The Boss (23 page)

For all his sexual dominance, Stephen was doing his best to be accommodating, only voicing concern when I asked if I could set up my drum kit in his flat. I'd always been banned from keeping it at home, meaning I had to practise in Josie's garage and pick it up from there when we played. Fortunately, the state Josie's dad was in most of the time he wouldn't have noticed if we'd let a bomb off under his chair, and Stephen eventually managed to persuade me it was best to keep things that way.

Otherwise there wasn't much I needed. Stephen still didn't know how I usually dressed, but that wasn't really a problem, more an excuse for a huge shopping spree, which I could now afford. Mum was going to be delighted about that too, because she'd been expecting me to grow out of my punk phase for years and getting increasingly exasperated when I didn't.

I wanted some time to sort things out by myself as well, so I asked Stephen if he'd drop me off and collect me in the late afternoon. He agreed readily enough, and I ended up at home, or rather what had been home
for so many years, with the smell of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding drifting from the open kitchen window. Inside, they were getting ready to eat, Mum fussing around, my sisters squabbling over who was sitting where, Steve teasing my baby brother by pretending we were eating roast dog. I immediately felt deeply lonely at the thought of leaving, but I wasn't given a minute to reflect, Mum immediately thrusting an oven cloth into my hands.

‘There you are, Felicity, just on time as usual. Could you drain the vegetables, please.'

I drained the vegetables, helped put out the plates, put some new butter in the dish and finally managed to sit down as Steve began to carve. There was no sign of Archie Feltham, slightly to my surprise, as he was always keen to freeload Mum's Sunday roasts. Mum seemed a little stressed too, so I posed a careful question.

‘No Archie?'

Her answer left no room for doubt.

‘I am no longer seeing Mr Feltham.'

‘Oh. Sorry.'

‘Never mind. I know you didn't like him anyway. Could you pass the pepper please?'

I passed the pepper, and waited until the complicated little ritual of getting all the right food on all the right plates had been completed before speaking again.

‘I've got something very important to tell you. Stephen has asked me to move in with him and I've said I will.'

I could see the mixed emotions on Mum's face even before she answered.

‘Oh, that's lovely. I am glad. He seems such a nice man. He lives in Brettenham, doesn't he?'

‘Yes, in a converted mill. How did you know?'

‘We often talk, at Cuatro Cortado.'

‘Oh. Anyway, I'm going.'

Only Mum seemed even vaguely interested, making me feel even more sorry for myself. Steve was doing his best to get his dinner in his mouth, but finally found the time to say something.

‘D'you want to borrow the van?'

‘No thanks. There's not really that much I want to take. I'm leaving my drums at Josie's.'

‘Best place for 'em. She wants to see you, got a gig, I think.'

‘Oh, right. Where, Hockwold Airbase?'

‘Nah, your show was a bit dirty for them. Billy got torn off a right strip. It's someplace called the Flying Fortress, a club I think.'

‘Thanks, I'll go over later.'

I settled down to eat, now wondering how I should broach the subject of Rubber Dollies with Stephen. He knew I played the drums, he knew I played venues occasionally, but he had no idea of the details. I could hardly see our brand of retro punk gelling with his tastes, but so far at least he'd been tolerant save in his conviction that his opinion was always definitive.

By the time we'd finished lunch I was feeling pleasantly full and more than a little sleepy, with the excesses of the previous two nights finally catching up with me. I went up to my room to sort my things out but simply sat down on the bed, suddenly overcome with melancholy. All my life I'd been in that same room, and it was very much me: my bed, my things strewn all over the place, my posters on the walls, all of it very much me and very much not Stephen. He was tidy, almost obsessively so, while I loved to live in
chaos. His flat was intensely masculine, and while that was sure to change I couldn't quite see myself in his room blending together different colours of eye shadow to try to get the perfect purple. Then there was the row of dolls and bears who'd sat along the top of my wardrobe, untouched for nearly ten years, but still mine and I couldn't imagine bringing them. They'd seen enough, God knows, and it was the most ridiculous thought, but I didn't want them to watch while I was being spanked.

For a good ten minutes I just sat there staring into space, feeling deeply homesick. Reminding myself of how good I'd felt that morning didn't help at all, and I only managed a wan smile when Mum called upstairs for me to help with the washing-up. That at least would change, as Stephen had a dishwasher and to judge by his performance so far was too precious about his things to let me anywhere near them. I hadn't even been allowed to polish his wine glasses because he was scared I might snap the stems.

When I'd finished I went out, having decided that all I really needed to take with me was a bag of clothes and a few obvious basics from the bathroom. I would start shopping in my lunch break on Monday and keep going until I had a decent wardrobe again, only in a completely different style, what Mum would have considered a grown-up style.

I'd put on jeans and a sloppy top, which was just as well as I was getting close to Josie's house when she pulled up beside me and motioned that I should get on the back of her bike. She started off the instant I was mounted up, forcing me to cling on tight to her waist. After what I'd been thinking about, and saying, with Martin I couldn't help but feel self-conscious but at
least she didn't know. Or so I thought. Her first words as she took off her helmet sending blood rushing to my face.

‘What's with the kinky fantasies, you little perve?'

There was only one thing it could be, as I was very sure indeed nobody else knew about what I'd been getting up to with Stephen. I immediately felt bad for Josie, embarrassed for myself and angry at Martin.

‘Jesus, can't anybody keep their mouth shut around here? Sorry, Josie, I . . .'

She stepped forward and hugged me, a purely friendly gesture, but she couldn't resist giving me a swat on my bum as she moved back.

‘Don't worry about it. I know you, and I know what men are like. He wanted to get off on some fake lezzie fantasy, right?'

‘Something like that, yes.'

She shook her head, grinning, and I let myself relax, only to have the blood rush back to my face, hotter than ever as she spoke again.

‘So how'd you really get the marks on your bum then?'

I didn't know what to say, whether to claim Martin had been lying or that I'd been playing about with somebody. From the small, sly smile on Josie's face I knew she wasn't going to be fooled. I shrugged, my face the colour of beetroot as I answered.

‘My . . . my new boyfriend, he's a bit kinky.'

‘A bit?'

‘OK, seriously kinky. Look, please don't tell anyone, Josie, you know what they're like. Please?'

She was trying not to laugh as she answered.

‘OK, I promise. So what's the deal, he hit you with a
cane? I know you, Fizz, so how come he's not wearing his balls as an extra pair of tonsils?'

‘I don't know, I honestly don't. He just makes me feel different, like I want to be . . . to be punished. Not nastily, there's nothing nasty about it . . . not really. I don't know, Josie . . .'

I trailed off, close to tears. She reached out to put a hand on my shoulder and I gave in to my emotions, the tears streaming down my face even as I continued to attempt to explain.

‘He likes to be in control of me, and to punish me when I'm bad . . . naughty, and I love it. I don't love it, I crave it. It's like an addiction, and I really, really do not want everybody to know. You understand, don't you?'

‘Hey, come on, Fizz. You know I understand. What do you think it's like being the only dyke in town?'

I managed a smile.

‘Tough, I suppose.'

‘Yeah, it's tough, and you've always stuck up for me. Now stop crying or you'll set me off, you big baby.'

She took me in her arms, hugging me close to her, but only for a moment before she broke away.

‘Better watch it, or we'll set the curtains twitching.'

‘We do that anyway. Steve says you've got a gig?'

‘Yeah, another one from Billy. There's this club in Norwich, the Flying Fortress, which is really popular with the Yanks. It's a jazz place, but they've managed to get us in, or else they don't know what we play. We even get paid!'

‘Shit! Great, so when is it?'

‘Next Saturday.'

‘Brilliant, only it's going to take a bit of explaining to Stephen. He doesn't even know about Rubber Dollies,
and he thinks I'm this sweet, innocent little thing . . . well, maybe not so innocent.'

‘Why tell him?'

‘Because I'm going to be living with him. I can't just bugger off with no explanation, can I?'

‘You could say it was a girls' night out or something. You can change here.'

‘I'm going to have to tell him some time.'

‘Your call.'

JOSIE WAS RIGHT
that it was my call, and it was not an easy one. I'd have far preferred to just carry on as before, but as Rubber Dollies still seemed to be alive despite all our difficulties I wasn't going to be the one to break it up. I was going to have to tell Stephen, but the thought of him attending a gig was hideously embarrassing, so I could only hope he'd accept it as part of my life that didn't involve him.

When he came to pick me up he was astonished to find that I had only one bag, and admitted it.

‘I had visions of you standing on the pavement surrounded by furniture and piles of knick-knacks.'

‘Not me. I travel light.'

‘So I see. I'm sorry about the drums too, but maybe we could sort something out.'

‘Don't worry, they're better off where they are, as long as you don't mind me going off to practise now and then.'

‘Not at all. I don't want to tie you down.'

‘Oh, I was rather hoping . . .'

‘Very funny. No doubt something can be arranged, if you insist, although it's not really my thing. Seriously, you're to come and go as you please, and not to feel I'm in any way holding you back. I do realise there's quite an age gap between us.'

‘Thanks, and talking about drums, my friend Sam
has set up a gig for our band next Saturday, in a jazz club in Norwich.'

‘Jazz? Jazz has a certain style, I'll admit.'

‘We're not playing jazz, we're playing retro punk.'

‘Ah, I suppose I might have guessed from your taste in music. In that case, I hope you won't be offended if I don't attend?'

‘Not at all. I know you'd hate it. Thanks.'

I kissed him, thoroughly happy with the outcome. It was surprising to find him so accommodating when he was such a control freak in the bedroom and the office, but I wasn't complaining. He'd started the car, and spoke again as we pulled out into the road.

‘Will you want to come back late, or stay here?'

‘Um . . . I don't know. It might be really late and we'll all be together in the van, so it might be best if I crashed here. Sorry, I don't mean to spoil the weekend, especially when there's so much work on during the week.'

‘Don't worry, we can make up for it on Friday night.'

I knew how, and answered his big dirty grin with a smile. Maybe life was going to be good after all.

We drove south and east by the now familiar route. Once back at Stephen's I quickly found myself in the same state of bliss I'd been enjoying before and wondering why I'd felt so upset. It wasn't even the wrong time of the month. The evening was also warm and dry, so we ate outside, on the strip of lawn between the mill and the river, sipping cold white wine with smoked salmon and a potato salad.

Once we'd watched the sun set behind the row of tall poplars on the opposite bank of the river we went indoors and to bed. This time our sex was slow and loving and equal which, while beautiful in its way,
failed to bring out the full agonising intensity of being under his command and his hand.

We were up early on Monday and work was absolutely frantic, with endless comings and goings from the council, who seemed to have an infinite capacity for detail and an infinite number of committees, all of which wanted to stick their oar in. Stephen seemed to regard it all as some great game, and I tried to take the same attitude.

I did at least manage to get my shopping done, using most of my first pay cheque to buy myself two more smart skirt suits and a lot of the very feminine casual wear Stephen seemed to like, particularly long, loose skirts and girlie blouses. Hockford being Hockford, that sort of thing was far easier to buy than punk gear, most of which I'd got on the Net.

Tuesday was much the same. I'd gone up to the council offices to explain to Mr Phelps that if we placed a camera in the position his committee had decided on it would actually be mounted in the centre of a plate glass window. Their receptionist and I were getting quite friendly, hardly surprising when I was seeing more of her than my family, and she greeted me with a smile and nodded me through security. Mr Phelps wasn't in his office, but as I passed the committee room next door I saw that he was at the table, along with Mrs Shelby, Mr Burrows and various others I recognised. I waited, unsure what to do, but they had seen me and Mr Burrows beckoned for me to come in, speaking immediately.

‘Ah, Felicity, I was hoping Mr English and Mr Minter would be coming up?'