I miss my man!’ I take a sip from my watery coffee, hiding my smile. ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if Kai was around.’ It’d be bloody amazing, if those few days we had in Australia were anything to go by, but I don’t want to gloat. I also don’t want to burn my tongue . . . ouch. ‘But at the minute, I’ve got nothin’ going on. Nothing to do all day when everyone else has work. I was so bored the other day, I even rang Sadia just for a chat.’
‘Wasn’t that your classroom assistant? I thought her English was shite?’
‘Don’t say was. I’ll be going back.’ Hopefully the person they’ve employed is terrible, and they’ll be desperate for my return. ‘And yes, her English leaves a lot to—Okay . . .’ I respond to her look. ‘Her English is crap. It was hard going, I tell you. I just wanted to ask how she was getting along and I happened to say I was bored shitless. She offered to send me a recipe for a homemade laxative.’ Niamh laughs loudly. ‘Can I come and help out in your class? Please? I’ll be heaps helpful, and an extra pair of hands is always useful, right?’ It’s a risk; two teachers in one classroom isn’t always a recipe for harmony, but I’m desperate. ‘I’ll do as I’m told. Promise.’
Niamh’s laughter stops, her expression firm and decisive. ‘Ah, y’need this visa issue sorted. Who knows what issues even working voluntarily might cause.’
‘I know,’ I say with a dramatic sigh. It was a long shot. ‘God, I’m so—’
‘Yeah, you might’ve said once or twice. I know, let’s plan a night on the lash!’ she adds.
‘Lash?’
‘A night out. A drink or thirteen.’
‘That’d make me comatose. Dunno about lashed, but I’d need lashing to a post to keep me upright drinking that much.’
It’s at this point there’s a noise from the bedroom that sounds like a muffled squeal. Maybe crossed with a cough. And added to the strange soundtrack is something suspiciously like a bit of headboard banging.
