The Chocolate Run (18 page)

Exit a hysterical Nina, enter her best friend. Literally. Nina’s best friend, by all accounts a scary redhead with violent tendencies, stormed round to give him a tongue-bashing, two days later. She hadn’t approved of Nina dumping her fiancé for Greg, and now Greg had emotionally battered Nina she was going to return the compliment. Greg, unable to take his tongue-bashing like a normal man, had seduced her too. Spent the afternoon having sex with her, then made it clear they weren’t going to be anything more than a get-out-of-atongue-bashing shag. And could she possibly leave now because he was meeting some friends down the pub and had to get ready. (Yes, I know, he is a
total
bastard.) Greg, bless him, was mystified why, when he got back from the pub that night, Nina was waiting in the bushes outside his house, carving knife aloft, ready to stab him in the head. They wrestled for quite a long time – she being endowed with a mad woman’s strength and him unable to hit a woman, even when she was trying to kill him – before he managed to disarm her and she came to her senses.

He’d then
driven
round to mine. A smarter person would’ve gone to a hospital, Greg made straight for my place. Because when you’re bleeding from the head and shaken up, what you need most in the world is a Deputy Festival Director.

I’d buzzed him in then opened my door to find him leaning heavily on the banister, white and shaken. I’d helped him in and sat him on the sofa. I’d done a bit of patching up in my time and went onto automatic pilot. Using my first-aid kit, I cleaned up his face, which was covered in bright red fresh blood and the darker, coagulated stuff but looked a lot worse than it was. He hadn’t flinched when I dabbed antiseptic on his cuts, didn’t notice as I stuck clear plasters on his wounds. He simply talked, telling me over and over what happened. I gave him beer for the shock and sat opposite him in my living room as he repeated in a trembling voice what happened. As he spoke, I was fighting the urge to run. Run and not stop running until I was far, far away from him. To leg it so I wouldn’t be drawn into this again. I didn’t want to be part of another dysfunctional trio. Didn’t want to be in another situation where I was wiping away blood, offering comfort, lying about cuts and bruises. But I couldn’t, wouldn’t, leave him. There’s a ‘for better or worse’ clause implicit in genuine friendships and, if it was nothing else, our friendship was genuine.

After a few beers and he’d stopped talking, I’d taken him to bed with me. He was resting his good side on my chest and held me like children held teddy bears after a nightmare. ‘Honestly, the things men will do to get me in bed,’ I’d said. His hold around his Amber bear tightened. ‘Next time, you know, if you wanna bed me, say so. Don’t go trying to get decapitated. It’s not attractive.’ That’d made him laugh. Only a small laugh, but it made his body relax. It was for times like this my situation-lightening ‘humour’ had been invented.

Greg, Nina and I were the only people who knew about the attack. He hadn’t asked me to, but I’d kept it a secret. I knew how these things worked. When you were the person who cleaned wounds and patched up torn skin and offered comfort, your role in a dysfunctional trio was to keep shtum. We’d never talked about that night – not even the next morning when he walked around in a WYIFF T-shirt because I was soaking the blood out of the other one – until now.

‘I was freaked out at her being so near to me. Being so normal when she tried to stab me,’ Greg was saying as he slid his hand on my thigh. I glanced over the scar from the deepest cut, a v-shaped thing a fraction below his left cheekbone. It’d faded and been smoothed out over time. It was only there if you knew what you were looking for. ‘When Jen started going on about my mystery woman I thought she was going to glass me. If on top of al—’

Greg snatched his hand away as Matt’s blond head appeared from the loos and started in our direction.

‘So, Amber,’ Matt asked, as Jen settled the tray of beers on the table, ‘did you ever meet Nina?’

‘Nope,’ I said, ‘can’t say I ever had that pleasure.’

‘You should have heard them at it,’ Jen said.

Matt cackled. ‘She could scream.’ He put on a girly voice: ‘Oh, Gweg, oh, Gweg, oh, Gwweeeggg.’

‘Greg wasn’t that quiet either,’ Jen added. She deepened her voice. ‘Uh, Nina, uh, Nina, Nina, Nina . . .’

OK, enough with the sex talk, boys and girls.

‘Is the sex as good with your mystery woman?’ Matt asked.

‘What’s it to you, Matthew? It’s not like you’ll ever find out, is it?’ Greg replied.

In other words, no. That’ll teach me to sit there all smug about my sex life.

‘Is that a no?’ Jen smirked.

‘Yup, Jenna, that’s a no. The sex isn’t as good with her . . . it’s better. Every time I see her I want to make love to her. To seduce me, all she has to do is walk into a room. It’s the best sex I’ve ever had and, as you both seem to bring up at every given moment, I’ve had a lot of sex. Of course, it’s so good because I adore her. It’s always better with someone you adore, isn’t it?’

‘When do we get to meet her?’ Jen asked, ignoring his non-rhetorical question. I spoke Jen and, roughly translated, she was saying: ‘I don’t believe she exists.’

‘I wouldn’t inflict you lot on her. Look at the way you carry on. She’d dump me in five minutes.’

‘What, you’re not even going to introduce her to Amber?’ Matt asked.

Greg shook his head. ‘Nope, because, unlike you two bastards, Amber believes she exists. Right, it’s tequila time. My round.’

We spilled out of the pub when they physically prised the glasses out of our hands and stood over us, asking us to leave. In the street, I threw my arms around Matt, squished my lips against his cheek and slurred, ‘Hope you had a good birthday.’

He didn’t reply; wasn’t used to such displays of affection from me, obviously. I then threw my arms around Jen. ‘You’re my best friend,’ I informed her. ‘I love you so much.’

‘I love you sooooo much,’ she slurred back. ‘Come to my house next week and I’ll make my boyfriend go to Paris. And then we can be best friends. All the whole weekend.’

‘Okkaaayyyyy.’

‘An—’ Matt cut Jen’s sentence short by pulling her away, put his arm protectively around her shoulders and his other arm around her waist. He eyed me in distaste. He didn’t like such behaviour from us two.

I swayed so violently from how forcefully Jen had been wrenched away that I thought for a moment I was going to topple over, but then Greg’s strong hands were resting on my shoulders holding me upright and still. I almost stuck my bottom lip out as Matt held Jen against him. I’d enjoyed that silliness with me best mate. ‘I’d better see Amber home,’ Greg stated.

I shook my head in big movements. ‘Noooo. You go shag your mystery woman.’ I poked him in the chest. ‘You go have the fantastic sex. I go home to my vibrator. It’s bri—’

One of Greg’s hands clamped over my mouth as he said, ‘You’ll thank me in the morning.’

I noticed Matt roll his eyes slightly at Greg. Obviously meant about me. Cheeky get. The things Jen had said in pubs when she was pissed made what I was about to say seem like a nursery rhyme. I almost scowled at him, but didn’t because our eyes met. For a brief moment his green eyes locked with my black-brown eyes like two pieces of Lego coming together, which weren’t going to be separated any time soon.

Matt was taller than me, had bigger hands and feet than me, was a man (allegedly) but I could still take him in a fight. That was another reason why he didn’t like me. Why I didn’t need to scowl at him or what he did. We both knew that if we ever had a throw-down moment, there’d be a first round knockout, no messing. A muscle twitched twice in the side of his face before he broke the eyelock. See? I could take him.

‘See ya, mate,’ Matt said to Greg. ‘Amber.’ He steered Jen down the road, with her waving over her shoulder at us until they hailed a taxi, clambered in the back and disappeared into the night.

‘The bus is that way,’ I said, pointing towards the bus station. At least I thought it was in that general area.

‘There’s something we need to sort out first,’ Greg said and pulled me back into the alleyway that led to the pub. He pressed me against the brick wall with his body. ‘I want to make sure that you know that you are,’ he said.

I paused. Screwed up my face, thought really hard. Had I missed an important bit of what he was saying?
You are. You are what?
‘What is you talking about, Peck-Peck?’

‘I want you to know that you are the best sex I’ve ever had. I wasn’t just saying it to them two. I want you every second of the day.’

‘I know,’ I said ostentatiously. ‘I, oh yes, I, am the shag of the century. They all say that to me. All the men in the world say I am the shag of the century. I am v—’

He kissed me. Deep, long, slow. My body relaxed against his. He was really very good at this stuff. I linked my arms around his neck; he was fantastic at this. Slowly, I was aware that he was hitching up my denim skirt.

‘What you doing? We can’t. Not here,’ I said, pulling away. I was drunk enough to kiss Matt on the cheek, but not that drunk. Suddenly he was kissing me harder. More urgently, still pulling up my skirt. This was bad. Very, very bad. And illegal . . . And, and bloody great! I’d never been this bad before. Ever. I was good Amber, after all. And this was . . . This was like being Linda Fiorentino in
The Last Seduction
; this was being so damn sexy my lover couldn’t wait to get me home before trying to screw me.
Be bad
, a voice inside said.
For once in your life, be bad. Everyone else is naughty at least once in their lives
. I was suddenly unbuttoning his trousers.

‘You really want to?’ Greg asked.

I nodded, tugging at his trousers.

He grinned, produced a condom.
I really have to have him. To do this. How come I haven’t done it before?

Greg slipped the green condom wrapper between his lips, ready to tear it open with one hand.
Come on, come on
, I was screaming inside, but my Gregory was evangelical about safe sex. He always used condoms, even if his partner was on the Pill.
Faster, faster
, I urged him as I stuck my hands down his pants.

Suddenly we were illuminated.

Somebody switched a light on us and a deep, authoritative voice said, ‘That’s quite far enough, sir.’

chapter fourteen

history lesson

This is why you need to be good.

Why I am good. Always. This is why I don’t break the rules, do drugs – not even cannabis – or cheat. When you do, it ends up like this. With you being sat in the back of a police car.

The thought punched me in the head every time I blinked and opened my eyes to discover I was, in fact, sat in the back of a police car. Thankfully, they’d held off on the handcuffs. I could just see the WYIFF GATE headlines tomorrow:
ENTERTAINMENT SCREWS! ALLEY SEX SHOCKER FOR WYIFF!

Greg would be all right, the papers were hardly going to stitch up one of their own, were they?

When the policeman had caught us attempting to break a few public decency laws, my heart had fluttered as though it was going to expire right there and then. This heart flutter had been swiftly followed by an urge to hurl. I’d only eaten biscuits in the ten hours since lunch and I’d drunk far too much. To stop myself throwing up, I buried my face in the folds of Greg’s jacket.

‘Would you mind coming with me,’ the policeman said when neither of us moved.

Didn’t know about Greg, but I minded coming with him. On every level I minded coming with him. Not only because we were going to be arrested, but also because if I moved, even a fraction, I’d throw up and I had a suspicion it’d take direct intervention from the Almighty to stop me.

Greg opened his mouth and the condom fell unceremoniously to the ground. Right then I was grateful he was so fanatical about safe sex. If he hadn’t been, we’d have been much further into the law-breaking process. He rather gallantly pulled down my skirt before straightening himself out.

I moved then, folded my arms across my chest, lowered my head and followed Greg out into the main street. There was only one thing worse than being caught trying to have sex in an alley, I decided as we stepped out onto the pavement. And that was hearing a voice state calmly and politely: ‘Mr Walterson.’

I glanced out the window. (Yes, I’m still in a police car.) Greg was talking to the police officer who knew his name. And how did she know his name? From the time he’d been arrested for indecent exposure and breaking and entering, of course. There were no other policewomen in Leeds. In the whole of Yorkshire, there were no other policewomen, which was why she had to catch us.

The second I realised who she was, the beer, biscuits and bile hit the back of my throat and my mouth flooded with saline. I inhaled deeply through my nose to stop myself projectile-vomiting over the officer who’d once listened to me promise that Greg was of good character.

‘
It won’t happen again, officer
,’ I mimicked myself in my head.

She’d recognised me, of course. It’d registered in her eyes, but she said nothing except to order that I be put in the back of the car. (Yup, I’m still in a police car.) She’d then gone off a little way to talk to Greg alone while her colleague stood by the car in case I decided to bolt. Not that I could – there are no handles in the back of a police car.

I watched Greg and the officer talk. Neither of them made many hand gestures; Greg’s body language was, as you’d expect, contrite. His head was lowered as he stared at the ground, hands clasped behind his back. She stood, favouring one hip, her hand resting on the favoured hip, the other hand fingering her truncheon.

She said something.

Greg nodded, looking very penitent.

She talked some more, Greg raised his eyes to look at her, held her gaze for a second, then looked away, talked, said his piece.

Eventually, after what seemed like forever, they came back to the car. The policewoman opened the door. ‘You can go. You can both go,’ she said. ‘You’re both obviously of good character.’

Bitch.