True Things About Me

I misuse bread





WHEN I GOT home I began to feel like a visitor, or a prospective buyer. I wandered through the rooms of my house but I couldn’t see its potential. Time started to do that thing. It’s like you’re from some other dimension where each minute is an hour and a half, say, but an hour is actually a day long. You’re trying to function in your new body, with your new watch on your strange, pink arm, but you just don’t fool anyone. The safest approach when this happens is to sit in one place and wait for something to occur.

Eventually I heard the phone ringing. Alison wanted to come and see me. We sat in the kitchen. She looked in the fridge and made a tutting sound. Well, at least you’ve got some milk, she said. She told me she couldn’t be long. That she just wanted to touch base, see me, sort of thing. You can touch my base any time, love, I said, and we both cackled. I told her I would be back to work on Monday, which I was quite surprised about myself. I didn’t know I was going to do that.

Alison told me her kids were at their karate class, and she had to pick them up soon. Aren’t they a bit young for martial arts? I asked. I knew they were only four and six. Also there was a baby of about a year old. She struck what looked like a karate pose and said, Ah! Never too young, my doubting and defenceless friend. Surely not the baby, though, I asked. ’Course not, she said. Check me out. She held up her thumbs and wiggled them around. I could disable an attacker using just these, she said seriously. Really? I said. No, she answered, but that sort of skill would be invaluable in the rush for the only empty checkout.

She wanted to know if I could babysit the two older ones on Saturday morning for a few hours. She had to take her mum to an appointment at the eye clinic and couldn’t cope with all the kids as well. On a Saturday? I asked. Private, she said. Cataracts. You know my mum. Money no object. Except when I try and touch her for a tenner. Are you sure you want me to? I said. I mean, I like your kids, but do you think I should look after them? She told me not to be wet, that they were becoming more like human beings all the time. I would be fine.

The complication is I have to go to the dentist for a filling, I said. Won’t that scare them? She said they loved the dentist. They wouldn’t mind at all. Especially if they could watch; they liked watching people having dental treatment. I wasn’t sure that was healthy. If that’s true, I said, then they are small but perfectly formed fiends. Yep, she said, you are not far wrong, oh wise one. Anyway, she didn’t have anyone else to ask. Tom was refereeing a match or something. Pray for me, she said. I’ve got to take the baby with us. And you and I still haven’t had our significant chat about you know what. I told her that, actually, we didn’t need to. It wasn’t an issue. I’ll be the judge of that, kiddo, she said.

On Saturday I picked the children up. They sat in the back of the car with their little rucksacks full of kids’ stuff, exuding vital energy, like meerkats. Their shining hair seemed to swing of its own volition. I couldn’t detect any blinking of their eyes. Before we drove off I asked them if they remembered me. Nope, they said firmly. That’s probably a good thing, I said. Last time I checked you were Harriet and Patrick. I’m the oldest, Patrick said, leaning towards me. She’s only four. Well, you two, I said, I am old beyond your wildest dreams of oldness, and my name is Mrs Blobbypants. Harriet took her thumb out of her mouth for a moment. Mrs Bloppypants the Third, she said. I told her she was a bright kid. I’m even brighter, said Patrick. That’s because I’m older than her.


There seemed to be a lot of movement in the car. I asked them to keep still. We wasn’t moving, actually, Patrick said, was we, Harriet? Well, anyway, I said, and asked them what they wanted to do. Watch TV, they said in unison. Isn’t that the standard kids’ answer? I asked them. They didn’t say anything. TV it is then, I said brightly. We like TV best of all, they said, nodding at each other and me intently. Even more than karate? I asked. Karate’s cool, said Patrick, but TV’s cooler, isn’t it, Harriet? Harriet smiled round her thumb, and nodded gently as if she were conserving energy for later. I told them I had some things to do first. Like the dentist. Cool, Patrick said. The dentist is excellent, we love the dentist. Can we watch?

When we got there I bought them comics and sweets in the newsagent’s next door. My stomach was behaving the way it always did whenever I entered the waiting room. When I was little my father had to have time off work to take me; my mother had given up on the whole thing. I remember holding onto the treatment room door handle and screaming with complete abandon. It seemed to me that all the grown-ups had changed and become cruel people. My mother and father, the smiling receptionist, the kind-looking dentist – they had all betrayed me. They were prepared to offer me up to anything that might happen. There was this feeling of utter aloneness.

I explained to the nurse that the children wanted to come in to watch. She looked down at them unsmilingly. Do you now? she asked them. I don’t s’pose that will be a problem. She directed them to a single chair, and told them they’d have to be quiet. They sat facing the huge black affair I had to sit in. I remembered what Alison had said when she dropped the kids off about creating only positive dental vibes. The dentist came towards me with the needle held behind his back. I can see it, shouted Harriet. My heart plunged like a body dropping off the top of a high-rise block of flats. The children leaned forward as I was injected in the softest, most private parts of my mouth. Then the dentist turned to chat to them. I limply allowed the chair to support all my weight.

When the drill started shrilling Harriet got down from the chair and came a little nearer. I gave them both a thumbs-up sign. My hand was shaking. Afterwards, in the car, they sucked with intense concentration on the sweets I’d bought them, fingering the stickers they’d picked up at the dentist. You should give those to me, I told them over my shoulder. I was the flipping brave one. I wasn’t joking either. We drove to town. They asked when they could watch TV. Very soon, believe me, I said. They started to fiddle with each other. She’s just pinched me; he’s pulled my hair. That sort of thing. My jaw was fizzing and beginning to ache. I felt as if my knee joints were turning molten. We went into a bread shop.

I counted four people in front of me. Each one had an enormous bread order. I wondered what that was about; so much stupid bread. I felt light-headed, as if the top section of my skull was exposed to the air. I picked up a long baguette from a deep wicker basket. It was strangely quiet in the shop, except for the sounds of the children slapping each other and scuffling. They both bumped into me sharply several times. It was weird, but it felt as if they were somehow disturbing my newly-filled tooth, jabbing it even. Suddenly I swung round and whacked both of them on the tops of their heads with the baguette. Everyone in the shop turned to look at me. I stood holding the broken stick of bread. The woman behind the counter nodded at it. I hope you intend to pay for that, she said. I had to wait my turn. No one else spoke. When we got outside Patrick put his arm round Harriet and said, loudly and calmly, We hate you. When we get home I’m going to tell my mum you hit us with bread.





I always deliver





I’D PUT HIS address in a kitchen drawer. It was the one I kept my sharp knives in. I had opened it a few times, to get knives out. There it was, every time. So I sat in the kitchen and allowed the steam from my coffee to lap my face. My tooth was quietly humming. I took some painkillers, but I didn’t mind the pain. When I thought about the dentist I felt a little spasm of pleasure that I’d managed to get through it. As soon as I thought about the filling I remembered the children and the bakery. I wondered why Alison hadn’t rung me.

It had rained with surprising intensity since early morning. The kitchen window was open and, rhythmically, the garden’s rainy breath gushed into the room. The blind worried itself in the breeze, but I couldn’t be bothered to sort it out. I heard a police car’s wailing scream. Then more. All rushing towards the motorway. I imagined the accident they were attending. I played it out in my head. I saw the car, crushed like a cartoon car in a cartoon wreck. There were little petals of fire escaping from the distorted bonnet. I watched pools of blood creeping out from under the driver’s door.

I remembered the time I had driven past an accident and seen the dead driver. His arm, in a short-sleeved shirt, was flung out from under a makeshift covering. I had burst into passionate tears as I drove slowly past, thinking how he must have been on his way to work on an ordinary day. How his wife and children didn’t even know yet that he was dead. How I, a stranger, did know. It hadn’t felt at all right to have this knowledge before them. I’d cried all day at work, and gone home early, then lain on my bed in the darkened bedroom and thought about the dead man. He’d been wearing a business-like watch on his flung-out, muscular arm. His fingers had been furled in towards his palm, gently, as if he were holding something fragile, something he didn’t want to crush. I kept thinking about how his fingers had curled inwards for the last time. And that whatever he’d wanted to protect didn’t matter any more. It was probably nothing, just fresh, free air. No use to him now.

My coffee was cool, so I must have been sitting there for a while; these days I could almost measure time in cooling cups of coffee. It was a new skill, but quite handy. I threw the coffee away and made another. I opened the knife drawer and took out the little folded slip of paper. I smoothed it flat on the table and let it lie by the side of my fresh cup. He lived in an unfamiliar area of town. Vaguely I knew where it was. I didn’t want my coffee any more so I left it on the table and put the piece of paper in my bag.

I showered and dressed. I went out and bought flowers and candles, red wine and cheese. The flowers were squeaky-stemmed tulips, flame coloured, with frilly green edges. When I got home I cleaned the house and arranged the tulips in a pale pink vase. I put the cheese on a plate and opened the wine. I laid out the flowers and everything else on the coffee table. I changed into my nightdress. It was getting dark, still raining. I lit candles in the lounge.

I put the film in the DVD player and watched it again. This time I loathed the beautiful woman. She was so false. I don’t know how I could have been taken in for so long the first time. The writer guy was lovely, though. God, did she make him suffer. It took him so long to comprehend how bad she really was. All through the film his eyebrows hardly moved, but I could tell when he was upset. As I watched I drank the wine and ate the cheese. It felt like a ritual. As he was taken off to prison, unjustly accused of her murder, I raised my glass to him. Good luck, my darling, I said. I must have fallen asleep on the settee for a while, because when I awoke the candles had burned down in the cold room. There was a smell of smoke coming from the wicks. It was one o’clock in the morning. I threw some clothes on, took my bag and drove to his address.


I found the house easily. It was almost spooky. I seemed to know exactly where it was. I parked the car opposite and turned off the engine. I was still drunk, but I felt in control. Some windows in the street were alight. There was a downstairs light on in his house. I sat and looked at the yellow rectangle it cast. Then I got out of the car and walked across the road, through a broken gate and up the path. The garden was overgrown. The front door had scratches on it. A small fanlight window above it was smashed. I knocked on the door. A dog barked inside and someone shouted. I felt calm.

There was a long wait, but I didn’t knock again. A pale woman with a sunken chest appeared. I asked for him by name. She said she’d never heard of him. I got my notebook from my bag and ripped out a page. She stood holding a cigarette. She didn’t seem in the least bit interested in me. Could you give him this? I said. It’s important. I handed her the note I’d written. The dog padded towards me and licked my leg. She took the piece of paper without looking at it, and said she couldn’t promise anything. As I walked back to my car she leaned against the doorpost and watched. I heard her coughing. As I drove off she was still leaning there with the dog beside her. I started to tremble. I stopped the car when I got out of sight, and opened the door just in time to be sick onto the road. Then I drove home.





I keep in touch





ALISON AND I had lunch in a café near the office. Why can’t I just have a good old British sandwich? she asked. Why must it be ciabatta and wraps and stuff like that? Who’s Panini anyway? He sounds like a composer. I blame all this foreign travel. Everyone should be made to go to Skegness and Bognor. Then we’d all be eating limp ham sarnies and drinking tea in buckets. I have nothing against a wrap occasionally, I said. And it’s a well-known factoid that the poor unfortunate souls who end up in Skegness need more than a wrap to survive. They need SAS-type clothing. Alison looked around. I’m not sure about this place, she said; it’s suspiciously empty for a lunchtime.

I was happy for Alison to go off on a food rant. It postponed talking about the bread-hitting incident, so I made a decided effort to keep it going. Anyway, I said, nobody in living memory has been to Bognor. Isn’t Bognor a tropical free-love island now? Towed out to the Maldives? I thought I read about it in Hello! Alison was studying the menu. When the waitress came I recognised her, she was a girl I’d known slightly in school. Hi, she said. Long time no see. You could say that, I said. Like aeons and aeons. True, she said, holding up her little pad and pen. I s’pose I’ll have one of these tortilla things, Alison said, and a cup of tea. I asked the waitress if she did ham sandwiches. We do, she said. Can you make mine a limp one? I asked. You always were a funny person, she said. When our food came Alison gazed longingly at my plate. I told her she could have mine if she would forgive me about hitting her kids with bread.

Listen, my lovely young friend, she said. I don’t blame you. I once smacked their legs with an Easter egg. They can wind one up, believe me, I know. I told her I was feeling a bit tense at the time, what with my filling. If anything, it’s my fault, she said. I know how you feel about the dentist. But are you all right, you know, generally? I replied that I was great. That I had just needed some time off. I told her she was very sweet to be so understanding. Well, it’s not as if you repeatedly bashed their heads in with a mallet, is it? she said. But here’s a thought for today. Are we both a bit nuts, chastising children with food items? All the same, I apologise, I said. It was horrible of me. I accept your apology, she said, and ate my sandwich.

On the way home from work I drove past his house. There were some small children messing about in the grotty front garden. The dog that had licked my leg was leaping about. One of the kids had a flag on a short pole, and he was waving it enthusiastically inches from the heads of the others. That’s all I could see as I drove along the road. When I got home I looked at the piece of paper with his address on it. There was also a telephone number. I hadn’t registered it, all the times I had looked, which was odd. I sat on the sofa with the phone and the note. I knew I would call the number eventually. I was almost in no hurry to do it. The longer I sat the slower my heart beat. I could hear its drumming tailing off in my ears. I began to feel that this time, on my own, on the sofa, was a precious time. I felt sure that he would soon be with me. He must have got my note by now. What was more normal than to follow up a letter with a friendly phone call?





I entertain at home





I WAS LOOKING for the key in my bag when he appeared behind me. In the small porch he looked enormous. I invited him in. I got all your little messages, he said, sounding amused. So here I am. What do you want? His voice was surprisingly soft, confidential even. He had a way of turning sideways when he spoke, as if he might bolt away at any moment. It made me want to hold onto him, but I didn’t. I liked the way he filled the hallway.

Coffee? I asked, walking ahead of him, trying to keep my voice normal. He said he wanted something stronger. I only had Martini and gin. Don’t bother, he said. What have you got to eat? He roamed around downstairs. For such a large person he was a quiet walker. I stood in the kitchen and looked in the fridge. Cottage cheese, I called out. Salad, some eggs. I could go out and get something. OK, he said. Where’s the remote?

I left him draped on the sofa watching TV, and went to the supermarket in my car. I tried to drive carefully. All the shoppers were drifting around the store in slow motion. I wanted to smash them with my basket. I bought some chocolate for myself, Jack Daniels, thick-cut bacon, crusty bread and spicy sausages. Somehow I knew he wasn’t vegetarian. I gobbled half the chocolate down as I drove home. I was sure he would be gone when I got back, but there he was, stretched out on the sofa. Someone called Alison rang, he said, still looking at the TV screen. I told her you’d left the country.

After he’d eaten he said, Come on, baby, and held out his arms. He kissed me all over my face; succulent, bacony kisses. He told me to bring the chocolate. In my bedroom he laid me on my bed and closed the curtains. My room felt strange. He expertly took off my clothes. Now you do me, he said. I stripped off his socks. His feet were beautiful. The nails square and smooth. I struggled with his jeans. He lifted his hips up so I could pull them down. His erection sprang out at me. Don’t bother with my shirt, he said. Now I want you to sit on this. I straddled him and lowered myself down slowly. He pushed a square of chocolate into my mouth. It turned to liquid immediately. I seemed to feel him near my heart. There was a buried ache. Baby, he said, you’re lovely, aren’t you? I don’t know how to do this, I said. I thought I would cry.

He lifted me off. I lay on my front and he caressed my back and buttocks. Can’t wait any longer, he said, and flipped me over and pushed a pillow under my hips. I held onto him tightly with my arms, and crossed my legs behind his back. I pressed my nose into his fine, curly hair. My tongue tasted sweet and creamy to me. Later when I woke he’d gone. There was a note on the kitchen table. ‘Got to run. Back later probably,’ it said.





I am not always available





IT WAS DIFFICULT to concentrate in the office. I kept wanting to look at myself in the mirror. My boss asked if I was all right. I told her I’d never felt better, which was true in a way. It was a hectic feeling, and I was incapable of sitting still. Interviewing claimants was challenging. I kept thinking of how I first saw him, lounging on a screwed-down chair in the waiting room. In the loo I stared at myself. The strip lighting gave my skin a translucent look. My lips seemed too dark to be mine. I had circles that were palest grey beneath my eyes. I looked like a woman with secrets.


Alison followed me in. Hail, silent and slightly nutty one, she said and smiled at me. Hang on while I have a wee. I was happy to go on examining my reflection. I rang you, she said from inside the cubicle. Some bloke answered the phone. I met my reflection’s eyes. Who was it? she asked as she came out to wash her hands. No one important, I said. We combed our hair. She looked brown and rosy in the mirror. I was fascinated by the contrast between us.

OK, be secretive, she said, but I have a nasty idea who it might be. I really hope I’m wrong. She studied my face. Blimey, she said. You look terrible. Are you well? She laid her warm hand on mine. I gave her a little squeeze. Momentarily I felt ashamed. Wanna come and eat with us tonight? she asked. I made an excuse. Oh, all right then, she said. Perhaps tomorrow? Suddenly I have an overwhelming urge to mother you. She looked puzzled when I said I couldn’t make it this week. Well, you will take care of yourself, won’t you? she said, and gave me a hug. Love you, I said as I closed the door and left her there.

I finished work early to do some shopping. I went into a shop where I’d only ever looked in the window before. It was all chrome and white inside. An impossibly fab-looking assistant with straight black hair wafted towards me. She asked if I needed help. For a moment I wasn’t sure what she meant. Are you looking for anything in particular? she said, and smiled gently. I told her I wanted a drop-dead gorgeous dress. Something sexy and floaty if possible. No problem, she said, and took me to a rail of filmy, strappy things. They were swaying in a perfumed breeze. In the changing room a scented candle burned. The fragrance of freesias enveloped me. My underwear looked as chunky as something issued by the army.

The apricot and turquoise dress shimmered over my head and settled on my body, cool and so light that it felt like just-born skin. My breasts were held in the bodice like tensely ripe fruit. My shoulders gleamed unfamiliarly. I was dazzled by the dress. The black-haired girl appeared, and we looked at my reflection together. That’s so totally you, she said to the me-in-the-mirror. Do you really think so? I said. I knew it was totally me. She showed me the matching sandals. Insubstantial straps and leather flowers. Stiletto heels. I had never worn shoes like them. It seemed to me that I hadn’t looked at clothes properly before.

Once I’d started I couldn’t stop. I bought a pair of low-slung cream linen trousers, and a scarlet and cream striped bustier. Another pair of high-heeled, pointy-toed shoes, and a tight little belted jacket with a huge tortoiseshell buckle. All these things were the sort of clothes the woman-in-the-ladies-loo-mirror wore all the time. They were no big deal to her. I paid with my credit card. The beautiful girl herself wrapped the clothes in tissue paper. I walked to my car and looked down at my old clunky shoes. How could I have bought them? They looked so sensible, so comfortable, so sort of square-shaped.

When I got home there was someone in the lounge. I ran in. I didn’t recognise the boy watching TV. He had a shaved head and looked about twelve. I asked him who he was. A mate, he said, not taking his eyes from the screen. Who are you? He was bouncing a football as he sat watching the screen. I didn’t know what to say. I asked him how he had got in. Back door, he said.

I went to the kitchen and locked the back door, then made myself a cup of camomile tea. I was shaking, but I only noticed when I tried to pick up my cup. Straw-coloured liquid spilled onto the table. I traced some patterns with it. After a while the boy appeared in the kitchen doorway with the football under his arm. See you, he said. I’m off now. He had a little whispery voice, as if he had chest problems. OK, I said. He left the TV on and slammed the front door.

I couldn’t move. Gradually the way I felt about my house when the boy had been there eased off. I didn’t feel like I was a visitor in my own home any more: someone who’d come for an interview, say, or for some unpleasant physical examination. It was my own place again. My welcoming, safe place. But now I was beginning to be afraid about how my house could change so quickly; one moment almost shutting me out, and then just as quickly drawing me in again. I didn’t feel I could trust it anymore.

I got up stiffly; my legs were aching. I locked the doors, closed all the curtains and blinds, and went to have a bath. As I relaxed in the warm bubbles I heard someone at the front door. I stayed in the water. He called my name through the letter box. He said he knew I was there. Baby? His voice got louder and hoarser as he shouted. Baby? I really want to see you now! What’s wrong? Are you narked off with me? He banged the door really hard. Then he went to the back door and tried that. There was a pause and he was at the front door again, banging and banging. For f*ck’s sake, what’s your problem? he yelled. Let me in, you bitch.

His voice sounded deeper than it did when he spoke, and ragged. I thought perhaps the door wouldn’t keep him out. I pictured his curling blond hair springing away from his temples. The way his long legs stretched out on my white sheets. The intimate smell at the nape of his neck. At last he went away. I got out of the bath with difficulty. It was as if all my joints had seized up. In the bedroom I put on my old soft nightie, took some pills, and climbed under the duvet.





I have titanic dreams





I WOKE AND realised I had missed work. It was a long way down to the kitchen. I busied myself making toast. My limbs felt as if they were made of pipe cleaners, my bones long and thin with a covering of dry, puffy flesh. It was difficult to grasp my mug, to sit upright on the chair. The toast on the plate looked like a floor tile. I knew it was the medication. I needed to do normal stuff but I couldn’t leave my chair in the kitchen.

Then I began to remember the dream I’d had. I had been sailing on an enormous, opulent ocean liner. At first I didn’t recognise anyone. I felt completely alone on my journey. Nothing happened for a long time, people just drifted around the decks wearing beautiful clothes. And then we heard the boat was heading for a colossal iceberg; there was no escape. Everyone gathered on board. I remember thinking that this was only another Titanic dream; it was OK, and nothing was real. Anyway, things always turned out fine. No one ever got hurt.

But slowly, as we all milled around, quietly terrified, I began to recognise people. My mother and father were there. Alison and Tom. Even their children and the two puppies they had got for Christmas. Each child was holding one. My gran was lying on deck in her hospital bed. My boss was on the phone. I began looking through the crowd for someone very important to me, but I couldn’t find him or remember what he looked like. Then we only had a few minutes left. The air was dazzlingly cold. The iceberg, emerald green and glinting in a powerful beam of moonlight, was getting nearer. I could hear it creaking, and realised it was making a kind of high, metallic, wordless singing sound. Its freezing breath rushed at us, spiking our lashes and hair with stinging crystals. In the moonlight we all looked dead.

I gazed down into the beautiful black water. Impossibly narrow, almost transparent fish with smiling mouths flicked about. Suddenly I knew that if we all jumped in together we would be safe; everything would be fine. I told the others what I knew. I went round the little crowd saying, just trust me, you have to trust me. Alison was fussing with her kids’ hair. She was holding the sleeping baby in her arms. Even the puppies were quiet. My gran got out of bed and held my mother’s hand.


We all kissed and said I love you to each other. My father put his arm on my shoulder and asked me again if I was sure. Yes, I said. We all clambered up onto the rail. They all jumped in together, but I couldn’t move. I leaned over and watched them lying peacefully on the gently moving surface of the water. Without reproach they all gazed up at me as they floated down, and sank without struggling, their clothes billowing round them. I watched until they disappeared from view.

Then he was there with me. His hair shining in the moonlight. I thought that now we could be together. His blue eyes were strangely blank. Your turn, he whispered, and lifted me up. I tried to lock my arms round his neck, but he was immensely strong. He held me away from him out beyond the rail, and then he let me go into the dark, muffling ocean. The water was silent as I entered it, but soon I heard the ice singing to me. I remember watching him shrink as I drifted down and away like a piece of luggage. I tried to raise my arms to him, but it was too cold, the water too heavy for me.

I sat in the kitchen and tried to work out what it meant. I thought so hard it felt as if the shape of my face was changing. My eyes stretched and grew enormous, my head ballooned into a dome, but no explanation for the dream occurred to me. Just as I felt two stiff antennae breaking through the skin of my forehead it dawned on me. Maybe it meant I was too dependent on other people, and didn’t trust him enough. I should have let him in when he came. I should have given him a chance to explain himself. I got up and did an inventory of myself in the hall mirror. I expected to see a girl with the head of a giant insect, but all was present and, if not correct, at least in the right proportions. Then, as I smoothed my hair back into place, I had another idea about the stupid dream: maybe it was totally meaningless.





I get lots of fresh air





I DIDN’T SEE him for twelve days. On the thirteenth he rang me at the office. Say you’re ill, he said. I’ve got a plan. Leave work now. I looked across at Alison filing her nails. That may take a little time, I said. So? he said. I’ll wait by your car until eleven, baby, no longer. Oh, and by the way, are you horny? Alison was watching me, her nail file poised like the miniature bow of an invisible violin. She raised her eyebrows. Yes. Yes, I am, I said. Before you leave take off your panties and put them in your bag, he said. I put the phone down extra carefully. God I feel terrible, I said. Suddenly I’ve got this totally splitting headache. I didn’t fool Alison, but my boss seemed content. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, will you? Alison said. I could tell she wasn’t joking. I stood in a toilet cubicle and took off my pants. Then I ran to my car.

We drove out into the countryside. Everything was sparkling, ridiculously beautiful. I wanted to ask about the strange boy in my lounge but I didn’t want to spoil things. He fiddled with the radio until he found something to please him. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes. I kept gazing across at him. Like what you see? he said after a while. He opened one eye and blew a kiss at me before settling back again. His hands lay in his lap, their backs lightly covered with blond hair. It still didn’t seem the right time to talk about the boy in my lounge, or his own behaviour at the door on the same day. I decided to let it go. I reached over and rested my hand on his hands. He sat up. We’re nearly there, he said.

We had lunch out in the garden of a pub by a river. Giant hogweed strode down towards the water. Two swans drifted by, beating their wings at each other. I thought they’d probably been together for years. I’d read about the faithfulness of swans somewhere. We were both hungry, and ate in silence. Just after the waitress had left the coffee, he started patting his pockets. Shit, I don’t seem to have my wallet, he said, and lit a cigarette. Don’t worry, I said. Little working girl, he said, and patted my cheek.

There were two women eating at a table with a sun umbrella. He stood up. Next part of plan, he said, and took my hand. We walked away from the women and round the side of the pub. There were nettles and dandelions. He positioned me to face the wall. He told me to lift my skirt up. I felt him pushing himself into me. I stood on tiptoes and arched my back. He slipped his hands up under my top and bra and pulled my nipples downwards. I couldn’t help making a noise. He laughed softly into my hair. As he did it to me I watched the swans gliding round each other. I thought they might be in love. The pebbledash of the wall grazed my cheek. When he had finished he pulled me round and kissed my mouth. The women out there, I said, I can’t walk near them, they must have heard me. It’ll brighten up their sad lives, he said. And dragged me after him, past them to the car. I felt like a rag doll. In the car mirror I saw my cheek was bleeding. You look like a bloody wreck, he said. Sort yourself out.

At my front door I looked back. I thought he was coming in. He stood by the gate. Don’t leave me now, I said. I’ll cook you something later. You can relax and watch TV. He stood and tapped the gatepost, he was already turning away. No, he said. I’ve got stuff to do. He was gazing down the street. What sort of stuff? I said. He looked at me without speaking. Then he pointed his finger at me. You need to be very careful about that, he said. Then he walked away. About what? I called after him.