Girl After Dark (4 page)

He quickly understands what I’m suggesting, and with a shiver, I feel his hands urge me even further backwards, pulling me right back towards his face.

I let out a small involuntary sigh as I feel his tongue touch lightly against my clit, lapping my tender button, sending fresh electric trembles right the way through me. And as I grind myself even further back against him, his tongue working me in delicious circles, I focus once more on his cock, taking him in my mouth and sucking him eagerly, overcome by the sensations of pleasure shivering through me.

This isn’t something we’ve done before. But it feels so
good
, to be both giving and receiving at the same time.

I gasp again, as Will works his tongue deep inside me, his hands moving to my buttocks, urging me to ride his face now. And as I do, sucking him harder and faster, realizing that he’s growing so big in my mouth he can’t be far away.

With a final shivery gasp, I come hard against Will’s face, his tongue once more lapping wildly at my clit, and a moment later he does too, flooding my mouth. I gulp him back, my own pleasure still shooting around my body in sharp electric flashes.

And after we’re both finished, I snuggle next to him in a cuddle, both of us sweaty and shivering. At first I feel a little surprised at how unusual that was for me, which quickly leads to a small pang of embarassment once more at just
what
we did. I push a wild strand of hair from my flushed, grinning face.

“That was kind of … full on,” Will says afterwards with a slightly confused expression. And that’s when I feel a
second
pang of embarrassment, stronger than the first.

“Oh,” murmur, kind of crushed. “Didn’t you like it?”

“No, it was fun, babe,” he says, planting a soft kiss on my cheek. “But I guess I just like things the way they always have been …”

What does he mean by
that?
I wonder. Because I can’t help but think that ‘the way things always have been’ is kind of … well … boring.

And I’m still lying there, puzzling this out, when Will pushes himself up and out of bed.

“If I don’t make a move now,” he explains, “I’m totally gonna miss my first lecture.”

I sigh and nod as I watch him pull on his jeans, knowing there’s no use in trying to keep him here any longer.

“Not
all
of us get to sit around at home and blog about their perfect lives,” he adds with a cheeky grin before pulling on his t-shirt.

“Oh no, it’s
way
harder than you think,” I joke back, trying to play it cool and not get too worked up about what just happened. “I’ve got to paint my nails and everything! When do I get to see you again, anyway?”

“I’ll let you know,” he says kind of sheepishly, checking something on his phone. “I’m crazy busy over the next few days. I’ve got an exam coming up. But I’ll call you soon though, yeah?”

He looks up from the screen of his phone, giving me one of his winning smiles that always has me melting, and soon my embarassment is forgotten.

“But in the meantime,” he adds hopefully, “maybe you could send me another one of those videos, yeah?”

I laugh, then shake my head. “That was a one time only deal, I’m afraid!”

§

Once Will’s left, I sit at the kitchen table and begin my day:
blogging about my perfect life
as he puts it.

I’m serious about what I said to Will, though. It
is
harder than it sounds.

You know how when you’re going for dinner with your boyfriend’s parents? And you have to be on your very best behaviour? You want to wear a dress that’s stylish, so that he thinks you look cute, but you also can’t wear anything too slutty, so that his mum doesn’t give you side-eye all evening. Well, that’s basically my
entire
life
. I spend my time trying to be the best version of myself that I can possibly be. Some of the girls who look up to me are really young, you see, and I feel responsible for them.

It
does
get tiring sometimes.

But listen to me! When this whole thing kicked off, I pinched myself because it felt so unreal. So right now, I’m making a promise to myself, never to complain about my life again. Because there
is
so much that’s perfect.

For a start, there’s Will, of course.

And then there’s my flat, too. Looking around it now, I still can’t quite believe that I actually live here, in Islington — an area I would never have dreamed I could afford, back when I was working in retail. And
on my own
, too. No flatmates means that I get to decorate it exactly how I want, too.

As I gaze around my open-plan kitchen living room, everything really is to my own personal taste. There’s a lot of colour for a start. I’m particularly pleased with my latest find — this amazingly kitsch vintage bar that I picked up in a car boot sale when I went to visit my mum in Hastings, just a few weeks ago. I’ve been collecting vintage glasses and bar ware for the longest time, and I’m so pleased they finally have a home.

The kitchen is
definitely
a girl’s kitchen. Will says it looks like a Wendy house or something. But I don’t care: I love it. Everything is in cute pastel shades of baby blue, yellow and mint green. I think it kind of looks like a 1950’s American ice cream parlour. It makes me so happy. And of course, anything American reminds me of Daddy, too.

And thinking about him just then, I make a mental note to reply to his last email — or maybe even Skype him. It’s been too long since I asked how he was doing.

Scanning back over to the living room, I’m satisfied that the place is perfectly tidy. There isn’t a throw, cushion or vase out of place. But my new bar … You know, I don’t think I’ve got the arrangement of glasses quite right yet …

And I’m just about to head over to the corner of the room, ready to get all my organizing creative fingers in gear, when I glance up at the clock and realise.

Oh no!

How did it get to ten o’ clock already?

I haven’t even finished my blog post or got fully dressed yet.

I’m gonna have to get my skates on if I’m not going to be late to meet Katy …

§

“Oh Honey, your necklace is really gorgeous! Where did you get it from?” Katy coos, her brown eyes widening as I take off my coat and she first catches sight of it.

Katy’s my best friend, has been since I was six years old, and I still always smile when I see her gentle pear-shaped face and her glossy mass of corkscrew curls. 

Today we’re meeting in this cute little cafe that Katy’s chosen, just around the corner from her publisher’s offices in Bloomsbury.

“Wait, don’t tell me!” she continues. “You just stumbled across it like magic in a charity shop, when all I ever seem to find in those places is musty old shoes!”

“Not exactly,” I reply, as I take my seat. “Don’t hate me but …”

“Oh, I know,” Katy groans. “It was sent to you, wasn’t it? By this amazing new jewelry company who gave it to you for free because you’re so amazingly stylish?”

“Soreeee!” I reply, guilty as charged. “It came in the post this morning. Isn’t it gorgeous? I was looking on their website. They’ve got
tons
of great stuff. You should totally have a look. And anyway, you can borrow it, any time you like!”

“I know, I know,” says Katy. “You always say that. But I just don’t have the same knack for dressing as you. It wouldn’t look half as hot on me. I don’t know how you do it.”

Just then the waitress comes to take our order, and I realise we’ve been so busy talking about my necklace I haven’t even looked at the menu!

Luckily everything looks totally delicious, so I choose the first thing that takes my fancy, a salmon and cream cheese bagel.

“I hope you’ve got room for cake afterwards!” I add with a cheeky smile. “They look totally amazing, too.”

“I wish,” she sighs. “But I’ve got meetings with authors
all afternoon
. I can only stay for another half an hour I’m afraid.”

“How’s work going by the way?”

Katy’s only been at the publishing company for six months, you see, and so far she’s still at the very bottom of the ladder — she always jokes about how she’s ‘someone’s
assistant’s
assistant’.

“Manic,” she replies with a sigh. “But, things are looking up, I think. They’ve been giving me lots of manuscripts to read recently and it’s actually starting to look like they’re listening to some of my opinions! Plus, I’ve seen my boss applying for jobs, and if she goes somewhere else then I’ve got a really good chance of moving up the ladder.”

“That’s awesome!” I say.

“Well, we all know
your
job’s amazing. How’s life otherwise? How’s everything going with Will?”

“Good,” I reply, kind of hesitantly. “But, the only thing is …”

At this my mind casts back to this morning. What did he even
mean
when he said he preferred things the way they’d always been? I thought that maybe a new chapter was starting in our sex lives, only to have him shut it down like that before it had properly begun. But I don’t want to get into all that with Katy. She’s single right now and it might seem like gloating. And anyway, there’s another problem she can help me with when it comes to Will, too …

“Come on, spit it out,” she urges.

“Oh, it’s just that he’s so busy all the time,” I sigh. “I hardly ever see him. I keep telling myself that he’s not going to be studying forever, but it really does feel like that sometimes. And when
do
see him, that means I want to do something special, like go out for dinner or whatever. But then that brings up
another
problem: because he’s still studying, he’s just so broke all the time. And if I offer to pay, well, he finds that kind of emasculating. It just feels like I can’t win sometimes …”

“I can see where he’s coming from,” Katy replies sensitively. “Guys just don’t like to be paid for, you know? And it’s not like he’s a waster, Melissa. After all, he’s training to be a
doctor
, remember? Soon he’ll be able to take care of
you
, for life … Not that you need it or anything. But you know what I mean! You’ve got more money than most people our age. You’re lucky. Just be careful you don’t rub his face in it, that’s all. And besides, your whole
thing
is creativity on a budget, right?”

I nod.

“I’m sure if you put your mind to it, you could do something that didn’t cost the earth. Think back to the kinds of things you used to do when you were in uni. I’m sure there’s all kinds of inexpensive ways you could surprise him …”

And you know what? She’s right.

That private video was just the start.

I’m gonna get thinking on how to create a night in that Will’s
never
going to forget!
 

 

Before I hit the upload button, I watch my latest video back, one final time. It’s called ‘Complete 1940’s Land Girl Look!’ and you know what? I actually look pretty good in it, even if I do say so myself!

I haven’t gone
full
1940’s … I mean, I’m wearing stockings; it’s not like I’ve stained my legs with cold teabags and drawn a Kohl line along the back of my leg as a seam. But I’ve got the most perfect lemon yellow tea dress on, and my hair is up with a beautiful baby blue headscarf.

I spent extra time doing my makeup for this video and it really shows. But there’s a little extra that I
didn’t
show on camera: I’ve packed my vintage picnic hamper with cheese and crackers, homemade bread and jam, and a chilled bottle of prosecco.

Because this is my surprise for Will.

I’ve prepared him a full ‘wartime experience’ picnic, you see. I’m going to go round to his house right now, to tell him that he’s “officially on leave from his duties” so that he can have a picnic with his sweetheart.

And this time, I’m not going to come on too strong again and scare him off.

I’m going to be sweet and demure and for once I’ll behave like a proper little lady. I just
know
he’d love that.

I’ve made a playlist of 1940s ragtime music, too, that we can listen to while we eat and I’m sure he’s going to love my surprise. But best of all? It hardly cost me a thing. I even made the bread myself.

(Well, okay, the 1940s inspired bra and panties set I picked up in Coco De Mer earlier this afternoon was
pretty pricey. But Will doesn’t need to know that, does he?)

The video finishes playing and I feel that distinctive thrill as I click upload. Because soon, it will be watched by hundreds of
thousands
of people.

And I’m feeling so confident that I don’t even need to check my bright red lipstick in the mirror one last time, the way I normally do, before heading out of my flat.

I pull on an appropriate olive green, military-style coat, pick up my basket, then head excitedly out of the door.

I just can’t
wait
for Will to see me now …

§

Knock, knock, knock!

I stand there on the doorstep outside Will’s shared student house in Hackney, waiting impatiently. I mean, he’s definitely in — I can hear music drifting from his second-floor window — but it must be too loud for him to hear the bell, because he’s taking
ages
to come down and answer the door.

I’m tempted to send him a text message, to let him know that I’m here. But that would ruin my period look! After all, they didn’t have mobile phones back in the 1940s, did they?!

Eventually, the front door swings open, and I arrange my face into my sweetest smile, offering my basket out in front of me, but my cute little gesture is wasted on Shaun, Will’s stoner flatmate.

From the look of confusion on his face, it’s obvious that he’s been smoking weed alone in his room all night, listening to heavy rock music and playing World of Warcraft, just like always. He looks
so
puzzled in fact, his eyes all pink and squinty, that I feel like I should probably start by introducing myself all over again, even though I’ve known him now for almost three years now.

Eventually he speaks, his voice just a low stoned croak. “Oh … hey, Melissa. Wassup? Will’s up in his room, I think?”

Before I can say thank you, he stumbles back down the corridor towards the kitchen, most likely to grab himself some munchies.

So I take a step into the hall, closing the front door carefully behind me, then begin to make my way nervously up the stairs, feeling the butterflies in my tummy swirling and fluttering with each new step I take. I don’t even quite know why I’m so nervous. I guess I just want everything to be perfect …

At the top of the stairs, just outside the door to Will’s room, I pause.

I rearrange my silk stockings, and try once more to get into character.

I’m his 1940s hometown sweetheart
, I tell myself,
and I’m about to make him forget all his troubles with my homemade bread and jam …

I take a deep breath then push his door open wide.

“Private William Hamilton,” I begin, “you are officially …”

But then I stop, the words freezing in my throat, the cold horror flashing quickly up my spine.

I process the scene, bit by bit:

Will is in bed.

Will is not
alone
in bed.

Will is in bed with another girl.

A
naked
girl.

“Mel,” he begins, pulling the covers up around himself, “oh Christ, Mel, it’s, um, it’s not what it looks like …”

But how in the world could it be anything else?

“Who’s
she
?” the overly made up
brunette next to him says in bitchy sneer as she pulls the covers up defensively over her breasts, which are definitely larger than mine.

Before I even know what’s happening, I can feel the basket slip from my fingers, plummeting towards the hardwood floor at my feet.

And as the wine bottle shatters with an almighty crash, I feel my heart shatter too.

§

“I know this sounds weird,” I sob, slumped on Katy’s sofa an hour or so later, a mug of tea clutched between my trembling fingers, “like, why did I even
notice
it, with everything else that was happening, but when I opened the door to Will’s room, the first thing he did was stub out a cigarette, hoping I hadn’t seen it. He was
smoking
? When did he start doing that? He’s training to be a
doctor
for God’s sake.”

At this, Katy gives me a sad, consolatory smile and gently rubs my shoulder, urging me to continue.

“And then?” I say. “The girl said to him, ‘I thought you broke up with her weeks ago?’ What does
that
even mean, Katy? Was he planning to break up with me all along, and he just didn’t have the guts to tell me? Or was he planning to string us both along? And what if she’s not the first? How many other girls have there been while he’s been supposedly ‘studying for exams’?”

“I don’t know,” Katy replies sadly. “I can’t tell you what’s been going on, Melissa. But I
can
tell you this. He’s a coward, an idiot, a loser. Look, I didn’t want to tell you, but he’s been acting like a total dick ever since you quit working in Topshop, ever since the whole VintageHoney thing took off. You know what? I think he might be jealous. And …” At this she sighs, looking suddenly nervous.

“What?” I say, feeling a fresh pang of worry. “What is it, Katy?”

“Well, I didn’t want to tell you,” she says, her eyes fixed on the floor, “because I
really
hoped it was nothing. But he tried to come onto me one night, about a year ago. At the time, I wasn’t totally sure. I thought I might have just misread the situation. But now? It’s totally clear what he was up to.”

Katy sighs, blowing a wayward curl from her pretty face. She seems even more angry with Will right now than
I
am.

“Give me your phone,” she says.

“What?” I say, confused.

“Give me your phone,” she repeats, decisively.

I sniff and wipe away the last of my tears with the back of my hand, then obediently dig my phone out of my bag and hand it over.

“What’s your pass code?”

I tell her — 1989 — the year of my birth.

Katy taps it in, fiddles around with my phone for a few moments and then hands it back to me. It’s open on my Facebook: on Will’s page.

“Go on,” she says. “You know what to do, Melissa. Delete him.”

I feel a sudden small rush; it’s so stupid that Facebook is
this
important, but at the same time, I realize that in this one small way at least, I can take back some control.

I take a deep breath then tap the button.

“There,” Katy says with a smile. “Now you never have to speak to him again. And what’s more, he’ll
know
it’s over.”