Latest Chapter - THE KEY

“Maria,” I say softly, in the kitchen.

“Busy.” she says, shaking her head. “Much iron.”

“Yes. I see.” I glance at the large heap on the table. “Maria, what sort of little boy was Craig?” I smile as if casually chatting. It doesn’t wash with her; I’ve gone at it like a bull in a china shop, I can see that.

“No, no,” she waves her hand, “Craig good boy. He…. he sad. But he good. GOOD!”

She scoots me away like a stray cat.

“Go. Please. I iron.” Then she remembers her manners. “Sun! Enjoy! Swim, Signorita, swim!”

Nodding and smiling at me dismissively, I accept it and leave.

“He in room. Craig.” she calls. “You kind, he kind.”

We’re sitting in the orchard, just he and I. I am being kind to him. I think. Talking quietly, asking about his family. Casual stuff. He is not casual, he’s intense, telling me he must sleep with me and it must begin tonight.

“No,” I say, “my children. They won’t understand.”

“Yes, they will,” he smiled, “they do. I’ve told them. They accepted it easily.”

“Craig you don’t understand children; they may worry inside.”

“No. I’ve made up my mind.”

He pulls me up to stand and starts to run. I am barefoot but must run with him through the harsh, thick strands of grass. Inside, the house is empty. His parents have taken the boys to their friends’ house.

Puffing from the run, we stand in an area I’ve not seen before. He takes my hand and leads me quietly up a different staircase to his room, his own room and not the one he has been sleeping in right next to mine. He opens the door, takes me inside. It is plain white. Everything is white, with the exception of the wooden furniture, which is old and carved mahogany. It is extraordinarily clean and tidy, not a thing out of place. Perhaps I can still escape this. I walk to the window seat and say I just want to talk to him, find out everything about him. It's a bad sign though, as he then turns the key on the inside, locking us in. He places the key somewhere in his wardrobe that I cannot see.

"You can't lock me in, Craig."

I try to be firm.

"Oh, but my love I can.” he says in a jolly way, “I have, but not because I am cruel or sadistic. This is the right thing Jo, always has been since we met at the station. I knew it right away. I was a moth to a flame."

He sits next to me, holding me gently by the arm, stroking here, touching there, kissing my face with very light kisses. He certainly is not harmful, but there is a certain sinister quality to his presence. I decide that my only chance is to go along with it, if all other chance has been denied.

"But Craig," I say, trying a new angle, "You know that I am starting to feel the same,"

"You are? Oh, I am so glad my darling." He kisses me on the lips, and I break away.

"But," I tell him, "I want to wait. I don't want it to be like this, under lock and key. How can you want this? Surely it's not the freedom that real love should have, should be like? I should want to be here with you, voluntarily Craig, to be in this room…"

He turns cold again, his mouth set, and eyes grey.

"You don’t then? I thought you did. Are you thinking of him? Will he never go away?" he shouts, banging his fist on the seat. "I want to be free from his entering your mind."

"I am … was, in love with Jamie, Craig. How can you remove it?"

"You were not!"

He shouts suddenly, making me blink and shrink away. His grip tightens on my wrist as he shouts again and again.

"Not in love, not at all! Don't say that! Do you hear me?"

He is furious, shouting right into my face and squeezing harder.

"Craig!" I complain. "You're hurting me!"

"I don't care." he claims.

I look into his eyes and can no longer see the love I have seen so often, whether by obsession or not, it has definitely been there. Now his eyes are grey, cool and cloudy, jumping from one of my eyes to the other manically. He continues.

"You will never say that again, do you hear me? Love? It's a joke. He could not love you in a million years. He is self-obsessed, unintelligent, talentless."

"Don't you dare!" I shout back. "He is none of those things, and the opposite of each. You don't even know him. It is you who is obsessed, Craig, and yes I do love him."

I stand, wrenching my arm away and walk to the wardrobe to try to find the key.

I make it halfway there when he grabs me roughly by the waist and pushes me over towards the four poster bed. I push back, struggling as hard as I can, and try to hit him.

"You love me, Jo. Only me. You'll see how stupid you have sounded tomorrow. Me, Jo! Say you love me!"

We are now wrestling by the bed, he is hurting me all over. His hands are holding my arms, my hands, at one point even over my mouth as I scream louder. He lowers his voice and whispers viciously into my ear. I have no choice but to listen.

"Jamie, fucking Jamie, is gone. Get that into your head. If the only way to convince you is to remove him from life itself, consider it done."

His eyes are still grey and cold and I am not strong enough to push him away or to break free. He goes on.

"Furthermore, you will say you love me. You will behave like you love me. I demand it, Jo. It will happen, so you might as well start now."

"I don't."

I'm trying to be brave, but know it's stupid, futile. He spits through his teeth into my face.

"Say it!"

With this, he takes the chiffon scarf which matches my sarong and pulls it roughly from my neck in one go, burning the skin on my throat and choking me slightly. Jesus Christ I think he might actually kill me. I start to tremble. He winds the chiffon around his fists, just like I've seen in old black and white murder movies. Oh my Christ no. My knee tries to come up between his legs, but he's prepared for that one and knocks it painfully to the side, stretching the muscles in my inner thigh as he forces my legs open. He is not intending to strangle me, because he places the scarf instead into my mouth and with his strong hands, proceeds to tie it behind my head. I am gagged and he talks all the time.

"Your choice, Jo. Your choice. You've made choices all along. Not to jump at the station, to go for that drink with me, to give me your number. Then you made further choices, to stay with that low-life of yours, to refuse me, reject me, to hurt me. Now you have to pay. If you don't give yourself to me, I will take you. If you don't forget Jamie, I will remove him."

I widen my eyes and try to say something to him but the chiffon is stopping me as he struggles to tie it. I move my head from side to side to make it difficult for him.

"Fuck this fucking thing!" he swears, fiddling with the material.

I try to close my legs but his knee is firmly there, preventing it with huge strength.

"Your choice, Jo, to be forced into this. You came here to protect your children. Now, with this, by denying your love, denying my right to be with you here, you risk them."

I stop struggling, staring at him. What the fuck does that mean? My lack of movement arrests him for a moment, and he knows he has a captive audience.

"Yes, Jo, you risk them. I don't want to hurt them, I like them, you know that. You see what I want most is our family. A normal happy family, with together parents, love all round, you know the sort of thing?"

His breathing is hard and fast.

"You, me and the children, all together, all happy. You and I, in love. You and I, sleeping together every night. Forever. If you prevent this, I don't want to live. And the rest of you living without me, well, this is something I will not permit."

He speaks calmly now and quietly and delivers this final blow. His message is clear, and what I now must do is also clear. I try to speak but cannot. I lower my eyes to the scarf in my mouth, gesturing for him to remove it while I speak. He does, but his eyes are still grey. I gasp at the fresh air.

"Okay, Craig. Alright." I manage.

"Oh no," he says shaking his head with a wry smile, "how do I know you won't try to bolt for the door."

"You don't," I tell him, still shaking. "but you do know that I love my children. And, I …I can see that you do love me, and the children. "

He's listening.

"So…well I've been thinking along the same lines, Craig. You must know this. We have been kissing, haven't we? We've been holding hands?"

His eyes soften just a little as he recalls this.

"Yes," he says cautiously.

"Well," I go on, gaining some ground, "What I don't like, is violence. There wasn't any need, Craig. It is what I wanted, too, the contact, the love. I sort of told you earlier, didn't I?"

"Yes," he says again, loosening the grip a little.

"So how about I agree, but … we wait… just for a while?"

"Say you love me." His voice is monotone. No doubt in my mind. I have to.

"I love you Craig."

That's too hard, too unemotional. I try again.

"I love you," I say softly and kiss his lips. To my horror he starts to sob, fighting it back but tears appearing in his eyes. It is this, though, that I must try to understand, his vulnerable points. My key to survival.

"I love you," I say again, "Look, darling this doesn't matter, here tonight, let's just forget it, we won't tell anyone, it won’t spoil things, and we are in love. Okay?"

He nods, sniffing like a child but holding me like a man.

THE TWO SIDES OF CRAIG

“You love him?” Craig spits, “You love him. LOVE him!”

I notice he is shaking.

“How can you say that, here, from MY home. To HIM!” he shouts, “you are here with ME, Jo. Me!”

I don’t know what he’ll do and I’m trying to gather my thoughts. At the same time, I’m wondering if Jamie picked up on the code. I hope to God he did, but then, what can he do? Even if he knew where we were, it would be ridiculous to come here alone.

"Very silly, Jo.” says Craig in a cracked, worn voice, head in his hands, “you should have been calmer."

“I was calm, Craig, I…”

“No! You weren’t, you were all…. hesitant. Then, then! You had to say that. I’m hurt, Jo. I’m hurt. You’re mine now.”

"Oh, fuck off, Craig. Just fuck off.” I snap, not filtering what is coming out of my mouth, “what do you expect? I didn’t come here willingly, to see YOU did I? I was at home, with him. Happily."

“Stop,” Craig mutters, “stop. Please stop. I can’t hear that. Don’t say it. Ever.”

I watch him, my blood boiling with anger and frustration but … as I look at him, desperate, distraught, his eyes wet, hands shaking, I feel pity. I start to cry.

He quickly hands me his handkerchief.

“Oh, Lord,” he groans, “no, don’t cry, no, no. I don’t want that. It… doesn’t… fit. It’s not what…. I want to make you happy, Jo. So that you never cry again. Don’t you see?” he kneels before me, dabbing my eyes, asking me to stop but making it worse by his sensitive face and furrowed young brow. I’m so sorry for him. For me. For … everyone.

“Let me go, Craig,” I say gently, then more urgently, “it can’t work. You don’t love me really and…”

“YES!” he implores, “yes I DO!”

“But you…” I start.

“Jo. I know I do. I also know you could love me. Look at me. I know you don’t hate me. I know I make you laugh, you have fun with me. I will take care of you. Yes, yes, you’re an independent woman and all that, that’s fine, but ultimately I want to provide for you, okay okay, make sure you want for nothing, spoil you. Provide for your children, make sure they’re safe, happy.”

Kneeling before me, his face is handsome, young, concerned but oh so wise, way beyond his years. He has a calm maturity struggling against the wild passion of youth. My fingers trace his face. From his forehead down his nose, over his lips, to his chin. I lift it towards me. Leaning forward, I press my own lips against his, soft, firm and watch him close his eyes. Softly, he murmurs, like the groan of a first falling tree. Low, tired.

“I need you, Jo. That’s what I mean. I need you. NEED you.”

His voice now so low, full of gravel and cracking, breaking, broken, heartbroken.

“I know.” I tell him, softly taking his head and laying it on my breast.

Pulling up the material his tongue explores my nipple for the first time, licking, then sucking, hard. Like a baby. Yes, like a baby. It’s not sexual. Or, is it? Yes, a little. It is.

Suddenly footsteps are running, loudly, louder, closer. I stand up, myriad thoughts rushing through my mind. How surreal. Odd. Why? What did it mean? Was that wrong? A mistake.. a mistake.

"Ssh the boys are coming and I don't want them to know we’ve been arguing." Craig says, straightening his clothes and hair.

I hurriedly wipe the tears on a cushion and am smiling by the time they rush into the room laughing their heads off and dripping wet.

"He pushed me in!" Ben says.

"I didn't. You jumped!" counters Sam.

Ben looks at Craig. In between giggles, he apologises.

"Craig, sorry about the clothes. Will they dry do you think, mum?"

“Yes,” I swallow and take in a large breath, “they’ll dry. Into the shower, you filthy pair!” I tell them, “change and come down for something to eat.”

I gather up their clothes and exit the room, where Craig is waiting. Soft are his eyes, but painful is his grip as he grasps my wrist.

“You love me, don’t you Jo.” he states. “Like your boys, you love me too. Only, as a man of course. You love me.”

“No, I…”

“You do!”

All at once I’m slammed up against the wall, pushed roughly, anchored by his body. The soiled clothes I’m holding fall to the floor as I try to resist his strength. His lips, pressing hard, push my head hard against the wall, hurting me. I can hear the water pounding in the shower from inside the room. His tongue pushes in and his knee separates my legs.

“Mmmnaa AAAAGGGHHH!” I manage to call out between breaths as the housekeeper suddenly bustles into view, carrying a high pile of laundry. Behind the linen, her dark eyes stare. At me, a scowling look at him, to me again, then to the floor. She rushes off.

“Maria!” shouts Craig, running after her.

"I LOVE YOU" I tell him

They are on the terrace, padding around in wet feet from the pool and trying on their clothes, the labels still hanging from them.

"Look at these, mum," they say. "Loads of stuff! It's great. Wow, mum you look really good."

"Thank you honeys," I say, kissing them. "You do too! This is very kind of Craig, I hope you've thanked him."

"They have."

He says, waving away the suggestion, colouring slightly.

I wander around the pool and know Craig will follow me. He catches up with two glasses of champagne. I take it.

"Craig I'm doing quite well you know."

"Oh." he says, a little confused. "Well, I'm glad."

"What I'm saying is that although this is kind, all these presents, I don't want you to feel sorry for me, or have the idea that I can't cope financially."

I turn to face him.

"Soon I'm going home, Craig, and I'm taking the children with me of course."

"Well." he says, drinking his champagne and staring into the water of the pool.

"Well nothing." I say. "We are leaving in two days."

"No!"

He says a little too loudly. Glancing over at the others he then laughs loudly to cover it.

"I've promised those boys a holiday Jo, for two weeks. They are loving it. Don't do that to them. In fact, I won't allow it."

"What?" I laugh. "You can't stop me. I will tell your parents how you got us here in the first place."

"You won't actually, Jo." He is calm.

"You mention anything that is even slightly along those lines and I will arrange for the boys to be taken from here, or wherever they are."

"What are you talking about."

"Jo, it's you who doesn't know what she's talking about. It would be very easy for me. I am well respected here. I have contacts. They would never be harmed, of course. Don't think that of me, but they would be taken … somewhere else for another 'holiday'."

"Your parents wouldn't help you to do that, Craig."

"Oh but they would."

I stare.

"Because I find it very easy to explain things, Jo. They will believe whatever I tell them."

"I need to make a call home." I say shortly.

"That's fine," he says. "I will be listening on another phone. You must be careful. Any mistakes you make Jo, in your judgement, then it will be your children who suffer."

I stare into his eyes for signs of mental illness, plain craziness. I don't see it, I just see an organised plan devised by a super efficient man who is looking at me with extreme love. This, somehow, is far more frightening and dangerous.

I push the numbers on the phone, my hand shaking slightly, my breath heavy. Jamie answers and asks shortly how it is going.

"It's fine."

"Well, tell me about it." he says, and I can hear his anger still there in his voice.

"Well, as I said, it's hotels. They are thinking of placing a large order. I will need to stay a week, maybe more."

"This is shit, Jo." Jamie says.

"Jamie, please, you have to believe me. Just please trust me and I'll tell you more when I get home."

"You're talking bollocks Jo!" he's shouting now. "You've got the kids with you!"

"What?"

"The kids. I know you've got them. The school telephoned today. Message was that Ben was supposed to have a shot this week but they said not to worry they could reschedule it after your 'holiday'."

"Oh." I say, not knowing how to explain this.

"So, Jo, what's the name of this hotel then?"

"I … don't know." I say ridiculously.

"Oh for fuck's sake Jo. You've taken a holiday with them, and without me? You don’t know what the hotel’s called. Think I was born yesterday? I’m young but not stupid. How could you for fuck's sake! Where are you? I'm coming out."

I'm silent and I can hear more than two people breathing.

"In the countryside." I say carefully.

"Fuck lot of good that is. You clearly wanted this fucking holiday without me then."

"No. No." I'm close to tears. “I didn’t. It’s… it’s near the sea.”

There's a cough, and it's Craig. It's a warning.

"Who was that?" asks Jamie.

"Um, I don't know, someone nearby I think."

"You with some fucking man, Jo?" he demands. "Are you? Jesus Christ!"

I hear him suck air furiously through his teeth.

"No. I'm not." I say. "I'l…l phone again tomorrow if I can."

"If you can? What is this? You will phone again tomorrow. In fact, why isn't your mobile working?"

"Oh, it doesn’t work abroad."

"Fucking does, I bought it myself."

"Jamie, please." I start to cry a bit.

I can hear shuffling of clothing and think it's Craig. He's getting agitated.

"Jo. Jesus, what is it. Fucking tell me!"

Silence.

"Jo. Jo?"

"I… have to go now." I say.

"Why? No. Fucking stay."

"I'm going Jamie."

"What the hell's going on?"

Another cough warning.

"What the fuck?" Jamie shouts, and I hear his steps as he paces up and down. "Who is there with you, Jo? You’d better TELL ME!"

"I'm going." I say. "I love you."

I can hear an impatient intake of breath from Craig. However, I repeat it.

"I love you, James. James, I love you and I'll speak again soon."

I hang up, crying. I never call him James. We always had it as a code that something wasn't quite right. It came from when I spent nights alone and often used to be nervous. Jay said if I ever called him James, he'd know something was up, that Bob had got out of hand or something.

Craig, fire in his eyes, is bursting into the room within seconds.

SILK AND SCENT SEDUCTION

I take the boys back to their beds and tuck them in, kissing each one in turn. Ben tuts at me like he's too big but I think he enjoys it anyway. All boys stay little boys forever. I close our door and fall into bed. Relief takes over and I'm asleep before I can think any more.

The next day I don't let them out of my sight. My mind is full of relief that I am with them and although I am still very anxious, the urgency and panic has gone out of it, in these beautiful surroundings and with Craig's parents here. Had he been by himself I would have been more worried, but they clearly don't know what he has done so I see them as being 'on my side' as it were.

Within the confines of how I know it is, it's unbelievably very relaxing and pleasant. There are no chores, no work, the boys are happy. Sheila is a truly lovely lady. In my mind she is a pearly colour. I also need to gain her confidence in me, her liking for me, in case I need it.

We spend the day sitting by the pool, large and deep blue with smooth, white edges and sleek white sunbeds dotted around. At one end of the pool there is a slide and at the deep end, a diving board projects my boys into the water as Craig stands by the edge coaching them. They listen intently and do their best each time, and I can see improvement. I am still so exhausted, my eyes sting and find myself nodding off in the sun. Sheila wakes me gently at one point.

"Jo, dear. Jo? You're looking a bit pink. Better go inside I think. Why don't you have a lay down upstairs. I'm here with the boys, don't worry, and I keep covering them in lotion, so they're fine. Go on, off you go. You still look whacked. You've really been working hard, havent you?"

I agree and stumble inside where everything seems ultraviolet blue for a few minutes while my eyes adjust. In my room, I can do nothing but lay flat and rest my eyes. I relax on the bed and again, am asleep within seconds.

I wake to find Craig laying next to me, and I jump up immediately. He stops me.

"No, Jo, please don't worry, I just wanted to watch you. To be near you. Please don't jump up like that, there's no need. I won't hurt you, Jo."

I relax back on the bed but look away from him.

"Where are they?" I ask him.

"Having tea with mum. They are fine. It’s orange cake for dessert. Mum’s speciality. The boys will have to peel the oranges. It’s a compulsory task. I always did it.” he laughs fondly, “oh and they're trying on some new gear for tomorrow's yachting."

I look at him and his smile is genuine.

"Which…reminds me,"

He says, reaching down to the floor and plonking three large carrying bags between us. They are smooth plastic, cream in colour with a single, simple monogram in the corner of each one. They ooze class, money.

"What are they?" I say.

"For you. You haven't got anything here Jo.” he shrugs, slightly embarrassed, “they're nothing special, really,"

"Oh sure."

I say, looking at the silk ropes and gold rings purporting to be handles.

"Well, what I mean is, I hope you'll like them, I chose them for you, but they're just casual things. I know you prefer that."

"I can't accept them, Craig."

He looks alarmed.

"Oh but you can, you really can. You need them, and I bought them for you."

He fiddles with the ropes, his face set in surprise and concern.

"Anyway they will neither suit nor fit me,"

I smile reluctantly and he is encouraged, excitedly pulling the ropes apart.

Inside are gorgeous jeans, a pair of pale salmon coloured trousers, three silk shirts, four t-shirts and a large casual handbag. Well, it's casual in some circles I guess. To me I'd be afraid of ruining it, it's so lovely. It seems to be made of a coarse silk, again in cream, with thin straps to fit over the shoulder, my favourite type. All appear to be my size. As I peer at the labels, he explains.

"Took your clothes with me while you were sleeping. The assistant helped a bit, I must say." he adds sheepishly. "Though," he follows up proudly, pointing at them "I chose the clothes myself."

"Well, they are beautiful, of course." I play with the fabrics.

"And so are you."

He leans closer to me and places a gentle kiss on my cheek, aimed at my lips but with my head turned, I just about allow.

"I'm going to have a shower." I say.

He doesn't move. I raise my eyebrows.

"So that means you have to go."

He jumps out of the daydream and claps his hands, like a man stuck in a boy’s mind.

"Oh, yes, sure, right. I'll wait downstairs."

Running the creamy soap over my body, the scent filling the open shower and the warm breeze coming in from the open window, I close my eyes and accept that actually this is truly delicious. Do people really live like this? By this I mean the surroundings, the sheer quality of life.

It could be far better than this, though, and this is by living with my Jamie, the man I love. Who adores me. How much can you improve on that? I turn off the shower and pull the fluffy white towel from its anchor on the wall. I flick it around the back of my shoulders and look through the open window to the gardens below. Old fruit trees stand in plenty in the grounds, oranges and limes growing freely. I can't quite work out which direction I'm facing. The drive must be around the other side I think. Here, there are golden, dusty paths winding through the trees and stretching on forever, to wherever.

In the distance I see the sea, deep and blue like a wonderful sapphire studded with tiny diamonds. To the right is a clearing of soft, short grass and some seats, and a hammock. I clutch my towel around me at the front as I see who is languishing in the hammock. Looking up at the window is Craig, arms lazily hooked behind his head and an easy smile on his face. So he has watched my shower, presumably. I close the blue shutter on the window.

The jeans are soft, comfortable and exquisitely tailored to look as if they have been bashed repeatedly against ragged rocks by salty waves, then dried in the sun before being lovingly sewn with tiny crystals. They fit perfectly and I slip one of the silk shirts on top, a white one, which slides over my skin and just hangs from the tips of my nipples. It looks fantastic in the mirror but I can't go down like that. I must wear a bra. I search on the chair for the one I took off last night. There is a knock at the door. I open it.

"Almost forgot this." says Craig, handing me a pale blue box.

"No more presents, Craig. Really, it's too much."

"Just this then. For now. You need them. I’ve got the children some things too. See you downstairs."

Then almost shyly he adds, "I adore that shirt on you."

He goes down and I sit on the bed, pulling the top from the box. Inside is blue tissue to match, and inside that, several sets of stunning lingerie. Pale blue, pink, lemon and white, all satin and so, so soft. In addition, there is a pack of thongs, soft and comfortable with tiny chains at the back. God, I don't think I have ever been so spoiled. At the bottom is another small box. I pull the ribbons. Jean Paul Gaultier perfume. I spray it liberally over my neck and cleavage. For me. It’s not for him. For me. For my boys to smell their mummy, being normal. I put one of the bras on and some new knickers, get dressed and go downstairs in bare feet to find them.

IN THE SAME ROOM - this is the latest chapter. To start at the beginning, find the earliest archive on the left column.

Before I can object, he leads me by the hand into a sumptuous but minimalist drawing room. The furniture is sparse but beautifully and carefully chosen. Gilt chairs and a chaise longue surround a large marble fireplace, and at another end, an area with the biggest, squashiest set of sofas I have ever seen, in deep pink, overlooking the garden. In the centre, a low marble table, covered with magazines, newspapers, comic books and, oh my god, a wallet. Blue, leather with a gold emblem on it. It's unmistakable. I bought it.

For Sam, my Sam. I rush over and pick it up, putting it to my cheek. Craig's mother comes over and places an arm around my shoulders.

"You must be dying to see them," she understates.

"I am," I choke. "Where are they?"

"They are out at the moment, they've gone to a swimming party. A friend of mine."

Seeing my anxious face, she adds, "They're fine! They will have a fabulous time, and be perfectly safe, I promise. I wouldn't send them anywhere where they were not."

Somehow I believe her, and think she knows nothing of the real situation.

"I believe you." I say.

Again, I need friends here. I need to be accepted, loved, trusted, anything positive. Anything, to get my children safely with me again.

It’s amazing how an emotional situation, as potentially dangerous as this is, takes away your voice. I really cannot speak.

They are in my arms.

They finally come back from swimming full of details, not knowing how it really is, they are just having a good holiday. Running up to me, they are safe. They are here, and I am with them. My boys. I hold them so, so close I fear I'm crushing them.

Here they are, my children, safe, well and happy.

Relief just isn't the word. Sheila, Craig's mother, is watching with tears in her eyes. The boys look at me carefully, a little worried I have to say. I struggle to regain my voice, but honestly it's gone. There is a rasping sound coming out. Craig speaks.

"Darling, I think you are tired."

Then, talking to my boys, he says, "Perhaps mum needs to go to bed early, boys, you too in fact, and we'll do something exciting tomorrow."

I am panic stricken. I don't want to go to bed or anywhere. Just be here with them. I touch Craig on the arm and lead him outside. It all looks a bit strange but I take the risk and hiss to him, shaking with rage, and struggling with my non-voice.

"Don't you dare! Don’t you dare remove them from me. They are nothing to do with you."

"Careful," he says.

"Careful nothing. I will make a scene. Now you listen carefully. I want to sleep in the same room as my boys tonight. You see to it, Craig. I'm not coming near you, and I want to be as close to them as I can. Now, sort it out."

With that, I return to the boys who are drinking some sort of milky drink that Sheila has given them, complete with cotton napkin balanced at the base of each mug. It's a great scene if all was innocent. I am tired, he's right. I suggest the early night to the boys.

"Oh, mum! We wanted to stay up."

"I think your mummy's right," smiles Sheila. "Off you go, and I'll pop in before you sleep so we can count the stars again."

She winks at me.

"We have a deal that once they're counted, they sleep."

I swallow loudly.

"That's nice." I say, finding a small voice.

To the boys, I say, "Craig is arranging for me to sleep in your room."

They look at me oddly.

"Why?" they ask.

Ben looks irritated.

"God mum," he complains, "We're not three."

"No, no it's not that," I explain, "I've missed you so badly recently and I need to be near you. You don’t mind?" I smile.

Sam shakes his head. Ben shrugs.

"Perhaps just tonight," I compromise. "Just let me stay in your room tonight."

"Okay then," they say, not getting it at all. Mums. What a bore.

Craig takes me up to the room while Sheila insists on helping the boys to get ready for bed. He talks to me quietly as I unpack a t-shirt.

"Look, darling," he starts.

"Don't." I say. "Don't darling me."

"Darling I would never hurt them, I just have to have you here. They really love it here! They are happy, you can see they are."

"They don't know." I say.

"No, they don't, but they are having a fantastic holiday. Let's treat it as such. To be honest, Jo, you need one. You're knackered! Look at you."

I am knackered. I work too much, I'm tired.

"Yes, I need a holiday. I need my boys. I don't need you."

"Let's forget the forcing you to stay here, Jo. I don't want to do that."

He lifts my chin so I look at him.

"Do you really think I want that? … Well, I don't." he tells me softly when he gets no reply. "What I mean is, I want you to enjoy the rest. I promise you are not at risk. Just … keep my story going. It's all I ask."

He touches me, like a whisper, on my elbow. I put the t-shirt on. I care not that he is here in the bedroom watching me, I really don't. I know he won't leave and so I take off my clothes except my underwear and pull the t-shirt on. He observes, not with lust, but with affection.

"Is that all you brought?"

He nods towards my bag.

"It wasn't important." I say. "Getting to my children was."

"Of course." he agrees. "Well, sleep in that tonight and we'll sort you out tomorrow."

I lay on the bed which has been brought into the room. It is a huge room and the extra bed fits easily near to the door. My eyes sting.

"I am in the room next door, and Jo? I sleep very lightly. Please don't try anything, you wouldn't get anywhere and it would be a horrible scene, the boys wouldn't understand since everything has been absolutely perfect for them here. Just please enjoy it? Tomorrow you can phone who you want to put people's minds at rest that you have taken a working holiday, yes even him. Keep them informed and happy and then you can settle back and enjoy a break. I promise you faithfully that is all I want at this time."

"So why not just offer us a holiday if you were so concerned?" I ask.

"You wouldn’t have come, Jo, for sure."

He shakes his head sadly.

"I didn’t want to … I … needed to get you here, to show you. This is how I live. I'm not the poor student you perceive me to be. This is mine. Well, it will be anyway. You don't have to wish for anything."

"Not what I want Craig. Money doesn't fix everything."

He touches my hair, smoothes it back.

"I know that, silly. I have much more to offer. I love you. I think your boys are great. Look, I'm saying no more now, because you are exhausted, and here they come. Just please Jo, relax. Enjoy it here. You are all safe. Safe."

The door opens and two very smiley boys, I have to say, run in and jump on their massive comfy looking beds. Carved mahogany at the tops and tails. Books by the side, and a pile of boxed games in the corner of the room, all looking new. Just bought for their arrival, no doubt. I cannot dispute that they are being looked after.

They run over to my bed and sit on it with me. Craig perches on the edge, slightly uncomfortably.

"I've er…got some work to do downstairs, so I'll leave you to chat. Night night, boys, see you in the morning. Quiet day here tomorrow with mum, next day…yachting!" He says excitedly. They shriek.

"Really?" they shout. "Cool!"

He goes, shutting the door behind him.

"He's great, mum." they say enthusiastically.

I can't risk saying anything else, so I'm just quiet.

"Craig told us that Jamie and you weren't getting along, Mum." Ben says quietly, thoughtfully touching my arm. I'm thrown but cannot react at this stage.

"Sorry Mum. We liked him a lot. So did Craig, he said. Craig said he's a great musician."

Oh how very clever.

"But now you have Craig, Mum, and he's just great." says Sam, as if that's that solved.

"Well I miss Jamie." says Ben, looking at the floor.

"So do I." I pull him close to me. "We'll see him soon."

"Okay. I do like Craig, he's cool, but well, so was Jamie." says Ben.

Then changes in a flash to more exciting thoughts.

"Can't wait to go yachting!"

"Yes," I say, brushing his cheek with the back of my finger, "yes."

The 'C' Tree

The light and heat hits me as I step from the plane, the holidaymakers around me all excited, relaxed, dressed for sun and fun. I don’t look at Archie at all now, it was just a conversation we had on the plane, it must appear that way. I don't know who might be watching, but just in case. I have no luggage to collect and wait anxiously in the airport looking around me at this person and that, wondering who might be there to collect me or give me a message. I check at Information for a message but there are none. I lean against the desk, trying to make myself as conspicuous as possible in case I'm being looked for. No one is here searching me out, it's all so hopeless, I have no clues, no idea where I'm going. I turn and lean my head on my arms on the desk in despair.

"Jo, darling."

His voice is chilling but oh so welcome. He is the key to my children. I spin round.

He wastes no time.

"Remember what I said Jo, darling. Don't do anything stupid. Now. Listen. Anything that happens now, you go along with naturally. As natural as you can, as if anything we do is totally expected to you. Do not let slip to anyone, anyone, that all of this is a surprise to you. I'm serious. Do not underestimate me. Now, that said, we can proceed."

"Proceed?" I ask.

"Kiss me." he says, simply.

"No." I say. His face changes to a deathly cold image and I soon remedy my reply. I kiss him on the cheek.

"Smile." he says.

I smile.

"Hug me hello."

I put my arms around his neck and rest my chin on his shoulder.

"Why? Who is looking?"

"My parents." he answers.

"Where? Why?" I say, my eyes darting but I see no obvious parent figures.

"They'll be here in a minute, they're just buying an English paper, for you, some settling in things, my mother said. You are expecting to be here Jo, remember this. It has been planned, it's all totally normal. I will try to step in with answers if you don’t know them, but if I am not there at the time, you have to use your common sense. And, Jo, use it well. Think on your feet. Your children are at risk if you do not."

His face softens and a look of what truly appears to be deep love and concern faces me.

"I love you Jo. In this I am genuine. Your children mean the same to me, because they are yours. I don't want to harm them, what sort of animal do you think I am?"

"But," he adds with the same change, "Harm them I shall, if I deem it necessary, that is, if anything interferes with us being together."

He's mad, he has to be. I say nothing. He warns me yet again.

"All in your hands, Jo, my darling. You and I are deeply in love, this holiday is planned, and we are all going to be very, very happy."

He smiles charmingly and I do the same. Just then, a man and woman approach, about ten years older than myself. They have kindly faces, soft and smiley, well dressed people, with soft leather shoes of Italian cut. I take in as much as I can from now on, I decide. I need my observation powers to go into overdrive. They both smile at me, and come forward for introduction and hugs.

"Such a delight!" they say, holding me close like the daughter they clearly expect me to be.

"We have been waiting so long!"

I must say something. They are all looking and Craig is looking expectant.

"Oh, well, the plane you mean? Is it late?" I mumble.

"No, no dear, we mean waiting to meet you. We have heard so MUCH! Craig speaks of nothing else, and so highly of you!"

I smile at him as I think I should.

"Well. Let's get you home, now, you look rather tired. You boys take the luggage, and we'll talk on the way, won't we dear."

His mother links my arm and the men walk ahead.

"Don't you travel light, my dear! I always pack far too much. So silly of me. You must give me some tips."

Craig's mother jabbers away at my ear, cuddling me in, making me feel welcome, she thinks. Only I don't feel welcome. I am here under duress and cannot tell a soul. I have no choice but to join in the charade, play their happy families in order to preserve my own.

Craig is pleasant, interspersed with flashing me little warning looks when his mother talks to his father. I am left in no doubt as to the seriousness of the situation. Totally in his control, I follow, playing my part to the best of my ability.

Leaving the bustle around the airport, we head into the countryside. It is not that far, I discover, and try desperately to notice where we are going. However, as soon as I look out of the window, Craig pulls my face to his in pretence of a kiss, or to tell me something. The little things I am noticing are not going to be much help to me, but I take in all I can, nonetheless. We soon turn off into a sandy, unmade dusty lane. The tyres of the car crunch and slide as we create clouds of orange dust in our wake. At the end of this long lane, we pass through some gates, either side of which is a high wall covered in flowery climbers.

"Why do you need a wall around your house, when you are so far into the country?" I ask.

Craig's father answers.

"It's just for security, you know. It's actually very safe in the area, but we have, well, some property which is, shall we say unusual in the area. Some are jealous. You understand?"

"Right, yes." I reply, and turn around to see the view closing behind the gates. I can see lots of white villas with orange roofs in the distance, with the spear shaped trees on the horizon, so typical of the country. What is remarkable here, for me to remember? I see to the right, one of the tall trees curves to look like the letter C. It's not much, but I cling to the landmark. Even better, I can see at about eleven o'clock there is a sign in the distance, a neon thing, saying CASA something, but the something has fallen down. It's hanging, broken. This is better, more promising. Craig pulls my face to the front again, in a loving but firm way, and I hear the clunk of the heavy wrought iron gates behind me. Eyes ahead now, all I can hope is that here I will soon see my children.

It is a mansion, without question. The house, as we approach at the circular drive, is so big I cannot see its extent from here. There are massive wooden doors, double and ornately carved at the front. Craig jumps out, walks swiftly to the doors and punches in some numbers on the plate at the side. Moments later the doors open from within and a small, rounded woman stands there, smiling and dressed in pale pink with a white pinafore uniform, her black hair tied back neatly into a tight bun. She is about the age of my mother and has laughing eyes. She claps her fat hands in delight at the sight of Craig but does not move from her position at the door. Craig carries my bag from the boot as I get out of the car, and leads me to the front door. The housemaid opens her arms to Craig and he hugs her in return, kissing her lightly on her cheek. She beams up at him, then looks to me with a little shyness. Craig introduces us.

"Jo, this is Maria, who looks after us here. No one can touch her, she is just marvellous, isn't she?" he says, glancing at his parents, who agree. Maria holds onto my hand with both of hers, and lets out a stream of quiet Spanish, little of which I understand. She finishes with, "Estupendo." I think this means great or wonderful or something. I smile warmly at her. I must gain confidence and friendship in all these people if I can, wherever I can, I might need it.

"So pleased to meet you," I tell her. And to everyone I say, "Such a beautiful home. Please show me around. I want to see all of it!"

As we enter, I say to Craig in a flat tone, "The children."

He simply answers, "In time, in time."

IT'S ALL IN THE LINING

Worst flight ever. Don't want to be here, don't want to be flying. Just want to get there, wherever that is. My new mobile is working and received one text so far. Said I will be met by taxi at Malaga. Tried to text back but would not accept. I'm going over in my mind the possibility of leaving some sort of lead as to where I'm heading. I could tell anyone here about the whole thing. I can't though, he said so. I just can't afford to take that risk. Nestled into my seat, I take out a notebook from my bag. On one page, I write.

I describe the events of today, the phone call, the airport, Jamie, everything. The destination, everything. When I've finished, I trace the words on the paper with my finger, smoothing it down. What can I do with it now? Where can I leave it, is there anywhere safe? I mean, suppose I go with this maniac to wherever in a taxi and he does something terrible to me and to the boys, and nobody knows where I am? I just don't know. It's too risky. I start to tear the page and crumple it up in my hand.

"Are you a writer?" a male voice comes from behind.

I turn around, flushing.

"Sorry?"

"Couldn't help looking, I do apologise.” he says, smiling and waving his hand. “I get bored on these flights. Just read what you were writing. That's bad of me isn't it?"

He's frowning shyly but he’s not really as sorry as he says. Reading it was an innocent action, I realise, but he shouldn't have. Much more serious than he knows.

"So, a writer?" he smiles, encouraging an answer with his eyebrows.

"Oh. Er, no."

"Oh. Well sure isn't reality, so er, an article?"

He thinks he is being fun, clever, witty, friendly, whatever, but I just think he's being dangerous, and I can't explain to him why.

"Nothing. Messing around. Nothing at all."

"Well, it reads very well. I want to know what happens!" he laughs, hands held out. Then, seeing his puzzled expression, I change my mind.

"Yes. A writer, that's it yes. But you should forget what you read. I shall throw it away."

"Oh, you should never do that. It's your mind speaking. It's important, very important." he says, this stranger.

I stare at the paper, screwed into my palm.

"I'll have it, if you don't want it. I can't bear it to be thrown away, it's … creative. It's raw, real. Sorry,” he outstretches his hand, chuckling, “my name is Archie Walker, and I’m a writer myself. Food reviews, bit boring I'm afraid, which is why I appreciate that sort of stuff that you write."

I ignore him, rudely I suppose, but I'm busy thinking. Planning. I look around at the other passengers. Nobody is looking, nobody is interested in me, or in him.

"Come and join me for a drink." I say. The seat next to me is free and he moves quickly into it.

"Lovely, good idea. What will you have?"

"I don't care." I say, then, as he frowns deeper, I add. "I mean, anything. You choose. Same as you."

He orders two gins and when the hostess moves away, I write underneath the text on the crumpled piece of paper.

You won't believe this, but somehow I trust you so I'll tell you. This, what I've written, is true. It's happening now, and I'm scared to death. Don't comment out loud about this. I'm not crazy by the way.

He smiles at me quizzically, thinking maybe I'm joking or insane, then, seeing my straight face, becomes more serious. I write again.

This is the number of my boyfriend, Jamie. 02836 458942. May I have your number please and if things are not good in say, three days, I will get a message to you, and you can tell him for me? I just know if I tell him all this now he will fly over immediately and could put us all in danger.

He brings out his mobile phone and saves Jamie's number to its memory. At the same time he displays his own number on the screen. I can't save it to my phone for obvious reasons, so instead I tear a little lining, pale silky material from my make up bag and write his number on the inside. Then he speaks again.

"My name is Archie by the way. I did say, before, but I don’t think you took it in. Archie Walker."

"Pleased to meet you Archie," I try in my most normal voice I can muster. "I am Jo. Jo Clarke."

We finish the flight drinking our drinks, looking like people who happen to be sharing a flight, but in very low tones, I tell him as much as I can so that he could then pass it to Jamie should it be necessary. He tells me that I should have told Jamie before I left, and that he should tell him now even, but accepts when I insist not. I cannot take the risk of harming them. I have to see the set up for myself first, and this I see as being a kind of safety net, albeit tenuous.

"What if…" he says quietly whispering over his glass, "What if he's completely barmy, I mean, more than we think, and he kills you and the kids. Sorry, but I'm thinking it's a possibility and I would have known about it. I'd never forgive myself."

"I've thought about it too, but somehow I don't see it, I'm trusting that I can win him over enough to get my kids away from him and then get help."

"Bit naïve if I might say so." Archie says plainly.

"Possibly.” I take a few moments. “On the other hand, why go to all these lengths? He could have killed us in England, why bring us all over here?"

Archie takes another gulp of gin.

"Well. We won't know I suppose. Who can tell what's in a mind like that? You're sure I can't tell Jamie?"

I threaten him with my eyes, at least I think that's what I'm doing.

"Yes. Absolutely. Don't. He will go berserk, he will lose control and all sense. He'll blow it without realising."

"But I'm sure if he…"

"No. Look” I start to screw up the paper again. “If you can't handle this, just say so and it's fine. This way or not at all. I know you didn't bargain for all this when you got on this flight, and you certainly don't have to have it."

He quietens.

"No, I want to be of some help. If I can, and if it won't be too late. What about the children's father? Shouldn't he be told?"

Bob's image floats before me, ranting, raving, calling in the Commissioner of Police or whoever, bull in a china shop style.

"No." I tell him. "I will of course let him know when I know a bit more. He's very volatile and would shout us all to death. Literally."

"I see", he ponders, “should I have his number, just in case."

"No, Jamie knows it, and will call him himself if he thinks it's the right time. He knows how Bob doesn't think things through."

He sighs and raises his eyes to the ceiling.

"You do realise I'll be sweating for those three days. You simply have to let me know as soon as you can, either way."

I smile gratefully.

"I will, don't worry."

Then, as an afterthought I add, "If for some reason I can't get to a phone and you hear nothing, do whatever you think best."

"Oh good heavens above," he says quaintly, rubbing his eyes and refocussing.

Squeezing my bag to me, my new phone in my hand, I close my eyes hoping for a little sleep but all I can see are Ben and Sam, swimming somewhere, in the company of some sort of psychopath, who is holding us all to ransom.

Let Me Go

We don’t speak much in the car, Jamie seems to talk most of the talk, asking stuff about the client, which I make up there and then, including the name of the client, and the rough whereabouts of the Malaga area, though at this stage I’ve no idea. For the name, I use Craig's surname, since Jamie never knew it, but it seems a kind of safe thing to do, a lead? I don't know, it's just something I do on the spur of the moment, without risking anything, I hope, pray.

I insist on Jamie dropping me outside by the kerb at the airport. He argues ridiculously but I say I'm tight on time, and jump out of the car with him still protesting, but telling him I love him and will phone soon. Running to the check-in desk, my ticket is waiting, I am handed a duty free carrier bag, with a mobile phone box inside. I race to the boarding lounge, wanting to sit down in the right place so I can open this phone and see if there are any messages. I'm pulling at the bag as I walk and half run along. I'm just opening the box, juggling the other stuff I'm carrying, when I hear someone speak to me from behind.

"Need some help with that?"

I jump and turn round. It's Jamie. He's staring at the mobile phone, and back at me. We've stopped. I don't know what to say and stutter uselessly.

"What's this for?" he says, taking the phone and looking at it. "Jo? Where did you get it? You can't buy those here, who gave it to you? In fact, why? Jo, I need to know. You're not telling me the truth, I just know it, I feel it."

I struggle to get away from him, stuffing the phone back into the bag, it gets tangled with the plastic, and with the pushing and pulling, it suddenly crashes down onto the hard airport floor. The noise rings through my head as I watch it fall apart, its components spinning and sliding over the shiny surface. I scream, I hear myself, and fall to the floor, grabbing at the pieces, shrieking at Jamie who is completely confused, saying things to me which I can't hear because of my own incoherent babbling.

"It's ruined, it's fucking ruined! No. No. My boys. No…"

He has to shout at me to make himself heard.

"Jo!! For Christ's sake, Jo, it's ok, I'll fix it. Why is this so important? Jesus! Sit down there, Jo. Take a deep breath, you're hysterical."

I do, and I am, he's right. I flop into a seat, a wreck, glancing around myself in uncontrollable paranoia and watch his capable hands fix the thing together again to make a recognisable phone. I sob. He is really worried now and sits next to me, placing the phone in my bag.

"Got to go." I say, standing up.

"Jo, I can't allow you to go." he says.

"I'm going."

There is no negotiation. I'm shaking now, but have to make him understand. I must be calm.

"Ok, Jamie. Listen to me. I have to go. This is so important to me, you wouldn't believe how important."

"But it's just work, Jo, and we…"

"No. Don't talk. Very, very important, Jamie." I'm focussed again now and clutch his arms as I talk in a low, low voice likened to a growl I don’t recognise.

"I must go. I. MUST. go. I can't say any more than that. Please, honey, please please understand, I can't say any more. Don't push me."

"Someone else." he says, furious, spitting the two words out in disbelief. He steps back, to the side, turns around, runs his fingers through his hair, and points at me but I carry on.

"No. No, no, no, no, Jay, really." I shake my head wildly.

"No one else but you. I love you. Just this time, please trust me. Trust that I have to do this. I truly have no choice. I'm going now."

I'm walking off, my shoes scuffing the floor and my bag banging against my back, towards the boarding lounge. Getting closer to the desk, closer, closer. Getting passport out. Closer.

"Jesus, Jo! Please!" Jamie pleads. "Catch a later flight! What can be so fucking urgent?"

"Believe me, it is. I love you. I love you, I want you, I love you, and you have to trust me!" I let go of his hand clutching mine, crying still, hand the passport in to the uniformed bloke who has been watching all of this. Jamie is now parted from me by time and barrier. Passport bloke looks at the picture, at me, then at Jamie.

"Everything alright, Madam?" he asks. "Sure you want to take this flight?"

"Positive." I smile a bit, wiping tears. "Absolutely have to."

I glance back at Jay, and feel another sob escape as I see him looking so desperately worried and, well, more than angry.

"A difficult parting. You know?" I say to the bloke, sniffing.

"Right. Yes. It's not easy sometimes, is it?"

He agrees and hands me back my passport. "Why not go and have a drink, calm your nerves. Only one, mind." he smiles kindly.

"I will. Yes, thanks." I walk through, turning only once back to Jamie, blowing a kiss but not receiving one back, before I am gone from him, and on my way to God knows where.

Just Be Normal

I can't seem to hear anything and a film of frustrated tears cover my sight. My ears start buzzing and I strain to listen to him above my own blood pressure.

"I swear to you Jo, I don't want to hurt them.” the bastard goes on, “they are part of you after all, aren't they? Thing is," he says casually, "it's you I want. As you know. Are you there?"

"Yes." I say, my voice alien and dry. "I am."

"Good girl. Now, Jo, darling, don’t worry, I know that’s easy to say, but it’s going to be all good. You’ll see. Just remember what I say. Concentrate, Jo, concentrate.”

I concentrate.

“What you need to do is this. You must manufacture a reason to go to Spain."

"Spain??" I say, my voice rising. I have forgotten that Jamie is within earshot and he looks at me, eyebrows raised. I ignore him, I can't think of any expression to show him but the one I have on my face. I lick my lips quickly and am aware I’m blinking a lot. An outline map of Spain pops into my head, no idea why. He goes on.

"That's right.” Craig tells me, “we're going to have a nice little holiday. All together, the boys are really looking forward to it, Jo. Oh, you should see them!” he laughs, “we’ve been looking at photos, they know all about it and they’re beside themselves with excitement. We went out today and bought loads of new stuff! Equipment, swimming gear, new clothes, Ben made me laugh, he said ….well anyway, you’ll see for yourself, darling. It's all arranged. You have to catch a flight tonight, Jo. Tonight. Are you listening?”

“I’m listening.” I croak, slapping my thigh with my palm and wandering around.

“Good girl,” he says again, “eight ten tonight, it's all booked. Pick up the ticket at the airport, it's all reserved for you.”

Then, a voice change. Deep, serious, focussed.

“Don't try any tricks Jo, because I've thought of everything. We will not be flying with you, you will not see us at the airport. You will be met at Malaga airport and taken to meet us. Now, Jo, this part is important.”

He pauses.

“I swear to you, the boys are safe, but their safety is in your hands alone. You, as their mother.”

I hear myself yelp. Jamie looks over. I turn it into a smile. How I do, I’ve no idea, but my mouth becomes flat and wide in any case and it probably passes as a smile.

“Do as I say, and all will be fine. Tell a soul, your parents, the school, him, especially him, and things change. Don’t try to be clever, Jo, because I’m ready for that. I’ve thought of everything. Just get that ticket, at the British Airways desk, be on the plane, do as I say, oh and there'll be a mobile phone waiting for you at the desk too - a little gift - and I will contact you through that. Don’t bring yours. Do not. I'm going now, because the boys and I are going swimming.”

Voice lightens, instant joy, excitement, holiday mode.

“In our new stuff! Want them to be happy, Jo, you see? Now do as I've said. Check in at 5.30 to be safe. Then wait for more instructions."

"Is there anything else I need to know?" I ask, gabbling a bit to get the words out before he’s gone, my head spinning with a thousand things to know but cannot ask. His words are deliberate.

"Once you pick up the phone, I'll be in touch. Now, I really have to rush, the kids are waiting for me! Towels under their arms, ahh... I'm really quite fond of them already."

He clicks off the phone, I drop it into my lap and before I can recover, Jamie speaks.

"Spain? What was all that about then. Who was it?"

I stare at him as he wanders around the room, looking at me, casually rearranging this and that as he speaks.

"Honey?" he says.

I have to say something. I hold the phone tightly in my hand again, like it is my only link now with my children. I squeeze it so hard it could break, my knuckles going white and some sort of story comes out of my mouth.

"Yeah, amazing,” I reply, breathing out a puff of air, trying to keep it light, “Spain. A contract….some artwork."

"Right...?” Jamie’s eyebrows arch, “What sort? What do you mean? You have to go over there?"

Yes. Yes I do. I nod wildly.

"Tonight. I'm sorry, Jay, but it sounds good. Well, not good really; a must. I have to."

Jamie frowns and stands still, hands in pockets, jingling change. He's looking at me closely now, and I have to be on my guard. Careful what I say. Careful, careful. Safety. Boys. Safety.

"Tonight?" he asks rather loudly and wincing. "bit short notice isn't it?"

His lower jaw juts out, bottom teeth resting on his top lip, the way he does when he's confused, thinking.

I stand up, have to look more normal. Think, Jo, think!

"It is!” I chuckle, “God, I have to pack!” Then I puff again, in irritated style, “Jesus, why can't these people think things through. Jay, this is bad timing I know, I'm sorry."

I kiss his lips and hope he doesn’t notice them trembling. He's not smiling, although he returns the kiss, lifting his eyebrows and tightening his lips on mine.

"So?" He holds me out at arm's length. "What sort of work is it? Who is it?"

I cannot afford for him to be suspicious. The last thing I need right now is him thinking I'm flying off on some secret love liaison, Jesus.

"Don't know a lot, but they've been in contact once before, asking me about it, it's….hotels, complex thing, you know, they need art work for the décor. They saw my work online. Well, it's good, isn't it?" I attempt a smile, and cup his face in my hands.

He seems to relax.

"I guess.” He shrugs, “well, Christ, it's two thirty now. You'd better throw some stuff in a bag and I'll run you. Is your passport in date?"

"Oh Shit!! No!" I shout, suddenly flying into a panic. "It is, isn't it?" I'm willing him to give the right reply, but instead he looks blankly.

"I don't know, Jo. Calm down though!” he chuckles, “don't even know where you keep it. Where is it, let’s see."

I rush past him, run into the bedroom, under the bed is a file with all papers like that. I pull it out, flip through the pages manically, eyes darting until they settle on the date. Oh my Christ, thank God. Thank God. I had no way of contacting that bastard Craig. I suppose I could have found the last received call on my phone, maybe? Oh Jesus thank God. Jamie stands in the doorway.

"All ok?"

"Yes…yep, all fine. Sorry, just got a bit panicked."

"I noticed."

The tight lipped smile again.

"Could be a lot of money I think," I try to explain. “that’s all.”

"Sure. Although, we're hardly scratching around right now, are we? You looked like it might be life or death. We’ve got more cash than we’ve ever had. Not life or death, Jo."

I just can't listen to that, it’s too close and too much. I jump up from the bed, fling my arms round him, briefly kiss him and tell him I've got to hurry. I grab my squashy overnight bag from under the bed, and throw stuff in there. Knickers, t shirts, jeans, a shirt. Toothbrush, make up bag, handbag and I'm ready. He stares at the bag and back at me.

"That's it?" he says. “don’t you want something smart?”

I follow his eyes to my packing.

"Yes, what? What's wrong with it? No. Nothing smart. It’s a … building site, more or less. Just jeans will be fine. Come on honey, can you run me, please? I can't be late."

He speaks slowly, like I'm retarded or something.

"Wouldn't you need something smart to meet these 'new clients'?"

Oh for fuck's sake, leave it? Just take me there, please.

"Oh. No!” I say, too loud. “Well, you think? Um, well…"

I open the wardrobe and grab a crisply ironed blouse and some black trousers.

"This. This is fine." He watches as I stuff it carelessly into the small bag.

As I rush past him towards the door, he holds my wrist.

"Jo."

My eyes stare straight into his, without really looking.

"What?"

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you? I don't think you would do that, would you, Jo. I mean, I trust you."

He says this meaningfully, staring back, but I steel myself to meet the gaze and grasp a soft, soothing voice from somewhere.

"Course not, silly."

Kiss him again, really quickly, and pull him out to the car.

Blood Running Cold

Later, I find a moment to make the call to the irritating girl. She answers straight away.

"That's Jo, right?"

"Yes, and Sarah, just so that you know, don't ring me again, please. I've called you back this once, but I won't do it again. In fact…"

"It's Craig. I felt you should know."

I sigh. Another sob story.

"What."

"He can't let go of you Jo."

"For God's sake, Sarah, he never had me! What can't he let go of?"

"You, you, you, Jo," she groans. "He's obsessed. He talks of nothing but. Sees no-one but you. Do you know; his room? It's covered in pictures."

"Pictures?" So what?

"Of you." she says quietly.

"That's impossible, Sarah." She's as crazy as he is. "Craig never took any photos of me, not one. Also, I never gave him any."

"Well, I realised that."

"You're not making any sense at all, Sarah, and frankly, I haven't the time to…"

"They're taken from a distance, I soon saw that. Always a little way away from you, and not in one are you smiling into the camera."

I think about this.

"Smiling into the camera? Of course I haven't been, no. What are you saying here? Sarah, I don't know what he's told you about us, but there IS or even WAS no ‘us’."

"Right, well, whatever, but the thing is, he has these pictures. Some of them are blown up, kind of poster size?"

Oh dear God. A shiver runs through me. Feeling cold, feeling colder.

"They're all over the room and he won't go anywhere with the rest of us. Says he's got lots to prepare."

"Prepare for what?" I ask.

"He says,” she says haltingly, with some concern, “you're going to marry him, and that you've chosen a house together, and we all said well why don't we all come and meet her, etc, spend the weekend together, but he always says no and that you're really busy."

"Sarah." I interrupt, my hand held up to the air. "Sarah. Listen to me. I am not in a relationship with Craig, never have been, and marriage? Well, it's laughable. I don't want anything to do with this. I'm afraid it's his problem, Sarah. I'm very sorry. I really have to go now."

She is quiet for a moment, then reluctantly she gives in.

"Whatever. At least I told you."

"Yes, Sarah, you told me. Let's leave it at that."

When I replace the receiver, I realise my hands are shaking. Try to forget it.

------------------------

I can't believe how time has flown since making the decision. Jamie really gets going when he wants something, and he wants that house. So do I. All is going ahead well. Getting the mortgage wasn't a bit of a problem, we're obviously suddenly a very good bet and it's plain sailing. We are moving in next week, and I'm busy packing boxes, throwing away rubbish, and making purchases for the new house, as it is clear we shall be rattling around there for a while. We actually don't own very much! Ben and Sam have been here for two weeks, and they're here with me, sitting on the floor, helping to pack, chatting and stuffing chocolate bars into their mouths along the way.

"I love the house, mum," says Ben. "When are we attacking the loft?"

"Well, let's get in first, shall we." I reply.

"Yeah, course, but Jamie said we can start choosing stuff right away."

Oh, blimey, did he.

"You can, yes. Although, it takes time to get these things done, honey. Don't forget we have to get it all boarded and safe and all that, then comes the 'where to put stuff' bit."

"Oh mum you're so bor-ring," puts in Sam with a silly face.

"No, just practical." I smile at him, ruffling his hair. "It'll get done, but you have to have a bit of patience. Won’t it be great?"

"Can we bring our friends at the end of term? I mean, there'll be loads of space for them, won't there?" asks Ben.

"Yes, no problem with that, so long as their parents don't mind. You know what it's like, you boarding boys, we like to have you back with us in the holidays; maybe their mums and dads will say no. They're always welcome though, yes."

Sam picks up a CD of mine from the floor.

"Which box, mum?"

I read it and point to one by the sofa and he throws it in.

"Careful!" I say.

"Someone at the door, mum." says Ben. "I'll get it."

I struggle to my feet with aching knees from crouching on the floor.

"Well, hang on, who is it?"

I follow him towards the door, and as Ben opens it, I freeze, horrified.

"Hello, Jo." Breezes Craig, looking past Ben, who stands arm outstretched, politely inviting him in, despite everything I’ve ever told him regarding strangers.

"Um. What brings you here?" I ask, pulling Ben back into the room.

"You must be…?" Craig speaks to Ben directly, who looks at me.

"This is my son," I say in a slightly shaky voice, and not giving a name, "and actually, we are in the middle of something important and need to get back to it, so I'm afraid I can't see you today. Please would you call another time, first, to make an appointment."

"My friend's got that watch," says Ben, innocently admiring the watch on Craig's wrist.

Craig seizes the chance of further contact.

"He's got good taste then," he says, to which Ben smiles. Craig puts forward his hand and of course Ben shakes it.

"Craig. And you are?"

"Ben." he replies without hesitation.

"And I'm Sam!" Sam says running forward, anxious not to miss out.

"Hello Sam." Craig shakes the hand of my other son too and my blood is boiling.

"We really must get on now." I gesture for Craig to leave.

"Oh, yes of course, I don't want to hold you up," but he remains where he is. "Shame though, I wanted to look at your latest paintings. I'm …a bit of a fan."

"Cool, mum, you've got a fan!" Sam laughs.

"So, does it run in the family, then, boys?" he asks them, and instantly they tell him about the prize Sam got recently at school in Art, and Ben says not really, but he's getting on ok. Craig strikes a rapport with them, bending down easily into a crouch at their level, saying he was useless at school, and how he used to get his friend to do the homework for him, to which they snigger.

"I'd like to see some of your work some time,” he tells them, “maybe I'll just buy yours instead of your mum's. What do you reckon?"

They clearly think he's just great. Great, young, smiley, jokey, fun Craig. This time, I kind of push him out, feigning apologies and succeeding in getting him and myself outside, shutting the boys back inside the studio. I hiss at him at the very first opportunity, safely out of earshot.

"How dare you. Don't ever do that again. Don't come near my children, you slimy, smooth swine."

I'm fuming and he can see, but he remains calm.

"Careful, they'll see you being horrid to me, and I feel that, already, I'm their friend. Don't you?"

He breaks into a huge smile and waves ostentatiously through the window.

"No. I don't." I say. "Go. Go now and don't come back."

"Oh, Jo, don't say that," he smiles at me, "You know I'll be back one day… very soon. As you say, though, I’ll make an appointment."

"I said that for their benefit!" I tell him angrily. "You know I don't want you back here."

"Bye then, Jo," and before I can move, he bends to kiss my cheek goodbye, pulling me in for a tight hug.

I turn to the side and see the boys smiling at us. I just walk away now, as Craig gets back into his car, and I am once again safely inside with my boys. I don't feel safe, though. Far from it. Now, he has met my boys. He knows their names, they know him. They like him, even.

We are sorting out things a couple of weeks later in the basement when the call comes. Jamie has taken some time off work to set out his office here at the new house, and we have decided to tackle this first before setting about my own studio, since Jamie has a new contract starting next month. The boys have started the new term and all is going well.

Until the phone rings.

My mobile.

I answer cheerily and in seconds, my blood freezes.

It's Craig, and he tells me not to give anything away, to answer normally and fluently, and to do as he says.

Jamie is walking in and out of the room while this maniac fills my head, through my mobile, with horrific information.

"…..the school was very understanding,” he says with a slow, calm drawl, “really, no problem at all. I explained it was out of the ordinary, for which I apologise, but that I was here from Australia on a short term visit, and in the interests of family, a small holiday is what you and the boys need. No worries, there, Jo, so don't phone the school."

I can barely take this in, my mind can't accept it but I know it has to. This is serious. Clearly, Craig is on another planet, but right now he is telling me that he has my boys. They are with him. With him! My God, I feel faint, dizzy, panicked out of my life, but I stay calm. I ask to speak to them. I need to know he is telling the truth for a start. Ruffles and muffles over the phone, then I hear my darling's voice. My Ben. My throat catches and I’m worried I won’t be able to talk. He is happy and chirpy, excited even. Oh, Jesus Christ.

"Hi Mum, yes I'm fine." He sounds perfectly fine, excited about a holiday of which I know nothing. He goes on while I desperately attempt to gather strength.

"Yes, Sam and I are just playing on Craig's Playstation. He's just bought the latest one, it's great. No, not at University, no, at his new flat. He said you helped him choose the stuff here. Looks nice, mum doesn’t it. We love the oversized beanbags you bought us, we’ve been bombing on them and it's the same sofa as the studio, isn't it?"

Is it? I don't even know the flat. My heart is racing out of control, I don't know where they are, what should I do, what shall I say?

"I love you, my boys,” I say, my voice cracking, “I'll speak again soon, have you got your mobile with you?"

"No, Craig's got it."

Oh God.

"Craig said he'll look after it for me, and he's going to put some credit on it."

"Right." I say quietly. "Could you pass me over again please honey?"

"To Craig? Yep sure."

Craig comes on the line.

"I'm just going out to the car for something boys," I hear him say to them, and after a few seconds, he tells me his sick plan.

"Right, Jo. As you can hear, the boys are here with me. They are fine, let me tell you that straight away. Nothing to worry about at all. But, I have to also tell you that if you call the police, they won't be fine any more."

Lesbian lady

On my way back to my Jay, I am intercepted by a man, aged about 35, reasonable looking and trendy, who asks if I could spare him a minute. Given recent events, I react badly and snap, making him jerk back in surprise.

"No I couldn't, in fact." I say directly, "and," I warn him, rudely pointing a finger, "No, I am not single. Yes, I'm faithful and no, I don't want to even have a drink with you."

I stare at him with fierce eyes.

"Ok?"

Slowly he smiles if a little nervously and speaks.

"Actually, I was wondering if you might spare a minute to introduce me to your husband? I have something I'd like him to help us with."

My husband? Oh, God, it's Jamie of course, and I thought…oh how I've fucked this up. How bloody embarrassing. I stammer.

"I...I…I'm so sorry, it's just…. Recently…"

"No problem," he laughs, "It's fine."

The one time I instantly take a stand and look where it gets me. He asks again.

"Do you think you could…?"

"Oh, yes, of course, come with me," I say and as we walk together he comments.

"It's nice to see though, you being so fiercely loyal like that, I have to say. Your husband is very lucky."

Oh, I wish he hadn't said that, he doesn't know. Jamie meets us. He doesn't look at me, but instantly meets the eye of the man with me. So Jamie.

"Honey, this is… actually I don't know your name yet, do I?"

"No, we didn't get that far."

It's a good move and Jamie allows himself a smile.

"My name is Willow. Peter Willow, from Armour?"

This means nothing to me, but I see recognition on Jamie's face. I do the intro thing.

"Right, well honey this is Peter Willow, then, and he'd like you to help on a project of his. Will you excuse me? I'm going to mingle."

"Of course, and thank you," says Peter Willow. Jamie squeezes my finger as I leave them. It says volumes, it's his way of saying okay mingle but don't mingle, okay? I understand perfectly and squeeze back.

Right, off I go to mingle. Which I'm not very good at in fact, I always find it awkward to approach an animated group and interject with my comment or introduction. I somehow assume they wouldn't want to know. I look around the room and yes, all are animated and all are into conversations already. Drink, yes I'll replenish. I weave through the bodies, touching an elbow here and the back of a jacket there to excuse myself, back to our table and fill my glass with more wine.

"I loved Jamie's music," says a female voice behind me.

"Oh thank you, yes, it worked out very well, he's very pleased with it."

She is young and pretty and I'm wondering what entitles her to use his first name.

"I'm Tracy Stevens," she tells me and I wait.

"I'm an actress on the show, and one of the comments we all get is about the theme music."

"Oh, I see, well that's very nice. You mean from viewers?"

"Yes, it's a new experience for me to be stopped in the street. People think they know you really well and immediately start talking, but yes, they always say about the music."

"Have you met Jamie?" I enquire politely, but really wanting to know.

"I have, briefly, on the set. He came along one day to see how it all works."

Oh, did he? He didn't mention it to me.

"Oh yes, I remember him saying." I lie.

"I've seen him again tonight," she adds, "and he pointed you out to me across the room, which is how I knew who you were. You must be very proud of him."

"I am, yes I am, very much, in whatever he does."

"He's extremely proud of you, too. He told me about your artwork."

"Oh, did he?"

God, I love him, that is so typical of him, to be complimented on something of his, take it, but then point out my achievements too. Tracy and I talk for a while longer until she is approached by a woman a little older than her, also attractive, but in a different way.

"Hello," she shakes my hand, "Hilary."

"Hello Hilary," I say and watch as she moves a stray hair of Tracy's away from her face.

"Shall we make a move then?" She asks her.

"Oh, I'd like to stay a little longer," Tracy objects.

"Well, me too, but you're filming in the morning don't forget. Early start."

Tracy groans with good humour. Must be her agent or something. We say our goodbyes.

On our way home in the car, I am troubled by the Tracy Stevens. How pretty she was, how pleasant. I'm worried.

"I met Tracy Stevens this evening." I watch his face closely.

"Oh yes?" He asks without a flinch.

"Honey…are you interested in her at all?"

He starts laughing.

"Not in the least my silly darling" and snuggles me close to him as he drives.

"Really? Truly?" I ask, hugely relieved.

"Really. And, not that it makes a difference, because I don't think she's that attractive in any case, but it might interest you to know. She's gay."

"Never!" I say, really surprised. "Gosh, she doesn't look it!"

"No, she left her Doc Martin boots and mechanic's overalls at home tonight."

"Oh stop, you know what I mean,"

"Yeah, course I do."

I think about it, and of course, that's who Hilary was then. Making sure she got home at a decent hour, oh right, yes.

"Sorry honey, I was just a bit concerned."

"Well don't be," Jay tells me as he crunches the wheels onto the drive.

"I don't care who they are, what they look like, I am not interested. I love you, just you. When will you learn?" He smiles, admonishing me.

"Now, into that bedroom with you, and get naked in record time. I'll bring us a nightcap."

I kiss his lips softly and with all the love I have inside me.

"Well done, my Jay, I'm so proud of you. Tonight was the first of many nights like that."

He chuckles, a little embarrassed.

"Well, let's not get carried away." He winks at me. "No, in fact, let's. Go and get naked."

In the early hours I get up to go to the bathroom. From the cabinet I take a small package, wrapped in shiny, silver paper with tiny, matching bow on top. I snuggle back into bed next to Jamie and he wakes.

"You ok sweetie? You seem restless."

I put the little present onto his chest and smile as he unwraps it, blinking his eyes.

He pulls the top off the box and as he sees it, I can tell he loves it, I know his face so well and his reactions. He gives the familiar short laugh and easy smile creating a dimple on one side of his mouth, the dimple I adore and only see with his most genuine and natural smiles.

The present is a very small, solid silver tv set. There is a quaver on the top and the name of the theme music on the screen. It's solidly made and beautiful to touch, but there's humour in it too.

"Where did you find something like this?"

I giggle.

"I didn't, I had it made. Found a guy who can make to order. I'm actually thinking of doing a sideline here at the studio, bespoke items like this."

"Good idea." Then looks directly at me, narrows his eyes at me making me laugh.

He know I exist in your life?"

"Of course he does! Told him all about you. Look underneath," I say, tipping it over.

He reads it out in a soft voice.

"Only yours, ever. Jo."

"That's all I ever wanted." My Jay says, placing the TV set on my tummy button and kissing all around it.

-------------------------------

I'm all fired up about the silver idea, having got Jay's agreement too, it has spurred me on and I get on the telephone to the silver blokie who will come round this afternoon to talk about a deal. It will be good for him, too, as he is just starting out, keen to get his stuff exhibited.

Jay puts a piece of paper in front of me as I hang up. It's house details. I look at the picture.

"God, that looks gorgeous. I bet they're asking a hefty price for that."

"Well, yep, it's not cheap," he flips it over. I suck in my breath.

"But," he continues, holding me steady.

"We could manage it. I've done some figures."

"Figures? You?" I smile.

He's not offended.

"I know, not like me but I have a feeling, Jo. This is the one. While you were on the phone, I've worked it out. Look."

I cast my eye over the figures. They don't look quite so bad, taking into account his new earning power in addition to mine.

"Also," he goes on, sitting backwards on my desk chair in front of me, "Have you seen what else it has?"

"I haven't read it all," I say, scanning the text.

"A half-finished barn conversion in the grounds!" He can't wait for me to find it. "Studio, Jo!"

I gesture around me as if to say but we're sitting in my studio here right now. I have one. He reads my mind.

"Yes, yes, we still keep this on, but it becomes a showcase. Your own gallery, where you can meet your clients, show your stuff, and now this silver range too, this can be shown here. What do you think? At the studio at home, you do all the work to show here!"

He sits back in triumph. I have to say it sounds good.

"Well?" he asks.

"Well let's go and see it!" I jump up all excited and he dials the agent. While he's waiting for it to answer, he says to me, "Can't wait to get started on that basement. Oh shit, I hope it hasn't gone already? Answer, answer."

"Basement?"

"Oh yeah, didn't I say?"

He listens to the phone again: someone is answering. He gabbles to me.

"The basement. Runs over the whole area. My studio. MY studio Jo!" He grins manically at me and speaks to the agent. "Oh yes, morning, we've had the details of 'Oasis' today?"

He covers the mouthpiece at hisses at me. "Yes, I know…that name is changing first thing of course -I've got to record decent music in there for Christ's sake…er, yes, we'd like to go and see it …well right now, if that's okay?"

In no time at all, we are standing in the basement. I have to say we have spent most time in this room since we arrived, but that's okay, it's just fantastic to see the excitement on my gorgeous man's face. He's right too, this house is the one. We've taken so long looking at it, the agent has returned to his office leaving us with the key and telling us to meet him back there.

Jamie is mentally placing all his equipment here and there, he's lost, totally lost, but still he pulls me to him and squeezes hard.

"You do love it too, Jo? You know if you didn't like it, it would be okay? Just say."

"I love it honey! The kitchen is huge, just what we want, the character is wonderful throughout, plenty of space for the boys…"

"Yes, the boys, I meant to say…"

Jay says, speaking so fast he barely takes a breath, "the loft."

"The loft?" I say, aghast. "I don't want them sleeping up there."

He bends double with laughter.

"God, Jo, what do you think I am? No, I want to make it into a den! You know, somewhere they can take their friends, I'll set up some music equipment for them, bean bags, that type of thing. It'll be theirs. What do you reckon?"

"It's great honey, just fantastic. They'd love that. Can we afford all that though?"

He gets serious, to show me he's thought it all through.

"Well, not all at once, granted. But, in time, those are the plans."

"I love it." I tell him and he beams.

Once again he's lost in the basement plans and I pull him out of it.

"One thing though…"

I look worried and he looks panicked.

"Oh what is it?"

I can tell he's holding his breath for something I might say which could change this dream.

"Could we go and see the barn now?"

He collapses with relief.

"Oh Christ yes, sorry, let's go. I know you'll love it, it's so big!"

Again, he's right. As I walk inside, I know this is ours. The beams remain exposed, but a lot of work has already been done, and done well. Windows have been set in already, with one huge expanse of glass from floor to ceiling in the middle of one outside wall. Bags of natural light. Perfect. Wonderful view of the house and garden too which looks overgrown but is large and pretty, dotted with cherry trees. There is space for work in progress, for storage, for a small kitchen and a sitting area. And, I can actually stand back and look at the work! I can't do that where I am now. Loads of room for storage, actually, and if I ever ran out, well the ceiling is so high, I could think of another level. Oh God, now I'm as excited as he is. He walks right into the centre and whispers. It echoes dramatically.

"Agreed Jo? Let's go now and make an offer."

"Agreed."

I wonder if it's obscene to feel so happy. After lunch our offer is accepted, we celebrate with champagne and I greet the silver man with too much alcohol-fuelled gusto. He seems to get on with Jamie too, which is always good, and we sign a commission agreement. Both parties happy. I'm searching now on the web for some display units. I want something simple, minimalist. Aha just the thing, black perspex box display, freestanding and quirky in that its design suggests it will fall over, it's all wonky, but the display surface is kept level. Jamie peers over my shoulder.

"Bit gloomy, isn't it?"

"Nope, it's perfect." I click Add To Purchases. "You'll see."

"Right. Had a great day, haven't we?" He leans over me kissing my neck and massaging my shoulders.

"Mmm, we have, we have. Must send a pic of the house to the boys and get them to come and see it."

"We must, but maybe wait until it's all going through? I'd hate to disappoint them."

I search Jamie's eyes.

"Not sure, now?"

"Of course I'm sure! I meant surveys and stuff. Give it a few days at least."

"Getting all sensible these days are you?" I tease.

"Hmm," He ponders. "That good or bad?"

"Good." I tell him. "You can throw caution to the wind sometimes though, still, I don't mind that."

"Phew, thank God for that."

The phone rings and Jamie answers.

"Yep, she's here…who is it? Okay, hang on a sec."

He hands the phone to me.

"It's Sarah?"

I whisper, hesitating.

"Sarah? I don't know a Sarah. Do I? Do we?"

Jamie laughs and I take the phone.

"Hello, Jo here, who is this again?"

"Jo, I'm sorry to ring you at home, I really am, it's Sarah. You remember, Craig's friend?"

I keep my face straight, but my voice freezes and I say nothing.

"Jo?"

"Oh, yes," I say pleasantly, thinking unpleasant thoughts.

"Jo, I need to speak to you. Could you ring me back when you're free?"

"Oh, I remember now, it was the bluey one you liked wasn't it?"

"What?" said Sarab.

"Well, give me your number and I'll let you know."

She does and I scribble it down and hang up.

"Client?" asks Jay.

"No, not really. Well, yes, I suppose. An enquiry, nothing more."

"Right. Tea, honey?" says Jamie, collecting empty cups and heading to the kitchen.

"Yep, lovely."

I sit on the sofa screwing the bit of paper into my purse. Oh shit, I just don't want anything to do with these people. My conscience won't let me throw it in the bin though. She sounded serious. Why can't they all go away?

House Hiding

Wonderful solid walled garden, large and overgrown, plenty of space. I peer in the dirty window. Very old style kitchen. Reasonably clean though, habitable, until I got one refitted. I move to the next window. A dark, dirty sitting room, looking very sad and unloved. Wow, it's big. In really bad repair, but that doesn't worry me. Picture rails and dado rails, high ceilings, oh, oh and a massive fireplace. Oh, lovely. There's an old piano in the corner of the room taking up a lot of space, but even so, I can see that it's a great size. I lean closer, shielding the outside light from my eyes with my hands. Internal door, panelled again and heavy, leads through to hall, I can just catch sight of the stairs, all original fittings, I see. Very attractive staircase, but it all needs improving. Neglected, which puts me in a good bargaining position. This is it, this is the one, I can sense it, I only hope Jay agrees. I sit down on the back step and while away some time mentally planning a complicated garden scheme that I know would never be put into practise. It’s fun imagining it though. Gazebo, Clematis scrambling all over it, a huge space left for football for Sam and Ben, but little beds at the side to provide colour. It's big enough for a pond at the bottom. We could keep fish…

"Mrs. Clarke?" a male voice from the front shouts. Oh, at last.

"Yes, I'm here at the back," I call, making my way around the side.

As I turn the corner, stepping over rubble and shrubs, I start to explain where I was.

"Just having a peep at the … oh for God's sake."

I stop, still, with dread and defeat washing over me. It's Craig. He stares back, smiling innocently.

"How? How did you find me?" I ask him, simply, holding out my hands.

He looks sheepish, and very young again. I take in his details, in spite of myself. He's casual today, in old jeans and a soft shirt. He has old trainers too, in fact, this is very much the Craig I first met.

"I, um, it wasn't difficult, I rang the two agents in the village, and when I found the right one … look I'm sorry, I told them that I was joining you here, and could I call in for the keys."

He watches for my reaction. I think he's expecting a slap, but I don’t really do slaps. I am angry with him though. It's strange, but with Craig I get very irritated, very cross, but he has something which makes me melt. I hate that fact. I wrestle against it, but it's hard. I don't let him know this though, I want to be furious.

"They said yes, just like that? Idiots. You had no right to do that. How dare you, Craig?"

"Um, I just do?" he smiles, then seeing my exasperated expressions, adds, "I'll do anything, Jo. Anything to be with you. Told you, I'm in love with you, simple as that. Love makes us do strange and out of character things."

"Not this way, Craig, it's not right. This is not right."

"I agree. It definitely isn't right. You should be living here with me."

He gestures to the house, and manages to look smug and childlike at the same time. "But I'm sorry that I've made you all angry with me again. I seem to have a knack for it."

He stares at his shoes and plays the part of the scolded schoolboy.

"You do. You were never meant to meet me here at all, Craig."

"I wasn't, no." He agrees.

"You lied."

"I did."

"You were sneaky, and I didn't say I would meet you ever again, let alone here, today."

"This is true."

I stamp my foot, irritated.

"It's wrong, Craig." I complain.

He smiles at my foot.

"Probably."

"It is. Take my word for it." I say again. "Craig?"

"Yep?" he asks, walking towards me.

"You have to stop."

"I can't." He gestures to his legs in surprise. "I'm still walking."

I step back to avoid him and bump into the dustbin. He chuckles.

"Stop, Craig."

I point my finger at him in a thoroughly useless warning gesture.

Standing two feet away now, I can smell his after shave and notice his stubble, yes, he has stubble now. This is new.

"No, no, Craig, I mean it. You … you're … you're deluding yourself. I am in love with Jamie."

Oh, how many times have I said this? I sigh.

"Yes. Jamie." He grimaces, "Let's not do that, now."

"You can't pretend he doesn't exist. He does, and I love him. I don't love you. Do you hear me, Craig?"

I get very close to his face.

"I. Don't. Love. You."

It's brutal but necessary. He looks crestfallen, but I have to be strong here. No room for sympathy, oh no.

"Well, I'm going now," I say defiantly and walk past him purposefully.

He jangles some keys behind my back.

"I have the keys though, Jo. Looks a nice house, to me." He taunts. "Don't you want a look?"

"No I don't."

But I'm standing still. I should leave.

"Well, I certainly do," he says, in a jolly way, turning the key in the front door.

I spin around.

"You can't." I say. "It's not yours."

"Not yours either," he states, and goes straight into the hall.

Oh God, I'm stubborn, but not that stubborn; my eyes swivel around the place. There is a parquet floor, old and dull, that I can see. The hallway is spacious and surprisingly light. Oh shit, I have to see it.

Chapter Twenty Two

I follow him inside, pointing a silent finger at him once more, as I walk, for what it's worth. We enter the kitchen. Craig tries the light switch but nothing happens. Can't see a great deal, but it's not in good repair.

"Needs a new one, doesn't it?" he peers around, opening cupboards here and there.

"Yes." I say shortly.

There's an Aga there, though. Wow, great, I could build around that, it could be really cosy.

"What would you put in here?" he asks, touching my hand slightly.

"Don't know." I answer sulkily, withdrawing my hand.

Blue and white, I think, or maybe even yellow. Deep buttercup yellow. I move into the sitting room, ignoring him. It's bigger than I thought, even, with a hidden corner where I could set up a small office. I can see it all painted white, making it lighter than it is, with clean, classic lines. I like it. Craig breaks into my thoughts.

"Come and see up here! Great rooms up here." He calls downstairs.

I hesitate for a second, but I can't wait to see. I run up the stairs, looking more eager than I ought.

"It's bigger than it looks, isn't it?" he says, excited. "Five bedrooms. And .."

He gestures theatrically at an extra door, and pushes it open for me to enter. It's a bathroom, but it's not old at all. Recent work has been done here, and it's utterly beautiful. The suite is white, exactly to my taste, Victorian style, with gorgeous blue tiles around the walls, I'd say Italian influence. A huge, white bath stands regally in the centre of the room, on sturdy, ornate feet. It's truly stunning, and I gasp loudly in surprise and delight. Craig isn't looking at the bathroom, he is staring at me, with a serious look on his face. I can't help but smile at him. The pleasure, as I do this, on his face, is unmistakable. He's beaming.

"Great, isn't it? What a surprise, in this old house."

"It is." I agree.

I touch the enamel of the bath, it's smooth and cold. He watches. I move over to the window, where a simple, white blind has been hung. It overlooks the back garden, which seems to stretch on and on from here. I gaze out, it's perfect, just perfect. I want this house. As I'm staring, the blind slowly lowers in front of me and my image of the garden diminishes as Craig closes it completely.

I don't object, it's like I'm frozen, fixed on the white screen in front of me. Long seconds pass before his hand pulls at my arm, and I'm moving towards him. His touch is very gentle, tentative, shy even. I pull away, and tell him no, but he puts a finger to his lips. He is very close now, and holds me to him so tenderly, and I can feel him trembling. All at once, his breath is on my neck, and he plants soft kisses there. I know I want to get out of here, that I shouldn’t be in this house with him, I will my arms to move, but they hang, useless, by my sides. I don't touch him, but I seem to be allowing this to happen. I know there's no excuse, this is wrong, but I seem to be led, out of control, mesmerised even, by him and the moment.

His mouth finds mine, hesitates slightly, in case I object I think, because he's searching my eyes, but then he presses his lips firmly onto mine, and a low groan escapes him, a release of pent-up passion. He's guiding me over to the wall now, and still kissing me, more urgently now, he leans his body against mine. I can feel his excitement growing, his strong body taking control and I am powerless, yielding, giving in to this man.

I do try to object, I really do; he silences me. I try to push; he restrains me. Can't seem to fight his insistence now as his body moulds into mine. I've lost track of where his skin ends and mine begins as he carefully unbuttons my blouse and runs his nervous but wilful hands over my breasts. As he explores, he discovers and squeezes my nipples sharply and tingles rush through me. I kiss him back, much against my better judgement, and this is all the encouragement he needs. He's now pulling at my clothes, murmuring my name over and over, covering me with little kisses and leading me over to the rug by the bath.

I'm barely aware of getting into a horizontal position. I am totally lost in the atmosphere of this house, in the presence of Craig. I shouldn't be here, he shouldn't be doing this, I push against him but he's heavy, and if I'm honest, my pushes are a bit half-hearted. I feel his weight on top of me as he rubs and caresses my body, telling me all the time in a husky voice that he loves me, wants me, needs me, wants to make love to me. He's pulling my skirt up over my thighs now and undoing his jeans.

Perhaps I should scream? Kick him? Why though, there is no violence shown, no force here. Do I really want this, deep down? My legs have been firmly together until now, but they are becoming less of a barrier. My mind doesn't want it, doesn't allow it, but my body is winning the struggle. He's tender, slow and so in love. It shows in his every movement.

The muscles in my legs reluctantly relax as I lift one knee up, parting my legs and creating an opening for him. But I'm not creating that, I don't want to! I'm not in love, well, not with him, in any case. So what the hell am I doing? His jeans are now pulled down, and as his hips eagerly move in to fill the space, he groans again, loudly. He pushes himself against my thighs, naked and exposed now by his sliding my skirt up, and runs over my face and neck again with tense, urgent kisses before searching my eyes once again. My mind tries to make sense of it. I enjoy the sensation, but not the source. He is at once the leader and the led as he sensitively and full of care, asks me softly, so softly.

"You want this, Jo, my darling? You really want this? I've waited so long."

Suddenly it all becomes clear. His tenderness has lulled me into a false reality, how it has got this far I can't imagine, but I know it's wrong. Above all, no, I don't want this, not at all. I only want my Jamie. I am his, only his. This man's hands on me are wrong.

I part my lips to speak, but as I do so, we hear a noise downstairs. Another voice, it is so alien, so unexpected, I can't place it, I'm confused, I can't work it out. There isn't room for another voice in what is about to happen. We freeze for a second, then all of a sudden we come to, and are a mass of clothes, hands, as we rush to dress again.

How we do it, I’ll never know, but within seconds we are, well, let's say fairly presentable and standing together in the bathroom like the happy purchasing couple this estate agent expects to meet.

As the first step is heard on the floor, Craig places his arm around my waist and pulls me to him with a kiss, giggling. I flash him a stern face and hope that he contains his giggles when the agent appears.

The man calls out again, and I just catch the last bit above our voices, and motion Craig to shush.

"…so I left early, the girl said you were here. So, where are you, what do you think of it?"

I stop breathing. My heart has surely stopped. My face drains of colour, I can feel it ebbing by the second. Immediately following that, my face turns crimson and I feel dizzy and faint.

I start to shake.

I push Craig away, who is puzzled at the change in me. I can hardly speak as I splutter, wildly pointing to behind the door with a trembling finger. I've seldom felt so frightened.

"Jay." I manage.

Craig just shakes his head, serious but uncomprehending, frowning, holding me under the elbow, concerned.

"It's fucking Jamie!" I whisper, madly waving at the door. I truly do feel faint now with sheer fear, utter panic.

-----------------------

"It's not the agent!" I hiss. "It's Jamie!"

With certain milliseconds to spare, Craig gets the picture and moves swiftly behind the door and stands still, so still. The seconds tick by in my mind. Loud echoes of my heart beat resound through my head. I swear I'm going to pass out, and I feel sick. He's now at the top of the stairs and he opens the door.

Oh my Christ, my fucking Christ. I sway unsteadily. There stands my Jamie. My lover, my partner, my friend, my everything, with a happy smile on his face, and Craig is behind the door.

Oh good God, what have I done? More, what had I been about to do?

I am standing far enough back in the room that I can see the unwelcome shirt sleeve of Craig flapping slightly behind the door. I lose my balance a bit. I can't imagine the next few minutes if Jay sees him. No, in fact, I can imagine, and it's too horrible.

"Hey, honey," says Jamie easily, standing there in front of me, inches away from Craig.

I don’t think I reply or in fact, do much at all, because he is suddenly alarmed.

"What is it?" he asks seriously. "Are you okay, sweetie? You don't look too good. Wow, this is some bathroom, hey?"

He gazes behind me and starts to walk into the room. Random words spill out of my mouth in a panic, as I hold my hands against his chest, blocking him.

"No! No, um, down. Yes, go down. It is … great, but," and I go towards him, taking his hand, twirling him around to face the stairs again.

"Um, Jay?" I say, "I don't feel too good."

My voice is shaky.

"Oh,"

He is all concern.

"Oh, God. Come and sit on the edge of the bath a minute, honey."

I shake my head vigorously.

"No. No." I pull him out of the room. "I want to go. Go home."

"Sure you're okay?" he says, worried, as he helps me down the stairs as I try to rush him along, and out towards the car. Away. Away. I breathe out for the first time in what seems like hours.

"Leave your car here, we'll collect it later. I'll drive, honey."

"Yes, yes. Okay."

I feel truly ill, sick, light-headed, and a total shit. How could I?

He pulls the front door shut, but my heart is still racing. As we drive away, I dare myself to look back at the house and can just see Craig's silhouette standing in the window of the main bedroom. I'm still shaking, and lean back, closing my eyes.

He's ruining me. Ruining my relationship. Threatening Jamie and me, Craig seems to be winning. I can't allow it.

On the way to Jamie's special evening, my mobile makes the familiar sound.

"Text, honey?" asks Jamie.

"Oh, yes," I say, dreading who it might be. I don't move. Jamie looks at me pointedly.

"Um, read it?" he smiles.

Options. Text. Read. I'm right. It's Craig.

CANT BEAR 2 THINK OF U WITH HIM. HATED SEEING HIM DRIVE U AWAY FROM ME. IM IN BAD WAY JO. U HAV 2 B WITH ME.

"Who?" Jay asks.

"Nothing, hun,"

Then, knowing that won't be good enough, and also knowing that I can't possibly tell him before his big night, I vow to tell him as soon as possible afterwards, and say something vaguely plausible instead.

"Just the boys hun, wishing us a good night."

"That's nice," he says, and I'm relieved. "You look gorgeous in that dress."

"Thanks darling," and I snuggle into his arms as he drives, hiding my worried expression.

The evening is full of the beautiful people of television. Everywhere I look I see a stunning woman, but Jamie has eyes only for me. His love is unshakeable, unmistakable, and I return it unreservedly. We have a great time, fill ourselves with fun, laughter and too much champagne and Jamie is at last given some of the credit he deserves. People come up to him all the time, congratulating him on the theme music. How can I ever hold on to this man? Would he ever leave? I ask him, in a panicky, selfish moment. He looks shocked and hurt.

"Never. I'm yours totally, you know that. I won't change."

I believe him.

"I love you." He tells me, and leans over to me kissing me deeply before he is tapped on the shoulder by yet another congratulatory comment. As he gets into the conversation, I slip away to the ladies' loo where I press text.

Reply.

I DON'T CARE. DON'T EVER CONTACT ME AGAIN.

There is no room for Craig in my life. I pray he won't come back.

Send.

Delete. Phone book. Search. Craig, entered only as C.

Delete that too.

GETTING THROUGH

I scan the room, now very cluttered; full of festive debris.

"Yes mum, I know, yes, I know," I say into the phone, moving around the studio tidying as I go. I let her babble on in my ear whilst I clear up Christmas crackers left over, and collect up the cards, which have begun to gather dust now and are getting on my nerves. I shove them all into the big black bag I have dumped in the middle of the floor. This is truly cathartic. Listening to my mother banging on, isn't.

"Yes. No. No, mum, it's what they wanted, honestly," I tell her, attempting to be heard.

"No, yes, that's right," I insist, yet again.

I hold the receiver away from my ear as I carry on with my chores. She will not notice I'm not there, she's chattering so much. She tends to talk at people, rather than to them, and I've had years of it. My legs brush past the pine tree in the corner by the sofa and thousands of dry needles shower onto the rug. The smell is still wonderful, though and I breathe it in wistfully. Years of Christmases past contained in one nostalgic whiff. I sigh and listen again momentarily. Yes, she's still talking, but I interrupt.

"Mum."

The steady stream continues.

Try again, little bit louder.

"Mum? I really should get on. I want to pack up Christmas, you know?" I wait for another stream to subside.

"Yes, yes, already. Well, I know, but it's nearly New Year, and I…"

Why am I justifying myself? This is my house, nothing can be wrong in my house, by definition, surely.

"Mum." I say, firmly. "I really must go. Yes, we had a great Christmas, I already told you. It was fun. Did you?"

Oh, big mistake. Don't ask questions. I have to suffer more now, all about the neighbours and friends, relatives and whoever is gracing the newspaper today. Several minutes later, it's my turn to speak.

"Uh huh, oh, did she? Oh that's lovely, yes, I … do remember her vaguely."

I don't know who the hell she's talking about but this is by far the easier route.

"Yes, send mine to her, too. Yep, the boys are fine, they booked to go on this course ages ago. Yes, it's a school thing, yes. No, it's fun. Acres of grounds, activities, games, everything. No lessons, that's right. No, all their friends do it. Honestly. Yes, yes, but…"

Oh, enough already.

"Oh, mum, they are really happy, ok? They want to do it."

I listen dutifully for a further incredulous minute then reply, indignant but wearily.

"No, I didn't. I didn't make them. I don't make my children do things they don't want to do."

Okay, getting agitated now.

"How can you say that?" I demand, slightly losing control.

She starts to back down, but only a tad. I don’t want a row, I just want to get off this phone, so I let it go.

"Okay, alright, yes, I see. Look, I must rush. If you're that worried, why don't you phone them? Yes, yes … you can. Hang on, it's here."

I flick through the contacts on my phone desperately. I explain.

"It's a boarding line, mum, so you might get one of the other children answering. Just ask for them. Yes, of course there are teachers there, but they don't answer this line. Mum, you can't stay long on that line though. It's the rule. It doesn't matter who you are, Mum. Look at it this way, if you stay too long on it, you'll get them into trouble. Yes, of course it's strict, all the children want to use the phone don't they. That's the rule though, okay? I don't know why, Mum. Okay, yes. Right, got a pen?"

My fists and buttocks clench in empathy as I, exasperated, repeat the number again and again until she, at last, gets it right. Click the phone off and … freedom.

Borne of childish rebellion and defiance, I whizz around the place, throwing this, binning that, and packing all the jolly stuff into hastily-labelled boxes for next year. Sellotaping the last box and heaving the sad, dead tree outside the front door, I vacuum billions of needles up, will they ever stop appearing, blocking the damn thing and spending the next hour taking the machine to bits and putting it back together again. Finally, though, it's all clean and normal again. Hope Jamie doesn't mind, I know he loves Christmas, at least he loved this one. We really did have a great time. I feel pangs of guilt and hope he's all right about it. It's just that this place is so small, it can't take all the extras. Where are those property details now?

I pick up an estate agent's sheet from the desk and my eyes fix on the house we've both chosen as our number one to view. Wish Jay hadn't told me to do the first viewings on my own, but I know he's really rushed off his feet with this TV theme stuff. Oh Christ that reminds me, I have to buy a new dress for that dinner thing, the programme launch. Shit, when was it? I grab the invitation card from what is the Wooden Masterpiece by Dave, but which purports and fails to be a mantelpiece. Oh Christ, it's tomorrow, so soon? Oh, I groan out loud. I loathe shopping, and he can't come with me. Shit, fuck, I'll have to go tomorrow morning. I speedily dial the agent and arrange to see this house in an hour's time, and book myself in for a hair appointment tomorrow afternoon. I bend down and smooth my hand over my legs. Better get a wax appointment too. I make another call and I'm in luck. They can fit me in late this afternoon, though I'm made to feel fortunate and incompetent at the same time, as the girl informs me that most of her clients have 'booked their New Year Wax months in advance'. Oh, to have nothing else to think about.

Bleep. Text. Where's the phone got to? Ah, here in my shoe. Why wouldn't it be? Press Read. Oh God, oh no. It's Craig.

I MET U NXT 2 A TRAIN.

Oh no, what now? How random? I'm just thinking when another bleep goes. Text. Read.

I CHANGED YR LIFE. U CHANGED MINE.

Groan. Stomach flipping. Another bleep follows quickly. Text. Read.

I CANT 4 GET U. IVE TRIED I REALLY HAV.

Not hard enough, clearly. My heart skips a bit, I thought he was gone. Though, I have to say, in spite of myself, I'm flattered. Well, obviously I am, but more, more than that, I'm scared. Oh no, please.

Text. Another one. I can't push the buttons quickly enough. Read.

THE TRAIN IM ON, IS BRINGING ME 2 U, WHER I BLONG.

No, no, no. Please, no. I shake the damn thing, like it would make a difference.

Text. Read.

PLS DON’T TURN ME DOWN. ILY. C.

Jesus fucking Christ. I grab my car keys.

---

The house is old, which Jay and I both like. There are brambles growing, twining everywhere in the garden, I have to push my way through to get to the front door, which, although in a terrible state, was originally quite beautiful. Panelled with stained glass, it's a good, strong door. I ring the doorbell, but I can tell no one is here. It's dark and cold inside, unlived in. I glance behind me, out to the road. God, estate agents are always late, it gets on my nerves so much. Do they want to sell it or not? Bleep. Text. Read. Damn.

WHER R U? BEEN TO STUDIO. C.

Oh God, I'll have to reply. I've ignored him so far, but if he's hanging around there, it's too risky. Just as I'm halfway through texting, the phone rings. Good, must be the agent.

"Jo."

It's not. It's him. It's Craig.

"Jo, don't hang up," Craig says in a rush.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because I don't deserve that."

"I disagree. You do."

I don’t hang up, however. Instead, I am short.

"What do you want, then? Don't go to my studio Craig."

"No, I've left there now." He tells me. "I just want to talk to you, Jo, see you. Where are you now?"

"Seeing a house I want to buy."

"Oh, really? Right, where's that then?"

He tries to be casual.

"I'm not that stupid, Craig."

"Well, what time are you finished there?"

I look at my watch. Agent is twenty fucking minutes late.

"Christ knows, he's late."

"Who?" Craig asks with dread in his voice.

"No, the estate agent," I tell him. "Twenty minutes to be exact."

"Well, don't worry," says Craig, "He'll be there soon, I'm sure. Is he local?"

"Same bloody village would you believe. Where is he?"

I sigh and look along the road. Nothing.

"Look, sorry, I know you're busy," Craig says to my relief, "and I've got another call coming in now. I'll call you back later?"

"Craig, no, don't call." I seize the chance to put him off. "I've got loads to do today anyway, and it's not a good idea. You know this."

"Okay, bye then Jo." He hangs up, rather hurriedly.

I dial the agent and complain. She says he's been caught up on another viewing but will be along shortly, and could I wait? Do I have a choice? I like the house, I want to see inside. Might as well have a look around the back while I'm waiting.

MY HANG UP

"I miss them already," I tell Jamie as we wave goodbye to the boys, Olga and Jim. Dave stumbled out of our lives early this morning, I didn't even see him go.

"I know honey, me too."

He pulls me to him, warming me with his body.

"Mind you," he says in a very low voice right inside my ear, making me shiver and giggle with delight, "it has its plus points."

And he leads me back inside to the futon, where we pull at each other's clothes without another word, he at mine rather more, kissing each new uncovered space as we go, as we always do. I pull the duvet back and slip my naked leg inside to get underneath, trying to unhook my bra as I do. He stops me.

"No." he says simply.

I turn around to face him. No?

"Don't take your bra and knickers off, and don't get inside. I want you on top of it."

I'm surprised but I of course comply, laughing, and let myself be positioned exactly where he desires, still in my underwear, a cream lacy set with navy edging. The coolness of the cotton duvet soothes my back as I lay down. Jamie has only his shirt undone and his jeans are still on, although he has bare feet. His body covers my semi-nakedness and the harsh material of his jeans scuffs my feminine skin as he caresses, moves on top of me, loving me, kissing tenderly. I like this sensation, it seems to accentuate his maleness against my womanliness. He is in control, I am at his mercy, undressed and vulnerable to his desire, to his every whim. Oh god, I could get used to this. There's no one like him.

"Fuck." says Jamie as the phone goes. "Leave it."

"Could be them, though, forgotten something? Maybe I'd better get it."

"Fuck. Fuck, fucking hell." mutters my Jay.

"Nnhello?" I say into the phone, stretching over Jamie and feeling his teeth biting into my knickered bottom.

"Oh hi." I say.

"Who the fuck is it? If it's not the boys, hang up." instructs Jamie. "Now."

"Listen, Sophie, I can't…really…talk right now." I try, but she rabbits on.

"Darling, how ARE you? I know we didn't part on the best terms, but I was hoping…"

"Soph, really, it's not the time."

I try again, wriggling my bottom against Jamie's mouth. I can now feel his teeth pulling the soft material down.

"Oh, I see… you're in the middle of … oh lovely." she says, but it doesn't dissuade her.

"I have a new man, darling." she informs me.

I sigh. This could take forever. And it seems to do. Jamie's getting more urgent with his teeth. It's actually hurting.

"Darling he is wonderful. Successful, rich, BMW, fantastic house in Holland Park, oh and he's not bad looking."

I wearily ask, "And what about his personality, Sophie. What's he like? Ow!"

I laugh silently at Jamie, holding my finger to my lips.

"Oh, Yes," she tells me, as if she's just thought about it for the first time, "Yes, he's very nice. Gentlemanly, you know? Thoughtful. Buys me wonderful presents. He's taking me to Gucci on Saturday."

"Great." I say.

"Hurry up!" Jamie hisses.

"Alright, I heard that," she says, but I don't really care. "I'll let you go then, I just wanted to tell you about it. It's getting quite serious."

"Serious, as in … are you faithful Sophie? I mean, are you really just with one man? Why, this IS news?" I ask.

Jamie groans and falls back onto the bed, apparently defeated.

"Um, yes," she qualifies, "Well, let's say, I'm his, until I'm someone else's."

She cackles obscenely at her own joke. I'm silent though and she knows I want to get back to Jamie.

"Darling, you go." she says finally. Call me when you're not in bed with him."

Him? Oh Jesus Christ.

"Right," I say, sounding very tired indeed. "Bye then."

"Jo?"

Oh what else?

She whispers into the phone.

"I'll speak very quietly so he won’t hear. You know, Jamie's nice and everything, but well, you could do with someone like Simon. The money, the high life, don't you think? You wouldn't have to do your painting thing anymore either."

"No." I say shortly, and my finger is poised over the End button. My painting thing?

"Yes, but you know you're just sort of … well, passing time with him until …"

"Oops!" I say as I press the button.

Jamie lifts his head up hopefully.

"Did you hang up?" he smiles.

"I did."

I throw the phone symbolically onto the floor.

"Wow, that's unlike you." he says, kissing me on the lips, his tongue exploring my mouth, waking me again with waves of desire.

"She's unlike me." I say simply.

"What's in the post, hun?" says Jay, as I bring it back to bed, with a tray of coffee and biscuits.

"Haven't opened it yet,"

I lay the tray down and settle down beside him. He leans on me and kisses my biscuity mouth as I tear the paper of the envelopes. Pulling the letter out, I recognise the familiar writing of my father. It's normally he who writes, but I know that it's my mother who dictates the letter. They always do it like that. It’s full of the usual stuff, what their health is like, thankfully all is well, what has gone wrong with the house recently and what they're going to have done to it. Finally, they ask how the boys are, and how my 'relationship' is. They never can actually say his name, because I don't think they believe it's real. They are stuck in their youth, when things such as divorce didn't happen, at least, it didn't to the likes of them, and where the next 'relationship' was to be spoken about in whispers and shrouded in secrecy, as if I'm having it off with the local lesbian vicar.

I read further, getting to the end now. Oh well, there's something new, an invitation. They ask why don't we all go to Cornwall where they have a little holiday home, and stay for a while, with the boys. The beach is just a short walk away, they'd have lots of fun, and there is space for everyone. Oh please God that doesn't imply they would expect Jay and I to sleep separately. Surely not, oh dear God? Perhaps we will go, but not until the New Year. I remember asking them here for Christmas, out of duty more than anything, but it was met with a stony refusal, so I haven't bothered much since. Either they accept my present situation or not at all, I'm afraid. I fling the letter into the in-tray, with others, resolving to reply to it sometime this week. I pull out a box of Christmas cards and start the annual task of wishing people a happy one, to friends, family and to those people I still send to, but can barely recall who they are.

FESTIVE GATHERING

"Hey, Babe, it's me. Good news!"

"Hey honey… What good news?" I say to Jay, sitting cross-legged where I happen to be, and suddenly awake now, listening to Jay's soft but excited voice in my ear.

"Yeah, but first, where were you? Earlier, I tried to ring you. Twice, hun."

"Jay, I just went to the local for a drink."

Not unreasonable, I feel, and I'm just a little irritated.

"Uh-huh."

I can hear he doesn’t like this. If only he knew how focussed I am on us, he wouldn't worry at all. Nobody can make me happy like he does.

"Met Dave there, actually," I say.

He brightens.

"Right! Well, I'm glad you had a good time then,"

That's that sorted. Onto his news now.

"Jo, honey, I've almost finished here. I'm coming back in a couple of days."

"Oh, Jay, I'm so relieved, that's great. I can't wait to see you. Miss you terribly."

My eyes water at the thought of being together with him again. It's not right being here alone.

"Christ, me too. Never going away again, my Jo. Never. Though I will have to work a lot when I get back though. Okay?" Anything.

"Of course, that's fine. I do too, got loads of stuff. Can't seem to get into anything without you here."

We whisper loving and sexy things into each other's ears for a while longer, then I go straight to bed. Mmm, he's coming home. Sleep, uninterrupted sleep, connects with me at last, as my pillow is personified as Jay once again.

---------------------

The morning is spent trying to tidy around ready for his return, not that he notices much of that sort of thing, it's not his way. He does help, but he's not much into it, if there's something that needs doing, he'll get on with it. I attempt to tidy the stuff I brought from the house, which is still cluttering the place up. I pack this and that away, but can't seem to gain much space. I lift a huge pile of mail from the floor and lump it onto my desk. Estate Agent's stuff I guess. Packing away one of the bags from a corner, I find an old diary of mine. I check out the date. Four years ago, well, not so old in fact. I don't want to open it, it's literally a can of worms, but my fingers decide otherwise. I can't help but read a couple of pages. Oh, it's so intense, that time. Hectic, anxious, it's hideously sad. Writings about one of the few times I left Bob. All I took with me was a change of clothes, very little money and my diary. The boys were away at their cousin's on this occasion, though I had taken them with me on other ocaasions. It all comes back to me as I begin to read.

Sitting at this bar drinking coke, I'm surrounded by others, anonymous and free. Young bloke about eighteen, maybe younger, unkempt, smokes, blowing his little clouds of pollution my way. Wonder what his story is? I don't much care.

Woman of about fifty along the bar a bit, alone, also smoking, with glass of deep red wine in front of her, constantly topped up by barman, who stops opposite her now and then to chat. Seems to know her. I shall be staying here tonight, got some work in the bar tonight, they took pity on me I think, my desperation must have shown through. There's no money involved, just a bed for the night. I am grateful, as I can't go home. Not to Bob, and I don't want to involve others in our hideous mess. He'll be even more pissed than when I left him, by now, and was inevitably going down the familiar road of loud abuse. Occasionally he has been physical, and it's something I don’t want to test further. This route is best for me for now. Tomorrow I'll look for something better, at least for the three weeks the boys are away. They won't know any different, I can ring them from anywhere.

Thank God I don't drink a lot. I'm tempted to have one or two right now, but being in this mood is the worst time for alcohol. Stick to my lemonade. Woman next to me keeps leaning over for peanuts, stretching to see what I'm writing. Think she wants to talk, but I don't. Questions I don't want asked, answers I'm too furious to voice. Unless - maybe - she could offer me a job? Unlikely, I feel. I'll be okay tomorrow, I'll do the rounds of agencies, there's got to be something for me to do in this town, enough to pay for a room, that's all I need, oh and phone calls to the boys, and food. Oh, and a bit of petrol. Christ, it mounts up gradually in my mind now. I'll give my address as at this pub. It'll be all right, they seem quite decent here.

Just been told I'm on in twenty minutes so better stop scribbling now. Been watching them behind the bar, looks really hard work, place is filling up, but I've done this job before, years ago, as a student. It was fun, then. Everything was fun then.

I snap the book shut. I can't read that. If I continue, I'll be here all day, stuck in the past. Got to move on, tie this lot up and leave it alone.

------------------------------

He's been back two hours and we can't stop smiling and gazing. It must look quite putrid to the outside world. Dave called round briefly to say hello, but didn't get much response from either of us so he went again. I suggested he gave Gap a ring, but he grunted, annoyed at the mention of her name, it seemed.

Jay's things are everywhere, just left where he threw them when he came in. We haven't unpacked, and now it's time for us to be one again. He says nothing, just turns all the lights off in the studio, leads me outside by the hand, locks up, and into the other door, which leads us to our private area again. He smiles broadly as he sees the futon, the blue and yellow painting over it, and his shirt that I've been wearing, rumpled on the edge amongst some papers I was going through this morning. In the privacy of our little space here, he turns to me. My Jamie, my Jay, he's home. I pray that the fluttering inside of me that he produces, never, ever stops. Slowly, but firmly, he touches, kisses, caresses me. I am dimly aware of pieces of my clothing being removed and thrown, closely followed in each case by tender kisses on my naked areas. The feel of his mouth on me is irreplaceable, shivery. We have never been apart for so long, physically, and this coming together again is exquisite, intense, it's unbelievable. His beard scratching on my neck sends waves of delight all over me and without any conscious movement, we are inside the duvet now, just two people in the world, naked and in love. I barely make out his shape in the dark, but know his form so well, his movement, mannerisms, and he's mine. It's a long awaited meeting of minds and bodies. Finally, we close our eyes, our breathing is rhythmically synchronised as we share the same air. The same air again, at last.

---

Things have settled down nicely now, in preparation for the Christmas period, it's great to see Jamie getting on so well with the boys. The weekend they've just spent with us has flown past, as usual, and we're ending it with a very ambitious Sunday Lunch at home in the studio. The place is packed to the gills with people, I must have been mad to attempt it, but as it happens, it's worked quite well, except I suddenly realise how stuffy it is and that we're all breathing each other's air now. There simply isn't the space. I jump up to prop the front door open.

"Won't we be cold with that open?" Jay asks, checking with Olga.

"I'm fine. I was beginning to expire." She tells him.

Sam and Ben suddenly push their chairs back from the table, making a hideous noise which prompts all the adults to cover their ears.

"We’re outside." They say, and run to the door.

"That's clever," says Dave, "I can still touch you and I'm inside," he pokes their sides making them giggle and hit him back in one of those play-acted man fights that I've never understood. I've even seen grown men do it, punching each other as a greeting. Why do they?

"Um, just a minute."

I hook my finger and call them back to the table, gesturing with my mother-eyes at their plates. They stare there for a second.

"Oh, right, sorry."

They then literally throw the cutlery into the middle of the plate and run back out. It vaguely passes as table etiquette and I watch them run into the courtyard chasing each other around on their new silver scooters. These were Jamie's idea. He'd seen so many kids on them in the area so we went out and got two at some ridiculous expense, and had them waiting here for when they arrived. They squealed and jumped, kissed me, and hugged Jamie. Sam even kissed him, and Jamie had beamed, slightly embarrassed.

"Very nice boys you have there," says Jim, who came as a guest of Olga's.

"Thanks, Jim. They are, although they have their moments."

I smile, and pour the coffee, serving mints with a wink, and nodding towards the boys. I mean that I hope that we get the chance to taste these before the little monsters come back in and devour them.

Dave, Jamie and Jim talk together at the table and I snuggle next to Olga on the sofa, laying my head on her shoulder. We don't need to say anything actually, such is our relationship, but I whisper to her.

"So? What's the deal then?" I say, nodding towards Jim.

She sniggers and whispers back.

"I met him at my club. I've known him by sight for some time, but just recently…"

"Mmm?" I smile up at her. I can't resist interrupting, poking fun. "…I know, and your eyes met across the crowded room, time stood still as you each discovered…"

"Oh, stop it, you silly."

She laughs, but adds with uncharacteristic shyness.

"It was a little like that though. It's going well. He's at the house often, now."

"And does he stay?" I ask, pushing just a bit too far, widening my eyes with melodrama.

She nudges me off her shoulder.

"You're awful." She says as she leans over for another chocolate mint, then slyly looks back at me as she takes a nibble. "He does, yes."

Oh, well I'm glad, I really am. He's great, I think, as I inspect him. Smart, which suits Olga, without being too stuffy, and pleasant, he's kind to her. A little in her shadow but then who isn't? His thing seems to be wearing quirky socks. He's worn a different pair every day, always brightly-coloured and sometimes with messages knitted into them. I resist the urge to grapple on the floor to read it. I wonder what it says?

"What does it say on your socks, Jim?" I venture, all brave and forward.

"Um… let me see…" he says, investigating. "Which ones are these … oh yes, um, 'Large sock = large…" he coughs awkwardly, looking to Olga for reassurance.

Dave interrupts for him, chuckling, scotch in his hand.

"Yep, 'large shoes', it's an old one."

"No," says Jim, earnestly shaking his head, "It says, 'Large sock = large cock'."

There's a stunned silence amongst us while Jim and Olga laugh raucously. Then at once, Jamie, Dave and I fall to the floor to see for ourselves.

"You dirty dog," laughs Jamie.

It does indeed say that. Our three heads are touching together on the floor for a minute as we lay flat, mine in the middle. We enjoy the joke and the peace of the afternoon. Jamie leans up over me and plants a long kiss on my lips, and slides his hand along my leg. In my ear, I hear Dave sigh.

"Give it a rest, you two."

---

THE LANE

At the studio, I break the silence.

"Night then, Dave, thanks for being with me, it really was quite creepy along that lane. You were right."

"Yes."

He hovers in the shadows awkwardly. Do I have to ask him in for coffee?

"Jo?" He murmurs, barely audible and kicking his shoes.

Oh, yes then, he wants coffee. He has a question first though, I sense it coming.

"Jo," he continues, hesitating, "You wouldn't be unfaithful to m…Jamie, would you?"

I'm stunned. Where did this come from? He amuses me, however, funny, sweet Dave. I'm so fond of him, he's a bit of an enigma. He holds his breath while I answer.

"No, Dave, I wouldn't. Why?"

Why does it mean so much to him I wonder.

"Nothing, really." Dave mumbles.

Then he looks up from his shoes at me.

"Not," he falters, "not even if you really liked someone?"

"Dave," I insist, "I'm in love with Jamie, there's a massive difference there, from just liking someone."

He thinks for a minute, it seems I'm waiting forever, but he finally accepts it.

"Right. Yes. Well, good, then."

"You're really loyal to Jay, aren't you Dave?"

My finger runs over the sleeve of his shirt, and I'm sure I feel him shiver.

"No," he answers quickly, surprisingly.

Uh?

"No?" I demand, puzzled.

I struggle to make him look me in the eye. He coughs uneasily and shifts about, finding the ground hugely interesting once again.

"No, don’t think that,” he says, “I’m not. What I mean is, it's nothing unusual, you know? It's normal with mates, isn't it?"

No, I'm not sure that it is, in fact. Should we explore that? I think not, probably.

"I suppose so, yes," I tell him, and add, "He's lucky to have you, Dave."

Dave coughs again, and sniffs. Moving on swiftly then.

"Any chance of a coffee before I go, or are you too tired?"

The way he looks at me sometimes is curious. There is always, always, more going on inside him, but I never get to it. Locked inside of Dave. His thoughts of me and of the world, all locked away. Who holds the key, I wonder?

"Sure, come in. I need to change though. Put the kettle on?"

We unlock the two doors simultaneously as I hand him my key, he goes towards the place he knows best, the coffee area, and I rush upstairs and put some soft, comfy combats on. He's just pouring as I slip barefoot into the studio.

"I can't stay up late though Dave, I really have to go to bed."

A stage yawn goes a long way.

"Yep, me too." He agrees.

We sit, he on the sofa and I'm on the floor. We chat a little, but quite honestly it's a bit of an effort, so he soon announces that it's time to make a move and he leaves. I kiss his cheek, his hand on my waist for a millisecond before he decently removes it. The phone rings just as his feet crunch up the lane.

ESCORT

I wrap everything straight away. I always do, writing everything down in strict lists for the boys to make sure both are equal, checking off, so it's all organised, done and dusted. There it is, Christmas, in one big, silver pile of wrapping. I sigh as I fold the last triangle over the last box and secure it with tape. My phone goes. I stand up from kneeling, with much difficulty. I find my legs have gone to sleep completely, from the Christmas wrapping sitting position, and I hobble at half my height over to the sofa and collapse onto it, breathing into the phone.

"Yesssss?"

"Hello, Jo. Carol."

Oh. The Carol who started an affair with my husband, ten years ago, and who is still around. That Carol.

"Carol. How are you?"

What does she want?

"Bob has been to the house. He's furious."

None of your fucking business for starters, I can't help thinking. I draw my breath, fuelled and ready for attack, but she goes on.

"I don't care a bit," she tells me. "I think it was a great thing you did!"

"You do?" I'm surprised.

Bob's face, angry and flushed flashes up before my eyes, and all I can do is smile. Gone are the days of intimidation. I find him simply pathetic and pitiful, he is no longer a source of fear for me, and I discover that I rid myself of anger during the house clearing. Particularly sending his stuff into storage. That was the best therapeutic exercise, it proved to be, though was unplanned.

"Certainly!" she laughs. "I wanted it all finished, myself. It's so much easier now, it’s tidier."

The situation, or the house?

"Oh,"

Um.

"And Bob?"

"As I say, livid. Don't worry about that, though."

Do I look worried? Took him some time to get there though, it's been ages.

"I'll sort that." she says, confidently.

Somehow I believe that. She has obviously succeeded with him where I failed so many times. Water happily flowing under the bridge, at last. She’s welcome.

"However, he's throwing the cost of storage right back to you I'm afraid."

Oh, what a surprise.

"He was going to go for damages…"

"What!!" I screech.

Oh, too much.

"But I persuaded him out of it."

Okay, calm again.

"He can be ridiculous, can't he?"

"Yes." I understate drily. It's missed, though, by the functional Carol. There is no way I'm paying his storage fees.

"I rang for something else, in fact," she continues. I listen. "I'm taking the boys out for the day tomorrow. I have a rare day off."

Oh? The boys? Are those my boys you're talking about? Boys who are mine? Are you really? Then I check myself. Oh, that's hardly fair. Be reasonable Jo. Stop it at once.

"My boys?” I ask, unable to resist, “That's nice." I squeeze between my teeth.

"Yes, well it would be, but the school won't let them go."

"Well, I suppose it's mid-term…they will be well into their studies now Carol."

I begin, lazily, and with the superior air of a seasoned parent, which she is not.

"No, not that," she clips, cutting me down to size.

"I don't have permission to take them. They need you to ring, in addition to Bob, before they'll let me have them."

I'm quiet, merely thinking about it all, but she assumes I'm hesitating and says pleasantly.

"I want to give them a really nice time, Jo. I really do care about them."

Oh Christ, for God's sake, I know she does, and it is kind of her after all. .

"Oh, blimey," I say, in what I hope is a friendly, conspiratorial vein, "The school is sometimes too up its arse isn't it?"

Then I remember that she doesn't swear or blaspheme in any way. Oops.

"I'll ring them, Carol, it's no problem. Um, thank you for taking them, they'll love it, for sure. Just be careful."

"Yes, they will, and of course. Thank you."

Oh, she's not bad. She has a life of Bob in front of her. Be compassionate.

"Right," I say a little awkwardly. "I'll do it now, and - thanks again. Have a great day."

The Head comes out with his speech about security, responsibility, and his duties as Head. I ignore them all.

"It's fine. Look, we're divorcing, as you know. The boys now have two houses, two sets of parental figures around them, let's loosen up a little."

Oops, wrong language gear again.

"I mean, couldn't we relax a little, so that they can have a good time, which they need, without me ringing all the time to give permission for this and that?"

"If that's what you want, Mrs. Clarke, yes of course, it can be arranged. I'll send you a new form where you can put your wish in writing, so that people can collect your children at their leisure and will."

Oh, you stuffy old sod.

"Yes, thank you, I'll send it back by return."

Click. Sorted.

I'm thinking about what Jay said, about looking at houses. Maybe he's right. This place is far too small, and we can certainly afford it now. I've no idea what Jay will be earning, but even on my own, it would be okay. I lift the receiver to dial some agents, the yellow pages splayed open in front of me. I register with six local ones, who promise to send details. Some want me to go to see their 'property just come onto the market, would be perfect for you'. I decline.

What shall I do now for the evening? It's still light and I'm bored out of my mind. I slip my shoes on and a light jacket and, craving fresh air and mind, I wander down the lane. It smells of wet roads and winter sunshine. I shiver slightly as it becomes colder. My hands clench into fists inside my pockets. How I wish my Jamie were here now with me. I would snuggle inside his jacket, unfairly taking the warmth from his as well as mine and he would not complain.

At the end of the lane is The Fox, a country Inn we haven't patronised that often, but its lights spill out onto the pebbles and muck of the darkening lane becomes welcoming and beckoning. I yield to its invitation and step inside. Its clientele are mostly men, sinking a pint on the way home to their wives, girlfriends, lovers, or to their solitary, lonely lives. A dog, brown and speckled, lies at the feet of a man whose behind is parked against the edge of a stool at the bar. As I approach, the dog's eyes open and follow me lazily from left to right without his moving another muscle in his body. I order a beer, not my usual drink, but it springs to mind in the form of Jamie and I order as if for him. I will drink it in his absence. I stare into the warm brown liquid and take small sips.

I can feel eyes on me from behind, two old men in a corner, discussing no doubt the brazenness of women these days entering a pub alone. I don't care for their views, but reluctantly admit to feeling uncomfortable. I place my foot, in an attempt to appear casual and at home, on the foot rail. Unfortunately, my shoes are damp from the lane and it slips off, making me stumble a little. I disguise it by adjusting an imaginary loose strap on my shoe. Oh, this is ridiculous. Why should I feel so conspicuous simply because I'm not accompanied by my counterpart of our species, the one with the penis between his legs. I reach over to the edge of the bar and pull a newspaper in front of me to read. This would be better. It slides neatly into the residue of beer spilled onto the mahogany and soaks through, becoming soggy and torn as I pull it away. I sigh hopelessly.

"Would you like to sit here?" says dog-owner. I glance at him. Late thirties, smart casual appearance, slight stubble and well spoken.

"I'm fine, really, but thanks." I smile.

"Haven't seen you in here before?" he states, or questions, I'm not sure which.

"Once or twice." I reply.

"Do you live here, or passing through?"

"I … live, well not far away."

I don't know you at all.

"I live next door," he chuckles. "Bad move, I'm afraid, can't resist it. It’s more like I pop home now and then, rather than dropping into the pub."

I smile.

"Are you waiting for anyone?" he asks.

Um.

"Possibly," I say stupidly.

"Sorry," he says quickly and pleasantly, "I didn’t mean to pry, I just wondered .. um, there's a chess board over there. Do you play at all?"

I look over to the corner. The chess board is set up and it would be rather pleasant to escape from my awkward position here.

"While you're waiting, I mean, for your friend."

"Okay," I say, "Just the one."

Well, where's the harm?

"Hmm, that's what I say every evening."

We settle down and I recognise a clever first move, though I am unsure as to how to block it. I don't really care and move a Pawn to meet his advancing Bishop.

"Ooh, very sharp," he says thoughtfully.

Is it? I try to see what it is that I've done so cleverly. The next move I make is another stab in the dark and my chess partner, Dan is his name he tells me, looks at me over his glasses, surveying me, seeking a solution. There isn't one.

Half an hour later, and a journey of impromptu moves on my part, he tips my king over.

"Checkmate, I'm afraid." he smiles, wincing kindly at me.

I laugh. "It's okay, I enjoyed the game, thanks."

"Having another?" He picks up my glass.

"I should go really," I say, awfully slowly.

I peer through the wobbly glass outside. It's now dark and I am not keen on the walk along the lane, alone.

"Alright then, yes, thanks."

Should I get a taxi? It's a bit stupid though, since it's not that far. On the other hand…

Dan goes off to the bar, jingling the change in his pocket as he goes. I reset the board.

"Jo?" comes a voice from my left.

I look up. It's Dave! Great! Oh, and a girl. She's wearing khaki combats and a loose man's shirt hanging on her small frame. She has hair so short it looks shaved. Long earrings graze her shoulders. She looks me up and down, and then looks at Dave.

"Oh," says Dave, glancing back at her.

"Jo, this is ..er…"

Agonising couple of seconds here. Oh no, Dave, please try to remember her name?

"Gap."

Phew. But, Gap? Are you sure, Dave? She doesn't correct, so I assume he's right.

"Hello." I smile.

Her face is in repose, not an unpleasant face, but she's certainly unfriendly.

"Didn't know you came in here, Jo?" says Dave, pulling up a chair and sitting on it backwards, looking deeply into my face for answers. I can feel guilt flushing my face. But why?

"I don't."

I gesticulate with my hand uselessly, first at the bar, then at the chess, but no words come. Dave's eyebrows raise in question, requiring more of me. Dan returns and plops a beer into the centre of the board for me. He nods at the chess pieces.

"Shall we have another then?"

I flush more deeply. Dave's face is suddenly set, defensive. I rush to introduce, and hesitate slightly as I get to the girl.

"And … Dan, this is … Gap."

Luckily he has the good manners to desist from questioning the name, but I see it in his eyes. They shake hands but still she doesn't smile.

"Can I get you a drink?" asks Dan politely.

He's so friendly, I like him and hope they won't be rude to him. I sense hostility.

"I'll get them," says Dave firmly. "Jo. Give me a hand."

It's strangely a command rather than a request, and, even more strangely, I'm instantly on my feet. At the bar, he launches in, quietly questioning me.

"Who's he, Jo?"

"I don't know," I say truthfully.

"Don't know?" Dave hisses a bit loudly.

He tucks his lips in against his teeth and shakes his head slightly.

"Haven't got another Craig situation here have we Jo? Not sure I could face another fight, not tonight, it's wet, dark and filthy out there."

"Oh, Dave, stop being silly. I just met him. His name's Dan and that's all I know."

I look behind me at the two of them. They look ridiculous together, Gap and Dan. I want to giggle. Dan looks at me beseechingly, he wants someone normal back there, I feel, and I can't blame him. I gesture the five minutes signal with my hand, to him. He looks relieved.

"Who's … um Gap, anyway?" I smile, teasingly. "New bird, then?" I laugh.

He doesn't.

"No, Jo. No, she's not. She's a silly bitch I met last week and I picked her up for a drink tonight. Wish I hadn't. She doesn't say anything."

"I noticed."

He stares at me, ordering the drinks at the same time.

"You going back with him tonight, Jo?"

I'm sure his hand is shaking. I blink at him.

"Back? Are you saying what I think you're saying? I've only just met the man Dave!"

He makes a fist and places it gently and controlled on the bar towel.

"Sorry. God, I'm sorry, it's just that, well nothing, but I'm sorry."

We take our drinks back to the table where a grateful Dan becomes animated and suggests another board for chess, which is kept in the back room. Should he get it?

"I can't play." says Gap, in a sullen way.

"I could teach you?" I smile, and am suddenly aware of a condescending manner. I seek to correct it, but it's so hard, she's sulky and difficult.

"Don't want to, thanks." she says.

Ah. Well. O..k.. I sigh, my God, where did you find this one, Dave?

"Well!" I say unnecessarily, and looking around the room.

Dan slaps the tops of his thighs in the same sort of frustrated lack of direction.

"I ought to go soon, in any case." I say.

Gap speaks again. "What about the drinks?" she says. She's got a point.

"Well, after these, then."

"Did you walk here?" asks Dan, moving his chair closer to me.

"Yes, it's not far, along the lane."

He shakes his head, looking outside.

"No, but it's dark. Look, I have to take Oz for a walk anyway," he gestures to the dog, still asleep and not looking eager for a walk this side of Christmas.

"I'll walk you if you like."

Dave shifts in his seat and starts tapping his boots. He's like an engine, fired up but with the brakes on.

"Well, um,” I wonder, looking out into the night, “if you're sure?" I say gratefully.

It's certainly dark out there. Dave sighs audibly. We chat over the next twenty minutes, at least the three of us do, while Gap stares at her nails, bites them and rattles her earrings.

"Okay then, think I'll go now," I say, getting to my feet. Great to see you Dave, and … Gap."

Dan stands, and slips a jacket on. Oz finally stretches into the shape of a dog from that of a rug, and attempts to wag his tail.

"No," says Dave unexpectedly, standing.

We all wait, staring at him, wondering what he objects to. He shakes his head as if he hardly knows, but blurts out in a rush.

"I'm coming."

We're all silent and Dan looks at his feet, a hint of a smile on his face. He goes on.

"I mean, I have to come to the studio, Jo."

Dave's now shuffling his feet, the engine still ticking over.

"I've got to get something, I left it there."

He pats his jeans, something he always does as he prepares to leave anywhere.

"What was it?" I ask.

"Eh?" he says, eyebrows arched. Everyone looks at him.

"What did you leave there, at the studio? I haven't seen anything."

His eyes dart around the room. "My … I left my jacket."

"You've got it on." says Gap, picking her teeth, snapping loudly with the one long nail on her hands. We all look. Yes, he has it on.

"Another one," he barks at her, rather nastily.

She jingles her earrings again. Awkward moments hang.

"Well, if you're going back there, I don't need to be the knight in shining armour then, I guess, do I?" Dan smiles, reasonably at Dave.

"No, but thanks for the offer, Dan. Seems I'm okay." I say.

Gap stands and pulls on a ragged jumper. Dave touches her arm gently. He knows he's being rotten to her.

"Gap, I'll, um call you a cab. It's late, and well, I'll be going home after I get my jacket."

"Oh."

She says quietly, and jingles the other earring, so now we have this charming sound in stereo.

"I'll be in touch." Dave says quickly, and kisses her on the cheek whilst she moves slightly out of reach.

I look away. I feel intrusive, a spanner in the works for her.

"Dave, honestly, Dan could walk me…" I start to protest.

This is ignored by Dave, who has his plan.

"Nice to meet you mate," says Dave to Dan, shaking his hand, but I know it isn't. "I'll just go and get that cab."

He mentions something to the chap behind the bar, points to the girl in the baggy, ragged shirt and jumper and he's back. I shake Dan's hand.

"Thanks for the game, Dan. Perhaps another time?"

"Yep, sure," he says easily, and Oz follows him obediently as he slaps his thigh.

Outside, Dave holds me under the elbow and makes me walk, talking rapidly.

"Jo, I know, before you say anything. I know, I know, I haven't left my jacket. I know it looked a bit weird and all, but I didn't like him much."

"Dave, you're being silly. You can't control what I do, where I go."

I stop and he has to turn around.

"What gives you the right, Dave?"

He returns to me and pulls me along again. With him staring at the ground, we walk, silent for a while. He's thinking about that.

"Jamie." He says, finally taking my hand and warming it between his own two hands, rubbing vigorously and tenderly as we walk.

"Jamie gives me the right."

"It’s Jamie."

A few seconds later, he barely whispers, yet again, "Jamie."

MUSIC TO HIS EARS

Sulky as a child, he finally does leave. Peace and quiet reigns at last, and I turn on the PC to check mail from the other two men in my life. Two mails, one from each.

‘Mummy,’ I read aloud.

‘I'm at David's house. Ben came as well, which really sucks. David and I are going swimming in a minute. What are we doing at Christmas, mummy? David's got a Halsatian dog. He's great, he chases us everywhere. Can we have a

dog? I would look after it when I'm there, and when I'm at school, he can watch you paint. Got to go now, David's mum's in the car. I love you. Ben says he does too. He's here now, and we're going. They've got a big slide there. Byeeeeeeeee then. Love, Sammy xxx

Ben's is more cool, with minimal detail, but it's great to read about what he's doing at school and the boarding life he loves so much. I type out my replies, full of love and laughter, then go to bed, weary of another day without Jamie. The only person I want in the world is him. No sooner than I lay down, a thought occurs as I struggle to find a comfortable position. I jump out of bed suddenly, and rifle through his drawers. I know what I'm searching for. Not this one, not that one, ah, this shirt is his favourite out of those left. I pull my own shirt over my head and chuck it onto the floor like a discarded lover. I replace it with his, manly, comforting in its Jamieness, I relish the familiar material next to my naked body. Content, I snuggle back under the duvet, conjure up his image and close my eyes. Closer, closer to my Jamie. Mmm, sleep.

Opening the post is not nearly such a fright as it used to be. I recall even just a few months ago, being scared of its arrival, fearing its contents, knowing I could not pay the money people were incessantly demanding. Now, my mind is easier, and I tear the envelopes in a leisurely way whilst indulging in a cappuccino and shortbread for breakfast. I really should eat more healthily, but oh what the hell. My eyes scan the pile with a detached curiosity, a mere routine this activity has evolved from the dreaded chore it once was. There's a funny postcard from the boys, signed in addition by many of their friends from school. It shows a cartoon of a semi-naked woman with a bawdy caption. On the reverse, it is crammed only with signatures and a rushed 'Hey, Mum'. I guess this is the result of a dare from friends, that Ben couldn't possibly send this to his mother. I smile, and pin it up with defiant pride on the noticeboard, making a mental note to return one to him. Not bawdy, though, of course, just funny. I'll look for one today.

Bills are coming in thick and fast, for the running of my tiny studio. They do not concern me, in fact they excite me. I am doing this on my own, and managing it all really well. I write the cheques easily, wanting them to be out of the way, off my mind, compiling, as I do it, a steadily growing stack of sealed stamped envelopes to post. I find I need to pay everything immediately, now that I have money, although I could in many cases take advantage of a month's credit. Years of scraping by, panicking about such things has brought this about. I just need them gone, paid, in the post and out of my face. It's a wonderful feeling. Balls to those who say money doesn't buy happiness, it certainly goes a long way.

A letter this time, as I pull it from its envelope. Production company? What's all this? I yawn and scan. Ah, now I remember. The CD.

Dear Joanne, Thank you …. Blah, blah, I skim the lines for thank you but no. It comes. ……'not suitable for the music we are producing at the present time. However…. ' However? Hmmm, 'however' is always good in this type of letter. I focus and read on, hungrily jumping my eyes ahead and missing the trivialities. I cut to the chase. '… we are also agents for ……. television … themes…currently searching for theme music for new drama series…please ask…to get in touch with us if he is interested in this line of work.'

I plop the letter down onto my lap and a massive smile creeps over my face. Interested? If he's interested? Christ! I run to get my phone and dial immediately. He's groggy at the other end.

"Hun? It's early… you ok?" he asks.

"More than okay."

I tell him the contents of the letter, and can visualise him sitting up in bed, rubbing his hair and eyes as the news hits.

Typically of Jamie, his enthusiasm is contained, although I know it's there. He understates.

"Wow, that could be good."

Let yourself go, Jamie, just once. Believe in yourself. I laugh.

"I love you. Going to ring them?"

"Of course! Yes. Give myself five minutes to wash and find a decent voice, and I'll ring them straight away. S'great, honey! You didn't tell me you'd sent the CD. Why not?"

"No, well, I thought I wouldn't, in case it didn't come to anything, you know."

"Oh the faith, the faith in me."he teases.

"No, I mean, I know your stuff's fantastic, but I wasn't sure if … well, anyway, they do like it! TV could be great, couldn't it?"

"Yeah," he yawns. "Let's see what they say first."

Ever cautious Jamie.

"I'll call you later honey."

"Okay."

I can sense he doesn't want to get his hopes up too far, so I leave my bubbling, gushing talk until later.

"Thanks, hun!"

I read out the contact details and I leave him to get on with it. Back to the post. A few more bills, and a couple of commissions. I can't believe how the artwork has picked up so incredibly. I might start looking around for an assistant. I study my bank statement, closing my eyes in happy relief as the more than decent black figures never cease to brighten my day.

---------------------------------

I've been shopping for two hours and have almost finished all my Christmas shopping! It's such a chore normally, having to count every penny. This year, I have bought nearly everyone cashmere sweaters! Easy, and a great present. Jamie's I have left until another day, I want to concentrate just on his. This is the third trip to the car

from the shops with stuff for the boys. Think I've spoiled them a bit this year, looking at it all. The word limit didn't really occur to me on theirs. Oh well, it'll make a change. They'll be so excited. I must organise what we're doing at Christmas. Oh, that's my mobile. Shit, can't reach it, with all these bags. I put them down against my legs, and rifle through my bag to find it. People are pushing past me on the way to the car park. I hold the phone in my neck, and keep an eye and guarding hand on the bags.

"Hello?"

I haven't seen the screen and don't know who it is.

"Hello? That the way you're greeting me these days?" teases Jamie. I laugh.

"Sorry honey, didn't look to see who it was!"

"Where are you?"

Invariably the first question from Jamie.

"Christmas shopping!" I tell him, slightly out of breath.

Happy with that, he now ignores it.

"Had to ring and tell you sweetie, but can't stop long. Spoke to those TV people. Honey, it's great news. There's a new drama thing, trendy sort of romantic, lifestyle city slickers series coming out, promises to be huge, and they want something along the lines of 'Hooks On A Wall'. Remember that one?"

"Of course I do, silly." I say.

His music is in my soul. Can't say I remember every word, but they're there, ingrained, treasured.

"Well, they love it, they want it! But they need me to tone it down a bit, make it a bit more melodic, hazy, you know?"

"Wow, that's fantastic! Well done! I'm thrilled. Would they use it somewhere in the show then?"

There's a brief silence, and he tells me quietly, hushed into astonishment himself. "It'll be the theme tune, honey. It'll be played every fucking episode."

God. I suck in my breath.

"Truly? That's fantastic!" I say, searching for something more profound.

"It is." He states. "That means royalties all the time honey, spin-off royalties, when it's played elsewhere, you know, interviews with the actors on other shows, everything, adverts., trailers. Also they'll be releasing it!"

He pauses.

"Honey, it's big. I can't quite take it in."

I can see his face in my mind, eyes shining, his laughter lines, hair flipping about. I feel happy tears coming, for him, for his work, for the way he is, for the pride spilling out of me for him. I manage a croak.

"So proud of you, my Jay."

"I have to go now my sweetie, I'm going into a meeting. I'm going to finish the stuff here, because I said I would."

Oh, so typical Jamie.

"But I'll be home soon. Luckily I have my guitar here, so I'll start messing around with 'Hooks' and finish it off properly when I get home."

"Great!" I say. "How long have they given you?"

"Only a fortnight hun, but that's okay. Haven't got a lot to do, and I'll go at it full on when I get back. Gotta rush now, babe. I love you SO MUCH!" he almost shouts. "By the way?"

"Yep?" I ask.

"You’re shopping for the wrong stuff."

I survey the carriers slumped against my ankles.

"Oh?"

Christ, what have I forgotten?

"Think you should be shopping for a house, my love." He says casually. I stare ahead of me in blissful silence then burst out laughing.

"You reckon?"

"I reckon." He says firmly.

Man of few words sometimes. Well chosen few though. We both let the silence hang for a few seconds, saying it all for us.

"Jay?" I ask in a little girl way.

His voice softens immediately, "Mmm?"

"Still love me when you're a big growed up famous singer type person and I'm still a girl painter hanging around in the background?"

He chuckles, then whispers tenderly into the phone, managing to express the very life within his body into his words. That's my Jamie.

"Always, my Jo, always. Nothing will ever change me. I swear."

This is him, this is the essence of my Jay. I can't speak. Instead, I blow a kiss, he returns it and then he's gone. People are everywhere, bag-laden, rushing, heavily weighted by inconsequential pressure. Big people, little people, scruffy and smart, an instant slice of society surrounds me, rushing to and from, caught up in the whirlwind of shallow, busy lives, and they don't know! They don't know of the love between Jamie and me. Nobody knows this kind of love, in fact, it's not been had before. It's only for us, it's ours, exclusively. We are the first, the lucky pioneers of true love. We hold the prototype, and not a single other person knows of it yet. They can't possibly, for we invented it. We. Jamie and me.

WOMAN IN HIS BED

In my sleepy state a couple of hours later, my lover's arm draped around my neck, I hear a beep. It goes again. I'm becoming more aware and realise it's my phone.

Text. Jamie murmurs.

"Who's that?" he mumbles.

I feel around on the floor, my fingers grabbing, and as I grab, I push the button. The text comes onto the screen. It's Craig. Oh shit.

"See who it is, Babe." says Jamie, turning towards me, his hands caressing my body.

I glance down, trying not to dislodge his arm, bringing him closer to my side of the bed, and the phone. The tiny screen shows,

I'M IN YOUR AREA. COFFEE? I CAN BE WITH YOU IN 15 MINS. C.

Oh, no.

"It's nothing."

I tell Jamie, hating myself.

"Well, who?" he asks.

"Gallery," I lie.

I wriggle from his clutch and slip the phone under my t shirt, concealing it there until I get into the bathroom. Reply.

NO NO NO. STAY AWAY. JAMIE HERE.

Send.

As I'm cleaning my teeth, another comes through.

WON'T TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER. JAMIE'S AWAY. ON MY WAY. C.

Christ! Shit, no! My fingers shake as I press out the letters.

SERIOUSLY CRAIG. HE CAME HOME UNEXPECTEDLY. ILL TEXT U LTR. PLEASE? STAY AWAY 4 ME? PLS? Send.

Beep.

CAN I CALL YOU? C.

NO. I type. LET ME TEXT U LTR TO XPLAIN. PLEASE!

Then I add, IM FAITHFUL TO JAMIE, CRAIG.

I wait anxiously, leaning against the sink. There's a knock on the door.

"You okay in there, hun?" Says Jamie. "You've been ages."

"Er, yes," I blurt, fiddling with the tap, running water. "Just coming."

"Not yet, I hope," he jokes.

I laugh unnaturally, staring at the phone in my hand. He goes away. The screen lights up again.

EVEN FAITHFUL PEOPLE DRINK COFFEE! LTR THEN? C

"Jo? What are you doing in there for Christ's sake?" calls Jamie. Oh God.

MAYBE. I send. ILL TEXT YOU. JUST STAY AWAY.

As I come out of the bathroom, I run into Jay, who's waiting right outside.

"Oh!" I smile.

He places his hands around my waist, and goes to kiss me, searching for my hands. He finds the mobile.

"You needed this in the bathroom?" He asks.

"Oh, I … I just happened to have it in my hand."

"Come back to bed," he says.

Lying in his arms again, I feel loathsome about myself. How have I become this deceitful, secretive person? I have always thought myself to be honest, straight. I don't want Craig in my life at all, I have no interest in him. I'm in love with Jamie, my thoughts are with him, so why am I saddled with this hassle? He seems always to have a hold over me. How can I rid myself of him for God's sake? What if I told Jamie? Just be honest, and tell him what's happened. I weigh up the pros and cons for a minute, but I know it would lead to a fight, he would find him and really put an end to it, for sure, but at what cost? Physical harm to Craig, or even my beloved Jamie. I can't risk that. I have to deal with it alone.

Jamie goes still and silent for a second.

"You're pre-occupied. What is it?"

Now's my chance. Tell him. Just get it over with, and he will deal with it. It'll then be all in the past.

"It's just that …"

No, I can't. I'll deal with my own mess.

"Just thinking that you have to go back, I suppose?"

Jamie sighs and falls back onto the pillows, heavily, sending a gust of air my way. "Yep, sorry. Today. Just a quick visit. Couldn't bear to be away from you anymore."

"Me too," I muffle into his neck. "God, I'm so glad you came. Not long left now."

"I know. Get this off."

He tugs at my T-shirt, kissing underneath it. The cotton slides over my head and is thrown carelessly on the floor. Jamie kneels up on the bed in the same position as I am, casting his eyes over me, lost in me. I love him so much, I adore him. I have to sort this out. He bends his head to my body, and my problems leave me.

"Anyone want a tea?" Dave's voice suddenly booms from the doorway.

Jamie collapses on the bed again, defeated. Then pushes me down onto the bed so that my nakedness is hidden.

"Christ," he groans, "Fuck off, mate?"

I peer over the duvet and watch Dave walk backwards through the door, eyes half closed, feet feeling his way, while carrying a tray of mugs.

"Sure," says Dave, "Sorry, sorry. Yes, going, going now."

"He see you?" Jay asks me when he's gone.

I'm silent. Of course he did, this time.

"Right."

He's quiet. Annoyed. I turn him over, sit on his bottom and massage his back. We have so little time, he mustn't spend it being upset, irritated.

"Mmm," he moans as my fingers press into his back.

We're standing on the platform again. Trains, I'm drawn to them somehow. My memories of wanting to be under a train flood back, and, standing here now with my lover, it's the furthest thing from my mind. He makes me happy. He's the one. He smiles down at me, his hair falling softly over his eyes, and I can't bear for him to go. His hand folds around mine, and I am safe. That's how I feel with my Jamie, so very safe. Never before have I felt like that. I ponder again the possibility that I could have been six feet under by now, had I not been, well spared, to quote my father. He always says that. 'I'll see you on Monday / I'm going there next week, if I'm spared.' Always made me smile, but I see what he meant now. I have been spared, I didn't end up under a train, I'm standing here now with my lover, my soulmate. The one I love, and, strangest of all, I have someone to thank for that.

Craig.

He saved me, pulled me from the edge with only his voice.

Craig.

"What are you thinking honey?" asks Jay.

"About you," I say, telling mostly truth. "I hate you going."

He kisses me hard.

"Stay?" I ask, unable to stop.

He looks surprised, amused, then alarmed.

"Oh, honey, you mean that? You know if you really can't hack it, I'll stay?"

I shake my head and wipe my eyes.

"No, I'm just being silly." I try to explain. "Jay? I feel … kind of unsafe without you with me."

He listens, concerned.

"I don’t know, I can't explain, I get a feeling of impending doom, you know?"

He holds me by the shoulders and stares deeply into my eyes.

"You'll be fine. I will be home soon. Only a few more days to go, and after this," he laughs with feeling, "I'll never go away again."

"Really?" I ask pathetically.

"Really."

I can hear his train arrive, and desperately wish I could suspend time. However, two minutes later I have waved him out of sight again, my love gone for another few days. I turn sadly and begin to walk back to the car. My phone beeps in my pocket. Must be Jay. I glance down. It's not.

Craig.

LOOK BEHIND YOU.

I turn to my left, then all the way round. He makes me jump, he's so close. How did I not hear him approach? His face is without expression.

"He's gone now." he tells me.

I turn to see the train's end. Christ, come back, Jamie. Come and help me. I so wish I'd told you now. Craig grips my elbow firmly and leads me off with him.

"Let go of me."

"Never. Impossible." He says simply.

He's smiling now and walking quickly. We get to the car and I stop, angry now as I spin round on him. I don't care who sees, in fact, I want them to.

"Craig, what the hell do you think you're playing at?" I demand. "You can't march me off like that!"

"I just did." He says, making my blood boil.

"Piss off!"

I open the car door but he's quicker than I and slams it shut again, pressing me against the door. His body is heavy against mine, although his touch is gentle.

"Sometimes, I'm more forceful than I mean to be." He says softly, his face millimetres from mine.

"Is that an apology?" I ask, turning my head away.

He pulls back and I feel free, my relief shows.

"It is."

His hold releases and he kicks his shoes in the gravel of the car park. He can't look me in the eye at the moment, I notice.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I am."

He has changed in a flash. I look back at him. He steals a shy glance at me. It's the young Craig from the platform when I first met him. God, he looks so different again! Young and vulnerable, awkward and shy.

"I don't know why I grabbed you like that," he says, "I thought, that maybe you might … well that you might jump again if I didn't get you away."

I consider this, gathering my thoughts. I'm not threatened any more, he's looking to me for approval now.

"Please don't be angry with me?" he asks. "I was only protecting you."

I uncurl his hand from my wrist. He springs back, looking at it, as if surprised it was there.

"Did I hurt you?" He enquires, anxious, scared even.

"No," I say gently, "Although Craig, you were a bit scary. You…."

"Oh, no," he groans, "Never scary, no, no. I love you Jo."

"Well, anyway."

I'm not getting into that.

"Don't be so … insistent, Craig. I'm with Jamie. You know that! You must have just seen him, even, at the station."

His eyes become cold and grey.

"I did." He concedes. Then, he stares at the ground. "He's gone now."

"Yes, but he's coming back … later." I tell him.

"Today?" he asks, surprised.

"Yes," I lie, "Today."

He ignores this and looks like a stung child.

"He kissed you."

I begin to lose patience. "Yes, Craig, he fucking kissed me! Of course he would kiss me! He's my boyfriend, my lover. I'm with him. We're together. He's my lover, Craig …"

"Yes!" he says, rather loudly, "I know, I know, he is. If you'd just give me a chance though, Jo. I know I can make you happy."

I sigh heavily. It's useless.

"I must go back now, Craig, I have things to do."

"Yes, I know."

He visibly pulls himself together.

"I really am sorry, Jo, I mean no harm. Forgive me? I feel protective of you."

In spite of myself, I smile at him, he seems pathetic.

"I know, Craig. It's okay. Just let me get on with my life with Jamie. Okay?"

"Yes," he agrees, "Of course. Jesus, I'm so sorry!" as if it's just dawned on him. "You're …" he struggles a little with the words, but he manages them. ".. his. Not mine."

"That's right," I tell him, as if to a child. "Jamie's."

He brightens. "But we can be friends."

Oh, Christ, at last. He's actually quite scary and I want to get away.

"Yes!" I say, feeling I'm getting somewhere. I'm sorry for him, he's searching my eyes, lost and found expressions alternating. I touch his cheek, softly with my finger. He leans onto it.

"Jo." He whispers.

"Craig," I say, "Go home now. I have work to do. We're friends. That's great. Just go home. Please?"

"I will," he tells me. "Sorry darling."

"That's alright. Just go. I must rush." I say, looking at my watch with drama.

It works, he looks at his too.

"Yes, right. Bye, then Jo, see you soon."

He kisses my cheek. I let him and smile. I slide into my seat, still smiling at him through the glass, put the key into the ignition, and drive away. Just drive. Away from Craig. Still smiling, and safe. In the mirror he waves, smiling back, casual, happy, accepting. I could cry with relief. Jamie, hurry home. Hurry home, please.

Just when I need peace and quiet, as I drive in, I find the omnipresent and unwelcome Sophie waiting outside and my heart sinks. She starts to jabber as soon as I'm out of the car.

"… you have to do something, Jo, to help me!"

She's laughing, over excited as usual, and jumping around irritatingly.

"That man is lovely. I'm sure he liked me Jo, he just wasn't … ready. Please say something in my favour? Put in a good word?"

Christ, she might as well ask me to fly to the moon.

"I can't Sophie, really."

Her face drops, she shows a pathetic little girl face and careers on with her plan.

"You phone him, mention my good points,"

Which are?

"…then he'll take me seriously. I just know it. I'm almost there with him."

No you're not, you're so far away it's untrue.

"God," she breathes dreamily, "Those overalls of his, his jeans, he's somehow … dirty."

"Hmm."

This is all I can manage, opening up the studio. I feel tired.

"Soph, I can't, I just can't. Dave is not interested. He's still hung up about his previous girl. I haven't seen him with anyone for ages, and he certainly wouldn't think of … starting another relationship just yet. Just leave it, for Christ's sake."

I'm so bored with this woman.

"Oh…" she sighs. Then she confides, like I'd want to know, "I really want him. I want him."

"I can tell." I say. "Get a grip on yourself, you're like a bitch on heat. Go home to your family. Sort all that out first."

Now she's angry.

"Oh, you can talk! Look at you," she waves her arms around, "this place, your young stud," I remain calm, and choose to ignore it. "It's okay for you, is it, but not for me?"

"Don’t be a child, Sophie. My marriage was over. Yours isn't, you're just playing around, there's a massive difference, Sophie. Surely you see that?"

Fucking cheek, what did I ever see in this friendship?

"Well, if I'm so bloody awful, I'll go then." She challenges.

Unfortunately for her, I rise to it.

"Yes, I think that would be best."

The next hour is very nearly silent, whilst she gathers her things, telephones home, and sulks.

I attempt to cut the atmosphere. I touch her arm softly as she's packing and speak gently.

"I don't think you're awful."

Actually, I do, but I don't want it on my conscience.

She gives me a look of sorrow, self-pity but I know that whatever she says, I will not be drawn in, will not let her stay. She doesn't try anything though. She merely throws me a teary look worthy of those found in slushy American cutesy family films, hurls her arms around my neck and squashes me to her bony chest, crying and snuffling into my neck. Oh, please. Counting the seconds until I can decently release myself from her grasp, I am pleased we are not parting enemies, at least. I help her with the remainder of her stuff, which is considerable, into her car, and at last, at last, she is gone. Tranquillity, solitude, oh so underrated. Telephone breaks it. I pick it up, it’s Dave.

"She gone?" he whispers.

I laugh. "She has actually, she's just left!"

"Thank God," he says. "Wondered if you fancied a couple of beers tonight?"

Chapter Eighteen

"Actually, Dave, I'm going to have an early night. Couldn't face going out tonight, I'm really whacked. Thanks, though."

"No, not out. I'll bring them round. Just a couple? Have a few laughs, we need them don't we?"

I laugh, in a weary way.

"K then, Dave. Not too late, though?"

"Be there in an hour." He says, and hangs up.

Jamie calls me, late, before he gets to bed.

"Who was that talking to you at the station, as I left? I saw a bloke as we pulled away. Who was it?"

If only you'd been able to come back, though.

"Oh, yes, just someone asking for directions, Jay."

Why upset him?

"Why didn't he fucking ask the guard then?"

My possessive Jamie, even if it had been true, he would have been annoyed. I laugh, but say nothing.

"You off to bed, honey?" he asks.

"Soon, yes, though Dave's here. Brought a couple of beers round, he thought I might need some company."

"Oh." he says, and goes quiet.

"I've got to go to the gallery tomorrow," I say, to change the subject.

He ignores it.

"Put Dave on?"

"Oh, right," I say, and hand the phone to Dave, who's flicking through the CDs.

Not much is said, but I can sense Dave is uncomfortable. He grunts here and there.

"No. Yeah. Right. I know! Don't be stupid, mate. Right. Yeah, will do."

He hands it back to me, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

Jamie tells me, "Dave's going home soon."

"Um, right," I say, but observe Dave, who's in the same position, transferring CDs from his right hand to his left, his chosen few to play. Doesn't look like he's moving, to me, but I don't contradict Jamie. We say our loving goodnights. I miss him terribly already, and tell him so.

"I know, baby, me too. I'll be back soon though, and I won't be doing this again. Together from now on, right? Night, honey."

I kick my feet along the floor thoughtfully as I flop around the room. Dave has put on some soft music which I don't recognise.

"Jay said you were just off?" I ask him.

He is surprised. "No, I didn't say that, but anyway, he's a bit over the top, don't you think?"

I am guarded.

"How?"

I know what he means, but I'm not going there.

"I mean, he's so possessive about you. He warned me off!"

Dave chuckles unbelievably and shows no sign of leaving. I smile.

"Well, yes, he is like that. That's okay, though. I like it, even." I assure him.

"Really?" He frowns at me, unconvinced.

"I do, yes, and he's perfect for me." I add for good measure, "Don't knock him, Dave, I don't like it."

"Right." He says, holding up his hands.

I sit on the floor, my legs crossed and leaning against the sofa. Dave sits on the sofa behind me, reading CDs still. I'm getting tired, and vaguely I notice that gradually his leg moves across so that one leg is either side of me.

"Dave?" I ask, slowly, quizzically, gesturing at his leg.

"Don't panic," he laughs, pushing my shoulder in a blokey way. "Put your head back here, I'll rub your shoulders."

"No." I say.

"Christ, you two!" he says, referring to Jamie and me, our closeness, our intensity.

"I'm not going to try anything! I'll just make you relaxed. For God's sake, Jo?"

I inspect Dave for a second or two, and then laugh at my own stupidity, leaning my head back, closing my eyes. His hands start to massage my neck and head, softly at first, but as my tension drops away, his touch becomes more firm and confident. My eyelids are closed shut, fast and sleepy. Long easy breaths escape me. This is good. I should really move, maybe, but I'm so floppy. I can feel my muscles softening, it's very welcome. I need my Jamie, though, not funny Decorator Dave. I shift position lazily and allow myself to drift off a bit. As it gets later and later and my eyes really will not stay open, I tell him he must go.

"Oh?" He looks disappointed. "I could always crash on the couch."

I wouldn't mind, but I know Jamie would, definitely.

"No, Dave, you have to go, you know that. Thanks for coming, though."

I see him out, and while he's gathering his coat, my phone makes an unwelcome noise. Unwelcome because I know I have spoken to Jamie. It can't be him. Beep. Text.

I pick it up, weary of everyone except Jamie.

CAN'T GET YOU OUT OF MY MIND. FRIEND, LOVER OR MORE. PLS, PLS GIVE ME A CHANCE? Craig.

"Noooo," I groan. Reply.

"FUCK OFF CRAIG. I'VE TRIED TO BE PLEASANT AND PATIENT. FUCK OFF."

"Who is it?" asks Dave.

"It's …"

I start, then check myself. I don’t want any men near me, suddenly. Fed up with them all, and the one I want isn't here.

"It's private, Dave!" I say, irritated. "Now, please go!"

CROSSED WIRES

"Have you rung home, yet?" I ask her bluntly.

"I did, yes. Yesterday. I know you told him where I was."

"Well," I start.

"I know, I know," she sighs, "it was the right thing to do. However, I'm not going back yet."

My heart sinks.

"Let them stew a bit longer."

"Sophie,"

I'll just have to come out with it.

"Thing is,"

She shakes her head and stands up, pacing around.

"I know. Last night, you slept down here, but I insist that you're not to do that again."

Oh God, I don't have to face the sleeping scenario again, surely?

"Tonight I'll sleep here, and you have the bed."

Oh, better at least, but I still want to see the back of her.

"Right. I was wondering, though …"

She interrupts me, "So what did the gorgeous man of the moment have to say then?" picking up my phone from the table, and fiddling with it.

"He's not of the moment, Sophie, he's permanent. We're very happy. You know that."

She chuckles, brushing her hand, symbolically wiping away my protestations.

"Until someone better comes along, sure. Someone rich, secure, you know."

"No, I don't know. Look stop saying that sort of thing, will you? I'm getting really rattled by it, you're getting on my nerves."

Her eyebrows arch innocently. Who, little her? Yes, you, immensely. She makes an inane singsong noise.

"Ooooh! Sorry I'm sure. Okay then, well, so he's great. Bit insecure, though, isn't he? Who was he questioning you about?"