David Belbin - Bone & Cane

‘Here we are,’ said Rodney.

Sarah tried to insist on paying, but Nick wouldn’t let her. Rodney nodded when Nick told him to keep the change. He didn’t acknowledge that he recognised Nick or knew who Sarah was. He’d keep schtum, Nick reckoned. Sarah stumbled out of the car and Nick helped her to the door. Inside the well-lit hall, she fumbled with the burglar alarm, taking two goes to turn it off. When she’d succeeded, he kissed her, propping her up with his arms as he did so. She was done in.

‘Let’s get you to bed,’ he said.

‘Bed,’ she repeated after him. ‘Yes, please.’

‘Which way?’

‘Follow me,’ she said, and began to sing, to the tune of a hit from when they were both toddlers, ‘Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep’: ‘One thousand, nine hundred and eighty-nine votes, tha-aa-at’s the size of my majority. One thousand, nine hundred and eighty-nine votes . . .’

She let go of his hand to open the bedroom door, turned on the light and, as soon as they were inside, began to tear off her crumpled clothes, not stopping at the underwear.

‘C’mere.’ Naked, her figure was fuller than before, which only made her all the more alluring. Sarah’s long hair fell across her chest, setting off her taut, perfect breasts. Nick found himself staring at the small purple birthmark above her cleft of pubic hair, then stopped himself. He had forgotten the way one of her knees seemed to point away from the other. First love, best love. This might be the last time he slept with a woman for three years. He wanted to remember every moment.

‘Do I have to undress you, too?’ she asked, reaching to unbutton his fly.

‘No. Get into bed. I’m going to find us both a glass of water.’

‘Hurry,’ she said, obeying his instructions. ‘I’ve been dreaming about this for as long as I can remember. I want you inside me, now.’

When he returned from the kitchen, two minutes later, she was fast asleep.

32

Nick got out of the shower and returned to the bedroom with a large towel wrapped around his waist. Sarah lay in the bed where he had slept, chastely, alongside her. Hearing Nick, she blinked awake.

‘You’re in good shape,’ she said, as he removed the towel.

‘I got a lot of exercise, the last few years.’

‘What happened last night?’

‘You fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.’

‘And before that?’

‘You won an election.’

‘I did, didn’t I?’

He let the towel drop and came over, kissed her on the forehead.

‘Congratulations again. Why don’t I make you some tea?’

‘That’d be nice.’ Sarah got out of bed and rattled open the blinds. It was a glorious, sunny day.

‘New Labour, new weather,’ she observed. ‘I think I’ll take a shower myself.’

Nick made tea and considered making breakfast, too, but could only find two slices of bread that were at least three days old. No eggs or butter, just marge, half an inch of Old English marmalade and a small jar of Marmite. At least she had milk, skimmed. He checked the hall but she didn’t have a paper delivered.

When he returned to the bedroom, Sarah was still in the shower. He got back into bed and turned on her portable radio. Labour’s majority was 179. Sarah would be one of 419 Labour MPs. John Major had resigned the Tory party leadership. He summed up these details when Sarah returned from the shower, wearing a white towelling dressing gown.

‘This is like old times.’ She hadn’t washed her hair but it was damp at the edges so looked shorter. Sarah swigged her tea, then reached into her night table and put on a pair of glasses with round lenses, like the ones she always used to wear.

‘You look even better now that I can see you properly.’

Sarah lifted up the bed sheets and kissed his flaccid penis, which uncurled at her touch. There was a clicking noise from the hall.

‘What’s that?’ he asked.

‘Just the answering machine. I set it to “no rings”. There’ll be a ton of messages. But I’m still in bed.’ She kissed him on the lips.

‘How’s the head?’ he asked, sliding his hand up between her thighs, which were still a little clammy from the shower.

‘I took a couple of paracetamols. I’ll be fine.’ She kissed him again. ‘Now let’s do what we didn’t get round to last night.’

There was a knock on the front door.

Nick waited in the bedroom until the journalist had gone. Then he got dressed. The day was too busy for sex. Sarah toasted stale bread and made coffee. Radio Four announced the appointment of the new Home Secretary.

‘Will you get any kind of job?’ Nick asked, feeling grubby in his clothes from the night before.

‘Me? I’m just one of the masses. I wasn’t expected to get back in, so I won’t figure in anybody’s calculations.’

‘When will you go back to London?’

‘Monday. I was expecting to have to clear my office in a hurry. No need now.’ She cursed. ‘Forgot. I was meant to be meeting this guy for dinner tomorrow – about a job – I’ll get out of it.’

Before Nick could ask who the someone was, the doorbell rang. Sarah returned with a huge bunch of lilies. She read the card.

‘That’s sweet of him. I’ll get a vase.’

While she was gone, Nick couldn’t resist reading the card. Seems you won’t be needing that job after all. Couldn’t be happier for you. Well done. AS. The message had been written by the florist yet Sarah seemed to know who AS was.

When she returned, before Nick could ask about the flowers, Sarah underwent a personality change.

‘I’m going to have to go into work mode for a while,’ she said.

‘I’ll get out of your way,’ Nick said, awkwardly.

‘I don’t want to kick you out. You’ve not got anywhere you have to be?’

‘No. I do a bit of English GCSE tuition, but I don’t have a lesson until Sunday. I’d like to make myself useful. Is there anything you need?’

‘I could really use an Evening Post .’

‘Why don’t I go and get one?’ Nick felt awkward, unsure what to say to her next, and was glad to have an excuse to get out of the flat. ‘I could pick up some food while I’m out.’

‘Would you? That’d be fantastic.’

She was already opening a notebook, arranging it on the table by the phone. The answering machine’s red LED indicated that Sarah had forty-three messages waiting. Nick tried to remember how much money he had on him. He didn’t want to ask Sarah for any. Enough, he reckoned, even after paying for the taxi last night.

‘Don’t be too long,’ Sarah called. ‘I’m starving.’

‘An hour at most,’ he shouted. Outside, he marvelled at the cherry blossom cascading onto the Park’s wide, sun-drenched streets, covering the paving stones in a shower of pink snow. He began the brief walk into town, a spring in his step, filled with thoughts of Sarah.

He was back at the flat an hour later, festooned with Marks and Sparks bags. Nick gave Sarah a smile as wide as the Trent when she opened the door. He watched Sarah try to mirror the smile back. She failed.

‘You look like you’ve been at that table since I left,’ he told her.

‘I only just got through my messages,’ she said. ‘Listen to this one.’

She played him one from a bloke with a nasal, educated voice.

‘Eric here. Delighted you got back in. I understand you’ll be swamped but I need to discuss something with you. It concerns a taxi driver you vouched for last night, an ex-con called Nicholas Cane. I wanted to check what you know about Cane before we decide whether to go ahead with the case against him.’

‘Who’s Eric?’ Nick asked.

‘The Chief Constable. I need to decide how to reply to Eric, see if I can stop them putting you back inside.’