‘Really? Now, you’re asking me this?’
Fiona giggles. ‘Well, I might not get another chance if you go to prison.’
‘Very funny.’
‘Which one of them are you hoping did this to you, or maybe it’s easier to recognise which one of them are you hoping didn’t?’
Kylie shivers. ‘I was in Daan’s apartment block. I think it’s pretty clear cut.’
‘Yes, but like I said, maybe Mark set him up.’
‘You really think that’s a possibility?’
‘Would you want it to be?’
‘I just want the truth.’
‘That’s a bit of an ask from someone who has lied for so long,’ points out Fiona sharply. ‘Sorry, I don’t want to sound unsympathetic, but seriously, Kylie. Talk to me. Tell me.’
Kylie reddens, looks awkward. No doubt aware of all the thousands of times she could have told Fiona, her best friend, what was going on in her life and didn’t, but instead chose to lock Fiona out. Exclude her. Fiona wants to know how Kylie managed to stamp on her principles and judgement, spit out lies, choke down the truth. But again, that seems a bit much. It’s more palatable to ask, ‘I mean, you were married to Mark for ten years. He’s your real husband, right?’
Kylie pushes her plate away but picks up her wine glass. ‘They are both so different. Mark is, you know, at heart cautious. With one man I tried to do more and more and more until I eventually realised no matter what I did, I couldn’t make him happy. I couldn’t square away his pain at his loss of Frances. I’d never replace the dead wife. With two men, I found I gave each slightly less attention and for some reason that worked out well. It shouldn’t have, but it did. Mark seemed relieved that my happiness wasn’t entirely dependent on his and Daan admired my independence; he’d had his fill of needy, clingy, weepy types. Both men got what they wanted.’
Fiona is wide-eyed. ‘I’m not sure they did.’
‘With Daan, I was sexy, elusive, frivolous. I played a role, lived out a fantasy.’
‘But just a fantasy?’
‘Who is to say our fantasies are any less real than our actuality?’
‘Oh, Kylie. For fuck’s sake. That just doesn’t make sense,’ Fiona snaps.
‘I loved Daan. OK. I loved them both. I didn’t plan to. If you’d ever met him, you might understand.’ That is Fiona’s cue. She could say she has met him. She too has fucked him, but she doesn’t. She gets a strange sense of satisfaction knowing something that Kylie doesn’t for a change, so she stays quiet. Kylie continues. ‘He had something different, something extra.’
‘Tell me about it. Help me understand.’ Fiona gets up to refill Kylie’s glass.
‘In the early days we met in his apartment; it was serviced, slick, very like a hotel. That alone was, you know, fun. But it was more than fun. The longing, the needing between us was palpable. When I was meeting him, I had to force myself not to run. Sometimes it seemed a wonder that we resisted having sex in the lift as we headed towards the apartment.’
It is black outside now and has started to rain. It seems like they are completely alone in the world. The scene feels familiar. Fiona and Kylie have often shared confidences over the years, swapped stories about flirtations, crushes and seductions, sexual conquests and interludes. But besides that, Kylie’s words feel familiar because Fiona has also felt that urgency – that desire – as she approached Daan’s apartment. Although in her case, it had been one way. Daan had never asked her to go to a restaurant, let alone to marry him. ‘So, was he good then? In bed?’ She isn’t sure why she is choosing to torture herself this way.
‘So good,’ Kylie replies, a small smile playing on her lips. The memory not quashed, even after everything. Even though she’s been chained to a radiator, starved and beaten. It is unbelievable. ‘The moment we entered the apartment, he would throw me against the wall, his lips on mine, his hands everywhere. He’d want to hitch up my dress and pull me on to him right away, but we tried not to, we would try and make ourselves wait just a little bit longer.’
Fiona reaches for a glass of water. Her throat is so dry, she can’t swallow. ‘Describe it to me. Make me understand.’
‘No.’ Kylie laughs, embarrassed. Finally embarrassed. But not embarrassed that she has had this glut, this overabundance. Embarrassed to share it with Fiona, who she no doubt pities. Who she assumes has no clue.
But Fiona gets it. She can see it. Imagine it, even though it wasn’t the same for her. He bent Fiona over the kitchen table. She imagines it was different for Kai. He’d back Kai on to the bed, as she fell flat, he’d move swiftly, quickly rooting out her wetness, delving in with his brilliant tongue, bringing her close to climax within moments as he went deep and she pushed her hips into his face, willing him to do whatever he wanted with her, take whatever he needed. Clothes would be shed; hands, fingers, tongues everywhere: on her tits, her arse, her neck, her waist, tits again, arse again; exploring without limits. They couldn’t get enough of each other. She would find her way to his cock and flick her tongue up and down, take him in her mouth and suck, drawing him in. She’d do this until he moaned that it was the best fucking blow job of his life, that he wanted to come in her mouth. Of course, he wouldn’t. Throbbing with desire he’d slip inside her and she’d sigh, scream and yelp with utter uninhibited pleasure. They would both be wet, hot, needy. Finally, she would quiver and tighten, he would feel her utter surrender. Then, and only then, would he come, deep inside her.
Fiona can barely breathe. Her head is spinning.
47
Kylie
My head is spinning. The kitchen is hot, clammy. I want
