Killing Cupid (3 page)

‘H-h-h-hello,’ he said, gulping like a cartoon character who’s just swallowed a pikestaff.

We chatted for a bit – I asked him a bit about his fantasy book, but I have to admit that it sounded as if he was talking in a foreign language, with all the place names and weird aliens and so on. I told him that I’d loved
The Blind Assassin
, and that had a sci-fi story within it, but he hadn’t even heard of Margaret Atwood!

Then he glanced towards the door, and for a moment I thought he was going to lunge at me; he had this rather worryingly expectant look in his eyes. Or else do a runner. But to my astonishment, he produced a copy of
TLA
! That’s doubled my annual sales figures then. I wonder if they’ve all gone out and bought it? I hope so. But I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to do with it – he sort of waved it at me.

‘Would you like me to sign it?’ I asked, and he blushed gratefully, nodding. I duly inscribed it, and the poor chap looked as if he was about to die with gratitude – but it was a lot more straightforward than Alex’s big gesture.

The others all arrived together, just as I was handing back the book to Brian. I smiled briefly at Alex, but didn’t make real eye contact with him. I felt a bit … flustered, I suppose. Like he somehow had one over on me now – although of course that’s silly. I don’t know what it was, but as soon as I saw him, I felt uneasy. When I looked at him, skinny and cockier than he seemed last week, the review and the pink ribbon seemed a bit inappropriate. I casually leaned over and pushed it right down to the bottom of my handbag, so it was hidden. I suddenly wanted him to be unsure as to whether or not I’d even received it, and I decided not to mention it at all, unless he asked me outright. Perhaps I’ll thank him, next week, without making a big deal out of it.

At the end of the class, I could see Alex beginning to loiter behind the others as they filed out, chatting. Only Kathy was left, so I wandered over to her desk and told her how much I’d enjoyed the piece she’d read out earlier.

‘I’m so glad you like it!’ she said, her face lighting up. She looks really pretty when she smiles, under that harsh jagged haircut. I subtly edged my shoulders round until my back was to Alex, and he wasn’t in my line of vision at all – although I was somehow still very aware of him there, lurking.

‘Actually,’ Kathy said after a minute chatting about the task, ‘I was wondering if I could have a word?’

Phew, I thought – a reason to ask Alex to leave. But when I turned back around, he was marching out of the classroom, without a farewell.

I turned back, and Kathy was standing there, beaming – with a copy of
TLA
in her hands! I couldn’t believe it, and started to laugh.

‘I’ll be able to retire on the royalties soon,’ I said. ‘It’s brilliant – you’re all buying it! I knew there was a reason I should take up teaching.’

Kathy laughed too, and good-naturedly handed me a biro. ‘Loved it,’ she said. ‘I really couldn’t put it down.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, blushing. Her praise somehow felt more valid than Alex’s overblown words and Poor Brian’s stammered compliments, and I felt foolish for over-reacting, even in my own head, about Alex’s review. At least I hadn’t made a fool of myself by mentioning it in any way. And having three of them comment on it definitely diluted the impact.

I wonder if there’s any chance that Kathy fancies me too? She certainly seems to glow when she talks to me. But perhaps I’m just being arrogant.

I left the college feeling far more cheerful than of late, all the evening’s words of flattery echoing around my head. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to get another book deal after all. I must have some talent, to provoke such a reaction. I’d just forgotten, that’s all.

Either that, or I’ve got three new admirers! Can’t be bad, however you look at it.

Chapter 4

Alex

Wednesday

I spent all afternoon working on my online review of
Tara Lies Awake
. I submitted it to the site and printed it out, kissing the paper before sealing it in an envelope. I wrote my home number on the printout (haven’t been able to afford to get a new mobile since mine was nicked from my pocket the other week in the pub, and of course it wasn’t bloody insured) and wrapped the envelope with ribbon I’d found in Simon’s room. Nat’s always making cards and doing fancy stuff with parcels, so I expect the ribbon belonged to her. I was sure she wouldn’t mind me borrowing a bit.

On the way to class, I kept imagining how impressed Siobhan would be when she read my review. The more I thought about it the more excited I got. I found myself walking really fast, marching in time with my heartbeat.

I wasn’t sure exactly how to give my review to Siobhan. Ideally, I’d have liked her to stumble across it on the website, but I couldn’t be sure enough that she would see it – authors apparently always check their own Bookjungle rankings, but since the book had been out for so many years, I couldn’t believe that she checked all that regularly. I didn’t want to leave the printout on her desk in case someone else picked it up. And if I handed it to her in class the others might wonder if there was something going on between us. But it had nothing to do with any of them – this was a private matter between Siobhan and me.

Entering the college, I saw the receptionist and decided she was the best person to leave the envelope with, mainly because I couldn’t give a flying one what she thought of me.

‘Has Siobhan McGowan come in yet?’ I asked.

‘I don’t think so, love.’

‘Could you pass this to her when she does?’

She took it and set it aside.

‘You won’t forget, will you? It’s very important.’

She looked at me, then at the pink ribbon wrapped around the envelope and raised a well-plucked eyebrow. ‘No, love, I won’t forget.’

‘Thank you.’

After that, I needed the loo. I must have been in there longer than I thought because when I reached the classroom, everyone, including Siobhan, was already there.

I opened the door and saw Siobhan look me up and down. I swear she seemed impressed. And kind of hungry. Like I was a Mars Bar and she was Marianne Faithfull. She must have read my review already and – well, it looked like it had had the most positive effect I could have hoped for. Could it be that praise makes her horny? Makes her want the person praising her?

Is she that similar to me?

To my delight, I saw a hint of pink poking out of her bag – the envelope I put the card and review in. So the receptionist didn’t let me down. And when I saw what Siobhan wearing…wow! The boots, below what looked like they could be stockings on her long, sexy legs, and more make up than last time - though not too much, nothing tarty or cheap. She looked sensational.

She asked me to sit down, and I could feel her eyes on me as I walked to my chair. I had this rushing sensation in my stomach and chest, that feeling you get when something very exciting is about to happen. I was trying not to stare at Siobhan too hard, trying to be cool, trying to stay calm. And then she turned all the lights out.

It was a shock at first, suddenly being in pitch darkness with a group of near-strangers. But, very quickly, I became accustomed to it. I even forgot the others were there, and it felt like it was just me and Siobhan. Brian wasn’t scratching like a mangy hamster, Kathy wasn’t sending me hate rays for being a man, Barbara wasn’t snoring. It was just me and Siobhan, Siobhan and me, and it was so dark with the blackout blinds down that I couldn’t even see my own hands, and nobody else could see how aroused I was as I listened to Siobhan’s deliciously husky voice.

She asked us to think of a character, but the only character I could think of was her, and then there were two of us in the story in my head, her and me. I couldn’t manage the bit about standing in my childhood bedroom. All I could picture was my bedroom now, rucked-up sheets beneath two entwined bodies.

I felt like she was caressing me with her words, reaching across the room to me and stroking my hair, my face, touching my eyelids and running her hand down the back of my neck, then around to the front and – oh God – into my lap. I could smell her – her skin and perfume and hair – and when the lights came on I nearly fell out of my chair in my desperate attempt to cross my legs.

Have to admit, though, the mood was spoiled a bit by the sight of the drool on Grandma’s hairy chin. But when my eyes adjusted to the brightness I couldn’t stop myself gazing at Siobhan. She caught my eye then quickly looked away, shy, sweet, coquettish.

When I had to write down what I’d visualised, I had to make something up. I couldn’t be honest, could I? This journal is the only place where I can be fully honest.

The class ended and the others started to file out. Brian stuttered something to her as he passed and she smiled at him, sympathetically. I hung back, waiting for all the others to leave. I wanted to talk to Siobhan about her book and my review. I wanted to give her the chance to say how pleased she was. But bloody Kathy wasn’t leaving. She stayed in her seat, scribbling something, and Siobhan came over and started talking to her. It didn’t seem that Kathy would be leaving too quickly. Realising there was no way I could hang around without seeming like a weirdo, I slunk out.

But I wasn’t too worried because I knew Siobhan would love what I’d written – and I was confident that she’d want to call me to talk about it. She…shit, there’s the phone now.

It wasn’t her. Someone for Simon. Of course it wouldn’t be her. She’ll want to play it cool, won’t want to let me know how excited she was to read my words straight away. I expect she’ll call tomorrow, Thursday. I wish I still had my mobile – I’d forgotten what it’s like to have to literally wait by the phone.

I doubt I’ll be able to sleep tonight. Too excited.

Thursday

Had a terrible evening. Sat in the living room watching TV and waiting for the phone to ring. Nothing on except a programme about lions: all they seem to do is sleep and shag. Looked at the cover of Siobhan’s novel: the naked woman; Siobhan’s picture; the two merging into one. I stared at the phone. It stared back, mocking me. It rang at one point, making me leap off the sofa. It was Si, asking if I wanted to join him and Nat for a drink.

‘I can’t.’

He sighed. ‘You need to get out more, Alex. You couldn’t come out the other night because of your writing class. You can’t keep turning down our invitations. We’ll get offended.’ I could hear the clink of glasses in the background, Christina on the jukebox. I put the phone down, worried about blocking the line.

I smoked six cigarettes and rummaged through Si’s bedside cabinet, trying to find his dope stash. Just a few hard crumbs. I ate them. They didn’t do anything.

At ten, I checked the phone connection. At this point, I realised how sad I was being. Maybe I should unplug the phone, I thought. Then when she tried to ring she wouldn’t be able to get hold of me; it would just ring and ring, and she’d be there getting worried, wondering where I was. I knelt down to pull the cord out of the wall. But I couldn’t do it.

I wish I’d had the chance to talk to her after the class. Maybe I was too subtle, simply writing my phone number. Perhaps I should have made some ‘call me’ sign in class. But that would have made me look like a twat. And I’m sure Siobhan’s the kind of person who understands subtlety. Her novel is subtle. So why hasn’t she taken the hint and called? Does she think I’m just a loser who doesn’t even have a mobile phone?

Or maybe she’s just shyer than she seems.

Friday

Maybe she lost my number. That could be it. She might have lost the card I gave her somehow. She might even have lost her bag. Maybe she’s been hunting her flat or house, getting frantic, wanting to call me, worrying that I’ll be upset. Of course, I’ll reassure her, I’ll tell her it’s fine, let’s go for a drink, a meal, and who knows what will follow.

Friday night, and I’m in my bedroom. It’s eleven thirty and, through the thin walls, Si and Nat are at it again, doing more for Anglo-French relations than Concorde, hypermarkets and Julian Barnes combined. I’ve put my headphones on, to drown it out, but when I close my eyes all I can see is flesh.

But it’s not just sex. It isn’t. No, no, I’m not being dirty. Not like when mum caught me in the bathroom, caught me with the magazine. And she made me scrub with the pumice stone: made me scrub my hands and . . . no, that’s the past. I don’t want to remember it.

Saturday

No call again. I went out for a walk, up towards the college. I wasn’t sure if Siobhan teaches there at the weekend; thought I might bump into her. I didn’t.

When I got home, I knocked on Simon’s door.

‘Enter at your own risk.’

I went in. The room stank of dope and sex. No sign of Natalie. Simon was on his iMac, looking at porn on the Web. The girl on the screen looked very young; I had to look away.

‘Did anyone call for me?’ I asked.

He reached for his cigarettes and lit up.

'Yeah...actually, some chick did ring.’

‘What? When?’

‘Yesterday afternoon when you were at work.’

‘What did she say?’

He grinned. ‘She asked if I wanted to save money on my gas bill.’

‘You git.’

‘She was nice, actually. Maybe I could have fixed you up on a blind date.’ He laughed and coughed simultaneously.

In my mind, I grabbed hold of his stupid, grinning head and shoved it through the screen of his computer. In reality, I just muttered, ‘Arsehole,’ and left the room.

‘Don’t get eggy, Alex,’ he called after me. ‘It was only a joke.’

I came into my room and slammed the door. Then I turned on my own PC, staring at the flickering screen while it booted up, the hard disk grinding away. I could see my reflection in the monitor screen. My hair was all over the place and my eyes looked puffy. I needed a bath.

But if the phone rang while I was in there . . .

I logged onto Facebook and typed Siobhan's name into the search bar. There were five Siobhan McGowan's in the UK, plus some more in Ireland and a page full in the States. Two of them were listed as living in London on the search results. Of those two, one had a picture of a baby as their profile picture; the other had a picture of a cat.