Our Kind of Cruelty by Araminta Hall (2)

The week following the wedding wasn’t good.

I had terrible trouble sleeping and I felt sick and woozy during the day. At work the chairman put me on to the new deal; we were taking over a large company called Spectre and it was pretty straightforward. Most of it had to be stripped away and lots of people were going to lose their jobs, but I have never felt the queasiness others talk about surrounding situations like this. The way I see it is if everyone in a company is good at their jobs, then the company survives and if, as a boss, you’re too stupid to get rid of any dead wood, then what do you expect?

The chairman laughed when I said this to him as we sat in his sumptuous office. ‘Between you and me,’ he said, ‘that’s why women generally never rise to the top in business, they’re too damned sentimental.’ Which is obviously a load of horseshit, but I smiled and nodded my head as I knew I was supposed to. Except the simplicity of the operation didn’t seem to help matters. I took all the files and folders back to my desk and logged into the secure sites which held all the figures and found I couldn’t make anything stick. It felt like the numbers were dancing across the screen, disappearing behind algorithms and vanishing into graphs. I was able to conceive of a route, but then lose it halfway through, allowing predictions to tumble around me as if they had never actually existed.

The problem was that my head felt occupied by V, as if she was a burrowing animal who had taken up residence in my skull. It seemed absurd to be attempting anything normal when at any given moment she could be experiencing things for the first time which I would never be able to share with her. I kicked myself for not asking her more specifics about their trip, so I could get a clearer handle on what she was doing at any given time. We had talked about going to South Africa ourselves and I felt sure she would be drawn to some of the places we’d discussed.

I googled the country incessantly, refining and extending my searches around the words tourism, high-class, unusual, exotic. There was a dazzling array of things to do and most of them looked like the sort of things V would enjoy. And of course Angus had the money to make it spectacular, which he would be bound to be doing. I took virtual tours around the top hotels, booked helicopter flights in his name, arranged tastings in vineyards, looked into the best spas, read the menus of the best restaurants. But nothing ever felt like enough; I wanted to break the computer screens and jump in, I wanted to peel away all the PR, I wanted to install cameras everywhere. I wanted to know exactly what they were doing.

I continued the process at home every evening with a bottle of wine and dinner eaten out of cartons next to my laptop. V would never stand for such sloppiness, but as the week stumbled on I became more and more angry with her. What she was doing began to feel out of all proportion to my crime. I knew I had massively fucked up sleeping with Carly, but I regretted it and I had apologised and prostrated myself. She must have known that it meant nothing, she must have known she was always and forever the only one for me.

What I don’t understand is how some men get away with the things they do, whilst others, like me, are made to crawl over hot coals for moments of madness which we would take back in a heartbeat.

I can still hear the thwack of connecting flesh which accompanied so much of my childhood. V has never known what it feels like to be lying in your bedroom and to hear your mother’s body slump against a piece of furniture. To crawl on your hands and knees into the hall and to watch from the door as a man hauls her up by her hair and slams her face into the wall. To feel the desire to move and yet the overpowering fear which turns your knees to jelly. I always crawled back to my sheetless mattress and pulled my threadbare duvet over my head, hoping for sleep which never came immediately, instead ambushing me at some time in the night so I would wake in the morning with a shot of dread, convinced I would find my mother dead in a pool of blood.

V has no idea what the body looks like after it has been beaten. How it swells and protrudes, how it colours into sickly shades of crimson and black before fading to yellow and grey. She doesn’t know what it feels like to run your hand over that skin when the person’s body has gone limp from drink, how it feels hard and unnatural and how you can’t imagine it ever looking normal again. She doesn’t know how easy it is to leave scars, how sometimes just a tiny brown oval will remain, but whenever you look at it you know why it’s there.

On the week anniversary of her wedding, I wrote V the following email:

The next morning I went on a long run, across the common and down by the river where I pounded my feet along the towpath next to the scum-filled water. The sky was blue above my head and my breathing was even and regular and I felt as if I could have run forever. If V had asked me to, I could have probably enacted my promise to her. I could have probably beaten such a fast path around the world that I could have turned back time and made everything bad that had happened between us go away.

When I got back home my head felt a bit clearer and I went to the shops to buy the sort of lunch V liked. Fresh vegetables and fish, fruit and cream. I prepared it the way she preferred, simply, and poured us both a glass of cold Sancerre. We ate looking out over the garden and discussing our plans for it for next spring. Seeing it through her eyes made me realise it was a bit too clinical and it would be nice if it resembled Suzi’s garden a bit more. You shouldn’t ever see soil in flower beds, Suzi told me once, and looking out on my garden I realised there was lots of soil and gravel on show and that all the plants were spikey and architectural. They were in almost direct contrast to the beds at Steeple House, which were heavy with colour and flowers and soft, gentle foliage which undulates silver and green. You could stand by Susan’s beds and watch the wind stroke them; you could marvel at the shades and shapes before you. You could wonder at nature which produces the most beautiful, intricate versions of perfection for such short amounts of time. I was glad then that V wasn’t actually sitting beside me and that I had a bit of time to make things perfect for when she came home.

On Monday I called a garden designer and the builder whom I had liked the best and arranged meetings for later on in the week. The Spectre deal was still sliding and the chairman asked for a meeting in which he made it clear he was surprised things weren’t progressing faster. I made up an ill-judged excuse and he asked me if it was perhaps too large a project and did I need some help. I was quite shocked because I hadn’t realised that anything had seemed amiss at work, although I also realised I didn’t care that much. Jobs were easy to come by and paled into insignificance next to making sure everything was perfect for V.

I took a morning off to meet the garden designer, a woman called Anna who had a very posh accent and was as tall and thin as a sapling. She agreed with me that the garden currently was very harsh and naff, although they were her words, not mine. She asked me to describe what I was after and I told her about Suzi’s flower beds at Steeple House. I said my girlfriend was very keen to get that country-garden look and Anna said it was her favourite as well. We agreed that we might as well keep the hot tub and outdoor eating area, and Anna assured me they would be so softened by her planting they would almost become invisible. She thought maybe some mirrors at the back, perhaps even an old rusty gate in front of a mirror to give the illusion of another secret garden beyond. She told me I was lucky to have the tall brick wall at the end, which made this particular trick of the eye possible. I loved the idea. She said she would go away and do some drawings and send me a quote, although I think we both knew I was going to say yes whatever.

The builder told me he could start on my plans for a gym and sauna at the beginning of the New Year, but he warned me it would be very disruptive. I was lucky, he said, that I had a bit of a basement so a full excavation wasn’t going to be necessary, but it would still take the best part of six months to complete and involve lots of heavy digging and lifting equipment. I balked at the idea of waiting so long, but he pointed out I would need planning permission and agreements with my neighbours, neither of which I had considered. You can’t just do what you like, he said, shaking his head and handing me a quote which would have bought two houses on Elaine and Barry’s street. For an extra ten thousand pounds he offered to handle the architect and planning permission so I said I would transfer the money later that evening. It felt good to be achieving something and working towards our future. I don’t know what I’d been thinking of before, dragging my heels at making the house perfect for V.

Towards the end of the second week of the honeymoon I was feeling slightly regretful about the tone of the email I’d sent V. I had after all massively betrayed her trust and the normal rules could not be applied to us. I hadn’t actually said the words to V, but when I had written the first email I thought I had been subconsciously comparing her to my mother, which was insane. My mother was a weak and pathetic person who allowed herself to fall into the situations in which she found herself. V was nothing like that and, ergo, what I had done with Carly was as bad to her as if I had smashed her head against a wall. All in all I owed her an apology and so I sent her another email.

After I sent the email I thought about my childhood, which is not something I have done actively for many years. When I left for university Elaine made me a box which, when she gave it to me, I planned to throw away at the first opportunity. Somehow though this has never happened and it travels with me, living always tucked somewhere out of sight, at the back of a drawer.

I got it out now and laid its contents along the kitchen table. Elaine had stuck a note to the underside of the box’s lid which I knew by heart, but still read: ‘For all the times you need to remember that you are loved’, she had written in her neat, round hand. Inside there was a photo of me standing outside their house dressed in my school uniform on the first day I left from their house. Another of a barbeque in their back garden: Barry has his top off tending the meat and Elaine and I are in stripy deckchairs, laughing at something he’s saying. There’s an eighteenth-birthday card from them and my letter of acceptance to university. There’re the ticket stubs from the time Barry and I went to Thorpe Park, and Elaine’s handwritten recipe for spaghetti Bolognese, which was always my favourite.

Then there are the other pictures, in which I can’t really recognise myself. A chubby baby on the lap of a small, pretty woman with her hair cut in a bowl and a nervous smile on her face. We look as if we are in a back garden somewhere and there is a tiny round paddling pool in the corner of the shot. A lock of hair in an envelope with my name written across the front, which Elaine told me was found in the drawer next to my mum’s bed. I like to run my finger along this word, written in a small spidery hand that almost looks scared of taking up too much space on the paper. It has made slight indentations in the envelope which makes me think she must have pressed hard.

A dog-eared book called Learn Your ABC whose pages I have turned many times, looking for codes and secret messages I have never found, although there is something familiar about the pictures, like a dream I can only half remember. A tiny, battered red car which I was apparently holding when they took me away, even though I was ten, so it seems unlikely it could have meant anything much to me. And finally a photo of an old black dog which, Elaine told me, was the only decoration in the room which passed as my bedroom in my mother’s flat. Elaine liked to think it had been a pet of my mother’s and she had given the photo to me as she didn’t have anything else to give. But Elaine has always liked to think the best of people and I never wanted to shatter her illusion. Really that photograph was stuck on the wall when I first walked into my room, left by the people before me. I dragged my mattress over to where it was and I would often lie and stare at it, wondering at lives in which dogs not only existed but were photographed. It always gives me a jolt to see it there at the bottom of my box and it always makes a mockery of what Elaine wrote on the lid. But for some reason I never throw it away because sometimes it’s the only thing I properly recognise.

My mother might be dead by now. It is a very strange thought: that she could simply not be in the world and I don’t know. But she was certainly heading that way the last time I saw her. She was in hospital, yellow against the white sheets, her mouth a cavernous black and her eyes so sunken they looked like they would never return. After that I told my social workers to stop informing me when she was ill and they didn’t question my decision. I was at that point taking my A levels and I had a bright future ahead of me and Elaine was with me, so it didn’t look like I needed to be bothered any more. All my mother ever did anyway was cry and apologise and try to take my hand, which repulsed me so much I would have to wash them afterwards. She made little sense and often I thought the kindest thing would be to hold a pillow over her skeletal face.

I was checking flight arrival times from South Africa on Saturday afternoon when there was a knock at my door. I looked up from the screen and could almost see through the door to where V was standing. Because of course it had to be her. My emails had no doubt been all that was needed and she had come straight from the airport to me. I closed the computer and went to the door. But it was Kaitlyn, holding a bottle of wine in her hand.

‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘there’s a few of us next door at Lottie’s and we’ve misplaced the corkscrew. I don’t suppose you have one.’

I opened the door a bit wider. ‘Yes.’

She followed me into the kitchen. ‘Wow, I really like what you’ve done in here.’

‘Thanks. I’ve got a gardener coming to soften the back.’ I got the corkscrew out of the drawer and held it out to her.

‘Did you choose the colours?’

‘Yes.’ Seeing Kaitlyn in the house was a bit strange, almost like watching a film even though you know it’s really happening.

‘Can I have a look at the sitting room?’

‘OK.’ We traipsed back to the drawing room where Kaitlyn exclaimed at how gorgeous it was. It didn’t seem right that she should see Verity’s house before she did and I desperately wanted her to leave. I could have easily picked her up and deposited her outside the front door, without any fuss.

She walked to the mantelpiece and picked up the photograph of V and me dressed in evening wear, photographed at one of Calthorpe’s Christmas parties. We’re both smiling out at the camera, my hand resting on the small of her back, not that you can see that. ‘So this is Verity?’

‘Yes.’ I had to keep my hands by my side to stop myself from marching over and ripping the photograph from her hands.

‘Very pretty.’

‘Anyway, you wanted the corkscrew.’

She laughed. ‘Sorry, yes.’ We went back into the kitchen where Kaitlyn picked the corkscrew up off the counter. But she didn’t leave. ‘Verity’s not here again then?’

And it all felt too much. The fact that she wasn’t Verity and she was standing in her house talking about her. ‘No.’

‘Do you want to come back with me? Lottie wouldn’t mind. And you have provided the corkscrew.’

‘No, thanks. I’ve got a bit of work to catch up on.’ I motioned to the laptop on the table.

‘Oh come on, Mike. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’

I tried to smile but it felt like the corners of my mouth were being pulled downwards by some internal magnet.

‘Are you OK?’ Her voice was wonderfully tender. I tried to nod, but it was like the movement dislodged something in my head and I felt my eyes fill terribly with tears. She stepped towards me and put her hand on my arm. ‘Shit, has something happened, Mike?’

‘I don’t really know,’ I said, hearing my voice crack, the allure of actually speaking to another human being about what was in my head too strong to ignore.

‘Sit down.’ She led me towards the table, bringing the wine and two glasses with her. She opened the bottle and poured us both some, sitting down beside me. ‘Now tell me everything.’

I took a gulp of the warm liquid, the very idea of telling Kaitlyn everything too appalling to even consider.

‘It’s Verity, isn’t it? Something’s happened. Have you split up?’

‘No, but we’ve had a row. Or more like a disagreement.’

‘Has she moved out?’

‘Not permanently.’

Kaitlyn sipped at her wine. ‘I thought it was odd how she was never around. What was the disagreement about?’

I tried to sift through everything in my brain to find a way to answer Kaitlyn’s question. ‘Sort of how we should live.’

‘Does she want to get married? Weddings often do that to people.’

I looked up at Kaitlyn, trying to work out what she was talking about and realised she must have meant Verity’s wedding, which I’d told her was her sister’s wedding. My brain was starting to feel like a blender and I reached for the bottle to replenish my glass. ‘No, no. We both want to get married.’

‘Oh.’ Kaitlyn held her eyes on my face. ‘Well, what then?’

‘It’s hard to put into words. I did something when I was in America she’s finding hard to forgive.’

Kaitlyn smiled. ‘Oh right, I get it.’

‘No,’ I said too quickly, ‘I don’t think you do. What I did was irrelevant.’

‘All men say that,’ Kaitlyn said, drinking her wine.

‘No, really, it was nothing. I love Verity. More than anyone. I’d do anything to make it all right again.’

Kaitlyn snorted. ‘God, I’ve heard that before.’ Her tone had hardened and I felt a gap growing between us.

I leant forward with my elbows on the table. ‘I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to put it right.’

I felt Kaitlyn’s hand on my back, warming the space it was touching. ‘Was it your first irrelevance?’

‘God, yes. And I would never do anything like that again.’

She was quiet for a while and her touch felt so good I didn’t want her to stop. ‘You’re not like the other City boys, are you, Mike? I don’t know how women stand them. I hear them lie to their wives every day. It’s disgusting.’

‘I don’t understand why people bother with people they don’t love completely,’ I said into the table.

‘That’s sweet, Mike.’

‘I just have to make it right again.’

She sighed. ‘I guess if you two love each other as much as you say then you’ll work it out. You’ll just have to give her a bit of time.’

Her hand dropped and my back felt so lonely I leant back against the chair. ‘But it’s been so long already.’

‘Maybe you need to make a grand gesture or something then. Show her you really mean it.’ She stood up. ‘You know, sometimes, Mike, what you think you want isn’t what you actually want. Sometimes the thing that makes you really happy is the thing you least expect.’ She paused momentarily. ‘Why don’t you come next door with me? It’ll do you some good.’

I looked up at her. ‘No, thanks, really. I just want to be alone.’ And I did. I wanted to be alone with Kaitlyn’s words because they made perfect sense. V loved a grand gesture and I had been a fool not to think of that myself.

She shrugged. ‘OK, well, the offer’s there. Mind if I take the corkscrew?’

‘No,’ I said, standing up as well. She picked it up off the table and walked to the front door, turning to smile at me as she opened it. She looked like she was going to say something else, but the moment passed and she let herself out, clicking the door behind her.

There was something very comforting about the sounds leaking through my wall from Lottie’s for the rest of the afternoon. Something comforting about knowing Kaitlyn was just there, ready to listen with her wide eyes and pale face. She felt like the sort of person you could really open up to and be yourself with and that was like a release after so long holding myself together and always trying to be one step ahead.

As the day drifted into evening and they turned on some music, I thought about going round, but at the last minute I kept stopping myself. Kaitlyn was right, I did need to make a grand gesture and it was important I readied myself for that.

V replied to my emails the next day. I doubted they had gone for much less than two weeks, so it must have been the first thing she did on her return.

I did a little jig around the kitchen after I read it. Everything I had suspected was true. V had been heartbroken by my sleeping with Carly. She also clearly loved me as much as I did her. She cared about my welfare, she thought about me, she saw herself in my future. What I had perhaps got wrong was the sense that she was punishing me for what I had done. Going over the email it seemed more likely that my infidelity had affected her so deeply she had had some sort of mini breakdown, attaching herself to the first man to pay her some attention (and V was never going to be short of men wanting to do that). She had transferred all the love she felt for me to Angus and convinced herself that this was how she really felt. The fact that she said they hadn’t slept together by Christmas made me dismiss him further. I knew better than anyone how important sex is to V and there was no way she would have abstained that long if she had really fallen for him. No, it was obvious he was nothing more than a stooge and I was going to have to help her see this.

V’s mention of counselling was particularly pertinent here. In telling me I needed it she was really talking about herself. I wasn’t going to mention it, but she had quite a bit of counselling before we met, even afterwards. In fact, she had to take anti-depressants for a while after university. Real life, she used to say, was a shock. I never really got to the bottom of why she was unhappy; I’m not even sure she ever did. She told me once that her therapist thought she carried a lot of expectation from her parents. She was a longed-for and only child, and Suzi and Colin certainly both idolised and pushed her, something I saw with my own eyes: one minute telling her how clever and talented she was, the next remonstrating that she hadn’t done well enough in an exam. She told me that her therapist had told her this constant state of anticipation had heightened her emotions, so that she now associated intimacy with excitement and danger. She needed to learn to relax, he told her; she needed to allow herself to let go.

When she was at her worst, just after graduating, I learnt how to meditate so I could teach her. We would sit on the floor of our flat cross-legged and I would talk her through the moments, helping her to regulate her breathing and calm her mind. Sometimes I would open my eyes and she would be sitting there with tears rolling down her cheeks. When I asked her what was wrong she would say that it was just nice to feel calm, and so good not to feel fear in her veins. Then I would hold her and tell her I would always be there to make her feel better and she would cling to me like she was drowning. Once, she called me on the way to work and begged me to come home, saying she couldn’t breathe without me by her side. And I did as she asked, calling in sick, to go and tend to her.

The night I received her email, I slept with V in my arms. It sounds like a strange thing to say because I knew she wasn’t physically there with me, but in all the important ways she was right by my side. It was as if her very essence was in our bed; I smelt her musky scent, felt her hair tickle underneath my chin, fitted my body against hers, held her breasts in my hands.

I woke the next day feeling totally refreshed for the first time in months and when I looked in the mirror after my run my cheeks looked fuller and flushed. Even Kaitlyn commented on how well I looked when I got into work and asked if V and I had made up. Nearly, I told her, with a wink.

Elaine called me during the day and I didn’t have a moment to return her call until I was walking home from the Tube station that evening. I had decided to give V a day to settle back in and then pick her up on Tuesday evening. I had googled restaurants near to her work and decided on a good Lebanese one a short walk from her office.

‘Oh hello, Mike,’ Elaine said when she picked up. ‘Thanks for calling back.’ I imagined her in the hallway, patting her hair as she spoke.

‘How are you?’ I asked, my mood so buoyant I wanted to share it with her.

‘I’m good. I was ringing to see how you are.’

‘I’m great. Everything’s really good.’

‘You certainly sound happy,’ she said, but her voice was tentative. ‘I haven’t spoken to you since Verity’s wedding. How did that go?’

I felt slightly irritated that she should bring that up. I was probably only a few weeks away from announcing our engagement and I didn’t need this reminder. ‘It was fine. A bit over the top, but you know Suzi.’

She hesitated. ‘Actually, Mike, Verity rang last night.’

‘What?’ It felt like a stone had dropped through my stomach.

‘She’s worried about you. So am I, in fact.’

I tried to laugh but it sounded hollow even to myself. ‘What do you mean?’

‘She told me about the emails.’

I stopped on the road and took a breath into my stomach. A man and woman were having an argument in a lighted window, the woman gesticulating wildly at him. ‘They were nothing. We’ve spoken since.’

‘Have you?’ Elaine’s voice rose hopefully.

‘Yes. It was stupid of me. The whole wedding threw me off balance, but Verity explained it all to me and I understand now. I was wrong to be angry with her.’ I started walking again.

‘But Verity said you wrote that you still love her.’

‘It’s all a lot of fuss over nothing.’ I turned up my path and opened my door, balancing the phone between my ear and my shoulder. The house was dark and cool.

‘I don’t want you to get hurt, Mike.’

I leant against the shut door, feeling suddenly weary. ‘Verity would never hurt me.’

‘Not intentionally, no.’ Elaine’s breathing had quickened. ‘Have you thought any more about seeing someone?’

‘No.’

‘I think it would do you good. So does Verity.’

There was a clear line of sight through to the garden from where I was standing and even in the dusk I could see something was wrong, which made my heart quicken. I walked forward purposefully, but then slackened my pace as I remembered that Anna had started that day.

‘I’m fine, really.’ I unlocked the bifold doors, so they could glide away.

‘Yes, but sometimes people don’t realise they need help until they get it.’ Elaine and I had had this conversation a hundred times before when I’d lived with her.

‘That’s my point about Verity.’ I walked into the garden. Anna’s team had begun to hack away at the stone structure of the garden so it resembled a Greek ruin.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know she’s pretty highly strung. I think she might be having one of her episodes.’

‘Really? She sounded fine to me.’

I picked up a bit of the chipped stone. ‘I know her so well, Elaine. I can tell she’s in a bit of a state.’

‘Oh dear. You two have always been so volatile. I just want you both to be happy.’

‘Well, I’m fine, and I plan to help Verity as much as I can.’

‘We all care about you, Mike. You know you can come and stay anytime.’

‘Yes, I know,’ I said, feeling a sudden surge of love for her. ‘And you and Barry must come here for supper or something.’

‘Well, that would be lovely.’

‘I’d better go now. I’ll call again soon.’

‘Bye, Mike.’ The hope had vanished from her voice and now it was dripping with melancholy.

Others might have been depressed by that call, but V and I are not like others. V would have known Elaine would call and it was just another move in our Crave, which I felt coming closer and closer to its climax. We had played enough times to know that the end moments often seem cruel; that for us to achieve our desires others have to get hurt. If we could have done it another way then no doubt we would have, but there was no other way; cruelty was a necessary part of our game.

They say that hate is the closest emotion to love. And passion certainly exists in two forms. The passion of sex and the passion of arguments. For V and I one would merge into the other all the time. One second shouting, the next fucking. We needed each other in a way that sometimes made me feel it wouldn’t be enough until we’d consumed each other. I read a story once about a Russian man who ate his lovers and I sort of understand why he did it. Imagine your lover actually travelling through your blood, feeding your muscles, informing your brain. Some would see that as the basest level of cruelty, others as an act of love. Ultimately, that is what to Crave means.

I sat in the bar opposite Calthorpe’s the next evening, waiting for V to emerge. The day had been bad and I drank Scotch as a way of eradicating it, although it refused to leave my mind. The chairman and I had had a meeting with the MD of Spectre in which he had cried and told us about the lives of some of the people losing their jobs. The chairman had looked at me and I’d known he wanted me to answer, to spout our well-rehearsed PR spiel. But something about seeing a grown man crying over the curved maple desk in the meeting room had repulsed me.

I heard words come out of my mouth even as I felt the chairman’s stare willing me to stop. The man stopped crying, staring at me open-mouthed. You’re not even an animal, he said, getting up and leaving. We sat in silence for a while after he had gone, my heart thudding in my ears. In the end the chairman stood up and sucked in his breath. I’m going to make an appointment for you with the company doctor, he said, before leaving.

I had forgotten that other people do not necessarily live in a world of bad words.

One of Mum’s boyfriends, I think his name was Logan, used to put his face very close to mine when he shouted. So close I had to screw my mouth shut against his spittle, You useless fucking cunt, he’d scream at me for knocking over his beer, or You fucking pansy twat, for sneezing when the football was on, or You cheeky fucking gobshite, for when I pretended not to hear him. My mother looked out of the window when he spoke, her neat profile blurred by the skyline, as if she couldn’t hear. Naturally he spoke to her in the same way and we both tiptoed round him as if we were visitors in his life and not he in ours. He wasn’t one of the thwackers though; Logan was cleverer than that, his violence more insidious. Logan knew that the threat of his temper hung like a cloud of poisonous fumes over the flat and that it was enough to exterminate the life we knew.

I don’t know why Logan left. I don’t know why any of the men left. All I do know is that they left my mum in ever-worsening states, which always seemed bizarre to me. Most people would celebrate their passing, but my mother clearly didn’t feel she ever deserved anything more than the lowest form of existence. I would watch her snivel on the sofa after another Logan exited our lives, a full ashtray balanced on her legs, beer cans littered by her feet, her eyes losing their focus, and I would want to jump up and down in front of her. I am here, I used to want to shout, but I’m not sure she’d have noticed me even then.

You are not like her, V said to me time and time again, when the fear used to overtake me. But I was never honest with my reply. Because, before V, I was like my mother. I didn’t care, I found it easy to shut down, I turned away and found it too easy to be cruel to others. I think the truth is that V made me a better person and without her I could easily slip into the person my mother became.

V taught me not just what it felt like to really care about someone else, but also what it felt like to care about myself. She didn’t just sculpt my body, but my mind as well. When we met I ate crap and got out of breath walking up the stairs. I was skinny as a whippet and my unwashed hair hung long over my ears. I only asked her once why she had spoken to me at the party. I was too scared to jolt her into the realisation that she had been mad to do so. We were in bed at the time, her head on my chest, which had already started to change shape and fill.

‘Your eyes,’ she said, her hand resting on my lower belly. ‘I genuinely did just want a light, but when I looked at you to say thanks, you looked so lost, so vulnerable, I couldn’t just walk away.’

‘But why did you agree to go on a date?’ I asked into the blackness surrounding us.

‘Because I liked you by then. I could see your potential.’

V wasn’t my first girlfriend, but she was the first one who meant anything to me. And when I say anything, I mean that word literally. Before V I couldn’t understand anything about women and how they worked. I had no idea what they meant when they spoke, no desire to see them after we’d had sex, no comprehension of why they sometimes got angry and cried. It was like my heart hadn’t been used before I met V, like I’d never really noticed it or felt it beat. I mean, I know I care for Elaine and Barry, and I must have loved my mum at some point, but when I think about them it doesn’t feel like a real connection. When I think about V it is like there is a thread reaching from my heart to hers, tautening and relaxing with both our breaths.

I could look at V when she came in from wherever she’d been and know instantly how she was feeling. Every time she rang I knew it was her without looking at the screen. When we watched a film or listened to music I knew what her reaction would be without speaking. I knew how to make her scream and moan and thrash, every inch of her body mapped indelibly on my mind. Connections like that cannot be broken, however much they are separated.

I was unsteady on my feet when I finally gave up on seeing V that evening and left the bar. I stumbled on the pavement and had to lean against a wall to right myself. My head felt dislocated and nothing seemed real. People walked past me into the night and I forgot where I was going or where I had been. Nausea rose upwards and into my throat, squeezing my heart and constricting my breathing.

The next day at work felt like torture, a steady stream of needles driving into my skull, my body hot and shaky. I hadn’t run in the morning and I didn’t go to the gym at lunchtime, instead eating a bowl of pasta at a cheap restaurant filled with tourists round the corner. The food landed on the acid of my stomach making me want to retch, but I forced it down and then drank two strong coffees.

During the afternoon the company doctor rang and said he had an appointment for the next day at 3 p.m. and I was too befuddled to think of an excuse. I laid my head on my arms on my desk and looked sideways out of the window at the birds riding the wind currents outside. I’ve always known that if I had to kill myself it would be by jumping from a great height because that way you would at least have a few seconds of knowing what it felt like to fly.

George put his head round my door just after six, when the thought of the Tube was defeating me. I had already decided not to go to meet V that evening as I didn’t want her to see me in the state I was in. ‘A few of the chaps are going to this club,’ he said, with a wink. ‘Wondered if you’d like to join.’

‘A club, at this time?’ I said, my brain beating against the side of my head.

‘You know what I mean.’

‘I’ve got a really bad headache.’

He came into the room, closing the door behind him, and walked towards my desk. He put his hand in his pocket and held out two red pills on the palm of his hand. ‘These’ll perk you up.’

The pills were no larger than the head of two pins fused together and the thought of anything making me feel better was too delicious to refuse. I reached for them and swallowed them in a gulp.

‘Good lad,’ he said, laughing. ‘Come on then.’

There were five of us, all walking purposefully through the old streets of the City into the East End, an area at once totally and not at all changed. I have always thought that the history of the East End is still written in the buildings and streets. The air hangs heavy with death and poverty and sex, however many grey coffee shops you plant along its highways.

We turned down a cobbled street with the houses so close together I could imagine people passing things to each other from high-up windows, or washing lines stretched between rooms, or mothers shouting for dirty children far below. My mind felt loose and my internal organs fluid in my body, as if suspended in liquid.

George knocked on a black door, which was opened by a man who was almost as wide as the door, his nose smashed across his face, his head shaved, his eyes wild. But he smiled incongruously and opened the door wider, ushering us inside. All the other men had clearly been there before and they peeled off up and down dark stairways and into dimly lit rooms. George beckoned for me to follow him, up a narrow flight of stairs towards a thumping beat which seemed to be part of the stone and plaster of the house. We climbed ever higher and the beat turned into music, which rested in my stomach like something primal. At the last door George turned and winked at me again before opening it and releasing the heat and stench of the place into my face. It took me a while to figure out the space, which was surely much larger than the house allowed, but when I did I thought it was fantastical. It was clearly the top floors of most, if not all, the houses along this street, an endless stretch of cavorting degradation.

The space had been sectioned into hundreds of booths and the walls were all mirrored, so it was impossible to tell what was real and what was simply a reflection. The air hung heavy with smoke and the musty, salty stink of semen. The carpet underneath our feet was sticky and the backs of the chairs looked greasy and grimy. The lights were off, apart from ill-placed spots which stabbed the air, blinding you if you looked too closely. Only the music felt natural, as if it had become part of me, lifting and guiding me towards something I could almost remember.

George pulled me forward and I realised as we got closer that we were heading towards a round stage on which twenty women, maybe more, writhed. Their bodies glistened like plastic, their feet distorted by the sort of heels even Kaitlyn would draw the line at. Some were completely naked, but most were wearing a sparkling V over their vaginas, with a corresponding line cutting through their buttocks, like an electric sign announcing their wares. They danced as though they were in a trance, dropping often to the floor and opening their legs, licking their lips and closing their eyes, their hands never far from their breasts.

There were lots of men just like us standing round the stage, some not even looking at the girls, but instead at their phones which illuminated their faces and made them look dead. One or two men were cheering, reaching out to grab at passing legs and breasts, saliva dripping from their mouths. Every so often a man would step forward and motion to a girl, usually by a click of his fingers or a well-directed point and the girl would stop her dance and step unsteadily off the stage, following the man to one of the rounded booths.

‘Which do you want?’ George asked, his voice hot in my ears.

I turned to look at him and I could see his face was puce even in the dark. I almost expected his hand to clench round his dick as we stood there. The air was close and heavy and I thought the floor might be tilting. I shook my head. ‘No. I have a girlfriend.’

He laughed, exposing his perfect white teeth. ‘Don’t be a poof. I’ve got a wife and two kids.’ The floor was undulating now, as if an earthquake was shaking the building and I could feel bile rise up into my mouth.

He leant closer to me, so I could hear every word he said. ‘You don’t have to worry about them.’ He jerked his finger at the stage of women. ‘They all love it. Sex mad, they are. Not like normal women. They’re like some sort of witches or something.’

I tried to take a step back, but another man was pressed close up behind me. I could imagine George at boarding school, masturbating an older boy, drenched in fear and loathing. I looked back at the women. ‘I have to go.’

But George took my arm. ‘Don’t be an idiot.’ His voice was harsh. He clicked his fingers at two women standing next to each other. ‘Mine’s the blonde,’ he said as they teetered off the stage.

The woman assigned to me took my hand and led me to a booth, where she ducked under the curtain, pulling me with her. There was a fake leather seat which took up half the booth, and she pushed me on to it. I felt my buttocks slide on the fabric and wondered whether, if a fire broke out, anyone would get out alive.

She stood in front of me, her hand on a hip, so she jutted out at an unnatural angle. Her shoes were as high as all the others and her sparkling V was a bright pink. Her hair was jet black and fell in greasy waves around her face. Her make-up was smudged and she stank of sweat and coconut.

‘We get champagne.’ Her voice was heavily laden with an accent I took to be Eastern European.

‘OK.’

She ducked under the curtain again, but was back in a few seconds. Her breasts I noticed were small and empty and I saw the flicker of silvery stretch marks across her lower abdomen, the flesh puckered and grainy. She lit a cigarette as she stood over me, smoking it in short, angry bursts.

The curtain parted again and a man came in with a bottle that looked like the sort of sparkling wine Elaine might serve on special occasions, and two glasses on which I could see traces of finger marks. He was carrying a card machine which he thrust under my face. ‘One hundred and twenty-four pounds,’ he said.

I laughed. I could have laid waste to him with one punch but I guessed if I did it would be the woman’s fault, so I paid the absurd amount, my plastic skimming through the machine. The woman opened the bottle when he was gone, pouring out a glass which she handed to me.

‘Don’t you want one?’ I asked.

‘No, I don’t drink.’

I sipped at the liquid and it was as warm and sweet and disgusting as I’d known it would be. I put the glass back down.

‘What you want?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ I answered.

She glanced at the curtain. ‘I can dance, suck or fuck, or all three.’

‘No, really.’ I wasn’t sure I was ever going to find my way out of this place. It felt possible that life as I knew it had ended and there was no way back.

‘You have to pay whatever,’ she said.

‘That’s fine. What do you get most for?’

She looked at me like I was simple. ‘All three.’

‘How much?’

‘Five hundred pounds.’

I knew she was lying, but I didn’t care. ‘I don’t have any cash.’

She shrugged. ‘OK, three hundred.’

‘How much do you get of that?’

‘Fifty. And twenty for every bottle of champagne.’

I tried to hold her flickering gaze. ‘Get him back. Say we want another bottle of champagne and all three.’

She smiled at that and I saw her front teeth were chipped. She ducked out again but was back even more quickly. The man returned with another bottle and the machine. I swiped away £424 and wondered what Elaine could do with that sort of money.

‘Sit down,’ I said when he’d gone.

She shook her head. ‘I dance for you.’ I opened my mouth to tell her no, but she had already started, her body contorting and gyrating. She raised her hands above her head and I could see the shaving rash in her armpits and round her groin. She turned and the tops of her thighs were pitted and uneven, a large yellow bruise winking in the crease of her knee, another mid-way down her calf. Her hands were on her own body, kneading her non-existent breasts, her mouth pouted in an ‘O’. She came towards me and straddled me, dipping her face against mine, her mouth nipping against my ear. Her body felt slimy and I thought I would have to burn the clothes I was wearing.

And then I thought I was going to be sick; I felt the sensation rushing through my body, contorting my insides. Because I knew if V could see me now she would never forgive me.

‘Get off,’ I said. But the woman kept up her demented thrusting against me. ‘Get off me,’ I shouted, the need to stop what was happening now so imperative I wanted to scream.

I stood, perhaps more forcefully than I meant, because the woman shot backwards, her body landing against the wall of the booth, her head jerking. She whimpered and for a ghastly moment I thought her arm looked broken.

I went to help her up but she batted away my attempts, struggling to her feet on her own. We looked at each other in the flashing, smoky half-light.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I didn’t mean … I asked you to stop.’ I felt a strange desperation for her to understand that I wasn’t like the other men she had to deal with night after night.

But her lip curled as she walked past me and held the curtain to one side. ‘Your time is up,’ she said.

I felt surprisingly all right when I woke the next morning. I went on my run and my legs moved smoothly beneath me.

I thought of Stacey while I ran, a girl whom I’d been in the home with and who was brought back by the police one night for soliciting, a word she educated us in whilst the social workers discussed her with the uniformed men downstairs. She was fourteen and told us she’d already turned tricks; I fully believed her at the time, but wonder now if it was really bravado. She called it the family business and told us how her mother used to bring men back to the bedsit they shared and how she’d have to wait in the corridor. She’d ended up in care because one of the men had asked her mother how much Stacey cost and her mother had stabbed him. Stacey said she needed the money for the train fare as she wasn’t allowed to visit her mother in prison. I hadn’t thought of Stacey for years. She must be in her mid-thirties, too old probably to be a woman like I’d seen the night before, although I doubted life had turned out well for her.

When I got to work George put his head round my door. ‘Didn’t see you leave last night. Bloody good time though.’

‘Yes,’ I lied, knowing it was the only possible response.

‘Got a rollicking off the missus,’ he said. ‘How did you fare?’

‘My girlfriend’s away. Does your wife know where you went then?’ The rules of the upper classes are so foreign to me I am always lost in their world.

But he laughed. ‘God no. Just that I got in late stinking of booze and fags. She always makes way too much of a fuss about stuff like that. You know what women are like.’

‘How old are your children?’ I asked.

‘Six and four.’

‘Girls or boys?’

‘One of each.’ He shifted his weight and I noticed how pale and clammy his skin looked. I let what we were both thinking hang in the air and looked back at my computer screen and started tapping away until he left. Kaitlyn waved at me on the way past my window at lunchtime and I felt myself blushing, ashamed at what she would think of my behaviour the night before.

At two o’clock a note flashed up on my screen: Your appointment with Dr Lucas Ellin is in one hour at 3 p.m. I groaned loudly, sure that there was a good excuse for me to cancel the appointment. But if there was an excuse it eluded me as I found myself waiting outside Dr Ellin’s office an hour later, my suit feeling a little tight and sweat breaking out across my palms.

It was I suppose a credit to Dr Ellin that I hadn’t known of his existence at Bartleby’s until the moment the chairman had mentioned him but somehow I found this disconcerting. His room was very different from all the other offices in the building: it was a pale blue and his desk was glass, so I could see his whole body stretched out on his chair. He only had one computer and it was pushed into a corner, as if it was a minor irrelevance. And the chair I was supposed to sit on was a plush wingback, with a cushion in its centre. There was a large fern in one corner and a bookcase stuffed with books and papers.

He stood as I entered and extended his hand to me across the desk, which I shook as firmly as I could.

‘Sit down, Mike,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you came.’

‘I didn’t realise it was optional,’ I said, sitting on the edge of the large chair.

Dr Ellin laughed as he too sat. I didn’t think he could be much older than me. ‘So, do you want to tell me what brought you here?’

‘The chairman.’

He laughed again, but I wasn’t sure why what I’d said was funny. ‘Yes, but I mean the incident.’

‘I shouted at one of our clients.’

Dr Ellin pulled his glasses down from the top of his head and consulted some notes in front of him. ‘I believe you called Daniel Palmer a fucking useless waste of space of a man who needed to get some balls.’

I felt my colour rising. ‘Yes, it was very rude of me. I don’t know what happened.’

‘Do you often find it hard to control your anger?’ Dr Ellin leant forward over his desk. His feet I noticed were crossed at the ankles. I had a sudden urge to punch him in the face, an answer if ever there was one. ‘What do you find amusing about my question?’

I drew down the smile I hadn’t realised was there. ‘Sorry, nothing. And of course I don’t.’

‘Our chairman, Lord Falls, has noticed that you have seemed distracted recently. Your performance at Schwarz was exceptional, but you haven’t got off to such a good start here, would you say?’

I thought it was probably a trick question. ‘Well, I closed the Hector deal and we’re close with Spectre.’

Dr Ellin nodded. ‘Perhaps you’re finding the adjustment of moving countries hard?’

‘No,’ I said, hearing my tone had risen. ‘London’s my home. I wanted to come back. If anything I found New York hard.’

‘How do you find making friends, Mike?’

I wanted to ask if I had to go on sitting here, but I knew I couldn’t. ‘Fine. In fact I was out with a few of the guys from here last night.’ I wondered what Dr Ellin would think if I told him about where we’d been. Probably he would laugh again and think nothing of it. I knew in this world I was the one who was considered strange for shouting, but George’s behaviour at the club would be considered rational. I thought of Kaitlyn suddenly and how she’d told me that we were both outsiders. I longed for V to explain it to me and help me understand.

‘It says in your notes that you were brought up in care,’ Dr Ellin said, placing the tips of his fingers together in front of his face.

‘How do you know that?’ A familiar streak of shame ran through me like a piece of glass.

‘We like to know who we employ at Bartleby’s. I’m not saying it as a judgement. Just trying to get a clearer picture of where you’re at, Mike. We just want our employees to be as happy as possible.’

I felt like I was looking at Dr Ellin from underwater. ‘I was with my mother until the age of ten, then in a home for a couple of years, then I went into permanent foster care until I went to university.’

‘That must have been hard.’

I was sure Dr Ellin had no idea what hard was. He had probably been to the same school as George and the chairman and half the bloody office. ‘Not really. I was lucky. My foster parents, Elaine and Barry, were great.’

‘Why were you taken into care?’

I looked over Dr Ellin’s shoulder to the window and told myself I could just turn and walk out. I could have walked out of the whole building. ‘My mother had a problem with alcohol.’

He didn’t say anything, waiting for me to give him more, but I stayed quiet. It was none of his business.

‘Did she ever get violent?’

It’s amazing that people like Lucas Ellin get paid to make such obvious connections. ‘No.’

‘And what about your foster parents? How was your relationship with them?’

‘It was and is great. I was there for Sunday lunch just a few weeks ago.’ I shifted in my chair. ‘Look, I’m not sure what relevance this has to anything. I mean, I lost my temper and I’m sorry; I know I behaved badly.’

Dr Ellin held me with his stare. ‘Have you ever spoken to anyone about your childhood?’

‘Only my girlfriend.’

His eyebrows raised slightly. ‘Oh, you have a girlfriend? Do you live together?’

‘Yes. At least, she’s not living with me at the moment.’

‘You’ve separated?’

‘No, not exactly.’ The chair felt lumpy, like a bad approximation of what it should be.

‘Do you know that how you spoke to Mr Palmer is unacceptable? That you can’t always just say what’s on your mind?’

It was my turn to laugh then. ‘Of course I know that. I was having a bad day and he irritated me, if you must know. A grown man sitting there blubbing.’

Dr Ellin’s fingers were tapping against each other. ‘A grown man who was losing a company he had created, a grown man who felt responsible for all the people who were about to lose their jobs. It’s interesting that you find that show of emotions irritating.’

This felt as close to hell as I ever want to get: sitting in a fake-friendly doctor’s office giving the wrong answers. I knew I needed to find the words that would make him shut up. ‘If you want to know the truth, it had nothing to do with Mr Palmer. My girlfriend had moved out the day before and I was in a bit of a mess. But I’m fine now. We’re fine.’

Dr Ellin relaxed at that. He would, after all, have something tangible to report back to the chairman. ‘And of course being left is particularly hard for you, isn’t it, Mike? I expect it stirs up feelings you would rather forget?’ I would have laughed in his stupid face if the need to get out of his office hadn’t become imperative. So I made do with looking down and nodding. ‘I think you might really benefit from us meeting regularly.’

‘I’m not sure about that.’

‘There are also some pills I could prescribe you, to help you relax. Do you have trouble sleeping?’

‘No. And I don’t need pills.’

But Dr Ellin was already writing something on a pad. ‘There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Half the people in this building are on one type of pill or another.’ He waved the prescription at me and so I leant forward and took it, folding it into the inside pocket of my jacket. ‘And you know, because I am a private doctor this is a totally private meeting. What I mean is that none of this goes on your records, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

I couldn’t really understand what Dr Ellin was trying to say so I didn’t answer.

He looked down at his diary. ‘Shall we do same time next week?’

‘I’ll need to check and let you know.’ I knew I would have to change jobs if sitting with Dr Ellin once a week were to become something I was required to do. To have that moron poke about in my brain and jump to the wrong conclusions with psychology lessons any monkey could learn from a textbook. The only person I trusted in my mind was V. I stood with the impatience of a child, desperate to be anywhere other than where I was. But Dr Ellin was slow with his handshakes and goodbyes and by the time I left it felt like my blood was fizzing.

Kaitlyn happened to be leaving at exactly the same time as me that evening, which I was pretty sure wasn’t a coincidence. I had planned on picking V up, but I couldn’t think of a reason why I wasn’t going home, so fell into line with Kaitlyn. She chatted away on the Tube, about things I cared nothing for, and I stopped listening, instead watching only her mouth as it moved up and down. There were dark, bluey circles around her eyes and she almost looked as if someone had punched her.

‘I made way too much shepherd’s pie last night,’ she said as we emerged on to Clapham High Street. ‘Do you want to come and help finish it off? It is veggie mince though, just to warn you.’

I hesitated and in the moment I saw the sadness in Kaitlyn’s eyes and the desperation not to be rejected. And what was I going home to anyway? I didn’t think I had any food at all in the fridge. ‘OK, thanks,’ I said.

Kaitlyn lived in a flat in a large mansion block which overlooked the common. I could hear the yapping from inside before she’d even put her key in the lock and I thought her neighbours probably hated her. The dog flew at her as soon as the door opened, leaping into her arms and licking her all over her face, which I found disgusting. She pretended to turn away, but I could see she loved it really, even loved the tiny pink tongue flicking over her lips.

‘Sorry it’s a bit of a mess,’ she said incongruously as we went into the sitting room: the flat was as tidy as it could be. ‘Sit down, take off your jacket. I’ll get you a drink.’

Kaitlyn’s sitting room was almost as white as she was. It was also very sparse, so you got the impression that everything in it had been chosen with care and consideration. The only bit of colour, if you can call black a colour, were the calligraphed words stencilled above the couch. I twisted round so I could read them: Blame it or praise it, there is no denying the wild horse in us.

‘Virginia Woolf,’ Kaitlyn said as she handed me a glass of wine.

V hated any type of slogan and I took to buying them for her as jokes whenever I saw them on cards or embossed on fake metal signs. Her favourite four were:

Does anyone actually believe this crap, she’d say. I mean, do these random words put one in front of another by a moron make anyone feel better?

‘Who’s your favourite writer?’ Kaitlyn asked, sitting next to me. Snowdrop immediately leapt on to her lap and she began to pet him under the chin. I hoped she was planning on washing her hands before serving the food.

‘I don’t know. Verity likes Virginia Woolf though.’ I couldn’t remember the last time I’d read a book. V used to sometimes jokingly call me a philistine and I felt hot suddenly as I wondered if Angus liked to read. If they read to each other in bed.

‘You said you were on the verge of working things out,’ Kaitlyn said.

I looked over at her expectant face and wondered what it must be like to live in such an unattractive body. ‘We’re talking. I’m confident we can work it out.’

‘How long have you been together?’

I pretended to consider this. ‘Nine years.’

‘So you met at university?’

‘Yes.’ We both sipped at our wine. When you are asked a question you should reciprocate, V told me. ‘What about you? Any significant others?’

She laughed. ‘Well, maybe. Early days, you know.’

‘I’ve only ever lived with Verity,’ I said.

She turned back to me. ‘Yes, but that’s all you need isn’t it, one person?’ I smiled because of course I totally agreed. ‘Sometimes I wonder what it’s all for, all this making money, I mean. I could have bought a large family house with my bonus last year but I didn’t, because what would be the point, rattling round some big old thing, just me?’

I thought of my own house and it made me feel itchy. ‘You could invest it.’

‘I could,’ she said, although her tone was harsh.

A faint smell of burning reached us and Kaitlyn jumped up. ‘Come into the kitchen. We can eat there.’

I followed her through to another white room, with white units running along one side of the wall and a round white table encircled by white chairs in the centre.

‘Open another bottle.’ She motioned to a laden wine rack in the corner. I went towards it and picked out a fine bottle, easing the cork out with a satisfying sigh.

We sat next to each other again, with the plates of steaming shepherd’s pie, and I filled our glasses. It smelt as good as home.

‘I’m thinking about jacking it all in actually,’ Kaitlyn said. ‘Buying a business on the coast somewhere and living a better life.’

‘Whereabouts?’ V had taught me not to blow on my food, so I was waiting for the steam to subside.

She shrugged. ‘I don’t really care. I fancy the sea.’ It smelt too good to wait so I forked at the food, bringing it to my lips. Kaitlyn did the same, blowing hard on it before putting it in her mouth. ‘Why are you smiling?’ she asked.

‘I was always taught not to blow on my food.’

‘My mum told me that as well. But, you know.’

‘What business?’ She looked better animated, I thought.

‘I don’t know that either.’ She laughed. ‘An old-fashioned sweet shop maybe, selling things like white mice and rhubarb and custards, in those big glass jars. And you have to scoop them out and weigh them.’ The food was as good as I had expected and it landed in my grateful stomach like a kiss. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about jacking it all in?’

‘I plan to retire by forty-five.’

‘But that’s ages away.’

‘Fifteen years.’

‘Exactly.’

And it did sound like a long time when she put it like that.

‘Did you know anyone when you went to New York?’

‘No.’

‘How was that?’

‘Awful.’ There was something about Kaitlyn which made being honest with her very easy.

She laid down her fork even though her plate was still half full. ‘Why was it awful?’

‘Mainly the loneliness. I missed Verity terribly.’

Her cheeks coloured slightly. ‘I don’t understand why you went in the first place. I mean, if she couldn’t go with you.’

‘I … We …’ But I stumbled over the words, not entirely sure what the answer to that was. I had momentarily forgotten why V had thought it such a good idea. ‘I don’t know. It was good for my career.’

Kaitlyn kept her eyes on me. ‘God, don’t you think there’s more to life than that. It’s like, what are we all waiting for?’

‘What do you mean?’ I poured us both more wine.

She sat back, holding her glass against her chest. ‘I know this sounds like a terrible cliché, but I saw an interview with Joan Collins once and the interviewer asked her if she looked that good every day and she said of course she did, because life isn’t a dress rehearsal.’ She took another deep sip of her wine and when she looked up at me her eyes were glistening. ‘I mean, I spend all my life behaving like it’s a bloody dress rehearsal, waiting for the real bit to start. And it’s such a fucking waste.’

We sat in silence for a bit and I could feel my heart through my cotton shirt, pounding along its own godforsaken path. I thought of V in her life, sitting with Angus no doubt at their kitchen table, while I sat here with Kaitlyn, and it all suddenly seemed appalling. Because what were we doing? Why were we pretending like this?

I felt Kaitlyn lay her hand over mine and I looked down at the paleness of it against my pinker skin. She was so translucent I could see the blue of her veins pumping her blood round her body and I was struck by how fragile she was, how easy she would be to break.

I pulled my hand out from under hers. ‘I guess I’d better be heading home.’

‘Sorry. I was just …’

‘No, it’s not you.’

She smiled lightly. ‘Oh no, Mike. I mean, I really like you, but not, I mean …’

‘I can’t …’ I started.

‘I know you’re still in love with Verity.’ She looked up at me and her eyes were quivering. ‘But from where I’m standing she doesn’t seem to make you that happy.’

‘She makes me very happy,’ I said, although something about the words sounded faintly ridiculous.

‘Happiness is so odd, don’t you think? I mean, sometimes we can mistake feelings for happiness or love, when sometimes they’re the exact opposite.’

It sounded like a terrible thing to say, but I supposed women like Kaitlyn were used to feeling that way. I stood up. ‘Look, thanks very much for dinner. It was delicious.’

Kaitlyn laughed.

‘No, really, I’m sorry. Please, can this not ruin our friendship?’ I didn’t know why I was saying such soppy words, why I cared even. But there was something unbearable about seeing Kaitlyn’s tiny figure seated on the chair, Snowdrop snuffling by her feet. I felt an odd need to put my arms round her shoulders and give her a hug, but obviously I didn’t as I didn’t want to encourage her in any way.

She stood as well and the movement seemed to compose her. ‘No, I’m sorry, Mike. I think I’ve just drunk a bit too much. Of course we’ll still be friends, don’t be daft.’

She walked me to the door and we kissed awkwardly on both cheeks, raising our hands in stupid farewells and tripping over our words.

I breathed deeply when I reached the outside world and looked up at what I could of the stars behind the hazy pollution. My body felt jangly and so I began to walk, not admitting to myself where I was going at first, but in the end accepting that my feet were taking me towards Kensington. I trampled along the messy, chewing-gum-littered streets, stepping over what looked like people wrapped in filthy sleeping bags, lying on thin strips of cardboard. Never mind the women on the stage, it was much more likely that one of these homeless people was my mother.

Kaitlyn’s words slid around my brain like a ball bearing in a slot machine. I knew she had said things that were worth listening to and yet their meaning eluded me. I couldn’t work out if she had been giving me advice or, if she had, if it had been worth heeding. I couldn’t work out if she was right or wrong. I couldn’t work out what I thought. I needed V to tell me, because only she could make sense of the world for me.

V’s house was dark, except for the gleaming light in the porch. The shutters and curtains were all drawn, apart from in the kitchen, but this room was dark as well, the moonlight glinting off all the steel and concrete. I knew V was inside, although I stopped my mind from wondering at what she was doing. I checked my watch and it was nearly midnight, which made me feel better. V got tired and she would no doubt be asleep, dreaming maybe of me.

I walked to the opposite side of the street and leant against the ivy-laden wall I had stopped in front of before. I looked up at the window where I had seen V draw the curtains and felt her presence so strongly it was like I could have flown through the window at that moment. I imagined the shattering glass and the screams of Angus; I could feel her as I took her in my arms and we flew away, back to our nest at the top of the mountains. I thought it had started raining, but then I realised I was crying, hard and fast.

Anna, the gardener, rang me the next morning and asked if I’d had a chance to look at the various planting options she’d sent me. I admitted I hadn’t, but said I would get right on to it, clicking on to her email as we spoke. I had no idea of the names of any of the plants she suggested and spent an annoying hour googling each one for pictures which yielded little joy. The exercise depressed me anyway, as I should have automatically known what flowers V preferred. In the end I told Anna to go with what she thought. How about colours, she asked, I was thinking pinks and yellows. I thought immediately of Susan’s mother-of-the-bride dress and told Anna absolutely no yellow. We agreed instead on blues and whites.

Kaitlyn blushed when she saw me and kept her eyes down every time she walked past, which was also unduly depressing. Without Kaitlyn, I realised, I had almost no one to speak to.

After lunch I messaged her:

It was odd because what Kaitlyn was saying should have irritated me, but I found myself strangely elated by her words.

I also sent an email to Daniel Palmer, offering my sincere apologies for everything I had said. I explained that the stress of the job sometimes got to me and that firing people was a terrible consequence of what we did. I said I’d been having some personal issues and that I’d said things to him that I really wanted to say to myself. I hoped very much he could forgive me and that we could move forward and find the best solution for him and his employees.

An hour later the chairman called me and said he was pleased I’d had a good session with Dr Ellin. He wanted to reassure me that my work was of the highest standard and that they liked to think of themselves as more of a family than a business at Bartleby’s. The only reason he had referred me to Dr Ellin was that they wanted the best for me. Our working relationship was not, he hoped, short-term, but something we were both in for the long haul. He understood that I was going through some personal issues, and maybe I hadn’t had the best start, but he was impressed with how I handled myself. It took a big man to apologise, he said. I mumbled and acquiesced in all the right places and I got the impression that he left the conversation satisfied.

Everything is a game, V used to tell me; only stupid people forget that.

V was wearing her blue dress with the white flowers on it when she left work that evening and it made my heart surge for two reasons. Firstly, I had been with her when she bought it from a little shop in Brooklyn. And secondly, I had been right to tell Anna to go with blue and white planting, which meant I clearly knew V’s tastes better than I realised. Or maybe we were simply telepathic. Maybe she had spoken to me as I sat at my desk without me even realising.

‘V,’ I shouted, bounding across the street from my bar.

She turned and her face contracted slightly. ‘Mike, what on earth are you doing here?’

‘I just wondered if you had a moment. If we could perhaps have a chat.’

She looked round. ‘Have you come here to see me?’

‘Yes. I really need to talk to you.’

She stayed standing, her feet resolutely where she had placed them. ‘What about?’

I hadn’t anticipated it being hard to get her to agree to a simple chat. ‘The emails. And other stuff.’

‘I …’ She looked down, then up again. ‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Mike.’

‘Please, it won’t take long. There are just some things I need to say.’

She bit the side of her cheek as she always did when she was thinking and twisted her mouth to one side. ‘Just quickly, then.’

‘There’s a Lebanese restaurant round the corner.’

‘That bar’s fine.’ She pointed to my bar across the street. The thought of going back in there with her was horrible, mixing my thoughts of her with the reality of her, but I sensed the tenuousness of the situation, so I let her lead me across the road. She asked for a vodka and tonic, so I had the same and carried both our drinks to a table in the corner, far away from my usual one in the window.

As we sat I saw she was wearing the eagle round her neck and my heart did another tiny jig. Her hair was loose and her beauty left me slightly light-headed. It made me want to reach out and touch her, made me want to check she was made of the same flesh and blood as the rest of us.

‘So?’ She sounded tired.

‘I just wanted to apologise for that email I sent you when you were on honeymoon.’

‘Which one?’

‘The first one, obviously.’

‘So you don’t think you need to apologise for the second one? The one in which you talked about me leaving Angus?’

‘I know you think you love him.’

She laughed, but the sound was hollow. ‘I know I love him.’

‘I don’t think you do. I think you still love me.’

We looked at each other across the table and I thought that from the outside we must have looked like lovers. We always shared a bubble, V and I, we were always a unit against all those awful people outside our Crave.

‘Mike,’ she said. ‘I love Angus.’

‘I know I hurt you very badly and I will go on saying sorry till the end of time, if that’s what it takes. But you don’t love Angus. You’re using him to get over me.’

I saw her eyes flicker. ‘Are you OK, Mike? I’m worried about you.’

‘If you can’t admit you love me now, will you admit to loving me once?’

She sipped from her drink, leaving an almost invisible layer of lip salve on the rim. I had to stop myself from reaching over and licking the mark. ‘Of course I loved you, you don’t have to ask that.’

‘But love doesn’t stop. You must love me still.’

She kept her eyes down. ‘But love changes, doesn’t it?’

‘I still crave you,’ I tried, because I didn’t know what she meant. Love never changes.

‘Don’t,’ she said, but the word sounded stretched, desperate even. Her chest was moving up and down, up and down.

‘We could try the Kitten Club again. Angus won’t go with you, but I would.’

‘For God’s sake, Mike,’ she said, but her breathing had quickened.

‘What we had doesn’t just vanish. I know you remember what it felt like to be in bed with me.’

‘Stop.’ I knew I had gone too far. The eagle swung annoyed round her neck.

‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘You need to stop this, Mike. For both of us.’

‘Do you ever Crave with Angus?’ I asked, a mist rising through me.

‘For God’s sake. Don’t be ridiculous.’ She stood up but I grabbed at her wrist and she sat down again.

‘Sorry, sorry. I just want you to be happy.’

‘I am happy.’

‘No, I mean properly happy, with me. Not this pretend happy with Angus.’

‘Why do you think it’s pretend?’ she asked and I saw a real question in her eyes.

‘Because you’re not the sort of person to fall in love so quickly, or have that big stupid wedding.’

She drew a pattern in the table with some of the spilt vodka. ‘Maybe you don’t know the person I am. Maybe I didn’t know the person I was until I met Angus. Maybe you don’t know yourself yet.’ I didn’t like those words and they shot through me in a way which made me want to look down and see if I was bleeding. ‘I’m not your mother, Mike. I didn’t abandon you. What we shared was amazing and special, but it’s over now. You have to move on.’

My hand was tight around my glass and I felt my eyes sting with tears. ‘Don’t say that.’

She swallowed hard and the eagle bounced. ‘Look, Angus is going away for a few days, but when he gets back you should come over and we could talk to you together. Maybe then you’ll understand this isn’t some fake marriage.’

‘No thanks.’ I couldn’t think of anything worse than talking to the monkey man Angus.

She sighed and stood up, but more slowly this time. ‘I’m going now.’

I let her walk away while I sat and looked into the vibrating liquid in my glass. I’ve always hated vodka and how it can sneak up on you. How it looks like water but is really very potent. I gulped at it and it shot through my system, waking and charging it.

It was clear that V had constructed an impressive fantasy around Angus to shield her from the pain I had caused her with Carly. She seemed to have even herself fooled and that thought scared me because how do you show someone that what they believe to be true is really not the truth?

I had finished my vodka so I took V’s and downed it. And she must have left part of herself in the glass because as I drank it was like she was opening my eyes and my ears. I realised that I’d been an idiot. Angus is going away for a few days, V had said. And if that wasn’t an invitation to be there when he wasn’t I didn’t know what was.

The next day was Saturday and Elaine rang first thing to say she was coming into London and could she take me up on my offer and pop in for a cup of tea. It was slightly annoying because I had been considering visiting V that day, but Sunday was probably better anyway, so I said yes.

She arrived just after lunch, carrying no visible reason for a trip to London. She walked all round the house, exclaiming at every room. I realised that she was the first person, apart from myself and the builders and decorators, who had ever been upstairs since I’d moved in. It made me wish that I’d made an excuse and pretended to be busy, because surely V should be the first person to see her new home, not her sort of soon-to-be mother-in-law. But Elaine lingered in every room, running her hands over the furniture and opening cupboard doors, turning on light switches, and even once bizarrely running the taps. If she could have waited just a few more weeks, I thought, V and I could have shown her round together, which would have been a far more pleasant experience.

Predictably she wasn’t so keen on the garden, which was still a mess. I could see how much better it was going to look, but Elaine is one of those people who can’t bear to change things for the sake of it, or throw things away. There were always cellophane-wrapped plates in the fridge at her house, unfranked stamps steamed off envelopes in drawers and so-called scrap paper which had to be written or drawn on both sides before she’d buy any more. The motto Waste Not, Want Not was pinned by the clock in the kitchen, which was, I realised, nothing more than an early version of Kaitlyn’s wild horses, a thought both pleasing and disconcerting at the same time.

We sat at the kitchen table to drink our tea, Elaine saying she didn’t want to risk spilling anything in the drawing room. I had bought some fancy cupcakes from the deli and she picked at one, but didn’t seem to enjoy it.

‘So, you’ve really set yourself up here,’ Elaine said, looking round the kitchen.

The house felt vulgar seen through Elaine’s eyes, as I had known it would. You could have probably fitted her kitchen into mine four times over. ‘Yes.’

‘It’s a very large house,’ she said and the words hung in the air. ‘You must be making an awful lot of money.’

‘You know I am.’ I knew my face was red and it felt no different to being a child and having her tell me off for sneaking another biscuit.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever asked you, Mike. Do you enjoy the work?’

Remnants from my conversation with Kaitlyn floated back to me. What she’d said about selling up and moving to the coast had stuck to me like flotsam and I realised as I sat with Elaine that I didn’t particularly enjoy what I did. ‘I don’t know really. I suppose it’s OK.’ But even as I said that I thought of the way I jumbled figures and numbers to make them behave as I wanted them to. How I never actually saw anything I had created, how nothing real ever changed hands, how my whole working life was intangible.

Elaine sipped at her tea, her hands encircling the mug. ‘I suppose there must be a point where you’ve made enough.’

I thought of all the zeros in my bank balance. ‘I suppose.’

She looked me straight in the eye. ‘What would you really like to do, Mike, I mean if you could choose anything?’

I hate questions like that; they go nowhere apart from deep inside. ‘I haven’t really thought about it.’

‘But there must be something?’

I tried to search my brain, but it seemed stopped by mud or grease. If I thought about what I wanted it was only V and it felt like it had only ever been her. Although that couldn’t be entirely true because I hadn’t known her all my life. I couldn’t at that moment remember why I’d gone to university or what I’d hoped to achieve. Everything just seemed blank.

Elaine sighed. ‘You could do a lot of good with all this money.’

I nodded, my throat feeling inexplicably full. I needed to make money to make V happy, but it didn’t feel like something I could say to Elaine. ‘I’m hoping to have a family in this house one day,’ I said and as I did so something tugged at my chest. I had never thought about having children before but of course that’s what married couples did and V and I would have perfect children.

Elaine smiled. ‘Well, that would be lovely. But you’ve got to meet a nice girl first.’

I smiled back, but my mouth felt taut. Because if you followed that thought through, and if V really thought she loved Angus, then what would stop them having children? I stood up. ‘Sorry, I just need the toilet,’ I said, walking to the downstairs bathroom, where I locked myself in. I leant over the basin, breathing deeply into my stomach, my hands clenched on the white porcelain. Just the thought of Angus’s baby invading V’s body sent convulsions of fear through me, so they fizzed from my head to my feet, popping through my blood and making me weak. It was an abomination, too repulsive to consider. I knew then that I had to get her away from him as soon as possible.

Elaine was putting on her coat when I came out. ‘It’s been so lovely to see you, Mike,’ she said. ‘And to put you in some sort of context. Barry won’t believe it when I tell him about the house.’

‘You must bring him next time.’

‘I’ll do that.’

I walked her to the door. I think she’d worn the same coat she had on when I’d lived with her. It was her autumn coat, not as thick as her winter one, but good in a rain shower. She rubbed my arm at the door and her eyes were twinkling. ‘You take care of yourself, Mike. And call me anytime. You know our door is always open to you.’

‘I know.’ She looked so tiny standing in my giant hall, the top of her head only reaching my shoulder, and I longed for her suddenly. Longed for my room now occupied by Jayden. She would be going home to cook tea and then she and Barry and maybe Jayden would watch Strictly and they’d share a can of Guinness and at some point someone would say something that made everyone laugh. I bent down and kissed her cheek. ‘Thanks for coming, Elaine.’

‘You’re a good lad, Mike,’ she said. ‘Don’t you forget it.’

I opened the door and the wind had picked up, so you could feel the first chill of a dying summer in the air. She turned and waved at me from the gate and I had to swallow down my tears as I shut the door.

I had an irrational and stupid desire to call Kaitlyn. I knew if I did I could go and sit in her white flat with her wild horses running across the wall. I could imagine her making me a cup of tea and letting me lie on the sofa. I didn’t think she’d even mind if I cried, although she would ask me what I was crying for and I wouldn’t know what to tell her. And anyway it would be a mean thing to do, leading her on unforgivably.

Instead I went back to the kitchen and opened my laptop, googling 24 Elizabeth Road again, trying once more to see past the sterile image. After that I googled V, but there was still nothing online beyond the very basics. But then I had an idea and I typed Angus Metcalf into Facebook. Sure enough his profile popped up, which of course it would, considering what a self-centred, show-off type of person he was. His last post had been from the day before when he’d checked into Virgin Atlantic’s Upper Class Lounge. A stupid graphic showed a dotted line between London Heathrow and LAX. He was very far away.

I spent the rest of the day and night trawling his Facebook page, reading every comment and post. The past year was dominated by Verity, with shots of them in various locations, with people I didn’t know, in places I couldn’t make out. He had been tagged in endless shots of their wedding, so I was treated to the first dance I missed in actuality, the cutting of the cake, the throwing of the bouquet. It was easy to tell how happy he was, but I thought V’s smile seemed a little bit forced, her eyes not quite as sparkling as they should have been, as if she was holding back in a way only I would recognise. And the more I looked and the more I read, the more I realised what a prize idiot Angus Metcalf was. How everything he did was clichéd and contrived and designed to be noticed. His life appeared to be nothing more than one big boast, one big lampooning monstrosity. He enraged me, so that my blood danced in my veins and my head throbbed with a deep, sickening beat. I felt violated by him, as if I had somehow let him inside me, as if his existence on the computer alone was an outrage.

I snapped the lid shut but it wasn’t enough, I knew he was still there, still existing within the virtual wires. I picked the laptop off the table and felt its lightness in my wrist, so light I could lift it up and over my head easily, my muscles tensing and readying. I hurled it through the air, watching it arch and fall, watching it connect with the wall, splintering and shattering, all its innards tumbling to the ground. The floor was strewn with a mess of glass and wires and pieces I didn’t even recognise. Nuts, bolts, circuits, letters, numbers, signals – it was all there but would never go back together again.

I arrived outside V’s house early on Sunday morning, but the curtains and shutters were still drawn so I went to the park, where I walked along the deserted paths. Kensington Palace was right there, overlooking everything in its grandeur, and it struck me as outrageous how it just existed, amongst all us normal people. How it didn’t fence itself in or cower behind walls. How it assumed its right to be there, and so it was. And I was aware as I walked round ponds and up and down giant alleyways that we were all trespassers in this private garden, and that the residents of the palace had had to make compromises as well.

The curtains and shutters at number 24 were still drawn when I got back, but I couldn’t wait any longer, so I knocked on the door. I could hear the sound echoing inside and I knew suddenly that V wasn’t there. My heart sped at the thought that she might not be where I had placed her in my mind.

I bent down and lifted the letter box, but all I could see was the black insides of a metal box. I straightened up and leant over the stone balustrades, cupping my hand against the glass. One of the wooden slats of the shutters hadn’t quite met its partner and I could see a sliver of the drawing room beyond, some pale sofas, a streak of a fireplace, nothing more. I ran down the stairs and into the basement area again, but this time there was a blind across the window, its billowy fabric concealing everything. Finally, I went and stood on the opposite side of the road once more, against the ivy wall, looking up at the tall house. But it was still and silent, giving nothing away. I wondered if she had gone to Steeple House for the weekend and I considered for a moment getting on a train and joining her there. But I knew that would be all wrong and that Suzi was the last person I would want witnessing our reconciliation.

I walked instead towards Islington and our old flat, the thought of not seeing V so disappointing that I had to find some way to be close to her. I hadn’t seen the flat for ten months now, hadn’t even been there when V had packed it up and left. It looked no different from the road, dark windows reflecting the sky, and yet I was filled with a strange longing just by looking up at it. I crossed the road and pressed our old buzzer, still nameless. A woman answered and I nearly walked away, but by then it seemed imperative that I stand once more inside the place where V and I had been our happiest. I told her a stupid story about how I’d used to live there and my girlfriend had lost a very precious ring and how I’d suddenly had a brainwave that it might have fallen between the loose floorboards in the kitchen. She sounded dubious but I guess knowing about the floorboards must have done the trick because she buzzed me in.

A man opened the door to the flat. He extended a skinny arm towards me and tried to hide his nervousness behind his beard. But I was as friendly and calm as possible, as we all knew I could have snapped them both in half in a minute. We went to the kitchen and looked under the floorboard and there was nothing there and I said it had been worth a shot and they agreed. I told them I liked what they’d done with it and she said she was an artist, so she loved experimenting with colour, and I had to hide my smile because of how much V would have hated the bright tones. I shook their hands and thanked them as I left and I really meant it, because it was like the flat still retained our energy and I had sucked it all up, storing it deep in my stomach.

I bought a new laptop on the way home as it was stupid not to make use of the gift of Angus’s Facebook page. But he still hadn’t posted anything new, which I found surprising, expecting a barrage of photographs of him in LA. But then again what would be the point of pictures without V in them?

There was one Crave V and I never did. She said she’d always had this fantasy about fucking a really disgusting man. Her idea was to go to some shithole of a bar and pick up an ugly freak whom she would take back to our flat. I obviously would follow close behind and let myself in with our keys. She didn’t actually want to go as far as having sex with him; she wanted me to pull him off her just moments before. It was never a serious suggestion and never something we were actually going to do. We’d talk about it sometimes, lying in bed, but we both knew it wasn’t going to happen. It was just one of those fantasies we liked to bat about between our brains.

I spent most of the next day checking Angus’s feed, which stayed stubbornly silent until 5 p.m., when it informed me he had checked into Virgin Atlantic Upper Class to fly from LAX to London Heathrow. He would be home the next morning, which meant I absolutely had to see V that night. I remembered how she’d casually said that he was going away for a few days and how I’d been too embroiled with everything else to listen to her properly. What if she’d gone away on Sunday because I hadn’t shown up on Friday or Saturday? What if she had been waiting for me and I’d been too stupid to realise?

I went straight from work to Elizabeth Road. The shutters and curtains were open, but there were no lights on. I knocked on the door anyway, but no one answered. Still, she had clearly been home since the day before and was probably on her way home from work.

I went to sit in a pub round the corner and ordered a double whisky and soda. It was only six thirty and I knew she didn’t usually leave work until around six, so I made myself give it an hour before I went back. And I had been right to do that because there were now lights on in the hall and the kitchen. I paused on the kerb, feeling the second double whisky melt into my blood. This was the moment I had been waiting a very long time for and it was important that I get it absolutely right.

I climbed the stone stairs and stood under the porch light, which hadn’t yet been turned on. I took a breath and knocked. It was amazing how much more alive the house felt this time, as if it loved V’s presence as much as I did. I heard footsteps on the stairs and then she opened the door. She looked like she had recently changed as she was dressed in baggy jogging bottoms and a white T-shirt, which strained across her bust. The eagle was round her neck.

Her eyes widened at the sight of me. ‘What are you doing here, Mike?’

‘Can I come in?’ I said, giving her my best smile.

But she stayed standing in the doorway. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘Please. I just want to have a chat.’

‘We’ve tried that.’ She started to close the door but I put out my hand and she was no match for my strength. It was easy to push the door slightly more open and step inside. ‘What are you doing?’ she said as we stood facing each other in the hall.

I shut the door behind me. ‘I didn’t say what I really meant the other evening.’

She glanced behind me at the door. ‘I’ve got a friend coming in a minute.’ It was an obvious lie.

‘V, this is ridiculous. I love you; you love me. We know each other like we’re the same person. This has all got to stop now. You need to tell Angus it’s over and come and live with me.’

She didn’t answer at first, but then she said, ‘You need to leave.’

And that’s the thing about V. She makes you work hard. She’s not easy like women like Kaitlyn or Carly because she’s worth it. She’s like that TV ad; she’s what every woman wants to be and what every man wants to possess. I smiled at her.

‘I crave you, V.’

‘Mike,’ she said, but then she stopped and her hand went to her throat, clutching at the eagle. It was all I had been waiting for. The moment we had both always known was coming. The signal only we understood.

I stepped towards her and took her in my arms, pressing her against my chest. She was very still, but we still fitted together in the way we always had done. I knew she would be able to feel my body through my clothes, the way it worked only for her, the way it throbbed between us.

‘My darling girl,’ I whispered into her hair. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’

I let her go a bit then, holding her by the shoulders so we were standing opposite each other. We were both crying, overcome with the emotion of the moment. ‘It’s OK,’ I said, ‘I’m here to save you. I’d never abandon you.’

‘Mike, please,’ she said, but her voice was very weak, drowned out by the force of the desire which existed between us.

I leant down and kissed her on the mouth. At first it felt hard against my own and I worried for a mad second that she wasn’t going to let me in. But then I felt something give in her body, some recognition of all we had ever meant to each other, a realisation of desire. I encircled her waist with my arm, pulling her towards me.

I could feel her breath on my face, her body shaking and quivering. I lifted her and laid her down on the rug on the floor, which made her exclaim slightly. I was so hard I thought I was going to burst. V was crying, releasing all the lies and tension of the past few months, and I felt such a surge of love for her I brought my face close to hers so our breath was conjoined. She looked beautiful lying there, her hair splayed out around her head, her eyes wide, her skin pale. The eagle resting quietly on her neck. I pulled at her tracksuit and eased her legs apart with my knees.

‘Oh God, Mike, no,’ she said. But the moan and her words were ones of pleasure. It is hard sometimes to get what you want, to succumb to what you need. I kissed her and felt her lips part to reveal the sumptuousness of her tongue; I traced the outline of her teeth.

Never have – or will – two people exist who fit together more perfectly than we do. We are like superheroes together. If sex could save the world then we would rule the planet.

I reached for my zip, but I felt her hand on mine. ‘Hey, Eagle. This isn’t the way it should be.’

Her words cut through my thoughts and I raised myself on to my arms. ‘V, please.’

But she smiled so sweetly through her tears. ‘Come on, you know this isn’t right, Mikey.’

‘Of course it’s right,’ I nearly shouted.

‘No, no, we’re not the ones who skulk around.’

I hovered over her, unsure what she meant.

‘Mike,’ she said, more firmly now, ‘I don’t want it to be like this. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

I rolled off her and we lay next to each other on the floor for a while, neither of us speaking or moving. In the end I rolled on to my side and traced my finger down the side of her face. Her eyes were open and she was staring at the ceiling. I leant over and kissed her cheek. ‘Do you want to come home with me now?’

She sat up slowly, her back turned towards me, and I saw she was shivering. It wasn’t cold, so it made me worried that she was ill. ‘Do you want me to get you a jumper or something?’ She shook her head. ‘You should pack a bag at least.’

‘You can’t expect me to just leave Angus like that.’

I sat up as well and turned her round, so we were facing each other on the floor. ‘For fuck’s sake, V. Enough about bloody Angus.’

She reached forward and took my hand. ‘Come on, Mike, we’re not mean people, are we? I can’t very well just walk out on him. I’ve treated him pretty shabbily, you must agree?’

Personally I would have let Angus stew, but V is nicer than me. ‘We’ve never cared about the other people before.’

‘But this is different. We’ve gone much further this time. I think you should go home and I’ll tell Angus everything tomorrow. I have to do it in person. He’s going to be devastated.’

‘I hate the thought of you spending one more second with him.’ The hall light was very bright and it made it hard to think straight.

‘Come on,’ she said soothingly. ‘I want to do this properly. Or it’s going to colour our life together.’

‘I wish Angus just didn’t bloody exist.’

I stared at her dipped head concealing her whirling brain, wishing with every fibre of my being that she would repeat the words I had just said. Yes, that’s what I wish as well, was all I wanted to hear. She breathed deeply into her chest, so it rose and fell, then looked up at me and it was like looking straight into the old Verity, as if all the artifice and pretence of the last year had evaporated and we were all that was left.

She held my gaze as she reached over and put her hand on my chest, her eyes welling with tears. ‘Oh God, Mike, I hate this. Sometimes I wish things were different.’ Her gaze flickered as she drew in a breath and her eyes clouded slightly. ‘But life can be cruel,’ she said, her voice quivering on the words.

‘How about if I come and tell him for you? I can’t bear you doing it alone.’

But she stood up and with it I felt the moment dissolving into tiny fragments of dust. I wanted to scrabble about for them on the floor. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said firmly, even though her voice was shaking. ‘It’s getting late, Mike. Why don’t you head home and I’ll be in touch tomorrow.’

I looked at the stairs leading up and down. I had imagined taking her home with me and how she would feel in our bed, curled into my body. The thought of leaving her here was almost more than I could bear. ‘You know I’d do anything for you, don’t you V?’

‘Yes, of course I do.’ She walked towards the door. ‘And you must know that for now it’s best we do this.’

And naturally she was right. There would have been something underhand about slipping away into the night, as if we were ashamed at what we’d done, which would have been absurd as nothing was more right than V and me.

She opened the door and I stood half in, half out. ‘Let me know as soon as you’ve done it.’ I leant back down and kissed her again on the lips. ‘This was our best ever Crave.’

I emailed her as soon as I got home:

I slept better than I had done since Christmas, waking to the blissful realisation that by that evening V would be in the house. I called in sick to work and spent the day preparing for her arrival. I told Anna that I would pay her triple if she could get the planting finished by the end of the day and she made a phone call and five Polish men arrived. I went to the shops and bought flowers, champagne, halibut, salad, the water V likes in the blue bottle and some of her favourite perfume for the bathroom. I cleaned and tidied all day, straightening straight sheets, plumping plump cushions, shining shiny taps. I carried all my weights to the basement and emptied the bins.

I checked my email throughout the day, but I didn’t start to wonder at V’s silence until about three-ish. There was an email from Kaitlyn asking if I was OK and whether or not I needed anything, but I didn’t bother to reply. Anna came in at four to say they’d pretty much finished. She’d be back to completely finish up in the next couple of days, but it was as good as done. I walked round the space with her and I don’t think I exclaimed as much as she expected, but I’d paid her a small fortune, so I didn’t really care. Although I probably should have been more effusive because she’d done exactly what I’d asked and the garden was very beautiful, swaying and sashaying in the breeze. The Polish men traipsed back through the house and I hoovered and washed the kitchen and hall floors.

There was still no email from V, so I sent her a quick one: Darling, is everything OK? I’m eager to hear from you. I can be there in a shot. X.

My inbox pinged almost immediately and I dived for my phone. It was a message from the postmaster: message undeliverable, address not recognised. My breath was suddenly hard to catch and my vision dimmed, so I had to lean over the table. There had to be some mistake. And then it struck me that I’d been a fool to leave V alone in this task, whatever she’d said. It was no different than if I had left her alone in one of the bars with a man pawing at her and expecting her to walk through the door of our flat half an hour later. What if Angus had become angry and was right now holding her prisoner at home? Or worse? I grabbed my coat and my phone and rushed out of the house.

I ran the length of my road, arriving amidst the mass of people and traffic on Clapham High Street. The path to V seemed unbearably long and I wanted to explode a bomb and remove everything and everyone between us. I jigged on the pavement, unsure whether a taxi or the Tube would be quicker. I heard my name being called and turned to see Kaitlyn walking towards me.

‘Feeling better, then?’ she said accusatorily.

But I was too preoccupied to think of a good excuse. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

‘You look a bit feverish.’

My eyes were still on the road. ‘I’m fine.’

‘I don’t know what you’re doing, Mike, but you should be careful.’

I turned to look at her and her eyes were as watery and disconcerting as ever. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The chairman called me in today and asked me to have a look through all the Spectre stuff. He said he was worried it had all got a bit too much for you.’

I tried to feel irritation at the news but couldn’t muster any. ‘I don’t care. Take it if you want.’

‘I don’t want to do anything that might harm you. Or have you been offered another job or something?’

‘No, nothing like that. I just don’t really care.’ And it felt a relief to say it, a bit like when you exhale after a deep breath. ‘Look, I have to run. V needs me.’

Kaitlyn took a small step towards me. ‘Mike, are you sure she needs you? There’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you …’

‘Shut up, Kaitlyn,’ I said because I couldn’t bear her commenting on my life or V one moment longer, especially when she had no idea what she was talking about. ‘Just leave me alone.’

I turned and ran towards the Tube as I’d decided it would be quicker.

Every second of that journey dragged against my skin, so it felt like time was moving backwards and I was in a bad dream where I would never reach my destination. I ran all the way from Kensington High Street Tube to Elizabeth Road, but I am very fit and I wasn’t even out of breath when I knocked on the heavy black door I had come to know so well.

Angus answered, dressed in jeans and a grey shirt, nothing on his feet. His hair was messier than usual and his face looked almost crumpled. There were black circles underneath his eyes and I thought he had the air of a discarded man. We looked at each other for a few heartbeats, neither wanting to be the first to break ground.

‘I need to speak to Verity,’ I said eventually.

‘Sorry, who are you?’ he asked, his face screwed up as he leant against the door.

‘Mike,’ I said. The fact I had to introduce myself deflated my momentum.

‘God, so you are.’ He stood straighter, his face hardening. I couldn’t work out if he was knocking me off balance on purpose. ‘I’m afraid Verity’s in bed. She’s ill.’

‘I still need to come in.’

His face contorted slightly, but I knew he was from that class of people for whom rudeness is very hard. He was not the type to slam a door in anyone’s face, even if that person was about to make off with his wife.

‘You and I should talk,’ I added.

He opened the door wider and I stepped over the threshold exactly as I’d done the day before. He motioned for me to go into the drawing room and I was able to see the pale sofas I had glimpsed through the shutters, as well as the marble fireplace, the huge Venetian mirror, the pale grey walls, the beautiful works of art.

‘You’ve got a nerve turning up here,’ he said. ‘What the fuck’s wrong with you? I think Verity’s made it pretty clear where you stand.’

‘Verity hasn’t told you, has she?’ Her sickness suddenly made the silence of the day understandable.

‘Told me what?’ He folded his arms across his chest.

‘We’re in love. She’s leaving you and coming to live with me.’

He laughed, a schoolboy splutter. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

I composed myself and tightened my jaw. ‘I’m really sorry to tell you, but you’re part of this game we play, that’s got a bit out of hand. Verity is really sorry about how much she’s hurt you, but it’s impossible us not being together.’

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ I saw a flash of fear in his face which hadn’t been there before and renewed my courage.

I spoke slowly. ‘I am very sorry. Verity and I are in love and she’s going to divorce you and come and live with me.’

He stared at me for a moment. ‘Have you lost your mind? You don’t think I’d know if my own wife was in love with another man?’

I was taller than him by a couple of inches and definitely stronger. ‘You know we were together for nine years before she met you?’

He snorted. ‘Of course I know that. You know she started seeing me before she’d finished with you?’ He shifted his weight and kept his eyes locked on mine.

My mind jolted slightly, but recalibrated itself quickly. ‘Yes, I know. I had a stupid one-night stand in America which she was furious about and this has all been to pay me back. But it’s finished now; we’ve reached the end of our Crave.’

‘Your what?’ He spat the words at me.

‘The game we play.’

‘Stop, Mike.’ We both turned to see V standing in the doorway. She looked as terrible as it is possible for V to look. She was as pale as paper, but with livid red spots high on her cheeks. Her hair was matted and stuck to her head and her tiny body was shivering inside her cotton pyjamas.

Angus took the blanket from the back of the sofa and wrapped her in it, which irritated me as I was the one who should be doing things like that. ‘What are you doing up?’

‘I heard you both,’ she said. She stayed standing close to him.

‘I’ve told him, V,’ I said. ‘It’s OK. We can leave now.’

But she started to cry. ‘Oh God, Mike, please don’t.’

Angus put his arm around her. ‘You need to fuck off, mate, before I call the police.’

I hate posh boys calling me mate, as if they have any idea how to use the word. I directed my speech only to V. ‘I know you wanted to tell him, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we can be together now.’ I took a step towards them but she flinched back.

Angus stepped in front of her, his arm stretched out to me. ‘If you don’t leave in the next thirty seconds I’m calling the police.’

I turned to him then, the pathetic monkey man, thinking he had something that was clearly not his. ‘If V doesn’t love me then why were we lying together on that rug last night, pulling ourselves back from making love, planning our future?’ I swung my hand towards the hall and Angus followed my movement.

He looked between me and the rug a few times, his face dropping and falling. ‘Verity,’ he said, turning to her. ‘What’s going on?’

V was still crying, her whole body dropping downwards as she sank slowly to her knees. ‘Make him leave, Gus.’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I said.

But V looked up at me, her eyes hard and straight and I knew I’d angered her. ‘Leave, Mike.’ She’d told me she wanted to be the one to tell Angus, she’d even explained why that was the right thing to do, but my impatience had got the better of me.

‘I’ll be back first thing in the morning,’ I said. ‘And this time we really will be going home.’

Angus stayed mute during our exchange, no doubt seeing the superior connection which existed between us. He knew he was defeated and there was no point in saying anything more to him. I simply turned and let myself out.

I walked home to dissipate some of the energy rushing through me. I was satisfied that V wasn’t in any danger from Angus. He was simply an irritant who needed to be pushed to one side. It was highly frustrating that we would have to wait one more night, but then again, we had the rest of our lives to look forward to, so what was twelve or so hours.

I didn’t feel like eating when I got home, so instead opened a bottle of wine to cool my blood and smooth my nerves, both of which were still jumping inside my body. When I was a boy and things were bad I used to think I had an army of ants living inside me, patrolling my borders. I could never decide if they were on the same side as me or not and sometimes I would wake screaming from nightmares where they had crawled out of my nose, mouth and ears.

Maybe Mum had the same ants inside her, because when you drink they go to sleep. Then they lie down in your blood and flow through you like Moses bobbing down the river in his basket. Fetch my medicine, Mikey, Mum would say when I got big enough to open the fridge and reach for the cans on my own. I wished suddenly and violently that she could see me right now, that she could witness all I was and all I had achieved. You’re not a bad lad just because bad things have happened to you, Elaine used to say. Maybe your mum had a rough time herself when she was a girl, Elaine also used to say, maybe she just couldn’t do it right, however much she wanted to. I reached for the bottle and was surprised to find it empty. The night was dark outside and I was suddenly very tired. I went into the drawing room and lay on the couch. I wanted to cry but I couldn’t work out why.

I had no idea where I was when I woke up. I lay in the darkness with something vibrating underneath me and thought I was back in the flat with Mum getting pulverised in the next room. But where I was lying felt too soft and the air didn’t contain either bitter cold or the heavy stench of fags. And then the pieces of my mind fell into place and connected together and I knew where I was. I scrambled for the phone in my pocket, seeing an unknown number on the screen, although I knew immediately who it was.

‘Mike,’ V said. ‘Is Angus there?’

‘What? No.’ I looked at the clock on the media system; it was 2.12 a.m. ‘Why would he be here?’

‘Because he’s not here.’ Her voice was stretched and rushed. ‘I told him everything and he’s so angry. And our wedding file is open on the computer with all the names and addresses of everyone we invited, so he must have been looking you up.’

I stood at this. I hadn’t drawn the curtains again and the moonlight had cast the room silver.

V was crying. ‘I’m calling a taxi now, Mike. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Promise me you won’t open the door to him.’

‘Why shouldn’t I? We might as well have the discussion now.’

‘No,’ she shouted. ‘He’s drunk and I know how strong you are. Mike, please promise me. I don’t want either of you getting hurt.’

‘No one’s getting hurt. We can discuss it like adults and sort it out.’

‘Oh God, Mike.’ Her tone had risen even higher. ‘You don’t understand. Don’t open the fucking door.’

‘OK,’ I said, ‘OK.’

I stood still for a minute. V was coming home. It was actually happening. Within the hour she and I would be enclosed in our warm, safe space and Angus Metcalf would be making his sorry, solo way back to his house. It had almost been too easy, too perfect. I quickly straightened the cushions on the sofa and took the empty bottle of wine to the recycling in the kitchen, rinsing and then drying my wine glass, before replacing it on the rack. Even in the moonlight the garden swayed in the breeze and I was so pleased with myself for making every detail perfect for V.

There was a loud knock on the front door, a fist pounding heavily on the wood. I stayed standing in the kitchen, looking out at the plants whose names I couldn’t quite remember.

I heard the metallic twang of my letter box flip open and made a mental note to buy one of those letter-catching boxes I’d seen at Angus’s house.

‘Open the fucking door,’ Angus shouted and V was right, he was drunk, his words slurring into each other.

I leant against the sink, my arms tensing so I could feel my muscles curling round my bones.

‘You fucking coward,’ Angus shouted. ‘You don’t get to come to my house, then not let me into yours.’

My fingers were turning white against the porcelain of the sink as the blood stopped flowing to them and I wondered how long you would have to stand like this before they died.

The banging increased, as did the shouting. Angus’s entitled voice telling me what to do, demanding my attention. ‘What are you scared of?’

‘Nothing,’ I said to the sink. ‘Nothing that you could ever do.’

I walked down my hall towards the banging. It was not enough to simply walk away with her this time.

I opened the door and Angus barrelled into me, his arms flailing and his eyes wide and wild. He had spittle at the corner of his mouth and he used his feet to kick at my shins. I teetered backwards, taking a minute to recover my strength and meet his punches. I didn’t want to hit him back, but I wanted to stop him and I held my arm over my face.

‘You fucking animal,’ he was shouting, ‘you fucking waste of a human being. You disgusting, repulsive excuse of a man.’ I could smell whisky on his breath and could feel the weakness in his punches.

‘Stop it, Angus,’ I shouted. ‘There’s no point in this.’

‘There’s every fucking point,’ he screamed. ‘You cowardly fuck. You useless cunt.’

I let him go on hitting me while the insults poured over me. I thought of V and how she would stop me with a kiss at the end of a Crave. I tried to feel her hand on my arm as it twitched to lay waste to the loser who’d just tried to kiss her. But V wasn’t there and Angus had done more than that; he’d kissed her and his hands had covered her body. And I’d heard his words before: they’d been screamed in my face by other people, other people who were with us now, looking through the window, laughing at my passivity.

How many times can you be told you are useless? A. Useless. Fucking. Cunt. Excuse. Of. A. Person? How many times can you be punched and stay quiet? How many times can you sneak back to your mattress and hide under your threadbare duvet? How many times can you go on believing life is a rehearsal and not the real thing?

I threw open my arms, which made Angus’s hands spin away from him, knocking him off balance so he stumbled backwards. He had blood on his hands and down his shirt that I knew was mine. I hate men like Angus. But then again I hate men in general. Angus might as well have been George or even Logan or any of the other fuckers who’ve waded through my life. Angus had broken the rules of the Crave; he had gone on where others had been made to stop.

I walked towards him, clenching my hand and drawing back my arm so it was level with my chin. He flinched as I threw my fist through the air and into his face. It connected with a force which sent him spinning backwards, his legs flying from under him. I felt the crack of his bone, the tear of his muscles, the dislodging of his teeth. I saw the final terror in his eyes as he fell through the air. But it wasn’t enough. I followed his fall with my body, my fist pumping into his face, pushing him ever further back into himself, rubbing out the fact that he had ever been here at all.

I don’t know how long I went on hitting him for, but I became aware of noise and someone pulling on my arm and I looked up to see V. I stopped immediately because it was all right now she was home. I sat back, my legs inexplicably skidding on the wet floor. V folded her body over Angus, a strange moaning sound coming from her.

I needed to calm my breathing, so I did my meditation exercises, breathing into my toes and working up through my body. Angus twitched once, his hand grasping for nothing. And then I couldn’t bear the thought of what V was doing, how Angus’s blood was drenching her, contaminating her. I stood and pulled at her shoulder, so she looked up at me, her eyes huge and miserable. I held out my hand, but she hesitated.

‘Come on, V,’ I said, ‘it’s going to be OK.’

She looked back down at Angus, who now had blood bubbling at his mouth. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she whimpered, ‘I don’t … I don’t know what to do.’

I leant down and took her hand, pulling her upwards and over Angus’s body, so we could back further into the house. I pulled her into me, feeling her tiny body succumb to my arms, so that I was the only thing holding her up. It was all going to be all right; she was home.

I was holding her very tightly but I wanted her to look up just once, to look down the hallway and see what I had created for her. I wanted to take her by the hand and walk her up the stairs and into her new bedroom. But it wasn’t the right time and it was enough that she was there at all. That we had finally arrived where we were meant to be.

I became aware of people and noise and for some bizarre reason Kaitlyn was standing on my doorstep, her hand over her mouth. The blue flashing lights arrived in minutes and I stood as the police and paramedics came into my hall. I held out my hands to them, with V still slumped against my chest, almost as though she had fallen asleep on me.

We didn’t need to continue any more with this tortuous cruelty we had been inflicting on each other. We could enter a new realm, one in which we could show each other how much we loved one another.

And as I stood there holding my beloved in my arms, I realised that when it comes to grand gestures there is nothing grander than killing for love.