by Karen Botha
I note with a hint of surprise that she’s ready before me when I’ve finished. I don’t think I was particularly slow, but she’s there and has most certainly showered. Her hair is damp where she’s rough dried it and she’s wearing not a shred of makeup. Her face is still pink from the exercise and no doubt the steam from the water that recently rushed over her naked body. I pause, standing back, hoping she doesn’t notice me.
So natural.
But then I notice the others. The largely unshowered class emanate a collective odour as I approach. When I’d planned drinks after the session, this was not my expectation. She’s telling Ben how much she loved the class, but how she’s not a member, she came with me on a guest pass. He’s encouraging her to join.
‘No, I can’t right now. Work has slowed since Brexit, so I have to reduce my outgoings, not increase my spending.’
‘Ah, but if you buy your membership, it will stop you going out drinking and so you’ll end up saving money.’ Ben tries.
She smiles - a polite smile, ‘Nice try, but I’m already turning work away that I should be taking to come here tonight.’
I take the opportunity to bust in on their chat and dump my bag. ‘Do you want a drink Lucy?’
‘Ah, I got one thanks, and here’s yours.’ She points to two large glasses of white wine on the table.
I take a seat and a sip, tapping her arm in thanks. She winks. The wine is typically awful, but it’s not about the quality. It’s not often anyone buys for me.
‘So, you enjoyed tonight?’ I ask.
‘Yeah it felt good, to be able to burn off frustrations. How about you?’
I avoid answering as it certainly did not feel good. ‘What do you have to be frustrated about?’
‘Ah, nothing much, just stuff that happened in the past. A residual anger I didn’t realise I’m still harbouring until tonight.’
‘Ah well, glad I could be of help.’ I bow at her. She beams and my heart flip-flops.
‘How about you, what frustrations did you get rid of tonight?’
I avoid telling her my frustrations cannot be helped through boxing and then a realisation hits me. I haven’t thought about work, and more specifically Graham, for at least an hour.
‘Only work stuff. The financial irregularities I mentioned the other day?’
‘Oh yeah.’
‘Well, I started dealing with that today and Graham’s response shocked me, I won't lie. He was terribly stressed when I showed him what I needed him to investigate. I’m guessing he’s messed up big time.’
‘Oh dear, what does that mean for you?’
‘I’m not sure yet. I’ll have to see what he says tomorrow - I’m meeting him first thing.’
‘Won’t it affect your ability to sell if he’s dropped a clanger?’
‘Yeah, it could, in theory. His reaction bothered me. He definitely had that sinking feeling you get when you’ve dropped a ball.’
‘And there you were thinking that it would all be nice and explainable.’
‘Yeah! If he has, I need to work out how I’m going to tell Hana. I don't want to reveal at this stage that I’m thinking of getting out of the game. I need to make my own decisions in my own time.’
She puts a hand briefly on my arm, squeezing before dropping it back into her lap.
‘So, enough of business. Let’s get back onto the important stuff. Let me buy you another drink?’
‘Haha, why not!’ And so, I head to purchase drinks, frustrated with myself for allowing Graham’s incompetence to eat into a wonderful night. I have tomorrow to work through this; tonight is about... well, what is tonight about?
Paula
I close the file with more of a slap on the desk than I’d meant.
Mohammed or Mo, is my ex-colleague and he is doing his absolute best to support my burgeoning new career. He tips his head and scratches his chin under his beard, ‘What's wrong Paula?’
‘Ah nothing, I’m just fed up of getting the cheaters. Nothing important.’
‘Hey, being a private detective isn’t about the glam jobs, the adultery cases pay the money. Plus, you’re still investigating a cheater within a murder case. If he’s been screwing around on her, our case is stronger. You know that. It’s not simply a jealous wife asking you to follow these guys ‘round; it’s Scotland Yard.’
I hold my hands up, ‘Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry. And please don’t think I’m ungrateful. It’s just that since leaving the council, this is pretty much all I’ve had. There's no variety.’
‘But you're well aware how much infidelity can affect murder cases, Paula. You’ll be doing a lot more of these before it’s time for your retirement drink.’
‘It’s better than the council, that’s for sure. Not that there was anything wrong with working there, but I'm more vindicated now, like I’m doing more good for the human race.’
‘Exactly. But are you sure that’s all? You seem distracted.’
‘No, I’m good. Well, I think Lucy may have found a new man…’
‘Ah, now that makes more sense. Bringing back old memories?’
‘Yeah, I can’t help it. He’s nice, really nice. But it takes you back. I liked Giles in the end.’
‘I know, me too.’
I study around the familiar room, at the old bashed in tables, the desks outside the glass partitioning where we sat with Giles, and expel a long sigh. I enjoy the tightness as my lungs push out every last particle of air and then suck oxygen in through my widened nostrils. Mo sits back in his chair opposite me, observing.
‘Shall I dig into this new chap on the Q.T. - make sure there’s no nasty surprises coming our way? It wouldn’t take much.’
‘No, it’s OK. I could do some rummaging myself if I wanted. Actually, who am I kidding, of course I’d like to. But, I don’t want to travel down the same path as with Giles. Adam looks like strong boyfriend material. I have to stay out of it.’
‘Wow, a new leaf for you!’ Mo grins and punches my arm. The mood lightens, and I pack up my belongings.
Steve, my mega secret ex and Mo’s superior officer, pokes his head round the door. ‘We’re off to the pub if you fancy joining us?’
I answer before I’ve thought it through, ‘Perfect timing, we’re almost done here. You up for it Mo?’ No sooner are the words out of my mouth and my heart races. What will Andy think? Should I tell him I’m out with my ex? Does it matter anymore? It’s been years now anyway, and we are working together again.
‘Sure, give me ten minutes to finish up here,’ Mo replies.
Steve holds up his hands and retreats to his transparent office without a further word, but displaying a wide grin.
I head to the regular watering hole of my buddies and sit at the bar whilst I wait to be served. I need to flash no more than a smile to order my usual glass of white wine - the bar-tender has been in residence longer than our group of regulars. I retreat to a corner. My brain is a mush with jagged thoughts colliding, ricocheting off the inside of my skull. I sip the bitter liquid.
Working with the police again is wonderful. The break from the pressure helped me fall in love with it again, but I also cherish the freedom being their Private Investigator brings me. It’s weird being here with the old crowd but in a different capacity. Like getting promoted, the rules change, but you’re the same person in the same environment.
Steve doles work out to me now, but I’m not beholden to him. So, why does he still possess me? I’m reluctant to admit the obvious. I have Andy at home, a loving man who would give his world for me. Why is my heart racing for a fling gone bad? A fling gone so bad it resulted in me exiting my career?
Right on cue, Steve launches the heavy wooden doors open and strides up to the bar for a drink. I take in his dark blonde, close-cropped hair, his firm jaw, and taught stomach. His back is to me, so I can’t see the intense blue of his eyes which always sparkle with his sense of mischief. My temperature lifts and I help myself to another gulp of wine. He turns.
‘Ah, there you are.’ I’m still staring at him, but he doesn’t flinch. ‘You want another one?’
‘Sure.’
He orders and walks over, his pint in his left hand. My glass appears delicate against the strong fingers of his other. I remember how those fingers could send my body into spasms.
‘Thanks,’ I say as he hands it to me. Our fingers graze for the most fleeting of seconds. It freezes time as electricity rushes from the butterflies in my stomach to blast my groin with sexual wanting, my head with charged emotions. Memories of a time not yet far past enough to be forgotten, by my head nor my body. A time of wanton abandonment when this man fulfilled my every sexual fantasy, and more.
Together we release the glass onto the table in front of us and he takes a stool opposite me. My head rushes with a flood of oxygen, we stare at one another for a few seconds. I blow breath on my top lip which is starting to turn sticky with the heat. He senses it too, the air between us is strained. My mouth is dry, I sip my wine, not breaking eye contact. Not daring to incase this moment ceases, that bond between us then forever lost.
‘How are you?’ His voice is husky.
‘Great, thanks. You?’
‘Yeah, good.’
The brittle silence hangs once more. I smile, glow as his lips curl upwards in response. Remember the times they met mine, the way he conveyed his longing for me with one gentle caress of his tongue against mine. The deep throated longing that needed no words, actions alone enough to satisfy all conversation. I should ask how his young family is, but instead I hear myself enquire, ‘What have you been up to?’
He nods, accepting his role in my game of normalcy. ‘Oh, not much out of the ordinary, work takes over, you know...’ He alludes to my history as a detective on the murder squad he heads up.
‘Yeah, hopefully I’ve found the best of both worlds now. Being a P.I. still allows me to bury my head in an investigation, but at my work rate.’
‘I was hoping you’d come back properly, work with us again.’
I feel like he’s hit me with a sledgehammer. I run my fingers round the top of my glass, continue the platitudes. ‘Yeah, Mo said the door is open. But, being a P.I. is better for me.’
His blue eyes pierce my skin and my temperature raises further. ‘Traipsing around being a P.I. isn’t better, it's a cop out. And you know it. At least you’re not babysitting waste disposal anymore.’
I grin, biting down my flippant response of not having to deal with him anymore. ‘It was not waste disposal! I was in charge of restraining fly tipping activity, which is something else entirely. I still went to court and had cases to manage. But yes, I accept, it didn’t suit me as much as a good murder. But that’s why I’m doing this now. Shame I’m specialising in the infidels at the moment, but I’ll hang in there for some juicier cases.’
He ignores my veiled dig at him. ‘Sounds like waste disposal to me.’ I should be irritated by the way he belittles my life choices, particularly because he forced those decisions. But I’m not. A gurgle rises up my belly and escapes my mouth. It’s an odd kind of laugh, not my usual.
‘What was that?’ he teases me further. I suppress the urge to hurl myself at him, to straddle his lap and feel his hardness for me through his trousers pulled taut as he sits, wide legged on the stool. Oh, I remember how good his strong arms felt wrapped around my waist stretching up my back and holding me safe in an array of vertical gymnastics. I’m wet now and sitting across from him with less than a glass of wine inside me, I remember how he felt, sweeping against my sweet spot, his rhythms varying according to the day we’d had.
I’d love to mount him, naked from my waist down, pushing the balls of my feet off the floor in time to his hips thrusting deep into me. For him to lower me onto this disgusting bar table sending glasses and fluid crashing as he rips open my top, exposing me briefly before entering me again. I remember the urgency of his touch, feel him grasping at every piece of my exposed flesh as I swell, my autonomic invitation for him to possess me once more.
He has no idea of the direction my imagination has taken and I cover it with a continuation of our inane conversation. ‘I’ve no idea.’ This time a proper laugh bursts free and he joins in. Our eyes lock and sparkle as one. I break eye contact to locate my booze, lifting it to my lips.
Mo breezes in with a few of the other guys. He settles and glances around, sees me, waves lightly, and walks to the bar. After a few moments, he joins me with yet another sauvignon blanc.
‘Guess it’s going to be one of those nights,’ I smile, gesturing to the already full glass waiting for my attention.
‘I guess so.’ Mo grins back at me, pulling out a stool between Steve and I. Conversation falters whilst we readjust to a new person in the group. Mo breaks the awkwardness. ‘So, how is Lucy?’
I go onto explain how she’s doing well, and about our trip out to the casino the other evening with Adam.
‘Wow! He sounds like he’s got it all!’ Mo lifts his drink in a ‘cheers’ salute.
‘He does, it’s just that nagging doubt, but…’
‘Oh Paula, not this again. Surely one bad apple is enough. What does your gut say about this Adam?’ It’s Steve. Ever the detective, he’s not freaked out by history. He’s of the ilk that life is for living and you leave the past exactly there. It maybe my imagination, but he doesn't seem to be leaving me in the past. Unless I'm flattering myself.
I refocus on the here and now. ‘He appears to be genuine I haven’t picked up anything off about him yet. I guess I’m a teeny bit scarred, it's nothing I won't get over.If Lucy can, I'm sure I'll manage!’
‘Is Lucy happy with him?’ Mo asks.
‘I think so. It’s so clear that they’re falling madly for each other, but she’s insistent they’re just friends.’
‘Ah well, she’ll process it if it’s right. She’s been through a lot,’ Mo replies.
I nod, my mind wandering back to the call I received from Lucy. It was the afternoon her and Giles picked up her engagement ring - the consequential fallout affected several lives that had until then been taking a very different course.
‘Giles had us all conned eventually,’ Steve agrees. ‘Every one of us believed he was a good guy.’
‘Yeah, thankfully it wasn’t only me that he had over.’ I wipe a sticky ring on the table top. The varnish is soft from years of spilt liquid sugar.
‘It shows you should always follow your gut, Paula.’ Mo says. I nod. Life has demonstrated time and again that there is no substitute for instinct.
Graham
I’m hoping to catch up with Hana at the Hunger Games fundraiser today. It has a double meaning, as it’s raising money for two charities. The homeless one is Adams' choice. He prefers to support everyone struggling for a home rather than only children. Hana being from Hungary originally, has chosen one for Women’s Career Development over there. Personally, I love the tax implications of charity work, so I’m fully supportive, although I am hoping to hang around in the shelter of the teepee for as much of the contest as I can muster.
I’m determined not to be impressed with the event. We had to wait until winter so that the ground was muddy enough for the Tarzan style rope swing to have sufficient mud to get across in the obstacle course. Personally, I’d have gone ahead without it, but Adam was stubborn. And so, here we are in a field in November! Thank goodness the archery contest is undercover. I’m planning on making that my base.
I enter the reception tent - wow, it’s amazing. Log fires are already burning and it's toasty warm. Even whilst empty, the space has a terrific atmosphere as people hum around setting up tables. I spot Hana; she’s engaged in conversation with some woman with a clip board. I assume she must be the event organiser to whom we paid a small fortune. No deals because we’re raising money for charity from that supplier!
I wave. ‘Hana, hi.’ She spins around on one black trainer. Her laces are embroidered with sparkles and her dark fitted outfit although casua
l and not my style, highlights the curves of her slim figure. Hugging all the right places, my mouth waters. I suck in the result of too many late-night brandies in my study.
‘Oh, hi Graham, you’re here. I’ll be with you in one second, I’m finishing up,’ she says.
I smile and nod, loitering behind where she’s chatting. She turns back to me, ‘Graham go and check the Feats of Strength competition area out. I’ll meet you over there. It’s fantastic!’ She points in a general direction out of the tent.
Back outside, I am less dazzled by this tournament. My suit trousers are dragging in the mud and these brogues are already ruined. I hug my raincoat around me, wishing I’d thought to put on my woollen overcoat. Today promises to be a nightmare. I wonder if I can sneak away once this gets going, then return for the evening? Will I even be missed? Of course I will, I remind myself I’m an important cog in the wheel of the Bright Nights casino enterprise.
The Feats of Strength turns out to be a rope on a sodden scrap of grass. How this is fantastic, I have no idea. If I were a gambling man, about which there could be some debate, I’d say there won’t be much turf left at the end of today. I’d better not have the property owner on the phone asking for more cash because we ruined his field.
There’s a rumble and I turn. Adam is here in his new 4x4. Only a Mercedes Maybach G, one of the first in the country. I seethe. He drove it into work, showed it to Hana and myself. He was cooing all over the bloody thing: heated cup holders, retractable roof and hot stone massages in the seating. Over the top if you ask me, he had to order it years in advance. More money than sense, nigh on £500k. No, I’m happy with my Bentley.
He hops out and as he’s walking round, two other doors open. Who’s this? Two women get out. All three are wearing casual attire, the one is donned in black leggings and top which is incredibly laid back for a corporate event, even an outdoor one. The other is carrying a buff envelope stuffed with something impossible to identify, and a manila file. I’ve never seen these two before. I wander over.
