The strange thing is that sometimes it’s just a statement, like a reaffirmation or a mantra, an expression of faith. Sometimes it’s a question –
Dominic?
As though I’m hoping that his voice will echo in answer through my mind and reassure me that he is still thinking of me, still mine. That we are still connected. And at others, it’s like a shout, a desperate call through the darkness of the night, just as day breaks.

But no matter how hard I listen, I never hear any reply.

Sometimes it’s hard to keep the faith, to believe that he’ll come back to me. But I know he will.

I just don’t know when.

Chapter One

I’m glaring at the man opposite. Using all my strength, my fists clenched, my jaw set with effort, I set my standing leg like steel and pull the other up, ready to put all my force behind it. I pivot slightly on my heel, feel my knee against my chest, then:

POW!

I strike out with a kick, powering it through with everything I can muster. My foot slams into the pad my trainer is holding up, and I note with satisfaction that he wobbles a little under my blow.

‘Good,’ he says. ‘Very good.’

Back on both feet, I stand, panting. ‘I’m ready for another,’ I say breathlessly.

Sid laughs. ‘I think that’s enough for today. I’m beginning to wonder if you slipped some speed into your coffee by mistake. Where are you getting your energy?’

I take off my helmet and shake out my hair, which falls in damp, clammy tendrils round my neck. ‘Oh, you know... I just need to release some tension.’

Which is true. But what kind of tension? Half the time I’m trying to work my unslaked desire for Dominic out of my system. The other half, I’m pretending it’s his boss’s face I’m pounding, the man whose business has kept Dominic out of London all this time. Not that I know what his boss looks like, but that doesn’t matter. By the time I’ve finished my imaginary pummelling, you can’t make out his face anyway.

‘Okay, well done
, Beth,’ Sid says, taking off the pads. ‘I’ll see you again next week.’

‘Wow, I’ve managed to work up a real sweat.’ Laura pulls a damp band from her dark hair and shakes it out, wriggling her nose and laughing. She gives me a sideways look. ‘You look like you’ve had a healthy workout yourself.’

‘I’m wiped out.’ I can’t see myself but I know my cheeks are glowing and I can feel the prickle of sweat in my hair and over my brow. ‘But I feel good on it.’

‘Me too.’

It was Laura’s idea to start the kick-boxing classes. I knew she was feeling itchy with suppressed energy now that she’s started her new job. After three years of being a student, and then months of freedom as she backpacked around the world, she has been finding the restrictions of working life a strain.

‘I have to be in the office so early!’ she complained one night, slumping on the sofa in the comfy old tracksuit she changed into after a hard day. She sighed. ‘And all day long I’m supposed to be at my desk, late into the night if I want to show the boss I’m taking it seriously. With only three weeks’ holiday a year! I don’t know how I’m going to cope.’ She gazed at me enviously. ‘You’re so lucky having such an interesting job.’

I shot her a look. ‘But I don’t get a trainee management consultant’s salary, remember?’

She made a disgruntled face. ‘Well, we’ll have to see if it’s worth it, that’s all.’

Her pent-up energy was obviously causing her real problems because when she saw that there were kick-boxing classes at the gym around the corner from our flat, she signed both of us up without so much as asking me if it was okay. Actually, it was. I needed some release myself, but maybe not quite in the same way that Laura did. I surprised myself by taking to it almost immediately and really enjoying it; the sense of the power flowing through my body gives me a rush that’s addictive. I always come home feeling strong and confident, thanks to the rush of endorphins and the proper tiredness that comes from actually doing something energetic, rather than the weariness of work and commuting.

As we let ourselves into our flat, Laura says wonderingly, ‘I still can’t believe that we’re here. Just think – you and me, living together in London, with proper jobs and everything! It feels like only yesterday that we were a couple of scruffy students spending our evenings in the bar making our drinks last as long as we could. Now look at us. It’s kind of glamorous, don’t you think?’

I laugh but don’t say anything as I follow her inside. Laura knows very little of how I spent my summer, or of the incredible things that happened when I met Dominic. If she thinks our slightly down-at-heel place in East London is glamorous, it’s because she never saw the Mayfair apartment from where I first glimpsed Dominic in the flat opposite; or, for that matter, the tiny but luxurious boudoir that he arranged for us on the top floor of the apartment block.

The boudoir. It’s still there, waiting for me.
I picture the key, sitting in my jewellery box in a black pouch.
But I can’t bring myself to go there. Not without Dominic.

‘I guess a lot has changed since then,’ I say as we go to the kitchen to get some cold water.

Laura fixes me with a knowing look. ‘You certainly have. Sometimes I wonder exactly what happened to you while I was in South America. When I left, you were dead set on settling down with Adam back home. And now... well, I came back to a glamour puss with an incredible job in the art world and the old boyfriend ancient history. All of which is absolutely brilliant but...’

‘But?’ I take a couple of glasses from the cupboard and a jug of cold water from the fridge.

‘Beth, the truth is... I’m worried about you.’

‘Worried?’ I echo, watching the water splash into the glasses. I’ve been trying to act as normally as possible. Maybe I haven’t succeeded.

Laura takes the glass I hold out to her and gives me another of her X-ray stares. With her ability to read people and situations, I’m sure she’s going to be an excellent management consultant, but it can make life a little uncomfortable when I’m trying to keep a secret.

‘You haven’t told me much about the man in your life, this Dominic guy,’ she begins in the kind of gentle voice that means something important is coming. ‘But I do know that you’re completely mad about him and that he hasn’t been in touch with you for weeks.’

Six weeks, four days and three hours. Approximately.

I make a kind of non-committal ‘uh’ sound.

‘So I can tell it’s making you unhappy,’ she goes on, still in that gentle tone. ‘You’re trying to hide it but I’m your friend and I know you. So why don’t you just send him a text or an email? Or phone him? Find out what on earth is going on?’

I use the long drink I’m taking as an excuse not to answer for a moment or two, then say, ‘Because he said he was going to contact me. And that’s what I’m waiting for.’

‘I’m all for playing a waiting game,’ Laura says quickly. ‘I mean, not being too eager and too obvious. But from what you said, you guys went far beyond a few dates. You were really serious about each other, weren’t you?’

I note the past tense, and feel a horrible twist of pain. I’ve been trying to convince myself it’s not really over, but Laura’s casual assessment of the situation is like a bucket of cold water landing on all my hopes.

‘So,’ she continues, oblivious, ‘get in touch. Demand an explanation. Ask him when he’s coming back and how he feels about you.’

‘I can’t,’ I say gruffly. I wish I could tell her why it’s not that simple but there are things about my relationship with Dominic I’ve never told anyone. I imagine what it would be like to explain to Laura about the things we did in the boudoir, or the events in the dungeon at the The Asylum, but even though she’s my best friend and experienced enough in the ways of the world, I don’t think she would understand. She’d be horrified. She’d tell me to dump him pronto, and find myself someone nice and normal.

Maybe I should.

But I know in my heart that I don’t want someone nice and normal. I had that and I can never go back to it.

Laura is looking exasperated. ‘I don’t understand why you can’t get in touch with him. It’s obvious this is driving you crazy! You’re unhappy, I can see it!’

‘I’m not unhappy,’ I reply.

‘You’re not?’

‘Nope. I’m furious. That’s what I am. Mad as hell. He can stay away for ever as far as I’m concerned.’ My declaration rings false even as I’m saying it. I
am
furious, but I can’t tell whether it’s with Dominic for not contacting me, with myself for trusting him in the first place, or with his boss, for sending him out of the country just at the moment when we were sorting everything out.

Laura stares at me, and then says, ‘Just call him, Beth. Get yourself out of this torment.’

I smile at her. ‘You don’t need to worry about me. Honestly. But I’m not going to call him. Or text. Or email. If he wants me, he knows where I am. Until then, I’m getting on with my life. Talking of which, whose turn is it to make dinner? I’m starving.’

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