Nicci French - Until it's Over

‘I see what you mean.’

‘You can’t, because I haven’t said it yet. When we’re together, there’s all this ridiculous flirtation and will-they-or-won’t-they?, and then there’s probably some terrible break-up. It’s dreadful for the couple and almost as bad for everybody else. You probably know about Astrid and poor Miles.’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Basically they got together and it was hopeless and she dumped him and he’s been mooning around ever since.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It was so boring. It is so boring. Now he’s got some new girlfriend. She’s like a weapon for him to brandish at Astrid. There. Look what you made me do.’

Pippa stroked my arm reflectively and then continued: ‘Now you’re here, there’ll be all this new tension.’

‘You reckon?’

‘It’s unavoidable. We’ll be brushing up against each other. We’ll bump into each other wrapped in towels on our way from the shower.’

‘I don’t want to complicate things,’ I said.

She ignored me and moved even closer. ‘The only way to deal with it is to get it out of the way at the beginning.’

‘How do you mean?’

She stroked my face and gave a slow, lazy smile. ‘You know,’ she said.

‘What? Now?’ I felt her nuzzling against me.

‘It’s not compulsory,’ she said, ‘but it’d be fun. And then we can go on to being friends.’

‘But where?’

She pulled a face. ‘Well, not here. Someone might come home. Let’s go to my room.’

‘Shall I bring the wine?’

‘No, we’ll have it later.’

She took my hand and led me upstairs, talking as she did so. It was something about household routines or someone’s bad habits. But I couldn’t concentrate on the details. The blood was rushing in my ears. I could hear it. I felt hot. The situation had moved beyond my control and I wasn’t sure how it was going to end up. She led me into the room at the front of the house by the front door. Suddenly it all seemed to be happening to somebody else, or at least to somebody else as well as me. I could imagine that somebody else might find her room charming in its disorder, the clothes tossed everywhere, the bed unmade, the curtains closed. There was a clash of smells: perfume and deodorant and soap. I was repelled by it. I wanted to sweep it off the floor and throw open the windows, let in light and fresh air.

Pippa took hold of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head, revealing a black bra covering her small breasts. She kicked off her shoes and unfastened the buttons on the front of her jeans. She sat on the bed and leaned back.

‘Pull them off,’ she said.

She was as matter-of-fact as if we were going to play squash. I took the bottom of each leg of the jeans and pulled. She lifted herself off the bed and I eased them off. With expert speed she unclipped her bra, pulled down her panties, got into the bed and pulled the duvet over her. I glimpsed her dark nipples and her neatly trimmed pubic hair. Someone else would find this beautiful. They wouldn’t believe their luck.

‘Now it’s your turn,’ she said.

I took my clothes off with the grim feeling I had been tricked into going somewhere I didn’t want to go. I couldn’t think of a way to make it work. I got into the bed next to her and she pushed her face against me. I kissed her. I could taste the wine on her tongue. I had the uncomfortable sensation of being on the wrong side of her, like a left-handed person trying to do something right-handed.

She put a hand on my arm and ran down it, across on to my chest and down, down my stomach. ‘Oh,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m not… I don’t…’

‘No, it’s all right.’

‘No, I mean I…’

‘It’s all right,’ she said, grinning. ‘There’s no hurry.’

She kissed my chest and then began to move downwards, kissing me as she went. I grabbed her shoulders. ‘No,’ I said.

‘Relax.’

‘No.’

I pushed her away and got out of the bed. I had to look around for my clothes. For a desperate moment I thought they might have disappeared irretrievably into the chaos of her room. But I found them and pulled on my underpants, standing stupidly on one leg, then the other. As I pulled my jeans on, I saw her staring at me, amused. ‘It’s all right,’ she said.

‘Of course it’s all right,’ I said.

‘I mean, it’s not a big deal.’

‘That’s easy for you to say. I suppose you do this with loads of guys.’

Now she looked puzzled, though still amused. ‘What’s that about?’

She was sitting up in the bed. She hadn’t pulled her duvet up, the way actresses do in PG films to cover their breasts. It was probably the last time I’d ever see them. I walked over to her, shrivelled, humiliated, the blood burning in my face. ‘If you tell anyone…’ I said.

‘You’ll what?’ said Pippa.

‘Just don’t,’ I said.

‘Oh, don’t be silly, Davy. Why would I?’

I stamped my feet and walked out of her room and straight out of the house on to the street, where an icy drizzle soon soaked through my clothes. My eyes were aching. I felt furious with her for forcing herself on me like that, for not giving me a proper chance. And furious with myself for my failure. It wasn’t just that there’d been a battle between us and she had won, dominated me and humiliated me. Humiliated me in front of myself. But here in this house, where I was going to start again, become a new person. Already I’d dragged myself down. She’d tell the others. I’d heard the way she gossiped. She wouldn’t be able to resist it. Or maybe she would, because it would make her look like a slut, jumping into the pants of a guy who had just walked in off the street.

I was so lost in all of this that I collided with someone and had to reach out to stop her falling. But she dropped her shopping bags, and cans rolled out and a bag of rice split on the pavement. I looked at her in shock, as if I’d been unconscious and suddenly brought round and didn’t know where I was.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘That was completely my fault. Let me help you.’

‘Oh dear,’ she said, flustered. ‘Look at the mess.’ The rice had scattered around us, and several green apples were rolling across the pavement towards the road. ‘But it was probably me. I’m terribly clumsy. My husband’s always scolding me.’

I bent down and started to replace the shopping. ‘I’ll buy you another bag of rice. Let’s see. Basmati.’

‘You really don’t need to. It was a mistake. Most people wouldn’t even have stopped. They’d have shouted something and rushed on.’

‘I’m glad I’m not most people, then. These apples are bruised, I’m afraid. I’ll buy some more of them as well.’

‘Please don’t.’

‘At least let me carry them for you. Do you live near here?’

‘Just a few yards away. Number fifty-four.’

‘I live at seventy-two. We’re neighbours!’ I moved the bags to my left hand and held out the right.

The woman blushed and shook it. ‘Hello,’ she said shyly. ‘I wish more people on this road were like you.’

‘I’ve just moved in. My name’s David.’

‘I’m Margaret,’ she said, ‘but friends call me Peggy.’

We walked down the road together, and I noticed how she patted her hair surreptitiously and straightened her thick jacket as we did so. She was nervous of me. I’d been bad after Pippa. A feeling had been starting in my head. Now it was lifting.

Her house was smaller than the one I’d moved into, and in a much better state of repair. The window-frames were newly painted, the front door a smooth dark green. When she unlocked it and pushed it open, I could see that inside it was also tidy. Too tidy. Madly tidy. Even from here, I could smell the detergent and polish and loneliness.