Untouchable (35 page)

Nothing. Nothing very much at all.

50

Easter Sunday, 19 April

The knock on the door makes me jump. I put down my roll of packing tape and peer through the spyhole.

Oh God. I stand there for a moment or two, wondering whether to pretend I’m out. But he probably heard me coming.

I open the door. Ben stands in the passageway, holding a large Easter egg. One of those over-the-top affairs swaddled in layers of cellophane and tied at the neck with a huge gold bow.

‘Peace offering,’ he says, holding it towards me, but shuffling slightly, like someone waiting for bad news. ‘Good stuff. I figured you prefer your chocolate dark, high cocoa content and all that.’

‘Thanks,’ I say, taking it from him.

‘Stella, I …’ He stops and peers past me into the hallway, catching sight of the boxes I’ve already loaded and sealed. ‘You’re leaving?’ he says, unable to hide a flash of disappointment.

I nod. ‘Come in.’

He walks into the living room. I turn off my iPod, remove the headphones.

‘You should get an e-reader,’ Ben says, surveying more boxes crammed with books. ‘It would save an awful lot of effort.’ He’s trying to sound light-hearted but it doesn’t quite come off.

I offer him a smile. ‘I prefer something with more substance.’

He turns and raises an eyebrow.

‘Don’t,’ I warn.

He scans the flat. Looks everywhere, it seems, but at me. ‘Where are you going?’ he asks eventually. ‘Another apartment?’

I shake my head. ‘I’m leaving.’

‘OK,’ he swallows. ‘Where?’

‘I’m not sure yet.’

‘How long?’

I shrug. ‘I don’t know. A while.’

His features struggle for composure. I can see this isn’t what he was expecting at all. ‘I came to say I’m sorry. About the last time. You know, how things ended.’

I shrug again. ‘It’s all right.’

‘It isn’t. It wasn’t.’ He pauses, scratches his nose. ‘I miss you.’ His eyes scour the remaining piles of paperbacks. ‘Actually, I was wondering if you might be able to fit me in …’ His words trail off. He looks embarrassed.

‘For old times’ sake, you mean?’

‘I know I should have rung and made an appointment.’

I look at him and come to a decision. ‘OK? When?’

‘Now?’ His expression sheepish.

I laugh. ‘The itch that bad, eh?’

He doesn’t answer.

‘I’ll go and get ready,’ I say, but he steps across the pile of books between us and kisses me.

‘No. I’ll settle for you exactly as you are.’

We go into the bedroom and undress. Or rather I undress. Ben stands there, staring as I peel off my T shirt and yoga pants. ‘I want to watch you,’ he says, when I raise my eyebrows.

‘Masturbate?’

‘No.’ His voice cross. ‘Just you, Stella.’

I slip off my bra and step towards him. ‘You’re making me self-conscious.’

He lifts one eyebrow. ‘You? Seriously?’

I realize it’s true. I’ve stripped for hundreds of clients, without a thought. But now, in front of Ben, I feel naked.

‘Come on.’ I tug at the button above his flies. He relents and sheds his clothes, all but his boxers. His erection pokes at the fabric like an obscene tent pole. We fall on to the bed. He grabs the condom I hand him, dispenses with his underwear and unfurls it on to his cock. Then pushes himself inside me without preliminaries, fast and urgent.

I feel myself get instantly wet. I squeeze myself around him, letting my hips rock and his tongue roam deep in my mouth, marvelling at the perfect fit between us.

‘Stella,’ he whispers into my ear as he fucks me. I close my eyes. Find a merciful blankness there.

‘Oh God,’ Ben gasps, and at the same time I feel the world fall away, leaving me at once both heavy-limbed and light-headed, a deep spreading lethargy radiating out from my crotch like an anaesthetic.

‘Jesus, Stella.’ Ben rolls off, one arm still draped across me. ‘I’ve been thinking about you … about this, for weeks. It got so I thought I must be imagining how good it was.’

I don’t say anything. Just enjoy the afterglow while it lasts.

At some point afterwards I must doze off, because all at once Ben is standing over me, holding a cup of tea.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I keep doing that.’

He hands me the mug. ‘A drop of milk, right?’

I nod, suppressing a smile. He’s wearing my dressing gown, looking ludicrous in rose-pink silk. He climbs back into bed beside me. Props himself up on one elbow and strokes my hair.

‘I left her,’ he says, out of the blue. ‘Helen, my wife. I moved out a couple of weeks ago.’ He watches my reaction, trying to read my expression.

‘I’m sorry,’ I repeat.

He shrugs. ‘No need to be. I should have done it years ago. Both of us knew it wasn’t working.’

I picture my ex, living in that two-up, two-down in Sheffield with the girl he met after we broke up. I hope he’s happy, I realize. I hope he marries her and never thinks of me at all.

‘So where are you going?’ Ben asks again.

I sigh. ‘Like I said, I’m not sure.’

‘You’re staying in London though, right?’

I shake my head. Something in him seems to deflate.

‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘There’s plenty more where I came from. I can recommend someone, if you like.’

‘Stella, don’t.’ He looks away. ‘Don’t do this.’

I look up at the ceiling. Chew my bottom lip. ‘Where will you live?’ I ask. ‘Have you bought somewhere else?’

He shakes his head. ‘I’m staying with a friend – until I decide what to do.’

I don’t speak, feeling suddenly weary. All the resolutions of the past twenty-four hours start to slip away.

‘Stella?’

‘Yes?’

Ben is watching me, gauging. I see him hesitate, then bite back whatever he was going to ask. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

I drag myself into a sitting position, take a sip of my tea and wince. Still too hot to drink. ‘I’d better get on,’ I say. ‘I’ve got somebody coming round with a van first thing tomorrow to collect all this.’

Ben swallows, visibly. Emotion slides across his face. All the things left unsaid hang in the air like smoke.

I get up, pull on my clothes and walk into the living room. Survey the debris on the floor. Sitting on one pile of books is my mobile. I pick it up. Turn it around in my hand for a minute or two, then click on my messages. Find Lennart’s text.

I inhale. Close my eyes.
Whatever it takes.

Thumbing through my contacts, I locate his number. Let my finger hover for a couple of seconds. Then press delete.

Turning off the phone, I go over to the window. I gaze out across the neighbouring gardens, across the roofs of Pimlico, the sky turning golden as the light begins to dim. A few yards away a cherry tree has burst into flower, a riot of white blossom against the backdrop of brick and grass. Spring is here, I realize, with a small lift in my heart. Finally.

At the end of the road I can just hear the distant hum of traffic, the endless London percussion of engines and car horns. I swallow, feeling the tug of leaving before I’ve even left.

No regrets, I tell myself. No going back. You’ve made your decision.

Ben emerges from the bedroom, dressed now. He grabs the jacket he slung on the sofa and pulls out his wallet. Extracts some notes. His eye contact fleeting as he holds them out to me.

I wave it away.

Ben raises his eyes to mine, his expression enquiring. ‘You’ve changed your rates?’

‘I gave it up,’ I say simply. ‘I quit.’

He stares at me for a moment or two, taking this in. Then drops his gaze, scratching his head. ‘So what about …’ He gestures towards the bedroom.

‘What about it?’

He takes a step towards me. ‘Stella, I …’

I look at him. Right up into his deep brown eyes.

‘Grace.’

Ben looks perplexed. Like I’ve uttered some kind of riddle. ‘Grace?’

‘That’s me.’ I say, closing the distance between us, smiling at the confusion on his face as I lift my hand and place it on his cheek. Detect the beginnings of stubble below my fingertips, the soft skin beneath.

‘You?’ He looks more confused and reaches up to place his hand on mine. And there it is, only for a second, the temptation to withdraw. Dissemble. Turn back.

But no. Not this time.

This time I’m not running away.

‘That’s my name, Ben.’ I let my fingers linger on his face, making myself wait just a few more seconds before I lean in to kiss him.

‘My real name.’ I whisper. ‘It’s not Stella, it’s Grace.’

About the Author

Ava Marsh grew up in Margate, Kent. A former broadsheet journalist, she gave it up to work in the charity sector and write novels.

Ava currently lives in Battersea in London. She has a boyfriend in academia, but they don’t live together. Her hobbies include running, kayaking and photography.
Untouchable
is her first novel.

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First published in Great Britain by Bantam Press
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Copyright © Ava Marsh 2015

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This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781473509542
ISBN 9780552171205

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