Sam finds me there an hour later.
‘Carly?’
I don’t answer him, just stare into the skyline. There’s a long pause. Then a groan.
‘How did you find out?’ He sounds terrified, devastated. Good.
‘You mean that you’re a hooker?’ I say, and the challenge in my voice makes him recoil. Another pause.
‘I prefer “escort”,’ he whispers.
‘I bet you fucking do. How did this happen?’ I ask, my words tight and stilted. ‘You were the most moralistic person I’d ever met.’
But he’s gone. I sit outside until my teeth start to chatter. This never happens in the movies. The heroines gaze into the darkness, looking serene and poignant, they never get swollen eyes and snot that refuses to stop.
I go back into the lounge. He’s sitting in the candlelight, looking defeated and weary. For a moment I can’t speak. In some crazy way, I feel like I’ve never loved him more. He senses that I’m there and starts to speak slowly, in a low, quiet voice.
‘After you left, I couldn’t bear it. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Everything hurt so much and I was so angry. I would go to work every night and watch all the couples, all looking so happy, and I couldn’t believe that it wasn’t us. One night, one of the women that I trained asked me to go to a company dinner with her. It was a “partners” function and she didn’t want to go on her own. I felt sorry for her, so I went. And afterwards, she insisted on paying me for my time, said it was just like a personal training session.
‘The next week, she called again. Then her friends started calling and, before I knew it, I was booked out every night. Gradually I charged more and more, but the business just kept coming in. Soon after, I gave up everything else. I was making more money than I could ever have dreamt of. And it was so easy.’
His devastated expression makes guilt and sorrow seep from my pores.
‘So you never opened the martial arts school?’
‘No,’ he answers, and there is more sadness and regret in that one word than I can bear.
My silence prompts him to continue.
‘At first, it was just dinner and conversation, then somewhere along the line it became… more. I didn’t care. They were buying my time, I was already selling myself, so what did it matter? I was convinced I’d never fall in love again and that part turned out to be true…’
A knife twists in my chest.
‘… So now this is who I am. And it works for me. No strings, no emotion, no hurt. In a few years’ time, when I don’t look so good, I’ll take the money and run. I’ll retire and I’ll never work again. Things happen, Carly. We don’t always end up how we’d imagined in life.’
Don’t I know it, I think sadly.
He gets up and walks past me to the bedroom.
‘I understand that you want to leave. You can sleep in the spare room tonight. I’ll take you back to the hotel in the morning.’
I sit down on the sofa and think for a long time. The rage has dissipated now and I just feel empty. What right do I have to judge him? He’s not a bad person. He doesn’t hurt anyone. It’s not his fault that my dreams have just been shattered; it’s not as if he promised me anything or was unfaithful to me. If anything I should be drowning in guilt because running out on him led him to this life. It was his choice, but my actions played a part. And as for the way I’m feeling right now, I’ve brought all this upon myself with some crazy idea that I’ll probably regret for the rest of my life. I’m no better than him – we’ve both fucked things up.
What do I do now? Go home and face the music, I suppose. What else is there?
I get up and head towards the spare room, but as I pass Sam’s room, I can see him lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. I change my direction and slip in beside him. More than anything else in the world right now, I want to feel him close to me.
He looks at me in surprise.
‘The spare room is next door,’ he murmurs.
‘Yes, well, my sense of direction always was crap.’
He squeezes me like he never wants to let me go. After a few minutes, I feel his hand move slowly down my back. I can’t believe I’m in the same bed as him.
‘Carly,’ he whispers, ‘does this mean…?’
‘Don’t take this personally, Sam. I love you, but I wouldn’t touch your privates without rubber gloves and a surgical mask.’
He’s still laughing when I slip off to sleep.
The next morning over breakfast, I tell him my story; every last detail. He alternates between laughter, shock, outrage, concern and sadness.
‘So, you see, now it’s over and I’ve got a choice – I can either disappear, change my name and go and do missionary work in deepest Mongolia for the rest of my life, or I can go home and start again. Mongolia’s tempting, but I’d miss my pals, so I guess I’ll go home.’
He thinks for a moment. ‘Or you could stay here.’
‘And do what, be your pimp? I haven’t got a white suit or a gold medallion.’
‘Cooper, I’m serious. Stay here. You could help me, really. I need someone to organise me and do stuff like pay the bills, take my calls and sort out my finances. C’mon, Carly, think about it. It would be great.’
I consider the idea. Could I live in the same house as him? After last night’s revelations, my libido is now a ‘no-fly zone’, so that wouldn’t be a problem. Could I handle seeing him coming home every night, knowing that
