17
Ben lay on the bed, a quilt covering his privates, but the rest of his body exposed. He was hot and sweaty, having just experienced the most passionate and sordid sex he’d had for a long time.
Eve was in the shower, in the small bathroom just the other side of the wall behind Ben, under the falling water, wiping down her body, removing the dark make up and multiple bodily fluids from her skin.
She stopped the water and stepped out of the cubicle, the studio apartment was way too small for a bath tub. She dabbed herself dry then wrapped a clean white towel around her body, covering her perfect breasts and her neatly trimmed pubic hair.
She looked into the mirror before her, studied her face, the curves of her cheek bones, the shades of her skin, the brightness of her eyes. She always knew she was beautiful, and sometimes hated it. Not that she wanted to be less attractive, just not to be prejudged on her good looks. She wasn’t a typical bimbo, and never was. She was complicated.
She went back to the main room and Ben watched as she took a cigarette from the table. She sparked it up and positioned herself on the bed next to him. She didn’t say a word as he studied her, just laid her hand on top of his and smoked her cigarette before stubbing it out into the dirty cup on the bedside drawers.
She then turned on her side and lay face to face with the man who thought he had met an angel. Maybe he had?
Ben hadn’t thought about the day’s events from the moment she placed her lips on his as soon as they arrived back at her place. No more rushes of anger, no more guilt, no more confusion over his Father. Eve had somehow created a bubble in which he felt extremely safe inside.
They talked for an hour.
She explained that she dropped out of university just weeks before her final exams because she realised she didn’t want to be part of ‘the system’. She explained that she saw the world as an evil place where greed and power ruled over love and freedom. Ben realised how young and naive she really was, but didn’t have the heart to tell her that things were the way they were, by putting her life on hold or sabotaging her future she was doing more damage than good.
He told her about the day he’d had; losing his job, finding his girlfriend cheating, reacting angrily to strangers in the street. He was careful not to say too much and give too many details away. He made it sound more like an ever-so-slightly physical confrontation than a brutal double murder.
She spoke gently to him.
‘Nothing is unforgivable,’ she said.
He hoped she was right.
He felt relaxed when listening to her voice, until the sound of sirens became audible, not so far from the apartment block. They grew louder, and Ben felt a sudden nausea. Sweat began to bead on his forehead and his breathing became heavy. Eve noticed the mild panic attack, and placed her hand on his forehead, wiping his brow.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘I doubt the police will be coming to get you for an argument with some youths.’
She stood and walked to the window.
‘It’s a fire engine anyway,’ she said, as she lay back down beside him.
Slowly, Ben’s breathing and heart rate settled down to normal, and he laid his head on Eve’s shoulder. She softly stroked his arm as he drifted off to sleep, then she too closed her eyes and slept.
18
Natalie sat at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette and staring into the coffee in front of her. This was a morning tradition for her, a moment of quiet before the day’s events, a time to go over the things that had being weighing down in her mind. She wasn’t an early riser, this break from the outside world would always take place after Ben had gone to work, and with him at home for the last two months, she realised she missed this little piece of privacy.
And that particular morning, she certainly had enough thoughts whirling around her head to warrant a time-out. She had no trouble sleeping the night before, even after the trouble with Ben and taking two clients yesterday, but she did feel exhausted still.
Also, she had a new client to meet today, Mr Smith, recommended to her by a previous client, and this was always something that made her nervous. New clients put Natalie out of her comfort zone. Some clients are into some disturbing stuff, but she learnt to deal with the special requirements from each of them. There is always a risk that someone new may just be that bit too bizarre, too dangerous, or even just not discreet enough. But the bottom line was, as always, the bottom line. Also, the fact that clients didn’t always come back, due to lack of cash flow, finding love elsewhere or whatever, meant that Natalie had to keep her ‘doors open’, so to speak.
The day before, her situation had changed, or it could be changing very soon, and she had to take back some control, so she called Mr Smith and had arranged a little get-together late in the morning.
She was snapped out of her deep thought by the sound of the post being forced through the letterbox. She collected them from the doormat, returned to the table and began to go through the mail, which started out as the normal assortment that one might expect; a bill here, a bill there, an advertisement made to look like something you need to open up and read as a matter of urgency, then finally, a crisp, white envelope addressed to Mr Benjamin Green, from a soliciting firm in the city.
She felt her stomach tighten.
Was he selling the house? Was he getting advice on how to throw her onto the street? Why was Ben getting a letter from a solicitor she didn’t even know he had? How quick had he reacted to her indiscretions?
Her blood began to boil.
What the fuck was he up to?
She put the letters onto the table and took the last drag on her cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray and draining the rest of her coffee. She stood, put the ashtray on the kitchen windowsill and rinsed the cup in the sink, flipping it upside down and placing it on the draining board. Grabbing the tea-towel and drying her hands, she turned around and stared at the letter to Ben.
She sat back down, picked it up and without another thought, opened it to discover what her boyfriend was up to. Reading through it, the emotion she felt inside changed rather rapidly. She was no longer angry, nor confused. The letter had not been bad news at all.
Well, not bad news for Ben.
Two months after the death of his father, Ben had finally received a letter from Mr Green’s solicitor, informing Ben of the sum of money left to him in the will. The money was now ready for transfer, upon presentation of this letter, bank account details, photographic identification and proof of address at the law firm’s office in town.
Nine hundred and fifty thousand pounds.
Ben was just about to receive nearly one million pounds, and Natalie had just been caught betraying his trust in an awful manner in the home they shared. She felt an ache at the pit of her stomach, stood, rushed to the sink and vomited.
Natalie wiped the perspiration from her forehead then ran the cold tap and took a sip before wetting her hands and dabbing them onto her face and neck. Slowly she regained her composure and stopped the running water. She looked at the opened letter sat on the table, then over to her bags that were packed and ready to go by the front door.
Suddenly, she moved with intent.
Ben’s letter was put back in the envelope and hidden at the bottom of one of the kitchen drawers. She then headed straight for her bags, took them to the bedroom and unpacked them. The bags were then put back out of
