Going Up and Going Down (13 page)

“Where the hell
did you go? Who was that guy?” blurted Leanne, not in quite the discreet manner
that the other girls would have used should they have had their chance to
enquire first. She also winked in an all-too-knowing expression as her
questions came out. It was nice to communicate without shouting for the first
time that night.

“Oh, him? We
went to school together, that’s all! We’ve just had a catch up outside – so we
could hear one another.” They all looked toward the door,

“Jeeeez! What
did you do to him, Helen? He’s looking pretty pissed off!” I turned to look.
Alex’s eyes searched the room for his friends.

“Oh! He made a
move on me, so I left him out there.” And as I said it, I saw the reality of
what had really happened. He’d just had the fuck of his life…and any further
chances had been snatched away from him in an instant!

I relived some
of those wild moments with Alex as I laid waiting for sleep to come. I had been
a slut. On the very day I got my test results back; found out I hadn’t
contracted HIV, I have a one-night-stand for the first time in my life. I
hadn’t cared for him. I’d simply given in to my wildest needs. The self-respect
I’d once had for my body had gone.

Heavenly, wild
dirty sex – without the complications of even liking the guy who’d fucked me.
Thank you, Anthony! And I spoke out loud as I said my next words “It’s
all….your bloody fault!”

Work was great
fun on the Monday that followed our visit to Jigz. It was Ted’s 60
^th
birthday. We’d organised everything the previous Friday. Helium balloons were
delivered to the office. One of the girls had seen some classy desk gadget and
we had all chipped in to cover the cost. Hilary, his wife, came along to the
office mid morning with freshly cooked bacon baps from a café further down the
street and there were cream cakes to follow! She’d also brought a couple of
bottles of champagne along and at dinner time in the staff kitchen, we toasted
his health…..and behaved like juveniles in our champagne bubble induced
silliness.

I was still on
a high from my recent visit into the depths of sluttish behaviour and the
intense pleasures I had experienced - my sexual re-awakening! My good mood
prompted me to make sufficient food for Anthony to partake of. Again, something
I hadn’t done for quite some time. I was singing! Knife in my hand, chopping
onions and mushrooms, and singing along to a Madonna song, “Like a Prayer.” I
knew I would have to be careful, when I told him that he could eat with me - I
didn’t want him reading between the lines. I shuddered at the thought, paused
in mid lyrics, and felt my happiness wane a little.As he walked into the
kitchen some time later I was plating up my meal and I gave him a cheery grin
and offered,

“There’s plenty
left if you want some - spag bol,” Seeing his eyebrows lifting in surprise, I
quickly added “I did far too much just for me, it’s a shame to waste it.” I saw
his mouth almost watering as he looked at my plate longingly. I nodded towards
the wall unit “Get yourself a plate!”

“Thanks, Helen,
I will. It looks good enough to eat” and as he laughed at his own little joke,
it struck me as sad, that we used to be happy together, laughing so much and
enjoying life. This was far removed from those times. Looking at me curiously
as he piled up spaghetti on his plate and followed it with a generous serving
of the bolognese, he said “You’re in a good mood tonight!”

“Yeah, it’s
been a great day at work. It was Ted’s 60
^th
today. We had champagne
and precious little work got done.”

After I cleared
the dishes away, Anthony switched on the television and started watching a
history documentary. Our pleasantries for the day were done with. I loaded the
dishwasher, wiped the worktops down and went back through to the lounge. I
picked up the new book I’d started reading just the previous night and settled
on the settee to indulge myself. The volume of the programme he was watching
was very loud at times; WW2 bombs raining down on London, it kept distracting
me. I grabbed my MP3 player from down the side of the cushion, pushed the buds
into my ears, pressed play and my reading was melodically accompanied by
Beethoven instead of blackouts and bombs.

The music was
soothing as I read. The suspense of the story was building and I was enthralled
but my eyelids were feeling heavy. I jumped in such a panic as Anthony gently shook
my shoulder.

“Helen, there’s
somebody knocking at the door! Are you expecting anybody?” My eyes darted up to
the clock on the mantle – it was nine forty seven. Pulling my ear buds out,
rubbing my eyes, and wishing I’d gone to bed to read instead of dropping off
downstairs, I managed to say, with a groan,

“No!...Not!” I
heard the loud banging, was it for the second or third time? A thought quickly
entered my head and I was alert in an instant, I wondered if it was one of
his…contacts! He stood and looked at me - too long, and I wondered if that same
thought had occurred to him. Trying hard to shake off the remains of my tiredness
I snapped him out of his thoughts. “Anthony! Go and bloody see who it is! Now!
It sounds urgent! ”He reluctantly left his programme to answer the continuous
knocks.

I was
struggling to hear what was being said. Anthony had closed the lounge door after
him when he’d gone into the front hall to answer the knock. I could hear a very
deep male voice, then a different one, not quite so deep. The front door closed
and Anthony came back in through the lounge door, walking purposely towards me,
his face unreadable, followed by two police officers. I stood up, tense.

“Helen…I…”
stammered Anthony.

Oh shit, they’d
come for him! I was holding my breath, waiting for him to tell me. My thoughts
drifted, I wondered what my father would do, or say, when he finally found out
what Anthony, his dependable surrogate son had been up to. I cringed at my own
cynicism.

“We’ll take
over from here, Sir!” the deeper-voiced one of the two said to Anthony, then he
turned his head towards me,

“Are you Mrs
Helen Pawson?” What the hell question was that? I was petrified. What would he
want me for? I started shaking, coldness striking through me, my knees suddenly
feeling weak. I nodded my affirmation.

“You may want
to sit down, Helen. We have some news for you – bad news!”

My parents had
been involved in a fatal accident. My father, who had been driving, had suffered
a major heart attack at the wheel - he was dead. The car had veered into the
path of an oncoming lorry. I listened to his words and I thought he must be
lying to me. My mother was critical and on life support. I couldn’t take it in.
All the while he was speaking it was surreal. It wasn’t really happening. It
was happening elsewhere. The voices were speaking to someone else and not me.
In slow motion. I was numb. I felt somebody put a coat around my shoulders, Anthony,
and, was it really him, saying,

“I’ll take you,
Helen – to the hospital.”

We were too
late! By the time we arrived at the hospital, my mother’s life support machine
had been switched off. Anthony was taken away to make a formal identification
of them both. It galled me that I had to leave everything to him, but I needed
him. I didn’t have anyone else to rely on. He called relations on both Mum’s
and Dad’s sides of the family to break the news, he organised the joint
funeral, organised the flowers. For once, I was glad he was there. I was good
for nothing. They had been my life and they had been taken. My heart had been
savaged, torn apart. And I felt such devastation. I wanted to die too….to
finally be free from the hurt...

I stared in
disbelief at the name on the caller display of my mobile phone as it bleeped in
my hand. The call that I had hoped wouldn’t happen. I looked around the room
then back at the display, half hoping that I’d been hallucinating, but his name
continued to flash up at me in time with the bleeping. Unable to do anything
but stare, the bleeping finally ceased, his name gone! I exhaled at last,
unaware that I’d been holding my breath for goodness knows how long. My heart
was racing and as I stared at the phone in my trembling hand, I instantly
regretted that I hadn’t pressed ‘answer’. Annoyed at him for ringing me, and
with myself for not answering the call, I flung the phone onto the settee in
disgust as I yelled out loud at him, absent though he was! “What the hell have
you done this for? You’re getting to me! Go the fuck away and leave me alone,
can’t you? I don’t need this!”

Banging and
clattering around the kitchen as I tidied up, my anger was at myself this time…for
being so ridiculous. I had no wish to see David ever again, so why was I so
upset that I hadn’t responded to the call? I could have answered and told him…what?
That I was too busy? Some excuse like, I was perhaps no longer a call girl? Or
be truthful by telling him, I can’t see you again David – it would be too risky
for me to do so? I’d put coffee ready in the cup and switched the kettle on but
when it eventually came to the boil I ignored it. Instead, I grabbed a bottle
of Zinfandel from the fridge and poured myself a very generous measure. Anthony
was due in from work within the next half hour and I seriously needed to get my
emotions in check before then.

Just as I was
about to sit down in the lounge, glass of wine still in my hand, I noticed the
phone lit up again. I snatched it up quickly expecting it to start bleeping
again. I was stunned to see that it showed two further missed calls from David.
Too busy in the kitchen, I hadn’t even heard it and I cursed at myself again.

I gulped
greedily at my wine, barely pausing for breath. I fought the temptation to call
him back - a battle royal going on inside my head. As I poured myself a second
glass, I was thinking I had better make a decision and be quick about it. I
wouldn’t dare take David’s call if he happened to ring me again once Anthony
had arrived home. Having taken too long thinking about what to do, and coping
with my inner confusion, I looked at the clock and realised I had five minutes
left before Anthony would be here. Ring him…or switch off my mobile? It had to
be a split second decision – I decided to switch it off! It wouldn’t do for
Anthony to walk in whilst I was in the middle of explaining to David that I
wouldn’t be available for a business transaction,
or
telling him that
for me to see him again would be foolhardy to say the least.

I picked up the
phone ready to press the off button and it rang again in my hand. I almost
dropped it in surprise. It was him again. I inhaled deeply two or three times,
heart racing again and pressed ‘answer’. I couldn’t get any words out. I
listened in silence and I was shivering. It wasn’t a good sign, I knew that. I
felt exactly like I had done when I’d had a crush on one of the teachers in
school. There had been no girls to giggle with then, just as there was no
friend to giggle with now.

“Hello. Is that,
Helen?” His voice was just as I remembered. How could I ever forget? I felt
sure my heart skipped a beat and I could feel the heat rising up my face. I
turned to look in the mirror. I
was
beetroot-coloured. ‘You know you want
to speak to him’ I told my mirror image, ‘just do it.’ I still couldn’t answer.

“Hello? Hello?
Helen?” I knew I couldn’t wait any longer, I didn’t have long.

“Hello.” It
came out only slightly louder than a whisper.

“Helen, thank
goodness. It’s David – David Barnard.”

My stomach felt
as if it was doing back-flips. My emotions and body language would not be
acting the way they were if it
wasn’t
him. I took the plunge and I
didn’t know where the current would be taking me as I finally dived in.

“Hi, David.
It’s nice to hear from you again. What can I do for you?”

I ranted at
myself ‘what on earth made you ask that,’ ‘just tell him no to whatever it is
he’s wanting.’

“I was
wondering if you were free for...um…tomorrow night, for the whole night if
that’s possible? I’m in London, so it’s easier for you. I assume it will be the
same…?” I didn’t hear the rest of his words after that last bit, mortified as
Anthony’s car pulled into the drive. Shit! I knew I had to hurry so I focused
my attention back to the call.

“Okay, David.
Where in London and what time? I have to hurry now. A friend’s car has just
pulled up.” I dashed over to the landline phone, where we always kept a notepad
and pen. I listened carefully and wrote down the address in St John’s Wood for
which he gave me the directions from the tube station. I was to arrive for 7pm
the next night, and he would be preparing dinner for us both. As he ended the
call, I ripped the little piece of paper off the pad and stuffed it down my
bra, just as the back door opened. I walked straight up the stairs to splash
cold water on my face, but I flushed the toilet as well so that Anthony would
think what I wanted him to think.

He’d asked me
to stay overnight with him and when I’d said yes, I hadn’t given it much
thought, forgetting that I was meant to be working a shift at the hotel the
very morning that I would now be waking up next to David. I phoned Mrs Flintoff
the next morning, feigned starting with the flu and asked her if there was
anyone who I could swap a couple of shifts with. She phoned me back almost
immediately and had said it was fine – she’d managed to get my shift covered.

It had been six
weeks since our first date, assignation, rendezvous – I didn’t really know the
correct terminology for a hooker’s appointment with a client. I really didn’t
understand what had happened to my decision not to see him. I think it was the
voice, so hot and friendly and caring. I had closed my eyes on hearing it -
imagined hearing him speaking in the same room as me, close to me. My mind had
pulled his image from the very depths of my memories. I knew I shouldn’t have
gone ahead with the transaction, but I had been powerless to stop myself.

I left a note
for Anthony saying that I was out all night with the girls from work. (He still
thought I worked at the Hopkins Partnership and as he hadn’t ever bothered to
get to know any of my friends from there it would be highly likely that he
would never find out.) Rather than struggle to park my car near the address, I
decided I would take the tube.

It was ten
minutes to seven when I knocked on the door of one of the most beautiful mews
cottages I had ever seen. I could feel the nerves kicking in as I stood
waiting. I didn’t know if I was going to be able to eat; my insides were taking
tumbles and making rumbles. It felt like my heart was galloping and for a few
seconds I considered
doing
just that. I heard a key turning in the lock
and the door opened. There he stood, smiling and gesturing for me to enter with
a sweep of his arm and lowering his head. I felt like I was floating on a
cloud, lost in limbo between Heaven and Earth. Then quickly coming back down to
reality – this guy posed a danger to me and my sanity. I didn’t want or need to
be feeling the very emotion that I was trying to escape from. I should be
running.

Armani denims
and T-shirt – an entirely different look to the one I was expecting to greet
me, it was not his usual suit and tie. He looked sensational and his eyes were
positively sparkling. He took my hand in his and as he leaned in to kiss me on
the cheek, he said in a very intimate way, “Helen. How lovely to see you again.
You’re looking even more stunning than I remembered.”

Those
compliments again. Why did this
one
man actually make me believe him
when he said nice things? I flushed, more in pleasure than embarrassment and
tried to put the thoughts out of my head and make a response.

“It’s lovely to
see you again” I said as I took in the beauty of my surroundings for the first
time; cream plush carpets and two leather sofas, one coffee table, no armchairs
- very minimalist. I had always loved
my
house, but this…was something
else. The décor was tastefully done and the furnishings and carpets – clearly
no expense had been spared. I quickly added, “Wow! What a gorgeous cottage,
David. Are you renting it for the week?” My eyes scanned every inch of the room
in amazement.

“I’m fairly
pleased with it myself. I bought it two years ago. I needed a base in London. My two daughters helped me with the design and furniture.”

Had I heard him
correctly? He’d just said the word ‘daughters!’ I slowly turned to face him.
I’d just discovered something about him I hadn’t wished to know, and yet
already I wanted to know the rest of it. He would probably volunteer the
information if I didn’t ask, but I raised my eyebrows anyway “Daughters? So
where are they, David – with your wife?” I detected too much of a hint of
sarcasm in my own words.

“Yes,
daughters. And I expect they will be with their mother, Heidi, at the moment,
but she’s not my wife anymore, Helen. She hasn’t been my wife for over eight
years.”

I was
speechless and was wondering if I could manage to come up with something to say
but he added,

“I’ve been
married again since then. She was called, Joanna. We divorced four years ago.”

This was indeed
a revelation. I was finding out things I didn’t want to know. I intended that
this business transaction should be only that. Knowing personal things about my
clients’ lives just made it seem…like...as if I was involved. I’m telling
myself all these things, trying to come to terms with the fact that I have this
knowledge and my mouth acted of it’s own accord as I blurted out,

“So what went
wrong then? An affair? Did you have affairs and they…” He chuckled at that and
I instantly felt sorry for my outburst, after all, it was none of my business.
I’m his whore. I had no right to be giving him the third degree.

“It’s my work,
Helen. I travel around the world on business three parts of the year. It was a
lonely life for them both, we grew apart. No affairs though!”

Crap! I
wondered if I’d offended him and I wished I could eat the bloody words that had
just spewed out of my mouth. It was making me feel a little uncomfortable. I
had hoped for a better start to the evening.

“And no, you
haven’t offended me in the slightest, Helen, so don’t worry. Now, are you ever
going to sit down and make yourself at home and let me finish up in the
kitchen…or should I just take you upstairs right now and tie you to the bed?”

I picked up on
it immediately - how the hell had he known that I was worrying? I hadn’t
realised that I was so transparent. Or were we just in tune to each other? Yet
again, I started feeling uneasy. I was not supposed to be thinking any of this.
I felt a great urge to tell him that he
should
take me upstairs to bed
but he was going to finish preparing a meal for us – a meal I was convincing
myself would remain on my plate - untouched.

He took my hand
and led me to the settee. He waited and watched, smiling at me all the while,
whilst I parked my bottom. He grabbed a couple of magazines from the coffee
table, placed them in my lap and departed for the kitchen without another word.
I was supposed to be here on business, carrying out a duty that I was going to
be paid for. And, just like the first time we had met, he was wining and dining
me. Most of my clients want to leap on my bones the minute I walk through their
door, fuck me in any manner they see fit, thrust the payment into my hands and
get me back out of the door. I couldn’t understand David at all. He was far too
warm and caring to be a client, and why the hell would he even need a tart with
his good looks and his bank balance?

I was totally
lost in thought due to an argument that was going on between the two halves of
my brain. Summing up, one half was saying ‘run like hell, fast as you can,’ the
other half responding with ‘enjoy, you like him, don’t you?’ Forgetting where I
was for a minute, such was my dilemma I was jolted from my thoughts by David
shouting at me from the kitchen.

“Take a seat at
the dining table your ladyship - first course will be served in two minutes.”

David’s cooking
was excellent. He served up avocado with raspberries as a starter. The main
course was beef wellington, new potatoes and vegetables, which had been cooked
to perfection. For dessert he had done dark chocolate soufflés and once they
were on our plates he quickly made a hole in the top of each and poured in some
white chocolate sauce. It was heavenly. Each course was complimented with a
fresh glass of wine, and all the while we talked about our favourite foods and
our restaurant experiences. After he’d cleared away the last course he joined
me at the dining table again. The reservations I’d had earlier about whether I
would be able to eat had been unfounded. I was comfortable, relaxed and feeling
prematurely inebriated.

Elbows on the
table, chin resting on his fists, he smiled across the table at me, and I could
feel every beat of my heart as his eyes didn’t leave mine. I felt tipsy,
nervous and excited all at once – a bad mix. Could I trust myself to even
speak? I doubted it.

“So, Helen? You
know a little bit more about me tonight. My turn now. Start talking – I’m
listening.”

I smiled back
at him following his lead, placing my elbows on the table and returning his gaze,
playing a game with him. I tried hard to assume an air of mystery but I amused
myself with a silly thought that ‘pissed’ was more appropriate than ‘air of
mystery’. I giggled, still deciding on what personal details I should reveal to
him.