Fifty Days of Sin (18 page)

“Well, you can see their point,”
puts in Clive tactlessly. “If half the workforce have to work five
days a week and the other half have days off the full-time people
are bound to have to take up the slack for the part-timers.”

“It’s not quite like that,
actually, Clive,” answers Christine, clearly a little annoyed at
his comment. “People who are part-time usually end up fielding
calls when they’re not supposed to be working, and aren’t getting
paid, so it’s not like they’re slacking off or anything. And they
always make arrangements so there are other members of each client
service team physically at work, and contactable, on the days
they’re off. The clients generally seem happy enough.”

“And how are Mum and Dad?” Adam
asks Clive, changing the subject. As Clive tells his brothers how
things are going back at the family home, I feel Adam’s hand slide
round to reach my inner thigh. The conversation pauses as the
waiter takes our orders.

“And Mum’s still doing your
washing and cooking, is she?” resumes George.

“Well, it makes her happy,”
answers Clive with a lazy grin. “Who am I to argue?”

George shakes his head at his
incorrigible younger brother and asks him how his love life’s
going. I learn that Clive’s been internet dating but he claims that
all the girls he’s met this way have been freaks.

“What’s so awful about them?” I
ask, intrigued.

“Well, the first was the worst.
We met up for a drink, it was all going fine, we agreed to see each
other again, and then she started texting me. All the time. If I
didn’t text her back within the hour she’d be sending me another
message accusing me of using her. She said I was... what was the
phrase she used? Picking her up and throwing her away like a toy.
Just because I hadn’t texted her for half a day. Anyway, that one
didn’t last.”

“She does sound just a little
bit possessive,” I agree. “What about the others?”

“Oh, the next one had a hair
problem,” he says. “I mean, a serious hair problem. Honestly, she
had a proper full-on moustache like a bloke. She was quite pretty
apart from that... until she took her clothes off. And then I found
out that the hair didn’t stop there. Armpits, legs... ugh. And
more. If you know what I mean.”

“Did it not occur to you to not
get her clothes off, once you’d seen that she’d got a moustache?”
Christine asks him.

“Well, you don’t look at the
mantelpiece when you’re stoking the fire, do you?” he replies. I am
so surprised by his outrageously sexist comment that I actually
gape. I see Christine’s incredulous expression mirror mine and as
we look at each other, we burst out laughing. Unfortunately Clive
seems to see this as encouragement, so he goes on to describe his
third internet date with a woman who claimed to be twenty-six but
he estimates must have been forty-six. I find his stories little
difficult to believe, and when he says that he gave up internet
dating after this bad experience I have to admit I’m relieved to
hear it.

“Sorry about my brother,” Adam
apologises to me, fixing Clive with a hard stare. “He can sometimes
be a bit crass, but he seems to be pulling out all the stops
today.”

Our food arrives then, creating
a welcome diversion, and I start on my goat’s cheese tart, which is
lovely. I ask Christine what she and George have got planned for
the rest of the weekend. They’re going to the cinema with friends
tomorrow. As she enthuses about recent films she’s seen and
predicts that she won’t be getting to see many movies after the
baby is born, I’m glad we’ve returned to more neutral topics. Clive
still manages to be argumentative, even on the subject of favourite
films, and particularly seems to want to disagree with me at every
opportunity; but despite this, I relax a little more as I enjoy the
food. The second large glass of wine, which the waiter brought with
my starter, helps too.

We talk about music too, and
Adam tells the others about a gig he went to in the week, with
Kathy’s brother Matt. “Oh, he went out with his mate, did he, and
left you at home on your own? What are you playing at, Adam, don’t
you know how to treat a lady?” teases George.

“Well, since it was an Oasis
tribute band, and I absolutely hate the original group, let alone
some copycats who can’t write their own songs, I was happy for Matt
to fill in for me,” I grin in reply.

“Hate Oasis?” echoes Clive.
“Adam, you have got to sort your woman out. She has no taste in
music.”

“I think I’m allowed to have my
own opinions, Clive,” I retort, trying to sound good-humoured.

The main course is delicious
too, a fillet of line caught sea bass on a bed of samphire with
crispy little potatoes. Adam’s ordered me a third glass of wine,
and as it’s a 250ml glass I realise I’ll have had a whole bottle by
the time I’ve finished it. Adam’s chosen a traditional steak pie
for his main meal. It looks and smells wonderful but I’m glad I’ve
got a lighter main after my starter.

When the plates are cleared, the
waiter brings a dessert menu and Christine and I agree we can’t
resist the sound of the chocolate delice. George gives pudding a
miss but Clive orders a pear tart and Adam has the cheese board. I
laugh at him, wondering out loud where he puts it all after that
huge steak pie. We order coffees too, and with the warmth of the
wine making my head decidedly fuzzy now, I find I’m really enjoying
George and Christine’s company. I’m also enjoying the feel of
Adam’s hand, which has resumed its place on my leg now that he’s
finished eating.

When it comes to time to pay,
I’m surprised to see George and Adam split the bill. But then,
Clive isn’t earning at the moment. I suppose they want to look
after him. I reflect that Clive gets looked after a lot by his
family, and he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to thank his
brothers for their generosity. It’s none of my business though, so
I keep quiet.

Once the bill is paid, we head
out and get our bearings. George and Christine give us directions
to the nearest underground station and they seem to have memorised
the entire Tube map, telling us exactly where to change lines and
how many stops it will take to get us to Paddington. I laugh as
Christine corrects her husband when he forgets that Edgware Road is
the last stop on the Bakerloo line before Paddington. “I can tell
you two are seasoned commuters,” I tell them.

“It’s a London pastime, trying
to be the first to remember the most efficient journey from
anywhere to anywhere,” says Christine.

“Fascinating,” puts in Clive
sarcastically.

“Anyway,” continues Christine,
ignoring him, “if you get going now you should be okay to catch the
quarter past ten train.”

We say our goodbyes and walk to
the tube. I feel a little sorry for Christine, having to put up
with her husband’s obnoxious brother who is staying with them for
another night. “Is Clive always like that?” I ask Adam.

“Pretty much,” he admits. “He’s
not the most tactful person in the world. I hope he didn’t make you
feel uncomfortable?”

“Not really, I was just
surprised how different he is from you and George. It was lovely to
meet him, by the way, and Christine.”

“Yes, Christine’s great, isn’t
she? She’s used to Clive. She knows that’s just the way he is. And
it’s not like any of us have to put up with him very often. It’s
Mum and Dad I feel sorry for.”

I look at Adam. “But you do love
him, don’t you?”

He grins. “Of course. He’s my
brother. But just because I love him doesn’t mean that I don’t
realise he can be a complete idiot sometimes.”

“You know, he reminds me of
Simon a little,” I comment thoughtfully.

“Simon who I met in the Royal
Oak?”

“Yeah, he can be so annoying
too. Sometimes it’s like he’s just out to stir things up. I don’t
think he even disagrees with me really, he just wants to have an
argument.” Adam looks amused. “What?” I ask him, puzzled.

“You know why he does that,
don’t you?”

“No – why?”

“Was there ever anything between
the two of you?”

“Between us? You mean like were
we in a relationship? No! Not with Simon!”

“There you are, then. That’s
your answer.”

“What do you mean?”

“He fancies you. Isn’t it
obvious? Anyone can see he’s nuts about you. He’s jealous that he’s
never had a chance with you.”

“No! Not Simon. There’s never
been anything there between us,” I insist.

Adam shakes his head. “I think
you’ll find there is on his side.”

“Oh, come on, Adam, there are
men in the world who can resist me, you know.”

He looks at me seriously.
“Probably less of them than you think,” he comments. “I don’t think
you have any idea how beautiful you are.”

“Well, it’s lovely to hear you
say that, but I’m sure Simon doesn’t agree.”

I’m still continuing with my
denials, unable to believe it could be true, as we walk arm in arm
to the tube station. We go past the barriers and find our
platform.

It’s been nice to see this side
of Adam today, his family side, the easy camaraderie he has with
his brothers, and it was good to meet Christine too. I really got
on well with her.

Then I shiver involuntarily as I
suddenly think of the other side of Adam, the one that likes to tie
me up, hurt me, punish me. He’s already pushed me so much further
than I ever thought I would be able to endure, and I’ve found that
not only could I withstand the pain, I loved the thrill of it.
Remembering that last orgasm, when Adam had me tied to two chairs,
sends a pulse of desire through my belly. Adam looks at me
quizzically as, without realising, I tighten my grip on his arm,
and I give him a slow, sexy smile. The answering expression in his
eyes tells me that he knows what’s in my mind.

As Christine predicted, we
arrive at Paddington in time to catch the 22:15 train. We sit down
together. Of course, we have to behave ourselves on the train, even
though my mind is full of the memories of Adam’s delicious and very
sexy mistreatment of me. Since I feel drowsy after my wine I rest
my head on Adam’s shoulder. I drift into a happy slumber, the
motion of the train rocking me to sleep, but then wake with a jolt
as it pulls up into the station.

“Hello, sleepyhead,” Adam smiles
down at me, smoothing my hair away from my face.

“Oh, are we here already?”

“Yes, we’re here already. Time
to rise and shine.” He tilts my chin up with his finger and kisses
me tenderly on the lips. Oh, how I love this man. One day soon,
I’ll have to find the courage tell him.

We walk to the taxi queue and
stand in line as the people in front give their directions to the
drivers and climb into the waiting cabs. I check my phone and frown
as I see a message from Michael. Another pleading request to meet.
I hit delete; I don’t want to think about Michael right now, and I
really don’t want to encourage him by replying.

“You look serious. Was that bad
news?” asks Adam.

“My ex again,” I admit. “You’d
think he’d get the message by now.”

“The one that waited for you the
other night? Drives the green Golf?” I nod. He turns to me, his
tone suddenly serious. “Justine, if he keeps on bothering you, you
must tell me. Do you understand? Don’t keep this from me. I’m not
happy about this guy. I want you to promise you’ll tell me if he
turns up looking for you again.”

“Okay,” I agree, somewhat taken
back by the vehemence of his tone.

He squeezes my hand silently and
the last couple in front of us climb into their cab. We move along
and another taxi pulls up to take us home.

“Don’t worry, Adam, I’m sure I
can handle Michael,” I reassure him as we get into the back of the
car. “Really.”

Saturday, 2 June

BACK AT MY PLACE, WE RELAX on
the sofa and channel-hop. I’m cradling a steaming cup of tea, hot
and comforting after the wine I had at dinner with his brothers.
“Why is it that there are about three hundred channels and all of
them are rubbish?” asks Adam.

“It’s always the same,” I agree.
“Have a look through the skybox.”

Adam starts to search the shows
I’ve recorded. “Ooh, stop,” I tell him. “Let’s watch University
Challenge.”

“University Challenge? Don’t you
want something a bit more relaxing on a Saturday night?”

“No, I love University
Challenge,” I pout. “Don’t you want to watch it?”

“Well, I suppose it’s only half
an hour,” he concedes and selects the quiz show from the Sky Plus
list.

Jeremy Paxman introduces the
teams. “Oh, look, it’s an Oxford versus Cambridge match,” I say to
Adam. Trinity College Cambridge are lining up against Corpus
Christi, Oxford. “This should be a good match.”

“Why exactly should that be a
good match?” he queries with raised eyebrows. “Do the teams have to
be from Oxford or Cambridge to be any good at this?” This sounds a
little like jealousy – Adam studied law at Warwick, a good
university but not one of the elite top two in the country.

“You know that’s not what I
mean,” I chide him. “There are lots of other teams that are good,
but as a generalisation, Oxford and Cambridge teams are more likely
to be made up of bright people with a broad knowledge base that’s
conducive to getting a good score on this show. Corpus Christi won
in 2009 – or should have won – they were disqualified and the title
went to Manchester in the end. Do you remember? It was the year
there was all that stuff in the newspaper about the Oxford captain
– Gail someone or other. There were articles in the newspaper for
weeks debating whether she was a new breed of sexy bluestocking or
just very intelligent and rather smug.”

Adam is looking at me blankly.
“That one must have passed me by,” he notes wryly. “Anyway, I’ve
got my own new breed of sexy bluestocking right here.”