‘Mumford and Sons,’ Lucy replies, bursting unexpectedly into her own fit of tears. ‘‘I’ll Wait for You’.’
Contentment creeps back onto my face and I give it free rein. I smile into space, at my uber-expensive glass of wine, and even at Lucy – although she doesn’t notice. Finally, I smile at the man sitting at the next table. And then I focus on his face, registering the broken veins on his nose, the sallow skin and sunken eyes. There’s something distinctly unsettling about him. He’s paying me far too much attention, watching my every reaction with indifferent, scientific interest. At last, with a nod of satisfaction, he downs the last of his beer, stands up and leaves.
Chapter Three
It’s dark, pitch black. But I know the feel of his body, the soft warmth of his skin, the hard muscles beneath. He’s above me again, pinning me down while his cock moves inside, slow and unhurried, rubbing at the underside of my clitoris, the walls of my vagina, causing everything to flutter, quiver, and quake.
‘Dan?’
He says nothing. Instead, he seals his lips around mine, delivering a perfect, possessive kiss. In an instant, all too soon, I’m caught in the throes of an intense orgasm that jolts me back to consciousness. Fighting for breath, my crotch still throbbing, I reach out and run a hand over an unused pillow, the cold half of the bed sheets, expecting to find him next to me. But all too quickly, memory puts me firmly in my place.
He’s not here.
Wide awake now, I spend a few minutes gazing at the ceiling, conscious of the ache that’s plagued me since I last saw him. In the short time we’ve known each other, he’s become my drug of choice. The nightly dreams bring me a tiny dose, but they’re never enough. And now he’s been torn away from me, I’m suffering the consequences: a constant need consuming every waking thought; a craving that’s never going to end.
An addiction.
Never a good thing. Body and brain conspiring to self-destruct in a desperate hunt for pleasure. I lean over, retrieving the necklace from its new hiding place in my bedside drawer. Is that what I’ve got with Dan, I wonder? Does the pleasure blind me to everything else? I watch as the silver chain slips through my fingers, shocked at the turn in my thoughts. There’s no way I’m ever going to give up on him. I know that for sure. But while I’m stranded in the eye of the storm, before we’re reunited and logic and reason are engulfed in his presence again, I’m determined to get some perspective.
I place the necklace back in the drawer and gently close it. Then I reach for my mobile, switching off the alarm before it kicks in. It’s almost five o’clock. Sunlight’s already playing against the curtains. Time to get up and get on with it, because today I’m on a mission. Today I’m going to Limmingham.
The journey to Liverpool Street is bad enough, nerves jittering with every bump in the road, but it’s not until I’m finally disgorged from the taxi that the heebie-jeebies really set in. My heart rate triples, palms grow sweaty and my legs turn to blancmange, threatening to give way at any moment. Willing myself to get a grip, I hand over a twenty and make my way inside the station, focussing on the job in hand.
I find a cash machine, insert my card and tap in the PIN. As soon as the balance flashes in front of my eyes, I catch my breath. Thirty thousand pounds. I squint, lean forward, and check the balance again. Yes, there’s no doubt about it. Thirty thousand pounds. A ridiculous amount of money. It makes me wonder just how long Dan thinks this is going to drag on. Resolving to spend as little as possible, I take out a hundred and queue up to buy a ticket to the east coast.
As soon as I reach the front of the queue, I become conscious of someone standing behind me, uncomfortably close, possibly making a mental note of my destination. I check on my shadow, discovering a middle-aged man who’s dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt and a denim jacket. Clearly fit, he’s an ideal candidate for Team Dan, and he gives me a small smile. Feeling reassured, I grab the ticket and weave a path through the crowds.
Under the bright lights of the station, I buy a takeaway coffee, head to the platform and step onto the train. Settling myself into a fairly busy carriage, I place the coffee on the table and rummage through my handbag, stopping to fiddle with the mace and the personal alarm, hoping I’ll never need to use them. When I’m done, I dig out a magazine I’ve borrowed from Lucy.
It’s not long before the train pulls out. As the clutter of central London thins out into the sprawl of the suburbs, I scan my fellow passengers, registering a family at the far end, a pair of elderly ladies gossiping, an unkempt youth; a rough type, barely washed. The door behind me slides open, and I’m joined by my shadow from the ticket queue. He takes a seat a few rows away and stares out of the window. Turning my coffee cup on the table, I do the same. Eventually, I go back to the magazine, distracting myself with a good dose of celebrity gossip. I’m doing my best to focus on an article about some reality TV star when we pull into Limmingham.
Determined to fight the paranoia, I shove the magazine back into my bag and without looking back, make my way out of the tiny station. Avoiding the sea front road and the inevitable throngs of tourists, I navigate the back streets of town, past Victorian terraces and huge, opulent family homes. They soon give
