The House Swap(66)

‘Ask me nicely,’ he says, his eyes burning intently into mine.

‘Sorry,’ I whisper. ‘Please,’ and I feel his body tense, and after that he does what I want without my having to ask because he knows what to do with me and he always has, even without being told, because this chemistry between us is something that can’t be taught or explained. ‘I can’t get enough of you,’ I find myself whispering, and he smiles that teasing smile that tells me I don’t have to say it out loud because it’s so brutally obvious that a blind man could see it.

We lie in the bed together afterwards, talking, and when the sky outside has darkened and I can hear the first beginnings of rain pattering on to the window, we move into each other’s arms again and I climb on top of him, my hair hanging down and brushing over his chest, his hands reaching up warm and hard on my skin. I tell him that I love doing this with him, and he says it back, and it would take so little to slip over this boundary and say what I really mean, but I still don’t do it – and when, much later, he’s fallen asleep beside me and the rain outside has deepened into a hot summer storm, I lie awake half the night staring at the shape of his face in the dark and I say it then instead, knowing he can’t hear me and that I don’t have to wait for him to reply.



When the buzzer sounds, I don’t quite believe it at first. I’ve been sitting in the living room all afternoon, unable to concentrate on anything for more than a minute at a time. I’ve just been here. Waiting. Breathing. These two things suck up as much effort as I’ve got to give. In the back of my mind, I’d accepted that they wouldn’t come. But now, the sound jars through the air again and I’m crossing to the intercom and saying ‘Hello?’ and hearing a voice that I now know sounds like Caroline’s spilling out explanations and justifications, even though I invited them in the first place.

I let them into the building and then I listen to the sound of Eddie’s footsteps pattering eagerly up, his grandmother’s following more slowly behind. There’s no time to prepare myself. They’re here, framed in the doorway, the boy glancing at me briefly and then losing interest almost as quickly, dashing to the hamster’s cage in the corner of the room and unlocking the top.

‘Thanks for letting us pop in,’ Caroline’s mother says. ‘He’s been talking about it all day at school, apparently. We won’t take up much of your time.’ The words are polite but her eyes are darting around all over the place, betraying her uncertainty. On some level, she knows there’s something here she doesn’t trust. And by a process of elimination, she knows it must be me. The silence lasts a fraction too long, long enough for me to understand I should have filled it. ‘I’ll make us a quick cup of tea,’ she says at last. ‘I know where everything is.’

I listen to her moving around the kitchen, briskly filling the kettle, clattering the mugs on to the worktop. Without realizing it, I’ve moved closer to Eddie. He’s crouched down on the floor, cradling the little silvery hamster in his hands, cooing and muttering some babyish private language to it as it sniffs the air. His fair hair falls over his forehead.

‘He’s mine,’ he says clearly, not looking at me but raising his voice so that it’s clear who he’s talking to. ‘I look after him.’

‘I can see that,’ I say. I pause, testing the next words that have come to me inside my head. They gather in the air, like delicate balloons. ‘And who looks after you?’ I ask.

He shrugs, still intent on the creature in his hands. ‘Lots of people,’ he says.

‘Your mummy?’ I ask, and he nods. ‘What would your mummy do for you?’ I ask. And at last he looks up at me, his large grey eyes clouded by a confusion and a suspicion that seem far older than his years, alerted to the fact that something in my voice has changed and that this means something, even if he doesn’t understand what. He stares at me unblinkingly, silently, still and watchful. Blood is pumping in my head, making me dizzy.

‘Would she kill for you?’ I say.



Away


Caroline, May 2015


SOMEHOW, I MAKE it through the lunch, swallowing mouthful upon mouthful of food past the lump of nausea in my throat, and with every bite, I’m thinking of her. A woman without a face I can see, sitting in my home. Someone who knows me better than I can understand.

By the time I have trailed after Francis around the nearby shopping mall, then gone with him for a walk in the park and we make the train journey back to Chiswick, with Francis keeping up a steady, chirpy stream of chatter, it’s almost five in the afternoon. As we walk back from the station, he glances over at me, then leans across and taps his fingertips gently against my forehead. ‘Hello,’ he says. ‘Anyone home?’

It’s an innocent enough turn of phrase, but it sets me on edge. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I know I’ve been quiet. I’m just tired.’

Francis shrugs. ‘If you say so.’

I look back over my shoulder at him as I unlock the front door. He meets my gaze steadily, unflinching. He knows, I realize, that I am lying. He just doesn’t know what about.

‘Sorry,’ I murmur again, and as I speak I’m aware that I can’t keep going in this tense state of limbo, turning my fears over and over until they become huge and suffocating. I’m going to have to do something. Once again, I think about going home. Now that I’ve seen that profile picture, it doesn’t feel safe being here. I don’t want this woman in my home. I have no idea what she might do.