Chapter 13

13

There are so many things Joel loves about London. The way it makes him feel, for one: buzzy and connected and at the centre of the world, as if every other place is a mere offshoot. He loves living in a city where there is the Tate Modern and the Royal Academy and the Barbican, although he rarely visits these places. In fact, the part of London he is especially keen on currently is a little one-bedroomed flat in a converted church in Finsbury Park.

The flat belongs to a photographer called Carmel Levine. Carmel doesn’t care that Joel is married and she isn’t remotely interested in his kids. He’d known her a little through a fashion magazine he’d worked on – the last staff job he’d had, before he went freelance – and then run into her by chance at a friend’s private view in Shoreditch. Joel had only gone along for the free booze.

He had always found her attractive, but that night she seemed especially so. Gone was the sharp brown bob; she had let her natural silver grow out, and it was warmer – sexier. Coupled with her customary red lipstick, it gave her the air of a French film actress, and Joel was delighted that she was giving him so much attention that night. He’d always assumed that this confident six-footer with the body of a runway model thought he was a bit of a buffoon. However, that night they’d flirted wildly and gone on for more drinks. Then they’d headed back to the flat where Carmel lives alone.

The sex had been, to put it mildly, astounding and a world apart from Shelley in her nana-curtain pyjamas. They fell into a pattern of meeting once a week or so, always the same routine: quick pint in the pub at the end of her road and then back to her place.

There, things have been somewhat less routine. Out of bed, Carmel is all husky laughter and affectionate touches with everyone she encounters. In bed that first time, she had him blindfolded and lashed him to her bedhead with a pair of stockings. Since then he’s become accustomed to hearing her rummaging about, assembling her array of props, switching things on, ripping the packaging off various gizmos. He marvels at how a woman can exist in a compact little flat like this one, yet produce so much stuff. Where does it all go, he wonders? Is there a secret sex toy vault under the floor?

Tonight Joel lies on Carmel’s bed with her silk-lined leather blindfold pinching a little above his ears, virtually quivering in anticipation as to what she might be about to do to him. As long as it doesn’t give him an electric shock – or mark him – Joe doesn’t mind. That first night he’d gone home with a tiny scratch on his left buttock. He’d been paranoid and wondered how the hell he might cover it, or explain it away. But of course, Shelley pays no attention to his bottom or indeed any of his bodily parts and hadn’t noticed anything untoward. Too busy reading her doorstopper novel with her glasses on.

Now Joel can hear distant potterings and surmises that Carmel has gone to the kitchen. Could they possibly get a move on here? He actually has a home to go to! Briefly, he wonders if the kids are home yet and, if so, what they’ll think when he’s not there. But Carmel was in the mood for chatting tonight, and shunned his repeated suggestions of going straight to bed. Instead, she took what felt like forever over a couple of large glasses of red wine.

He won’t be home too late, Joel reassures himself. It was only midnight last time he looked, and he’ll be back in twenty minutes in an Uber?—

Instantly Joel’s travel-related musings evaporate as suddenly Carmel is on top of him, flicking him sharply with the leather fronds of her whip. He is hard instantly and now inside her. And somehow it all happens too fast, maybe due to his desperation to see her, what with his house being empty and being able to do what he likes for once, and all the preamble chit-chat about her recent shoots and the funny thing her assistant did, and has he been following a certain political story in the news?

No, he hasn’t been following the news! He’s been following his penis to Flat 2, Rowan House, London N4 – and he needs her too much. That’s the problem.

Carmel clambers off him without comment and Joel tugs off the blindfold. His heart seems to sink as he registers her blasé demeanour as she shrugs on her silk robe and belts it tightly. At her wardrobe mirror, she smoothes her hair and leans in, checking her face – as if she is having a quiet night in alone. While Joel doesn’t expect rapturous applause for his performance tonight, he’d appreciate some acknowledgement that something has happened.

He sits up and pats the space beside him on her bed. ‘Come back here, babe,’ he murmurs.

She glances round at him. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting home?’

For a moment, Joel feels quite used. ‘Shelley’s away,’ he announces.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, she’s in Scotland till Tuesday. On a jaunt with her mates…’

‘Very nice,’ Carmel says, displaying an utter lack of interest.

Joel frowns at her. ‘D’you realise what this means?’

Carmel looks at him and smirks. ‘You can live on bowls of Weetabix.’

‘I don’t live on Weetabix!’ he exclaims. ‘I can cook, y’know. I’m pretty domesticated …’

‘Oh, really?’ Her nostrils flare. ‘So, what does it mean then?’

‘It means I can stay with you for the whole night. Not tonight,’ he adds quickly, hauling himself out of her bed now. ‘I told the kids I was only going out for a drink so I’d better get back.’

She regards him dispassionately. He doesn’t expect her to start asking about Fin’s and Martha’s interests or wanting to see their school reports. Yet it feels a little off, that she doesn’t even acknowledge this unavoidably significant side of his life. Whenever he mentions his kids he sees her eyes glazing over as if she is rapidly slipping into a trance. He might as well be talking about radiators.

‘Okay,’ she says mildly.

Joel gathers up his clothes from her bedroom floor and dresses quickly. ‘Tomorrow I could, though.’ He is already forming a plan to tell his kids that there’s some event way across town. A major exhibition opening, with an after party. Conveniently, he’ll be staying over with friends close by.

The prospect of spinning a yarn to Martha and Fin troubles him no more than lying to Shelley. When they were younger, the kids adored him, screaming in delight whenever he chased them around the park, being a bear. Now though, they regard him as an embarrassing old man. He’s registered the eye rolls as he’s told them about the raves he used to go to; how wild it was with the smiley T-shirts and dancing in fields. He put on a track once – ‘Loaded’ by Primal Scream. He started throwing shapes in the kitchen and popped a Cheerio into his mouth, joking that it was a disco biscuit. ‘That was a silly name for ecstasy,’ he explained as they gawped at him. ‘Not that I ever did drugs, kids! Just say no!’ He might as well have been dancing naked, judging by their horrified expressions. Maybe they’d understand it more if he was wearing the right outfit? He rushed off and came back wearing his favourite trousers – his phat pants, banana yellow with a squiggly pattern – and Martha looked as if she might throw up.

‘All right,’ Carmel says now.

‘All right?’ Joel repeats. ‘Is that it?’

She blinks in surprise. ‘What d’you want me to say?’

‘I just thought…’ He frowns, trying to mentally bat away the sulk he can sense about to come over him like a wave. ‘I just thought it’d be nice to wake up together. That’s all.’

‘Oh, okay.’ She shrugs and nods, in that couldn’t-care-less way, like when the guy in the newsagent asks you which lighter you’d like, and frankly you have no opinion whatsoever. ‘That’d be nice,’ she adds.

Joel inhales slowly. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

‘I am pleased. It’s fine! Let’s have a sleepover!’ Amusement dances in her dark brown eyes. ‘So, when is this momentous occasion happening?’

‘Tomorrow! I just said.’ The thing with Carmel is, you can never tell when she’s taking the piss.

‘Okay. Great.’ No-need-to-ask-which-colour-of-lighter-I want-just-gimme-one-that-works.

He sits heavily on the edge of her bed and pulls on his new trainers, aware that he is definitely sulking, and also aware how unattractive it must be. Then he kisses Carmel goodbye and travels home in an Uber, ashamed now of his behaviour, as if it was an embarrassing jacket – called ‘The Sulk’ – that he can’t shrug off.

He’ll make it up to her tomorrow night, he decides. Tomorrow, they will spend the entire night together, and Joel can’t wait.