by Mandy Lee
‘Trust me. You don’t.’
‘Well, why don’t you fill me in then?’
‘It’s not for me to give the details. All I can say is this. I’ve known Dan for over twenty years. I know him better than anyone else. And one thing I know for certain is that he’s going to hurt you.’
There’s something about the look in his eyes that’s seriously giving me the willies now.
‘Why would he do that?’
‘Because he can’t help himself.’
While the drinks arrive, I stare into space, past the table, into nothingness.
‘What do you want out of this?’ I hear him ask and I don’t want to answer, because I’ll sound like an idiot. After all, I want what most people want. And for a moment there, I thought I’d found it. ‘Let’s get this out into the open. You want him to say those magic words.’ He takes a sip of whisky. ‘But he’s never going to say them, Maya, because he’s incapable of saying them. You’ll fall for him hook, line and sinker and he’ll break your heart. That will happen, I promise you. But right now, he’s obsessed with you and that’s not a good thing. Believe me. If you’ve got any sense, you’ll get out of it.’
I stare at Clive Watson, and he stares right back at me. He seems pretty honest now, and that nagging doubt is back in my mind. Has he got the hots for me? Is he competing with Dan for me? Is he playing dirty? Or has he really got my best interests at heart? I can hardly believe that he has. All I know for sure is that I’m deflating like a cheap balloon, and I feel sick.
‘I need to go now,’ I whisper. ‘Excuse me.’
Chapter Twenty
I spend the afternoon back at my desk, staring at the jar of sweet peas, turning it around every now and then to admire the delicate flowers. They’re so simple. If only Daniel Foster could be the same. But he’s not. In fact, he’s anything but. I pick a flower out of the jar and hold it in my hand - a pure white bud - and remind myself of his words. ‘Know that you can trust me. No matter what people say.’ Over and over again, I replay the words inside my head, hoping that somehow if I hear them enough, I’ll finally believe them. Eventually, they might even become some sort of talisman, protecting me from the poison. But they don’t. No matter how hard I try, the warnings creep back, refusing to be banished, dragging a whole hoard of questions in their wake. What seemed to be so simple first thing this morning, now seems so bloody complicated. There’s just no way I can begin to untangle the mess in my mind. Not right now. I need to talk to Dan. I need to ask him straight. And he needs to stop being so bloody evasive about his life. Because there’s no way I’m pulling out of this. It’s beyond impossible. It’s far too late for that.
Finally, I’m roused from my trance by the familiar ping of my mobile. It’s Lucy.
Swing by the gallery on the way home. I need a drinky poos and a catch up.
I sigh heavily. She wants to grill me on the Mr Mean and Hot and Moody situation, and right now I really don’t feel like being grilled. She’s bound to pick up on the fact that everything isn’t quite right in the world of Daniel Foster, and that’s going to lead to a heavy duty conversation. But there’s no way that Lucy’s going to settle for a rain check. I’ll just have to grin and bear it. I text my reply.
I’ll walk up. See you about half five.
After work, I make my way along the embankment. I cross to the north side of the river, taking the Golden Jubilee footbridge, weaving through the crowds at Trafalgar Square and heading vaguely towards Soho. Even though I’ve walked these streets before, I’ve never quite managed to sort out my sense of direction when it comes to central London. I’ve got lost a thousand times in this area and today, seeing as I’m in a daze, it’s a miracle that I actually make it to Frith Street at all. I push open the door to Slaters and find Lucy right in front of me.
‘I won’t be long!’ she chirps. ‘Sit down. There’s a glass of wine for you! I’ve got tomorrow off. I’m going to get wasted tonight.’
‘Oh God,’ I groan. This doesn’t bode well. Whenever Lucy announces that she’s going to get wasted, she’s always as good as her word. I was under the impression that this was going to be a civilised drink after work. And now it’s turning into a full-blown session. ‘I’ve got work tomorrow.’
‘Oh, come on. You can do it!’
I nod, watching as Lucy skitters off down the stairs to the basement. I throw my bag onto the floor and flop down onto a sofa. Hearing a ping from my mobile, I take it out of the bag, and open up the message. Somehow, I already know that it’s from Dan.
Missing you.
I stare down at the text, realising that my hand has begun to shake. I should text him back and tell him that I’m missing him too, but my fingers refuse to move. I want to ask him what’s going on. I want to ask him exactly why he’s latched on to me. But this isn’t the time. Letting my shoulders slump, I gaze out of the window, catching sight of an Italian coffee shop across the street and realising that I never got round to translating the barista’s words from earlier. With a few quick flicks of my finger, I’m logged into a translation package, typing in the words: Avete scelto bene. It’s not long before I find myself staring down, open mouthed, at the result: You have chosen well. Fuck. What the hell does that mean? Well, if the Italian barista is a secret member of the BDSM crew, then it can only mean one thing. Dan’s chosen me because he knows that he can manipulate me, because he can lure me into his seedy little world with his lies and make me his next submissive. As if, a voice cries out in my head. This train of thought is ridiculous, woman! Get a grip. I chuck my phone back into the bag, shaking my head as if that’s going to help. Fortunately, before I can dig myself further into a pit of confusion, I’m joined by Little Steve. He throws himself down onto the sofa, helps himself to a glass of wine and frowns.
‘What’s up?’ I ask.
‘Big Steve is pissing me off,’ he says tartly.
‘He’s always pissing you off.’
‘Well, he’s gone too far today. He’s only gone and deleted a load of files on the computer, including the fucking guest list for the exhibition. I’m telling you, Maya. That man’s a complete fucking twat.’
‘But you love him.’
‘Yes,’ he mutters grudgingly. ‘I have no bloody choice, do I?’
He swigs back half the glass of wine in one go and fidgets about in his seat. I hear another ping. Reaching down into my bag, I pull out my phone one more time and open up the message.
No reply? Are you alright?
Little Steve begins to cough deliberately.
‘Are you okay, Steve?’
‘Well, yes. It’s just that …’
‘What?’
‘Lucy tells me you’re involved with Daniel Foster.’
Bloody Lucy and her big mouth. I’m surprised she’s not put a full page advertisement in the Evening Standard by now, informing the whole of London. I hurl my mobile back into the bag.
‘I am, Steve.’ I force a smile.
‘Oh.’
‘Oh? What do you mean oh?’
‘Well.’
‘Come on, Steve. Spit it out.’ A quick check. Yes, the smile’s still there.
‘How serious is it?’
‘I don’t know. It’s early days.’
‘Mmm.’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘Well, he’s fucking gorgeous and all that …’
Picking up my glass, I take a huge mouthful of Pinot Grigio and resign myself to the fact that another warning is on its way.
‘And me and Big Steve have always found him to be most agreeable. But …’
‘What do you mean but?’
‘Well, how to say this? We had him round to our flat once, to a party.’
‘And that’s bad?’
He shakes his head.
‘There was a woman there who’d … you know … been with him.’
‘He’s been with a few women, Steve. I already know that. Look, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m no
t being womanised.’
‘It’s not that.’
I gaze at Steve, waiting for him to whack me around the head with the next brick of information.
‘I just think there’s more to that man than meets the eye.’
Oh great. As if I need any more crap to be flung into the pot. Norman’s worried that I’ll hurt him and Clive’s worried that he’ll hurt me. What else can there be?
‘She met him at a club. BDSM. Bondage. Sadomasochism. You know the sort of thing.’
My cheeks begin to flush. So, Little Steve already knows about Dan’s modus operandi, which means that he’s already labelled me as some sort of rubber-wearing, stick-anything-up-my-backside, pee-on-me type.
‘I’m alright, Steve. I know what he’s like.’
‘Do you though, darling?’ He swigs back another mouthful of wine and watches me closely. ‘This woman,’ he whispers, leaning in close. ‘This woman agreed to a session with him and it was …’ He seems to swallow hard. ‘It was pretty extreme by all accounts.’
The smile falls from my face. If I’m not careful, it’ll be out of the door before I can grab hold of it.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean he was pretty extreme.’ He takes a deep breath before he mouths the next word. ‘Whips.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘She didn’t go into too much detail. All she said was it was scary, that he lost control.’
‘He did?’
Little Steve nods.
‘It was lucky there were other people there. Maya, she told me that he’s a real sadist, and I mean a real sadist. Those were her words. I’m just saying. Be careful.’
‘I will be careful, Steve.’
I grapple with the smile, shoving it back into place. It’s not easy. On the inside, I’m beginning to quake. How extreme would he want to be with me? So, for now, he’s going easy. But who’s to say that he won’t change his mind after a few sessions? Perhaps he’ll grow bored with the light-weight version, and then he’ll want to go back to whatever he did before. And who’s to say he won’t have me trussed up and gagged and totally lose control? I turn cold. Sickness lurches through my stomach. My mind is on high alert now, wondering what the hell I’ve got myself into. Delving back through every moment with him so far, it searches for confirmation of Little Steve’s gossip. There’s not been much as yet, just the nipple business in his office, and he actually apologised for that. And then there was the smack. But is he just reining himself in for now, controlling himself for all he’s worth? And will he ever lose that control with me? Now this adds a whole new slant to Clive’s warning. He’s going to hurt you. This changes everything.
I sit in a daze, hardly aware of the fact that we’ve been joined by Big Steve and Lucy.
‘What’s up with you?’ Lucy beams.
‘Nothing.’ I shake my head.
Suddenly, I’m glad that Lucy’s decided to go on a bender, because I need to go on one too.
***
We spend the next hour or so sitting in the window of the Slaters Gallery. By the time Lucy announces that we need to hit the bars, I’ve already knocked back two huge glasses of wine.
‘Good luck!’ Big Steve laughs as we stagger our way out into the streets of Soho. ‘You’ll need it!’
The evening passes in a blur. Moving from one packed bar to another, we slug our way through God knows how many drinks, drivel our way through countless ridiculous conversations, and bat away the attentions of various men who come at us like flies around a cow pat. And while Lucy loves every last minute of the drunken chat-ups and the slurred put-downs, I have no interest in any of it. I just want to go home, have a bath, and do my level best to ponder over the problem in my life. By half past ten, the world is swirling around me and I can barely string a thought together. I’ve lost count of the glasses of wine. Lucy’s really on a mission to get steaming drunk tonight, and it’s already a case of mission accomplished. Finally, we find ourselves washed up in some dive of a pub, surrounded by middle-aged men and scraggy dogs. Spotting a table in the corner, we order two glasses of wine that smell distinctly like socks, and hunker down.
‘There’s something wrong!’ Lucy exclaims, pointing a wobbly finger at me.
‘No, there’s not.’
‘Yes, there is. You’ve been miserable all night. I know you too well. I know when there’s something on your mind. And there’s definitely something on your mind.’
I squint at her for a moment or two, reminding myself that there’s really no point in trying to deny anything. She always manages to squeeze it out of me in the end, especially when there’s alcohol involved.
‘Should I put an end to it?’
‘Put an end to what?’
‘Me and Dan.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Maya. No! You stay with him. See this through. You’re painting again, for fuck’s sake. And you’re happy when you’re with him. What’s the fucking problem now?’
I wince at Lucy’s foul mouth. I know I can swear, but this woman is a powerhouse of profanity after two bottles of wine.
‘Something that Little Steve said.’
‘Oh, ignore that fucker!’ She swings her wine glass through the air, losing half of its contents across the table. ‘What’s he said, the fucker?’
‘He had some gossip about Dan.’
‘Pphhp! Go on!’
‘Some woman Steve knows told him that he’s a sadist.’
‘A whatty?’
‘A sadist.’
‘Oh.’ Her lips form a perfect circle.
‘Listen to me, Lucy. He used to go to BDSM clubs.’
And now, her face screws itself up into a knot.
‘Whaaaa?’
‘He’s told me that he’s given it up.’ I watch as Lucy’s face unscrews itself while her eyes light up with excitement. ‘But I’m not sure he’s being straight with me.’
‘Did he tie you up?’ she demands breathlessly.
‘Lucy, that’s not important right now. The fact is, Little Steve knows a woman who met up with him at one of these places, and she reckons he’s a sadist.’
‘Bloody hell. But he’s not done any of that stuff with you, has he?’
‘No. Well …’
‘Oh my fucking God! He has!’ She slaps a hand across her mouth.
‘No, he hasn’t. Well, nothing much.’
‘What?’
I bite my lip.
‘Listen, shit head!’ She wags a finger. ‘If he’s told you he’s given it up, and if you know you can trust him, then just get on with it!’
If I know I can trust him. Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? When he’s got me tied up, and possibly gagged - and God knows he wants to do that, he’s mentioned it enough times - can I trust him to control himself? I hardly know him. I have no idea what he’s capable of. I wonder if I should ask Lucy for her opinion on the matter, but her head is already on the table and I half suspect that she’s passed out. I touch her gently on the shoulder. Her head twitches.
‘Come on,’ I mutter. ‘We need to go home.’
Half an hour later, I’m slumped in one corner of a black cab, my head leaning against the window while Lucy is fast asleep in the other. I check my phone. Three messages from Dan. The first one, apparently, came in at a quarter to ten.
Are you alright?
The second arrived just after ten.
Answer me, Maya.
The third text arrived at half past.
I need to know that you’re alright. Answer me.
Oh Lord, I know it’s just a text message, but it sounds pissed off. My fingers are trembling now as I try to think of some suitable wording. I’m saved from the bother when my phone begins to ring in my hands. I stare down at the screen, squinting, trying to make the caller identity come into focus. I don’t know why I’m bothering. I already know it’s him. He’s probably calling to give me a good ticking off for not staying in contact. Well, let him try. I’m in the mood for a rumble. My thumb sweeps across the keypad, m
iraculously finding the accept call icon.
‘What’s going on?’ he demands. Shit, he really is pissed off.
‘Nothing,’ I slur. ‘I’ve been out with Lucy.’
‘Why didn’t you reply to my texts?’
‘I didn’t hear my phone go off.’
He’s silent for a few moments, registering everything. I know it. While I’m stupidly drunk, completely incapable of covering up my worries, he’s perfectly sober and taking it all in.
‘Are you drunk?’
‘Maybe.’ I hiccough. ‘Have you got a problem with that?’
‘Not at all.’
‘But you have got a problem?’
Another silence. When he finally speaks again, his tone has softened.
‘I haven’t got a problem with you going out with your friend, but I do have a problem with you ignoring me. Next time, just make sure you check your phone. It doesn’t take long to send me a quick text.’
‘You don’t need to keep watch over me,’ I whisper. ‘I can look after myself.’
I hear him sigh. ‘I’m sure you can.’
‘You’re angry.’
‘You could say that.’
‘So, if you were here, what would you do? Punish me?’
‘I wouldn’t rule it out.’
I freeze. I don’t seem to be able to breathe.
‘And how would you like to punish me?’ I demand.
‘What?’
‘Tell me. How would you like to punish me?’
‘Why are you so obsessed with punishment all of a sudden?’
I’m not about to answer his question. He can fucking answer mine first.
‘Come on. What would you do? Would you spank me?’
‘If you must know, I’d love to spank you right now.’
Panic sets in. Panic on a grand scale. I could throw up right here in the taxi, and it’s nothing to do with the industrial quantities of Pinot Grigio that I’ve ingested. Is he really suggesting that if I dare to defy him, if I take a step too far, he’ll take his hand to me? Or is that just my jumbled, wine-addled mind on the rampage?
‘Would you whip me?’ I hear myself ask.
‘Behave yourself. You’re drunk.’
Oh boy, he’s just gone and said the wrong thing there. Nobody tells me what to do when I’ve downed a vat of wine.
