Clare Mackintosh - I Let You Go

He nodded at Kate. ‘Let her go.’

26

I didn’t call until nearly a week after our first date, and I could hear the uncertainty in your voice when I did. You were wondering if you’d misread the signs, weren’t you? If you’d said the wrong thing, or worn the wrong dress …

‘Are you free tonight?’ I said. ‘I’d love to take you out again.’ As I spoke I realised how much I was looking forward to seeing you. It had been surprisingly difficult, waiting a week to speak to you.

‘That would have been lovely, but I already have plans.’ There was regret in your voice, but I knew that tactic of old. The games women play at the start of a relationship are varied but largely transparent. You had doubtless conducted a post-mortem of our date with your friends, who would have dished out advice like washerwomen leaning on the garden fence.

Don’t come across as too keen.

Play hard to get.

When he calls, pretend you’re busy.

It was tiresome and childish. ‘That’s a shame,’ I said casually. ‘I’ve managed to get hold of a couple of tickets to see Pulp tonight and I thought you might like to come.’

You hesitated and I thought I had you, but you held fast.

‘I really can’t, I’m so sorry. I promised Sarah we’d have a girls’ night out at the Ice Bar. She’s just split up with her boyfriend, and I can’t let her down too.’

It was convincing, and I wondered if you had prepared the lie in advance. I let a silence hang between us.

‘I’m free tomorrow night?’ you said, your upward inflection turning it into a question.

‘I’m afraid I’m already doing something tomorrow. Some other time, maybe. Have fun tonight.’ I hung up and sat by the phone for a while. A muscle flickered at the corner of my eye and I rubbed it irritably. I hadn’t expected you to play games, and I was disappointed that you felt it necessary.

I couldn’t settle for the rest of the day. I cleaned the house and swept up all Marie’s things from every room and gathered them in a pile in the bedroom. There was more than I thought, but I could hardly give it back to her now. I stuffed it all in a suitcase to take to the tip.

At seven o’clock I had a beer, and then another. I sat on the sofa with my feet on the coffee table, some inane quiz show on the television, and I thought about you. I contemplated ringing your hall to leave a message, and being surprised when you were there after all. But by the time I had finished my third beer I had changed my mind.

I drove to the Ice Bar and found a space not far from the entrance. I sat in the car for a while, watching people go through the door. The girls were in the shortest of skirts, but my interest was nothing more than idle curiosity. I was thinking about you. I was unsettled by how much you occupied my thoughts, even then, and how important it suddenly seemed that I knew whether you had told me the truth. I had gone there to catch you out: to walk through the crowded bar and see no sign of you, because you were back in your room, sitting on the bed with a bottle of discount wine and a Meg Ryan movie. But I realised that wasn’t what I wanted: I wanted to see you walk past me, ready for your girls’ night out with your miserable, dumped friend. I wanted to be proved wrong. It was such a novel sensation I almost laughed.

I got out of the car and went into the bar. I bought some Becks and began weaving my way through the packed room. Someone jostled against me and sloshed beer on to my shoes, but I was too intent on my search to demand an apology.

And then I saw you. You were standing at the end of the bar, waving a ten-pound note in vain at the bar staff, who were working their way through a queue four-people deep. You saw me and for a second you looked blank, as though you couldn’t place me, then you smiled, although the smile was more guarded than the last time I had seen it.

‘What are you doing here?’ you said, when I had pushed my way through to you. ‘I thought you were seeing Pulp.’ You seemed a little cagey. Women say they like surprises, but the reality is they would rather know in advance, so they can prepare.

‘I gave the tickets to a guy at work,’ I said. ‘I didn’t fancy it on my own.’

You looked abashed to be the cause of my change in plans. ‘But,’ you said, ‘how come you ended up here? Have you been before?’

‘I bumped into a mate,’ I said, holding up the two bottles of Becks I had had the foresight to buy. ‘I went to the bar and now I can’t find him anywhere. I guess he got lucky!’

You laughed. I held out one of the bottles of beer. ‘Can’t have it going to waste, can we?’

‘I should really get back. I’m supposed to be getting a round in – that’s if I ever get served. Sarah’s saving a table over there.’ You glanced over to the corner of the room, where the tall girl with dyed hair was sitting at a small table, talking to a guy in his mid-twenties. As we watched, he leaned forward and kissed her.

‘Who’s she with?’ I asked.

You paused and shook your head slowly. ‘I have no idea.’

‘Looks like she’s really cut up about the ex-boyfriend, then,’ I said. You laughed.

‘So…’ I held out the beer again. You grinned and took it, clinking it against mine before taking a deep swallow and then licking your bottom lip as you lowered the bottle. It was intentionally provocative and I felt myself harden. You held my gaze almost challengingly as you took another slug of beer.

‘Come back to mine,’ I said suddenly. Sarah had vanished, presumably with her new man. I wondered if he minded that she was so easy.

You hesitated for a second, still looking at me, then you gave a tiny shrug and slipped your hand into mine. The bar was heaving with people, and I pushed my way through, keeping tight hold of your hand so I didn’t lose you. Your keenness to come with me both excited and dismayed me: I couldn’t help but wonder how often you did this, and with whom.

We burst from the hot fug of the Ice Bar on to the street and you shivered as the cold hit you.

‘Did you not bring a coat?’

You shook your head and I slipped off my jacket and put it round your shoulders as we walked to the car. You smiled gratefully at me and I felt a warmth of my own.

‘Should you be driving?’

‘I’m fine,’ I said shortly. We drove in silence for a while. Your skirt had ridden up as you sat down, and I reached out my left hand and placed it just above your knee, my fingers touching the inside of your lower thigh. You moved your leg: only a fraction, but enough to shift my hand on to your kneecap instead of your thigh.

‘You look sensational tonight.’

‘Do you really think so? Thank you.’

I removed my hand to change gear. When I put it back on your leg, I slid my hand an inch higher, my fingers gently caressing your skin. This time you didn’t move.

Back at the house you walked around the sitting room, picking things up to look at them. It was disconcerting, and I made the coffee as quickly as I could. It was a pointless ritual: neither of us wanted a drink, although you said you did. I placed them on the glass-topped table and you sat next to me on the sofa, half-facing me. I tucked your hair behind your ears, keeping my hands either side of your face for a moment, before leaning forward and kissing you. You responded instantly, your tongue exploring my mouth and your hands running over my back and shoulders. I pushed you slowly backwards, still kissing you, until you were lying underneath me. I felt your legs wrap themselves around mine: it was good to be with someone so eager, so quick to respond. Marie had been so unenthusiastic that at times it was as if she was entirely absent, her body going through the motions but her mind somewhere else.