Remember Why You Fear Me (13 page)

“Oh yes,” she said. “It’s very nice here.”

“It is, isn’t it? I love hotels!” He released her, went to open drawers, cupboards. “There’s a kettle here! And an ironing board. And look!” He’d found a little folder, right by the Gideon Bible. “They do room service. Just like a proper hotel. Shall we order something?” She assured him she was fine. “Oh, it’ll be fun. We can have breakfast in bed! I think we should! Hang on,” he said, winked at her, and lifted the receiver. Dialled a number. Waited. “It’s ringing,” he told her. And then, “Hello! Yes, we thought we’d order breakfast in bed for tomorrow! We thought, why not, it’s a holiday, if you can’t do it on a holiday . . . ! . . .
No, we’re staying in your house. Yes. In the guest room. Yes. Yes, at the back.” She lay down on the bed and waited for him to stop talking. “Yes, then would be fine. Looking forward to it. Thank you.” He hung up, smiled at her. “Breakfast in bed, what a treat!” And she smiled back. “Come here,” she said to him.

He lay on the bed next to her. “Okay if I take this side?”

“You’re fine.”

“It’s quite soft, isn’t it?”

She made to shrug, but she was supported by one of her shoulders, so it came out as a twitch. They snogged for a while. “You’re really special,” he told her at one point. “Whatever happens this weekend, I want you to know, it’s just great to have such a good friend at the office.” They snogged a bit longer. “I should unpack,” he said. “Do you want to unpack?”

“We’re only here the one night,” she told him.

“I know,” he said. He got up, unzipped his suitcase. Took out three, maybe four, shirts, and a spare pair of trousers. He opened the wardrobe. “Okay if I take this side?”

Marcia recommended them a restaurant in town. They wouldn’t need the car, it was only ten minutes’ walk, and besides, the weather was lovely. “Neil swears by the crab,” she told them, “you must try the crab!” They found the place easily enough, it wasn’t too busy, they got a table for two, and a waiter lit a candle for them.

“I don’t like crab,” he confided to her, and she agreed, she couldn’t abide shellfish, so they giggled, ordered a steak and a lasagne, and joked that they’d
tell
Marcia they’d had crab when they saw her. The house red had no label, but was rather good, and they got through two bottles of it.

“Coffee?” asked the waiter.

“I won’t, but my girlfriend here will, but the milk has to be soya.” Girlfriend, she thought with surprise, it almost sobered her up.

“I’m not sure we have soya milk, sir, I’ll check.” “It has to be soya, that’s what she drinks.”

“Listen,” she said to him, and touched his hand gently, “I can have other milks, it’s just soya for preference.” But no, no, he was adamant, it’d be soya or nothing, only the best for her, for his girlfriend—if there was no soya milk to be had he’d bloody well go out and get some, leave the restaurant, find some supermarket, and bring back his own.

And fortunately the waiter returned and said there
was
soya milk, so no one had to find out whether he’d back down or not. Mind you, she thought as she sipped at the coffee, it didn’t taste like soya. By the time he’d paid—his treat, he insisted—it had begun to rain. Just a drizzle, really, they were both so hot after the wine it was welcome. And he told her he’d protect her, and did his best to hold his hand flat over her head as they walked back to the hotel. It did nothing to keep her dry, of course, but it made them both laugh.

When they got back they snogged again for a little while. As soon as she’d stepped into the room he whirled her around, and caught her mouth with his. It was quite nice, but as she stood there straining her face up to meet his, she couldn’t help feel there were more comfortable ways to do this. “I’m going to get ready for bed,” she said gently, and indicated the bathroom, “all right?” Of course, he said, did she want him to come with her . . . ? No, no, she assured him, she just wanted to clean herself up a bit, nothing sexy or complicated like that. He said okay, and she thought he looked a little relieved. “I’ll only be a minute,” she said, kissed him again, stepped into the bathroom, and closed the door behind her. As she washed her face she noticed that he’d carefully laid out all his toiletries side by side at the top of the sink, toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, a pair of tweezers.

She opened the door, and nearly laughed. He was standing there naked. Arms to one side, as if presenting. It wasn’t that there was anything funny about his body, not in the slightest, it all seemed to be present and in roughly the correct dimensions. It was just the surprise at the whole reality of it. He looked down, smiled a little awkwardly. “Sorry about him, he’s got a bit excited.”

“So I can see,” she said. “No, it’s very flattering.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you want me to strip off, or . . . ?”

“Oh, absolutely. Yes.”

“Okay,” she said, and did so.

“Wow,” he said. “You’re really beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

“No, really,” he said, with utter sincerity, his face was frowning with so much sincerity. “Really beautiful.”

“Well,” she said. “That makes two of us.”

He smiled at that. “Look,” he said. “This is the sort of last chance to turn back, isn’t it? I just want you to know that’s an option. We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready . . .”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, kindly. “We might as well, I’m here now.”

“I think I’ll just use the bathroom myself,” he said. He wasn’t in there for long, she heard a couple of bursts of deodorant, and he was out again. “Right,” he said, with an entirely new confidence. There was a ribbed condom slightly weighing down his penis. “You lie on the bed. I’m going to make love to you as you’ve never been made love to before.”

“Okay,” she said.

He knelt at the foot of the bed, looked at her feet, narrowed his eyes,
inspected
them. And then, with a suddenness that was probably meant to look very dramatic, but came across as just a bit too deliberate, he darted his head forward. And began to suck at her toes.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m going to lick you all over,” he told her, very earnestly. “Every single inch of you, you’re going to be kissed on every inch. From head to foot.” He corrected himself. “Foot to head, I’m working upwards.”

It was quite a pleasant sensation, she found. And, thank God, mostly dry. He only dabbed at her with the tongue, and then any little spittle he left was hoovered up by his lips. That was fine, actually, she wasn’t quite sure how well she’d have suffered lying there glistening and soggy. As he poked his tongue between her toes, she actually allowed herself to be aroused. “You’ve done this before,” she teased him.

He stopped, looked shocked, serious. “No,” he said. “No, really. All of this . . . this is inspired by you. This is what you bring out in me.”

“Okay,” she said, and closed her eyes. She lay back and blissed out, as she felt his tongue climb ever higher up her body. “It’s okay,” she breathed at last, “that’s lovely. You can enter me now.”

“But I’ve only reached the knees.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m ready.” And she pulled him up closer, and looked him full in the face, and it wasn’t a bad face, she thought, a little bewildered but it was trying hard. And she fed him inside of her.

“Jesus,” he said. “Oh, Jesus.” “Yes, I’m Jesus, baby, I’m Jesus,” she said to him, “now keep going. Go on. . . . Oh.”

“Oh,” he said. And then, “wow.” And then, “I’m sorry, I got a bit overexcited.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “I was excited too.”

“Did you come?” And however politely he asked, the question sounded so blunt that she wasn’t quite prepared for it. She had to hesitate before saying yes. “You didn’t, did you? I’m sorry.”

“I’m pretty sure I did,” she said.

“I’ll stay inside. He’s been hard all day, I know he’ll wake up again.”

“If you like,” she said, and they both lay there, not saying anything for a while. He smiled down at her. She smiled back. It was all very friendly, really. And then he began to start thrusting again. “Look,” she said gently, “if you’re not ready . . .”

“No, something’s happening down there,” he assured her. And then began to grunt along with each thrust. Come on, he seemed to be saying with those grunts. Wake up. Wake up. And she thought she should do her best to help, she began grunting too, just to chivvy him on. The grunting got louder and louder, it was like some caveman metronome, his light boyish voice given up as he growled ever lower in pitch. Her own grunts sounded embarrassingly tinny beside his, she thought, and she tried to deepen her voice too. And then, “Can you hear that?” he panted.

“Don’t stop,” she said.

“Next door,” he said, “listen!” And he was right, through the thin walls she could hear their hosts having sex too, Marcia and Whatsisname. Neil. “Don’t stop,” she said, “use them. Use them to help you keep time.” And on they grunted, all four of them, until at last with a sigh of relief and an exhausted gasp of “Jesus” it was all over and he was able to roll off her.

“Well done,” she said, sincerely.

“Thank you.” He looked very pleased with himself.

Next door the grunting went on. Her lover smiled indulgently. “Listen to that,” he said. “We probably inspired them. Do you think?”

“Maybe,” she said.

“Old married couple like that. We probably reminded them what it was all about.”

“Yeah,” she said, “look, I’m quite tired now, do you think we could get some sleep?”

“Sure,” he said, and he seemed so serenely smug, she could probably have requested anything, he’d have said yes. “I’ll just pop to the bathroom, be with you in a tick.” She was asleep before he came back.

A few hours later—the neon alarm said it was gone two—she stirred. For a moment she forgot where she was. Then she saw the picture of the goose, and she saw him too, sitting on a chair in the corner, right beneath the TV set. She saw the red glow of a cigarette. She didn’t even know he smoked.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

“I’m surprised you can sleep,” he said softly. “They’re still at it. It’s been going on for
hours
.” And she hadn’t noticed it, it’d been so regular that she’d screened out somehow, but now she could hear it. The same grunts from next door. Keeping rhythm, keeping time.

“Jesus,” he added, and sucked on his cigarette.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to do that in here,” she told him.

“Sorry,” he whispered, and stubbed it out.

They didn’t talk about the grunts. She might even have thought he couldn’t hear them over the burble of his own chatter, but she watched his face, when there was a grunt she could see him
flinch
, he could hear them all right. They were very erratic. At one point there wasn’t a grunt for a good three or four miles, and she thought, it’s dead, it must be dead now, and
thank God
—but then it came again, just as clear as before. It’s still hanging on, she thought. What’s it hanging on
for
?

He’d given up any pretence at companionable silence. He was lively, told jokes even. She didn’t have to pretend to respond, he kept talking anyway, she could have been in the trunk as well for what difference it made. “We ought to think of a name for it,” he said suddenly. “Scientific discovery like this, it’ll have to have a
name
. Won’t it?” He paused for a moment. “They don’t name animals after the people who discover them, do they?”

“I think that’s inventions.”

“Yeah,” he said, and was disappointed for a while. But he quickly perked up. “Half bat, half rabbit. What about ‘babbit’?” They drove in silence for a few seconds, then he laughed. “Even better! ‘Rabbat’. I like that, what do you think?”

“You said it could be a hare.”

“Oh yes.” He thought about this, weighed up the permutations of syllables. “I hope it’s not half hare,” he said. “Let’s keep our fingers crossed.”

He’d already rhapsodized about the legacy of their achievement, the great worth of what they’d found. Not that he meant financial worth, he quickly assured her, although actually, why not, why shouldn’t there be a bit of money in it? The two of them would be famous. They’d be on the news, and in programmes for the Discovery Channel. That had made him pause for thought. That could be a bit complicated, he’d realized. You know, considering what they’d been up to.

“Oh,” she’d said. “I suppose.”

Maybe, he’d gone on, only one of them should step forward. One of them should get the attention, the media coverage, whatever. And the other one, of course, wouldn’t be left out. The other one would be fine. Any money that came his way, he’d split it with her fifty-fifty.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” she’d said.

No, no, straight down the middle. He wouldn’t cheat her. They were friends, weren’t they? Good friends. Look, it was up to her. I mean,
she
could be the one. If she really wanted to be. She could be the one to step into the limelight. . . .

“No,” she’d said. “I think this is your discovery. You’re the one who ran it over.”

He’d laughed at that and said, yes, he had, hadn’t he? He’d been the one. He’d do all right by her, though, she’d see. He’d take care of her. And he’d reached for her with his spare hand, tried to give her a friendly squeeze. And she hadn’t been sure what part of her body he’d been aiming for, but what he’d found was her knee, he was at it for what seemed like ages, squeezing away down there like there was no tomorrow. She’d felt her flesh crawl.

“Oh, look,” he said eventually. “Eighteen miles to the next service station.” About six miles from it, he said, “What do we reckon? We could stop for a coffee. Stretch our legs.”

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Okay,” he said.

Three miles from the service station he said, “I might get myself a coffee, though. Stretch my legs.”

They pulled into the car park. It was mostly empty, just a few overnight lorries over in the corner. “Last chance,” he said. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’ll just stay here,” she said.

“I won’t be long.”

“Okay.”

He disappeared into the darkness. She sighed with relief. And for a couple of minutes she just sat there and enjoyed it all. The peace of the car. The rain against the windscreen. The grunting from the trunk. Then she opened the glove compartment, rummaged inside. Travel sweets, a few CD cases, they weren’t much use. She picked up instead the book from which she’d been navigating, a hardback road atlas to Great Britain. Not perfect, but the best there was. She reached under the steering wheel, felt the trunk door release. She hesitated, then got out of the car.