Kate Tempest - The Bricks that Built the Houses

‘What brings you to London, James?’ she asks.

‘I live here,’ Dale tells her. Stumped. Wondering if he should have prepared some lie.

‘In the hotel?’ Becky smiles at him.

‘No, it’s a work thing. In town.’ He’s panicking. His ankles are cold.

‘Have you had this kind of massage before?’ she asks. Her voice as soft as she can make it. He shakes his head. Looks at his hands. ‘OK,’ she tells him. ‘Don’t worry,’ and she smiles a little smile that bites his heart to bits.

‘That’s for you,’ he says, pointing to a pile of cash on the bedside table.

‘Thank you,’ she says, picking it up and holding it, folded, in her hand. ‘I’ll just tell you what’s going to happen, OK?’ She holds his eyes. Everything gentle.

‘Do you. ’ He looks for the words. ‘Any extras?’ he asks her. ‘Do you do any extras?’ He offers a shrug, attempts as much of a smile as his dry mouth can find.

‘No,’ she tells him. ‘No extras.’ And he nods.

‘OK, cool,’ he says. Feeling vulnerable. She has all the power. He is standing awkwardly, a few paces from the door.

‘I’m going to dim the lights, and light some candles, and then I’m going to go into the bathroom and get ready.’ She walks past him into the bathroom and gets a towel from the rail, comes back out into the room and lays it across the bed. ‘If you can just take your gown off and lie down?’ she asks him. He nods, watching her. She takes three tea lights from her bag and lights them, places one on the bedside table, one on the desk, and one by the minibar. She turns off the lights and goes into the bathroom.

Dale takes his dressing gown off and lies down on the towel. His heart hammering, sweat prickling in his pores. He can hear his blood in his ears. He smiles to himself. Giddy with excitement. All thoughts of Pete are gone. He is stunned by this woman and the way she moves.

In the bathroom Becky texts her agency, tells them she’s arrived safely and everything’s OK. She counts the money, finds it all there and puts it away in her bag.

She runs the shower. Looks around at the things in the bathroom and has the moment that she always has when she looks at a stranger’s things, all neat and laid out. A pang of excitement at being allowed into someone’s privacy. She washes methodically. Avoiding her make-up, not wetting her hair. She uses a sweet-smelling shower gel that she finds on the side. This is her last moment to prepare herself. To get rid of the night bus and the traffic and the phone calls from Pete. It’s like being backstage. Mentally shifting gear.

She gets out of the shower and puts on the robe she always wears. She walks back out into the room and Dale is lying, naked, on his front. His left bum cheek twitching. He wonders if she’s noticed. ‘OK, James,’ she says. ‘Now, all you have to do is relax.’

‘OK,’ he mumbles into the mattress.

‘I’d appreciate it if you don’t touch me, just let me take care of you, OK?’ she says. And he nods with his face pressed into the bed and the mattress absorbs the nod but she sees it. Satisfied, she takes a bottle of oil out of her bag and starts with his feet. He lets out a high-pitched burst of air. And laughs, embarrassed.

‘It’s OK,’ she tells him, ‘just relax.’ Her voice is a whisper.

She lifts his legs and massages slowly; everything she does is more gentle than he’d expected it would be. Becky thinks of giving these kinds of massages as being very much like dancing. She uses a lot of physical strength to be as delicate as she needs to be to make it feel right. She has to move like water on top of them, and so she has to be able to hold herself. She wants them to be unaware of her performance.

She rubs her body up against the backs of his legs. Massages his back with her breasts. Thinking carefully of which part of her should touch his skin at which point. The dance of it. He is stunned by her agility and tenderness. He’s never been touched like this. His eyes are closed, he feels each part of their bodies connecting.

After half an hour, she asks him, voice as low and soft as oil, to turn over. He shifts his weight, his belly drags, he turns and she brushes his face with her breasts and sits her naked body across him. He’s breathless, he can’t believe what he’s seeing. He stares at her, his eyes starving pits in his face. He reaches a desperate hand and clutches her thigh. She stops moving. Takes his hand off her and places it on the bed. She stares at his face, stern. He does not reach for her again.

She moves over him. Everything is gentle, she is building a feeling between them, and naturally, she leads him to the inevitable point. When eventually she touches his cock, he comes quickly. She smiles at him. He breathes in short shuddering gasps. Gazing at her.

‘Stay there,’ she tells him, and he does.

She gets him a hand towel from the bathroom, walks back over. He watches her body, all the parts moving. She places the towel over his bits and leaves him to clean himself up while she gathers her things. He lies in silence, looking for his voice. It comes out soft and high-pitched, stuttering away at the ends of his words.

‘That was the most amazing thing ever,’ he tells her.

‘I’m going to get dressed now,’ she says. He nods. His head sinks back into the bed.

She showers again and dresses in the bathroom. She comes out to find him lying still, not nervous any more. His eyes sparkling and weak.

‘Can I see you again?’ he asks her.

‘If you call the agency and it’s my shift, then maybe.’ She sweeps the room again to check for all her things. Looks through her bag just to be sure. ‘Have a nice evening, James,’ she says as she closes the door behind her.

Back out on the street, the cars are loud, blaring horns and radios, shouting voices bleed into each other, shoulders push and hustle, swerve and square themselves, music plays and everything is lit; neon signs blaze white and blue and the yellow glow of late-night bars fuzzes the rain-damp pavement. She lights a cigarette, rubbing her temples.

Pete stares at the light cracking the blinds. He can taste rot in his gums. He turns and watches Becky sleep. He wants her to wake up without him having to wake her. He feels sorry for himself. Tells himself that if she really loved him she’d have woken up before him, made him a coffee and bought it up to bed. His throat is sore and his mouth tastes bad and he’d love a nice hot cup of coffee. He reaches for her, holds her sides and she hurts him everywhere. He pulls at her shape, desperate and dying for her until she blinks in the new day, stretches like a leopard and grins through sleep-squidged eyes. ‘It’s your birthday!’ she squeals and climbs across him to kiss his face.

Harry wakes up, sweat-drenched, the wrong way round in the sheets, and lies still, clutching her head, breathing deeply. She swings her legs off the edge of the bed, feels the cold against her shins. She shakes herself, heart pounding, blinking. The nightmares retreating as she walks to the chest of drawers by the window and pulls a shirt on, running a shaking palm over her stomach, hips, breasts, taking deep breaths. She opens the wardrobe and checks for the suitcase. It’s still there. She crouches. Opens it carefully and looks at the money. Feels her body respond, the electricity of this much cash. A giddy, guilty jubilation. It’s been a week. No one’s come after them yet. She hasn’t taken a step without the suitcase by her side. The thought that maybe they won’t have to leave runs full pelt across her mind before she can stop it.

In the kitchen, she flicks the kettle on and hides behind the blind to peek out at the street, noticing every car. Today is her little brother’s birthday, and this fucking surprise party she’s been organising for him is suddenly a terrifying prospect. She’s been freaking out, afraid to close her eyes in the shower in case she opens them and there’s a killer in her bathroom, brandishing sharks. The idea of smiling along with her entire family is gruesome. She’d tried to track down all his old mates, but the wind had gone out of her sails, and she’d had to settle for the three she could find numbers for and ask them to bring some people.