Undone (18 page)

We visited some unpleasant places last night. At times, I thought it would be better if we went our separate ways. But we’ve come back from those places with a renewed understanding of each other. I think it’s made us stronger as a couple.

I’ll write more later. I can hear people along the corridor going down for breakfast, as if this were an ordinary day. Which it is, of course. It’s always an ordinary day, for someone, somewhere.

Sunday 13th July. Again

I give up. I fucking well give up. Is it possible to be too tired to sleep? My mind buzzes and I know it needs to rest before I sleep. Then I start worrying my thoughts will never rest and frustration rises at the prospect of not being able to sleep. Which, of course, makes sleep even more unlikely. I can’t get out of the loop. Tomorrow’s going to be tough. No, not tomorrow, today. It’s close to 9 a.m. Just as I was nodding off earlier, some bastard-little children went hurtling along the corridor followed by parental voices, yelling for them to be quiet. And that was that. Awake, alert, frustrated. And, next to me, Sol snoring gently.

Writing helps. I feel calmer when I’ve got my thoughts safely down on paper. Without that, my brain keeps tossing the memories about as if to ensure they won’t be forgotten.

So anyway, at Club Sybaris Sol had been gone for around twenty minutes, leaving me stuck on that leather couch. I was growing bored, restless, and feeling vulnerable without any possessions. If I’d had my phone, I would have texted or called to find out where he was. When I craned forwards, I could see most of the bar. No sign of him there. I had to inform a couple of people who’d asked about the spare seat beside me that it was taken.

Might he have bumped into Lou again? Or someone else? I told myself not to get jealous and irrational; he was simply gone a long time. There was bound to be some innocent explanation. But, given that I was alone in a strange place with my tits bared and zero possessions, I began to wonder what that explanation could be. If Sol was going to play the dom and limit my ability to function independently, wasn’t it his duty to take care of me as promised? To make sure I wasn’t in need of anything? That I was safe?

He’d said he’d only get drinks if the bar wasn’t busy. Why the delay? I felt abandoned and stuck. I didn’t dare go looking for him in case we ended up losing each other entirely. All I could do was sit tight and wait. I was no longer the contented dormouse basking in his protective leaves; I was trapped in a cage of invisible bars.

My indignation began to burn. So, when a cute, out-ofbreath guy in rock ’n’ roll leather trousers, studded belt and an excellent bare chest strung with silver pendants asked if he could sit down, I said, ‘Sure.’

That’ll show you, Sol Miller, I thought. Assuming you do actually deign to return at some point.

The guy plonked himself down, and my seat cushion lifted with the force of him. With him came a scented wave of body warmth, sweat and a hint of patchouli, a perfume I detest. Doubly so when I’m in a foul mood. His skin and trousers squeaked against the leather upholstery.

‘Sorry!’ he hollered. ‘Phew.’ He leaned back against the seat and tipped a beer bottle to his lips. As he moved, his damp skin juddered on the couch. The reverberations quivered in my own body, the faintest vibration travelling from him to me through our shared seat. I let my leg rest nonchalantly against his, twisting briefly aside to disguise the deliberateness of my action. I wanted to flirt and make Sol jealous. I’d long thought I was too old and smart for game-playing and yet, all of a sudden, I wasn’t.

‘Haven’t danced like that for months,’ said my neighbour, calling out to the space in front of him rather than addressing me directly. He gulped more beer and then sat with his head back, knees wide, his shoulders rising and falling. He clasped his beer bottle between his open thighs. I forgave him the patchouli oil.

‘You mind if I have a tiny sip of that?’ I asked. ‘I’m spitting feathers and my friend’s got my purse.’

He sat bolt upright. ‘Go for it! Have a big sip!’ He passed me the bottle and raised his arse from the seat to dig into his back pocket.

I took a swig as he withdrew his wallet. ‘I’ll get us both a drink if you save this seat. Need to chill out awhile. I’m fucking wiped! What’s your poison?’

I laughed. ‘No, really. I’m fine.’

‘I’m not asking how you are. I’m asking what you’re drinking.’

‘Honestly—’

‘You’d be doing me a favour.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yes! Quick, before I change my mind!’

‘Vodka tonic,’ I said, smiling. ‘Ice and a slice.’

‘Coming right up!’

‘Thank you.’

As the guy wove his way through the crowds, I smiled and sat back, feeling myself relax. He was far too young for me; or, rather, for my taste. But he was cute and the distraction would be welcome. I gazed at people milling about, chatting and dancing. A woman walked by with another woman on a leash, the latter wearing fluffy bunny ears. I spotted a guy getting his cock sucked in an ill-lit corner. I wondered what Misha used to get up to at nights like this, assuming he attended them and we weren’t barking up the wrong tree.

Moments later, I saw Sol, face like thunder, shoulders twisting stiffly as he side-stepped between people until he was there by my side.

I made a watch-checking gesture. ‘Hallelujah.’

He bent and seized me by my upper arm, forcing me to my feet. ‘We’re leaving.’

‘Oi! What the fuck? Do you mind?’

He ushered me forwards with a deft shake, fingers digging into the sinews of my arm. Was this part of our act? A staged row?

‘Sol! What’s the urgency? Where the hell have you been?’

‘I saw you,’ he said, teeth gritted.

‘What?’ I stepped back a pace, rotating my shoulder to escape his grip.

He glowered from under his peaked cap, his face ruddy with heat. ‘He was about to buy you a drink. I saw you so don’t try denying it.’

I gave an astonished laugh. ‘I’m not denying anything! He was only—’

He made to grab my arm again but I recoiled from him, apologising when I bumped into someone.

‘Don’t you ever dare try and humiliate me like that again,’ he warned.

‘Humiliate? You don’t know the meaning of the word. Where have you been? He was buying me a drink because I’ve no cash on me. You left me stuck on that fucking sofa—’

‘Yeah, I leave you alone and you start hitting on someone.’

Incredulous, I laughed again. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

‘Anyway, time to go,’ he said. ‘I’m done here.’

‘Good! Because so am I.’ I began walking away, skirt swishing grandly. He quickly followed. ‘And I’m done with pretending to be your bitch for the evening,’ I called, not caring if I blew our cover.

‘Tough shit.’ He grasped my wrist and I flung him off. ‘Because I already threw you out of the kennel, baby.’

His insult knocked the breath from me. For a moment, all I could do was stand and stare as he continued for the exit. My heart thumped, my face ablaze. Keep a grip, Lana, I told myself. Don’t stoop to his level. Count to ten.

I glanced around, self-conscious and wondering if anyone was observing us make idiots of ourselves. Having a public row is bad enough but a public row when you’re half-naked and preposterously dressed was the height of uncool. Thankfully, no one seemed aware of us. I drew a deep breath and headed for the exit, edging apologetically past people. I moved with deliberate slowness in a bid to regain my dignity and composure.

I felt bad for the guy buying me a drink but didn’t want to risk a scene by seeking him out to explain, not when Sol had my cloakroom ticket. At the counter near the exit, Sol was being handed my jacket. As I approached, he tossed the garment into my arms.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘Cover yourself up.’

That’s when I saw red. That’s when I lost it. His attempt to shame me for being sexual, when earlier my breast-baring liberty had been a delight to him, infuriated. I was so enraged, I became icily controlled. I was head-to-toe steel.

I tipped my chin high, looked him straight in the eye, and emphatically said, ‘Fuck you, Sol Miller.’

I turned and left the building without a backward glance. Outside, I kept walking, pushing my arms into my jacket and wrapping it tight around me. The night was warm and the jacket was light. I wished I’d had the courage to remain defiantly bare-breasted but didn’t fancy getting arrested for indecent exposure. On the street, the rules were different.

The venue was behind a main road and bordering a desolate patchwork of tarmac, cobbles, pavement and unused parking spaces. Ahead of me, the rear of a line of old stone buildings faced a block of squat, derelict warehouses. Streetlights were few and far between, each one breaking up the darkness of the broad, empty street with a feeble amber haze. Metal shutters covered the entrances to the warehouse units, all bearing layers of dense, elaborate graffiti. In recent years, I’ve come to regard Brighton as a hip, stylish resort for young, wealthy people; a place for clubs, cafes, music and art. London-by-the-sea is its nickname. If I’d had more money, I might have set up a cocktail bar in Brighton rather than down-at-heel Saltbourne. But as I stumbled out of Club Sybaris, I knew we were in an area that the town forgot.

I glanced back. At the nightclub doorway, Sol had stopped to light a cigarette. Damn him! Damn him for bringing me here and making me wear this stupid, fucking, disco-witch costume. I tugged at the hairgrips securing my beret and tossed them away. I flung my hat to the ground. Turning, I saw him inhale deeply as he frowned into the sky. Bastard. I kept walking, sticking to the centre of the road and avoiding the shadows. The road was marked for deliveries, the vestiges of paint defining old loading bays on the stony, broken tarmac.

When I next looked over my shoulder, I saw Sol snatch his hand from his lips, standing stubbornly stock-still, save for angry little twitches. His foot tapped rapidly and his RAF cap was tucked under his arm. Smoke rushed from his lips. I had no money on me. The hotel was probably a thirty-minute walk away. Reception would be unlikely to issue me with a replacement key card if I had no ID.

On the uneven road, my heels clicked, sharp and hollow in the derelict street. Sol wouldn’t let me make my own way back, would he? He wouldn’t be such an irresponsible cunt. I wished I smoked, not that I wanted to keep company with him but because it always looked a great way to handle anger, all that furious sucking while pointedly not talking.

Cover yourself up. Cover yourself up. I already threw you out of the kennel, baby.

From the club exit came a muffled blast of music. Voices and laughter spilled out on to the street; then the noise of the club became a faint deadened beat again. I could hear the people heading for the main road. I should have done that. Much safer. Was he still smoking?

Behind me, footsteps grew louder and quicker. I knew it was him but I wasn’t going to slow or turn around. I didn’t acknowledge him until he was by my shoulder, when I had no choice.

He grabbed my arm, swinging me to face him.

‘Stop touching me,’ I yelled.

‘Hey, hey!’ His eyes were wide, his face flushed, his hair hectic. In his hand, he carried both our hats, my beret stuffed inside his cap. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

I continued walking. ‘Getting away from you. What’s it look like?’

‘Who was he?’

‘Christ, Sol! Stop being such a dick. He was no one. Some guy. What’s the big deal?’

‘The big deal?’ He reached for my arm. I lashed out, fending him off. ‘You’re meant to be with me,’ he said, voice raised. ‘That’s the big fucking deal. I put a collar on you. You’re mine till I take it off. Mine, Lana!’

I whirled around to him. ‘No, Sol! That’s a game, an act. It’s fake!’

‘No, it isn’t! You know it isn’t!’

We glowered at each other, his words hanging in the air, their meaning refusing to unfurl.

‘And anyway, what?’ He opened his arms, glancing left and right as if being sarcastic to a crowd. ‘You think you can just stop playing when it suits you?’

‘
You
stopped!’ I yelled. ‘
You
stopped looking after me. Left me alone with no money, no phone. Nothing! Our deal wasn’t unconditional, Sol. You’ve got to play your part too. I’m not … not subbing if you’re not domming. And by domming, I don’t mean acting like a selfish, arrogant twat who thinks he can do whatever he wants.’

I gathered my skirt and stalked off.

‘I met someone who knew Misha,’ he called.

‘Whoopee fucking doo.’

‘You’re a smart woman,’ he continued. ‘I assumed you’d be able to work out what I was doing. Maybe have a degree of faith in me? I couldn’t just leave. He’s the reason we’re here in the first place, remember?’

He strode after me. I spun around to him, my skirt hissing and swinging. ‘Misha, Misha, Misha! Why are you so obsessed with his death? Who is he to you?’

He glared at me, jaw set tight, chest pumping. Lamplight lent his dark hair a fuzz of gold, and his face glowed warmly while his eyes were sunk in shadow. Flecks of my purple glitter sparkled on one cheekbone.

I stared at him, trying to read his face. Why so obsessed, Sol? Why?

Is it, I thought, because you killed him? Is that the reason the damp towel was in my room at Dravendene? Did you murder him in the pool and then sneak back into my bed? Or was his death, and that rumoured head injury, a result of an accident you were involved in? And now are you desperate to trace his friends to check no one’s suspicious? Is that why we’re here? Or are you trying to ensure my silence by encouraging me to collude in some ham-fisted sleuthing?

Sol shook his head as if to dislodge his thoughts.

‘Tell me,’ I snapped.

Frowning, he slotted his cap under his arm and clasped both my wrists, pushing them apart, forcing my arms straight, and making my jacket gape. The night air was cool on my stomach. I recalled how he’d caught my wrist across the bar several days ago back at my place. At the time, even though his grip had excited me, I’d wondered if he had the knowledge to kill me with pressure points.

‘Be mine again,’ he said, his voice much gentler.