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I feel a stab of insecurity. Rachel is well-known in the industry for winning awards. When she first met Toby she was selling soft drinks and used to sweep the board at the Trade’s Awards, twice being named Sales Person of the Year.
‘Sex has gone completely off the radar, she’s not interested.’
‘How …’ I kiss him ‘… can that be possible when you’re such an irresistible sex god?’
He laughs.
‘She’s uptight. Doesn’t let herself go, like you. If we do have sex, it’s like something that’s got to be factored in to her tight schedule, something on her fucking endless To Do list, do you know what I mean?’
I shake my head. To Do list. Who would reduce their entire life to a To Do list?
‘To be honest, sometimes,’ he says, ‘I feel like an extra in the show that is Rachel’s life.’
‘Well,’ I say, slipping a hand under his shirt. (Must balance fine line between wanton sex goddess and only-woman-who-understands-him.) ‘We can’t have that.’
Toby cups my face in his hand.
‘Fuck me, I fancy you,’ he says. ‘What is it about you, Caroline Steele, that means that when I am around you, I just want to have sex with you?’
Our top halves are off in seconds, the bottom two of Toby’s shirt buttons sent skidding across the floor. Toby pushes me backwards against the fridge, sending magnets and papers flying. I cover his chest with kisses, his hair smells incredible, that shower-fresh, sugary, bakery smell, times about five hundred. I inhale as he pushes my hair back and kisses me, hard; on my face, my neck, my breasts. There’s the feverish undoing of belts, which is awkward since I am wearing one of those fabric ones and for some reason he keeps squeezing it the wrong way so that my insides are getting squashed. Finally, after much giggling, I’m up against my fridge, naked, jeans around my ankles. A woman possessed. Possessed by a harlot in my own kitchen.
I want him so badly now. I drop down and take him in my mouth. His pubes smell delicious, clean, with a faint muskiness that sparks another explosion that spreads from my groin, right down my thighs.
‘Jesus, you’re good at that,’ he says, leaning back onto the fridge, and laughing, a sort of half-laugh, half-groan. His eyes are closed, his whole body rigid, except his hands, which are gently pushing my head, and his knees that are bending, along to the same rhythm as me.
‘Stop,’ he says, softly. ‘Stop. I won’t last two minutes if you carry on like that.’
Then we’re on the floor, he wants me on top of him and I happily oblige. I am possessed, again, by someone who writhes and swishes her hair and her hips, like a belly-dancer, there, next to the whirring fridge, as, outside, the birds break out into evensong and, inside, I think I might explode with desire.
We’re lying on the kitchen floor now – me on top of Toby in a breathless, sweaty, elated heap.
Then I hear the door go.
‘Fuck!’
‘What?’ says Toby alarmed.
‘It’s Lexi, she’s back!’
‘You’re joking?’
‘Do I look like I’m joking?’ I’m scrambling off him now. Toby’s spread-eagled, naked except for a large erection and the South Park socks.
‘Get up!’ I hiss, flapping my arms about.
‘All right keep yer knickers on.’
‘I would if I could find them!’
I’m flitting about the kitchen now. Toby’s standing, scratching his head and smirking at me. He thinks this is funny.
‘Right, you through the utility room and into the bathroom,’ I say, spotting my knickers scrunched up like a sleeping rodent next to the fridge.
‘What?’
‘Just do it!’ I push him, still sniggering through the door and kick his clothes in after him.
I hear Lexi slam the front door shut and call down the hallway,
‘Hel-lo-oh! I’m back!’
‘Just using the loo!’ I shout back. It’s lame but, frankly, I need anything that’s going to stall her.
I manage to get one leg in one hole of my knickers, as I hear her drop her bag on the hallway floor, then follow Toby, limping, into the bathroom.
‘I can’t find my pants,’ he whispers, rummaging through the pile of clothes.
‘Well, just wear your trousers then. You’ll have to go commando.’
I hear Lexi cough, dramatically, and drag her heels towards the kitchen. Just those two sounds tell me she’s drunk. Body combat class, my arse.
Then she’s hammering on the bathroom door.
‘Hurry up, Missus. I’m gonna piss my pants! Can’t make it upstairs!’
Toby’s buttoning his shirt, his face red with the effort of not laughing.
‘Won’t be long!’ I shout. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck it! How was I going to get out of this one now?
‘In the bath,’ I mouth to Toby ‘The what?’
‘It’s leaking out!’ moans Lexi.
‘All right, can you just hang on a second?’
‘Not su-re!’ She’s singing the words now, intermittently leaning against the door and making it bang. ‘There might be a little puddle in your kitchen if I don’t get in there soo-oon!’
Eventually, I get Toby crouched safely down behind the shower curtain, flush the toilet and open the door.
‘Ohmigodimgonnapissmyself,’ Lexi barges right past me clutching her crotch.
I hear the toilet cover go up, then Lexi sigh, heavily, as she announces. ‘Oh Lordy,’ over the longest, loudest wee ever known to man. ‘I fucking needed that.’
To be honest, at first I’m so relieved that Lexi didn’t catch me riding Toby on the kitchen floor that I forget to be annoyed that she’s drunk. But she is. Leathered, in fact. My little sister is totally pissed.
I managed to persuade her upstairs for a few minutes by presenting her with a pile of laundry, thus freeing Toby up. As far as she’s concerned when she comes down, he just emerged from the lounge.
Lexi stands, arms folded, giving Toby the once over.
‘So. Who’s this then?’
‘This is Toby Delaney.’ I’ve no idea why I give him his full title. Like we’re in a Jane Austen period drama or something.
‘Hello, Toby Delaney,’ she says.
She’s wearing a black, stretchy minidress, pointy shoes with bows on them and a leather biker jacket. In my mother’s book this would definitely qualify as a look that says, ‘On the game.’
Toby’s sitting up on the worktop, hands clasped neatly in his lap in a gesture that says, ‘Do I look like a man who was just having sex on the kitchen floor?’
‘Hi …?’
‘Alexis,’ she says.
Alexis? Since when did she ever want to be called Alexis?
She pulls out a kitchen chair and sits down, stretching out her long, bare legs. If I didn’t know any better I’d say she was flirting.
‘Cool name,’ says Toby. ‘So how was the body combat class? Back when us two old timers were young …’ Ha! He’s got a cheek. Less of the ‘old timers’ and the ‘us two’ thanks very much. ‘It was aerobics or step class. Everyone was lugging these step things about.’
Lexi giggles. A mixture of nerves and a certain thrill, perhaps, that a handsome, older man is talking to her.
She leans forward and rests her dainty chin on her hand so that you can see her perfect B-cups resting in a floral lace bra.
I check Toby. His eyes dart upwards. Caught!
‘Eh, so you’re that Toby off the photo aren’t you?’ she says, her accent even stronger now she’s obviously had a drink.
Oh, that’s great, that is. Now he’s going to think I’m obsessed with that photo.
‘What photo’s that?’
‘Brighton,’ I say curtly. ‘Anyway, hadn’t you better be getting a shower or something, Lexi?’ I glare at her but she ignores me or she’s just too pissed to take a hint.
‘It doesn’t do you justice,’ she says. She’s looking up at Toby from under mascara-smudged eyes. She is flirting. God, I could kill her! ‘You know how some people look better in a photo and some people take a rubbish photo but look much better in the flesh?’ she slurs on. ‘Well, you’re definitely the latter type.’
Toby laughs, flattered. I shoot him a look.
She takes off her leather jacket and puts it on the back of her chair, sliding it back from the table slightly. That’s when I see them. Toby’s Tommy Hilfiger boxer shorts, caught under the front right chair leg! I look over at Toby. Had he spotted them too?
‘Thanks very much,’ says Toby. ‘If that is a compliment, which I think it is. It’s all your sister’s fault, anyway …’ He winks at me, which I respond to with a tight smile and cock of the head in the direction of the floor. ‘Shoddy photography.’
Lexi mumbles something but she’s already thinking of the next question. She has her audience and she’s determined to keep them.
‘How was the book club, anyway?’ she pipes up. (How much longer was this going to go on?)
‘Great,’ we say in unison.
‘So where is everyone?’
‘They left,’ we say, again in unison.
‘But they were here,’ I add, totally unnecessarily.
Lexi nods, uninterested, and looks around the room, her eyes finally landing, unfocused on Toby.
‘Sowhatsyerjob?’ she slurs
God, when was she going to shut up? I look again at the pants, the chair’s moved slightly now, so that more material is on show. My heart’s beating ten to the dozen.
‘I’m an account manager. I sell stuff to supermarkets the same as your sister, but I’m much better at it than she is,’ he says, to which I roll my eyes.
‘Wow!’ says Lexi.
Wow? She’s never said my job is wow.
‘So that must mean you have to do a lot of like, speeches?’
‘Present—’
‘—ations,’ he was going to say, but then Lexi kicks off her shoes, which land with a slap on the wooden floor, inches from the pants.
I see Toby do a double take as he spots them; his eyes linger there for a second before he looks up at me, mouth open.
‘What’s wrong?’ Lexi giggles. Her eyes flit about the room and rest on the floor for a second. I clench my stomach muscles, hold my breath.
‘Nothing. Er, just saw the time, actually,’ says Toby, brightly. ‘I’d better get going.’
‘Really?’ Lexi’s face falls, her eyes drunkenly following him as he gets his jacket.
I’d normally see Toby to the door, catch one more lingering kiss before he has to go but I can’t risk it this time. Besides anything else, leaving Lexi alone with the pants could be potential suicide.
‘Good book club this week, Delaney,’ I opt for, lamely, as he puts on his jacket.
‘Best book I’ve had … sorry, read, for ages,’ he says, which is a joke he wheels out every book club. ‘Hope your head’s not sore tomorrow, Alexis,’ he adds as he’s walking out. I watch as he opens the door, closes it behind him and goes home to his wife.
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_b54c72bf-7799-5d7b-897a-33559b649fab)
Lexi goes to the tap to get some water and I immediately see my opportunity, grab the pants and put them in the kitchen drawer. She sits back down, nearly missing the chair. God, I think, I really don’t need this.
‘Lexi, are you drunk?’
‘No.’
‘Well, yes, you are, actually. It’s totally obvious.’
She rolls her eyes and gives a little teenage wobble of the head and I suddenly feel very tired. I’ve come over all black of mood and pretty miffed that she thinks she can just turn up here with her minxy little ways and flirt with my, my – what was he? – my lover? My partner in crime? My … well, mine anyway, that’s what he was. And I resent her making me feel like this, actually: a horrid mix of jealous big sister – a very unattractive emotion – and a nagging, joyless mother when she’s my sister and I just want to go to bed, go to work and get on with my life like I was doing before.
‘What happened to the body combat class?’
