Cambridge Blue (26 page)

‘You do the kitchen.’ This time she spoke clearly and he recognized the voice as Victoria Nugent’s.

‘OK,’ a man replied.

Goodhew could now see nothing, so he half closed his eyes and just listened. She was wearing stilettos and she moved with short steps that echoed on the bare boards. He heard the curtains open and shafts of moonlight slipped into the wardrobe. Not good. Then her shadow fell across the crack between the doors and he knew she was about to open them.

Victoria had spent a giddy afternoon riding on an adrenalin surge. She had made a mistake – no – it had been an oversight. But now she had a plan. In her mind’s eye she’d visualized every move. Especially the finale.

As they entered Lorna’s flat, she realized she was rushing up the stairs too quickly and checked herself. She had to be convincing. She would fail if she let her motives become transparent.

He followed, more heavy-footed, less enthusiastic. But that would change.

‘Where will it be?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know.’ She led the way across the living room; she knew the route, even in the dark. She made straight for the bedroom, but turned back to him at the doorway. ‘I’ll start in the bedroom.’

He stopped in his tracks, not sure what she was expecting him to do.

‘You do the kitchen.’

Her heart thumped, but she didn’t allow herself to think about how dangerous it all was. It was good that he seemed more nervous than her, even though she had no doubt that she could easily lead him where he didn’t want to go.

She crossed to the window, the curtains rasping as they were hauled back on their tracks. That was better, she could see the room properly now, without turning on the light.

She knew she still had at least a few minutes while he poked around in the kitchen units.

Directly across from her was the room’s only wardrobe, which would be the logical place to start. She opened the doors simultaneously, then, without even a glance inside she made a point of slamming them. Then she equally loudly opened and closed the chest of drawers.

Finally, she retrieved a tissue from her sleeve and lay down on one side of the bed. She kept the tissue pressed to her lips and did her best to feign emotional exhaustion. She was no great actress, but firmly believed that people noticed only what they chose to.

It didn’t take him more than a few minutes to search the kitchen, then he came to find her. He stopped in the doorway and nodded towards the open curtains. ‘Someone may see us,’ he said. Then he looked at her. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘You didn’t find it, did you?’ Her voice was thick with emotion. ‘It’s not here either.’

He stepped further into the room, but stopped halfway towards the bed. ‘Where will it be?’ he demanded.

‘I don’t know. Most of her stuff has gone.’

‘Perhaps the police have it then?’

This was good. ‘Do you think I hadn’t considered that?’ She raised her voice just enough to threaten hysteria, then sighed and raised both hands with a ‘just hang on’ gesture. ‘I’m sorry, I know it’s not your fault. But, Bryn, I don’t know what I’d do if anyone saw it.’

‘Why would that be so bad?’

She bit back the urge to scream. He was so thick. Even this simple fictitious scenario was beyond him. If she’d really lost her private diary in Lorna’s flat, why would she need to spell out that she didn’t want every Tom, Dick and Plod poring over its steamy pages?

Did Bryn really think she was that brazen regarding her personal life?

Her voice trembled with irritation as she spoke, but she was sure he would merely interpret it as raw emotion. ‘If they found out, I just don’t know what I’d do.’

Her body sagged and she buried her face in her hands. He was quick to sit down beside her. ‘It’ll be OK,’ he whispered. She reached out and found his hand, then pulled him nearer. She felt his arm slip round her shoulder and she nestled closer still. She shivered and her skin tingled against the silky fabric of her blouse.

A minute of silence passed.

‘I bet you miss her,’ she said.

‘I didn’t really know her.’

‘But you were sleeping with her.’

‘You’ve got it wrong; it was very casual. We weren’t having a relationship.’

She turned her face up to his, and kissed him tentatively. He jerked his head away, but she could already tell that there was no way he was about to bolt.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

He started to say something else, but she pressed her fingertips to his lips. ‘Shhh.’ She kissed him again, and slid her hand around to cup his neck and keep him close to her. The kiss lingered and became deeper as she teased his tongue into her mouth. Her lips were soft and her mouth tasted of spearmint. He wasn’t a bad kisser, just a little too eager, too adolescent. But maybe that was a good thing.

With her free hand she started to unbutton her blouse. Pulling the buttons apart, letting him think their kissing had reawakened the sexual chemistry between them. She knew the exact moment when his focus on her became total, and then she pulled back. He looked surprised. She ran her hand across his lap, pretending it was a casual touch – but they both knew it wasn’t.

She stood up in front of him. Her nerves had now calmed, she’d stopped shivering, and suddenly the room felt much warmer. She dropped her blouse to the floor and watched his intense gaze fall on to her cleavage.

Her stare was unwavering as she pushed her bra down and cupped her breasts, massaging the nipples with her thumbs.

She saw him rub the palm of his hand on the hip of his trousers, and she knew she was making progress.

‘Why not?’ she asked lightly and let her skirt drop to the floor.

She unhooked her bra and let it fall, then stepped back and pirouetted slowly in just her black G-string and high heels. Her skin was tanned and taut, and she knew her body was better than Lorna’s.

‘You look good,’ he said.

Her lips parted and she ran her tongue across her teeth and smiled.

‘But we’re not doing it here,’ he added.

She knew she was committed now, and held his gaze. ‘Why not? You’re hard, aren’t you?’ She reached down, took his hand and guided it between her legs. ‘It’s what I really need right now.’

‘But not here.’

‘Why not?’

‘What if we’re caught?’

‘We won’t be, but it’s the risk of it that’s turning me on. I don’t even think I’d mind if someone were watching.’ She bent forward and kissed him again. His fingers travelled upwards, across her stomach to her breasts. Her skin was warm, her nipples erect. She tilted her head back, encouraging his lips to caress her neck. ‘Come on,’ she breathed. ‘Come on.’ She pushed his hand back down to her G-string. ‘Pull it off,’ she gasped.

Obediently he tugged it a couple of times. On the second attempt the flimsy elastic snapped. He paused to mutter, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ She rolled backwards on to the mattress, using all her weight to pull him with her. His left hand tugged at the zip of his trousers. His legs pressed themselves between hers, his hips pushing them apart.

She squeezed his arm with her fingers and wriggled as if trying to escape, but in his ear she breathed, ‘Come on then, fuck me.’

He was heavy and enthusiastic; it felt like being humped by an eighteen-month-old Labrador. His mouth moved to her neck, and he sucked at the skin over her jugular, his hips pushing her legs even further apart. She wrapped her ankles around his thighs. He penetrated her and pushed himself in deep. Her neck began burning as blood rushed to the surface, her lower body throbbing as his body ground against hers. Credit where it was due: he was more Dobermann than Labrador.

Even so, she gritted her teeth and stared into the gloom of the ceiling, patiently counting his thrusts, just for something to do. There were always three hundred or so, she reckoned. Blokes: it was the monotony of them that got to her.

As the wardrobe doors had opened, Goodhew braced himself for instant discovery, only to see the doors bounce back at him in the same instant. For two or three seconds, he was in total darkness, then, as though the wardrobe suddenly relented, the doors popped back open by a good inch and a half. He hoped he wasn’t as visible as he felt.

He watched Victoria positioning herself on Lorna’s bed and realized what she had planned long before the other guy had a clue. Goodhew wished silence wasn’t obligatory at that moment, having a major urge to groan. Why hadn’t he just left when he had the chance?

Then he recognized Bryn’s voice and knew his only real option was to sit tight and wait for this situation’s inevitable climax.

Goodhew leant back and stared upwards into the darkest part of the confined space, probably straight up the skirt of one of Lorna’s little black dresses. The bed springs kept creaking along in the key of F, and he didn’t dare look out through the gap in the door.

When he and Bryn had been sitting in the same class and the teachers asked the children what they thought they’d be doing in fifteen years’ time, he hadn’t pictured this. Strange really.

After about another five minutes, the creaking ceased and he sneaked a glance. He was just in time to see Victoria climbing astride Bryn and off they went again. The springs changed key and picked up in tempo. A few seconds later, they were moving faster and faster still; it was starting to remind him of the end of ‘Come On, Eileen’. Goodhew closed his eyes till he judged it was safe to take another look.

Bryn was lying on his back with his trousers tangled around his calves, but Victoria had slid off the bed and was reaching for her skirt.

‘I’m cold now,’ she explained quietly, but Bryn stared at her and didn’t move. She picked up her underwear. She slipped her feet into her shoes and began buttoning her blouse.

He watched, unblinking.

‘That certainly lived up to expectations,’ she remarked coldly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I got what I expected. Mediocre.’ Bryn didn’t move. ‘I’d stick with the cars,’ Victoria continued, ‘you’ve probably got some talent for
tinkering
with them.’

Bryn stiffened. ‘What are you on about?’

‘Lorna.’

‘What about her?’

Victoria stood and faced him full on. ‘To think I fell out with her over you. But now I’ve proved she never mattered to you. For your information, I was so over you when we did this.’

‘Bollocks.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘It’s bollocks. You must think I’m stupid. Lorna wasn’t interested in me, any more than you were. So what’s the big deal about proving you can shag me on Lorna’s bed?’

Bryn had only gone as far as rolling on to his side and raising himself on one elbow. If she had expected him to be irate, she would have been disappointed.

‘What’s the real reason then?’ he insisted.

When she turned her head away from Bryn, Goodhew knew he was now in her line of sight, and could only pray that her attention remained elsewhere.

‘Believe what you want, but I’m telling you, she was jealous about us two. And I’m glad we did it in here, because in the end I hated her.’

‘There wasn’t any diary, was there?’

‘So now I’m a liar? You’re sick.’

‘I’m sick? You got me in here with the sole idea of trashing Lorna, even though she’s dead, and
I’m
sick?’

‘Like you weren’t up for it,’ she sneered.

This time Bryn reacted like she’d gone too far. ‘Enough.’ He growled and began to pull up his trousers. ‘I admit it, I was up for it. You offered, and I accepted. But you – you’re in a whole other league.’

‘You slept with Lorna, and felt jealous,’ Victoria goaded. ‘Then I slept with you, and she was the jealous one. Looking at you now, no, I don’t understand it, but that’s how it was. I like to settle scores, Bryn.’ She hitched her skirt up a few inches with one hand, and rubbed the other between her legs until it was wet and shiny with his semen, then she smeared it across the mattress.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Bryn spluttered.

Victoria now had her back to him, facing the wardrobe, and appeared to be staring straight at Goodhew. Suddenly her hand flew towards the twin doors and slammed them shut. ‘That was a message just for Lorna and you.’ Her voice was sharp enough to penetrate the plywood doors. ‘A fuck-off message, if you like.’

Goodhew heard her hurrying away, heading off through the unlit flat and down into the street.

Goodhew listened carefully; he’d only heard Victoria leave. Was he alone yet? His legs were seizing up with cramp and his right arm was turning numb. He was desperate to move, but emerging to find himself face to face with Bryn O’Brien didn’t appeal either.

Victoria had made a good job closing both doors before she left. Goodhew pressed his hand against one of them, testing how tightly it fitted, and realized that opening it silently would be difficult. He dug the tips of his fingers into the join and pressed gently, then harder. It creaked slightly as the doors parted by quarter of an inch, and just as Bryn was dragging the curtains half shut.

Goodhew put his eye close to the opening. The only illumination came from the streetlamp outside, still drizzling just about enough light into the room to leave Bryn O’Brien bathed in anaemia. Bryn was too busy frowning down into the street beyond to sense he was being observed.

He buckled his belt, brushed down the front of his shirt, then stepped into the dark interior of the flat.

Goodhew didn’t dare move, just listened as Bryn moved slowly through the sitting room, feeling his way from door frame to chair, and from chair to wall. It was slow but uneventful until he reached the landing. A stumble. A clatter.

‘Oh, fuck. What the hell is that?’

Bryn must have kicked something, for wood cracked as an object bounced on the stairs. He ran down after it, then the street door opened and slammed shut.

Goodhew scrambled from the wardrobe and staggered to the window as fast as his numb legs would carry him. He was just in time to see Bryn stride out of sight, but there was no way of telling where he was heading. Goodhew sighed in disappointment, but what did he expect? Bryn wasn’t going to park outside, was he?

Goodhew used his torch again to light his way across the flat, aware of the risk that someone outside might see the light dancing on the walls.