Читать книгу Yours Is Mine - Amy Bird - Страница 18

-Anna-

Acting. That’s all that it was. She could do that. She had always been able to, splitting herself in two according to need. Whatever the role was, she was there. This time the role was Kate – good little wife sending emails to distant husband who she thought wanted news of home and would be interested in whether the guttering needed replacing or if she had felt like she might be getting a cold. True, there had been more thrilling roles, but it would be the performance of a lifetime. Once she got going.

Anna was composing her second email to Neil since the exchange, and she wanted to savour the writing of it. She had kept the first email fairly neutral, asking him how everything was going, what he was up to, and signed off with what seemed to be established norm for the number of kisses. She just mimicked Kate.

She had received a similarly bland email in response about what the ship was doing – no locations, she assumed that email wasn’t considered safe enough for that – and lots of strange acronyms which were apparently supposed to denote people or manoeuvres. Either way, quite frankly they did not interest her. These were not the sort of emails that she was in the game for. Neil ought to associate the emails she was sending with lust, desire and longing – surely that was appropriate for one so many miles away that you had not seen for so long. That was where Anna would come in. She could perform this role with her eyes closed. It was time for ‘Kate’ to embark on a new phase of her relationship with Neil, and Anna would take utmost pleasure in ushering it in. That was the aim of the experiment. And its end result. The best sorts of experiments are ones where the outcome is certain.

The rattle and slam of the post coming through the letterbox momentarily distracted her. It wasn’t such a big event though – it could just join the rest of the post on the mat. If someone considered it unimportant enough to send by snail mail, Anna wasn’t about to leap up and grab it the moment it came through the door. Besides, it was Kate’s post. Sure, she was now meant to be Kate, but it did remove that element of excitement. Bills and work are unexciting at the best of times, and someone else’s bills and work are even less enthralling. Anna would get to them in due course. Maybe. She turned her attention back to the computer.

‘My dearest Neil,’ she began.

No, too tame. Too old-married and Jane Austen-like. Kate may start her emails like that, but it was not Kate who was writing. Anna glanced at the picture of Neil beside the computer for inspiration.

‘Hey, sexy,’ she typed. That was better.

‘Longing to be there with you. I know those cabins are small but it would be nice and cosy with me beside you – or perhaps on top of you if that’s the only way to get me to fit in. Or perhaps we should be thinking about how best to fit you in… I’m sorry you’re so busy and have to work so hard – I would love to be there to give you the long, deep massage you deserve. Just think about that to keep you going.

‘Anyway, the bath is waiting for me. I’ve got it just the way I like it – steamy, scented, hot bubbles – can’t wait to feel that water lapping over me while I stretch out and just let the tension of the day flow out of me. It’s a good way to get really *in touch* with myself. I think I may have to stay in there some time, lying back and thinking of… you. XXX’

Anna sat back in the chair and read the words over again. Should she end with ‘The one and only Kate’, like she’d been instructed? Should she fuck! Sweet of Kate to think herself unique, other than uniquely boring. But Anna was all for making things a little different.

Satisfied, she pressed send, biting her lower lip in anticipation of the sort of response her email might elicit. That should start to take the relationship in the direction she wanted it. Kate would want it to go where Anna did too, if she had any sense, if she knew what Anna knew. For now, Anna thought she might just go and take that bath after all. There was no point in lying for the sake of it.

She sauntered to the bathroom and began to run the bath. She lit the candles round the edge. It was no good trying to have a bath with the electric light on. You really couldn’t relax and access full inner contemplation. Plus the avocado colour was more muted in candlelight. It had not been easy to obtain the candles. She had searched high and low for some tea-lights in the cottage the previous evening, but to no avail. Not even a candle for the table. Kate was clearly not a romantic person. Perhaps her father dying around her was a bit of a turn-off. But Neil must have been there occasionally, and Kate really ought to have made more of an effort. Life’s more important than death, though some people don’t act like it. So Anna had ventured out to the ‘local’ shop that morning.

Actually, both local and shop were misnomers. Kate had claimed it was walking distance. Presumably that was what helpful family members had said to Dick Whittington before he set off to London with a spring in his step. Only this seemed further. And it was more of a bartering centre than a shop. In exchange for their goods, it seemed well-established that you had to impart as many intimate details of your life as the proprietor, Betty, deemed necessary and depending on how good the story was, you would be granted access to the goods stowed out of sight behind the counter. Then they would deign to take your money at the end of the transaction, but not necessarily the price that was on the goods (if there was one). If you wanted to be served again in the future, Anna noticed from the customers at the counter – for despite it all, the shop was a popular place – it seemed best practice to say breezily ‘Keep the change’, or ‘And that’s a pack of chocolate Hobnobs for you, Betty’. Usually in shops Anna felt generous if she put one penny change in the charity box next to the till. But if Hobnobs were what was needed to get allegiance from Betty, Hobnobs it would be.

She had tried to browse quietly, but had forgotten she was a stranger. She was therefore exciting and somewhat suspicious. Anna could forgive the owners for thinking she was motivated by greedy and treacherous intent. It was less forgivable for them to make this thought quite so obvious. Anna had felt herself being observed. No doubt with hostile eyes. She flicked her hair over her shoulder defiantly, bent over so that her bottom was roughly level with the counter (might as well give them something to look at) and examined a lower shelf.

“You after something?” said a voice.

Anna thought this was probably directed at her but chose to ignore it. She had every right to be in this shop and conduct herself as she pleased. Footsteps followed.

“What brings you here? What are you after?” came a voice in her ear.

Oh, to answer that question fully! What a surprise they would have got. And Kate never would have been able to walk into this shop again for the shame.

Anna straightened up and regarded the person who had accosted her. It was a he, very grey, very plain, very dull. He was probably espoused to Betty. He looked as though he ate his fair share of the Hobnobs. Indeed, the tell-tale crumbs were still nestling in the fibres of his moth-eaten grunge-coloured sweater. He had probably been attracted by her behind. Betty may well have made him approach her to stop him looking at it or alternatively to stop suspected kleptomania. Anna had always thought people were keen to have new customers. Clearly not Betty and Grey Man.

“Hi, what a lovely shop,” Anna began. Grey Man blushed. God, he actually believed the shop was lovely. “I’m just after some candles, if I may?”

“Candles, hey? Well you won’t find those there, will you, lass,” he had reproached, gesturing to the tinned tomatoes she had been looking at.

She may well do. She’d found rat poison next to canned fruit after all.

“Of course, silly me. Perhaps you could guide me?”

Grey Man blushed even more deeply. It gave an interesting, but not necessarily favourable, splash of colour to his appearance. Maybe if he slopped some of the tinned tomatoes down his front too he could make the hue a lasting addition.

Grey Man’s probable wife appeared behind the counter. He cleared his throat. “Lady here wants some candles, Betty,” he shared.

“Oh, had a power failure have you, pet?” asked Betty. “Renting a cottage I expect? It’s probably

got a meter that you haven’t found. If you tell me the cottage name I can check, if you like.”

For goodness’ sake, just get the candles, you human Hobnob gossip balloon, Anna thought.

“That’s really sweet of you, but don’t trouble yourself - I’d just like candles,” Anna said.

“You’d probably be better off with a torch. I’ll get you a torch,” said Betty.

Get me a torch, and I’ll bash your head in with it.

“I’d really love just the candles,” Anna said.

“You’ll need some matches too, mind.”

Actually, I can breathe fire when I need to, thought Anna. Could burn this place down in one breath – puff!

“That’s so thoughtful of you, thanks,” simpered Anna, wondering how combustible Betty’s sweater would be. The Hobnob crumbs would probably help.

Betty shuffled out to the back and came back armed with some fat church candles

and some matches. Anna smiled sweetly and opened her mouth to ask for floating candles and then shut it again. She would be there for hours if she opened up negotiations again. They would have to have a discussion of what she proposed to use them for. Betty and Grey Man probably wouldn’t understand her bathing habits. Or why she wanted to feel rejuvenated – they were clearly happy being past it.

“That’s perfect, thank you,” she beamed, handing over some cash. “Keep the change.”

Betty looked pleasantly surprised.

You can put it towards the liposuction, Anna thought.

“Buy yourself some Hobnobs!” she said. Boom! More crumbs for the combustible jumper.

“What a nice young girl,” Anna heard Betty say, as she left the shop. Morons.

And so now Anna had the candles. She swirled the water round in the bath with her hand as it gushed out of the taps. She had opted against bubble bath. Kate only had some horribly chemical-looking citrus-fruit mix, which described itself as the perfect reinvigorating start to the day. She could think of much better ones, ideally with male accompaniment. Besides, baths were for relaxing, thinking about life, planning out the future as you reclined back against the bathtub. Not for making yourself turbo-powered so you could run around all day creating stress. Perhaps Kate would be in a more tranquil frame of mind after the experiment was over. Anna laughed. That was not a likely outcome. Kate had plenty to keep her busy in London. Anna had made sure of that.

She shed her clothes and climbed into the bath, turning on the Jacuzzi feature. She used to feel like she was a piece of boiling cabbage when she had these sorts of baths, a few years ago, before she got back in shape. The bubbles would pummel her and the spare flesh on her belly and legs would wobble around in different directions. Not beautiful. Now though she was taut again, like she had been before. Her stomach was pleasingly flat and her thighs were impressively toned. She extended one leg and examined it. Suspender thighs. That’s what a previous boyfriend, she forgot which one, had called them. Perfect for stockings, the inner thighs having that pleasing muscular definition that demarcated them from the rest of the thigh. Most girls – and men – only dreamed of such thighs. She bet Kate didn’t have thighs like this. Or maybe she did once, but she certainly didn’t now. And even if she did, her legs weren’t as long, Anna thought smugly. There was no competition. And there wouldn’t be. Any man would clearly opt for her over Kate. Or live to regret it, and would be sure to correct his choice, given the opportunity. Once reminded.